When John Marquand '15 was asked whether he enjoyed his undergraduate days at Harvard, he replied without hesitation, "Not especially." Likewise, when somebody asks, "Is the fiction that has been written about Harvard eminently literary, perceptive, and distinguished?" the answer must be, "Not especially . . . but the variety is astounding."

Since 1900 there has been a small body of fiction-good, bad, and abysmal--that has tried to characterize Harvard and the "Harvard man." Just after the turn of the century, when American letters were still strongly influenced by the Genteel outlook, Owen Wister of Virginian fame wrote a short novel entitled Philosophy 4. In this work two fair-haired, hearty, fun-loving, all-American boys, Bertie and Billy, are contrasted to their supercilious, swarthy, second-generation-American tutor, Oscar Maironi. Bertie and Billy are well-rounded, while Oscar is a grind. The story centers around preparation for a final exam in Harvard's Philosophy 4. Bertie and Billy pay Oscar to tutor them in the course material, because with playing tennis, taking carriage rides, and learning to be men, they have not found time to attend lectures or do the reading. The day before the exam Bertie and Billy, tired of the city, go out to the country and visit a tavern; Oscar stays in his cheaply furnished room to study. As might be expected, Bertie and Billy get higher marks in the exam than Oscar, thus proving that well-rounded young American is by nature more successful that a narrow-minded foreigner. We are told that in later life Billy and Bertie are both important business executives, while Maironi publishes a book entitled The Minor Poets of Cinquesento.

A few years after the publication of Philosophy 4, an equally vacuous but somewhat differently angled novel appeared about the Harvard undergraduate. This was The Count at Harvard by Rupert Sargent Holland, whose name seems justly to have escaped posterity. Perhaps the best comments on the value of this book are found scrawled inside the cover of the edition now in Lamont. Various undergraduates from the class of 1912 up to the present have inscribed their critical sentiments there: "Only on person ever read beyond the first chapter of this book. That was myself. Don't do it." And from a member of the class of 1921: "If you start in the middle it's not so bad. Except now and then it is all unutterable rot." Another '21 contributed, "Most foolish book ever written." The book's appeal seems to have remained constant throughout the years, for a member of '55 felt impelled to add, "This book is the absolute worst. Be careful not to read it."

Fin de Siecle Writing

Actually, The Count At Harvard is an attempt to apply the slick amoralism of the fin de siecle approach to a story about a Harvard man. Roger Norris, alias the "Count," is a suave, charming n'er-do-well who drops Wilde-like epigrams on every possible occasion. He is lightly cynical about everything, except for one brief time when he meets a "good," serious and proper girl. She, however, rejects his suit, because the Count is not a very good security risk. The Count does not let this overly effect him, and returns to his flippant outlook. The most annoying thing about the book is the obvious and exuberant delight which the author takes in portraying a shiftless but engaging young man. The book is quite representative of run-of-the-mill fin de siecle writing, but the choice of Harvard scene and characters seems merely a vehicle for this glib and superficial kind of literature. In a few parts it is amusing, but one must wade through great heaps of banality to find something remotely humorous.

The Lampoon figured prominently in a rash of satires and parodies of college life and faculty members which appeared between 1910 and 1930. All of these were printed privately at the authors' expense or by the boards of the Lampoon. For the most part, these little "cartoon and comment" books were of the same rather inferior quality and content as their recent relative--Gullible's Travels Through Harvard, which had microscopic success in Cambridge last winter. By far the best were two printed by the Lampoon writers.

Alice's Adventures in Cambridge, published in 1913, is a quite clever adaptation of the Alice story to a Harvard environment. Written by R. C. Evarts '13 and illustrated by E. L. Baron '13, both Lampoon editors, the book whimsically ridicules a number of Harvard professors, and revels in the apparent non sequiturs of an academic microcosm.

The frog . . . suddenly began to write very fast on a blackboard behind him:

"If, other things being equal, the level of prices should rise, and thus falling create a demand and supply with, and as which, would you consider this a division of labor? If so, when, and in what capacity? If not, why not, and under what circumstances?"

As soon as he had finished, all the other animals produced paper from nowhere in particular, and began to scribble as fast as they could. Alice noticed that the Lizard, who was sitting in the front row, was the only one wrote anything original. All the others copied from his paper, and crowded round him so closely that Alice was afaraid the poor little creature would be smothered. Meanwhile the frog looked at the ceiling. "He couldn't look anywhere else, poor thing," thought Alice; "his eyes are in the top of his head."

About two seconds had passed when the frog called out, "Time!" and began to gather up the papers. When he had collected them all, he took them to his desk and began to mark them. He marked the first one A, the second one B, and so on down to F, when he began over gain with A. All this time he kept his eyes tight shut. "So he will be sure to be impartial, the white Rabbit explained to Alice.

Cartoons and Doggerel

Not so well done is Harvard Inside Out by Elmer E. Hagler '16, which appeared in 1916. The cartoons are very amateurish jobs, and the captions lack a good deal of punch. Written ostensibly by the barely literate younger brother of a Harvard undergraduate, these captions adopt an obvious vernacular which becomes more and more oppressive as each page is turned.

About the only thing Little Codfish Cabot at Harvard has to recommend it is its delightful title. This little inanity, written by Samuel H. Ordway, Jr., '21 and illustrated by F. Wendworth Saunders '24, could not possibly have enjoyed too much acclaim when it appeared in 1924. It follows the education of a prep-schooled boy at Harvard, his introduction to various customs at Harvard, and his impeccable Bostonian reaction to all situations. The cartoons are poor, and what comment there is can be summarized as inconsequental.

The Harvard Mother Goose, 1926, combines a maximum of bad taste with a minimum of talent. Frederick DeWolf Pingree '24 wrote the doggerel, and Robert Martin '23 drew the cartoons, some of which are amusing in conception, but suffer rather drastically in execution. At a time when Harvard was beginning to outgrow its reputation as a hotbed of social snobbery, Pingree and Martin reacted absurdly against the changing times with verses showing a jejeune anti-semitism, and a rather pitiable outcry against the expanding attitude of the Admissions Department. The following poem, called "The Club-Man-About-Ttown" or "Suaviter In Modo" is representative of both the style and interest of the author: