As I was writing the first chapters of my mashup book, I was drawn to
reading a tribute in the NYRB by Robert Darnton to Clifford Geertz (The New York Review of Books: On Clifford Geertz: Field Notes from the Classroom). Is using "thick description" the right way to write my book?

For example, in expounding the esoteric notion of the hermeneutic
circle--the conception of interpretive understanding favored by the
philosopher Hans-Georg Gadamer--Cliff did not begin with an exposition
of Gadamer's general principles and a theoretical account of
descriptive as opposed to causal explanations in the human sciences.
Instead, he asked the students to imagine themselves explaining
baseball to a visitor from Outer Mongolia whom they had taken to a
game. You would point out the three bases, he said, and the need to hit
the ball in such a way as to run around the bases and reach home plate
before being tagged out by the defense. But in doing so, you might note
the different shape of the first baseman's glove or the tendency of the
infield to realign itself in the hope of making a double play. You
would tack back and forth between general rules--three strikes, you're
out--and fine details--the nature of a hanging curve. The mutual
reinforcement of generalizations and details would build up an
increasingly rich account of the game being played under the observers'
eyes. Your description could circle around the subject indefinitely,
getting thicker with each telling. Thick descriptions would vary; some
would be more effective than others; and some might be wrong: to have a
runner advance from third base to second would be a clear mistake. But
the descriptions, if sufficiently artful and accurate, would
cumulatively convey an interpretation of the thing itself, baseball.