Do we dare denounce Opal Mehta? I refer, of course, to “How Opal Mehta Got Kissed, Got Wild, and Got a Life,” the recently published chick-lit novel by sophomore Kaavya Viswanathan ’08 that first became famous for its singular inception, and then infamous for its not-so-singular authorship. The book’s merits and demerits aside, it is, in many respects, a product of Harvard and a reflection of our community.

“Opal Mehta” may very well be inauthentic, literarily-bankrupt, profit-driven pop-culture fluff. But before we begin smugly and self-righteously to debate which circle of hell Viswanathan should be cast into for her transgression (the eighth), I ask that we pause for a moment and empathize with our embattled classmate. It should not be very difficult to do so if we honestly consider our own intellectual and cultural position. As a community, Harvard is more than complicit in the production of inauthentic chick lit, that regrettably pervasive genre of packaged pop culture easily digested by teenage girls. We encourage and even inspire it. Harvard, I am most distressed to recognize, is at risk of becoming a bit like chick lit itself. The ivory tower has fallen; in its place we have erected a shopping mall.

This statement of course deserves both explanation and qualification—it serves little purpose to abstractly bemoan the postmodern condition and the demise of great literature as a culturally significant force.

I said that the ivory tower has fallen. This is no secret in the world at large, where “The Da Vinci Code” tops bestseller lists and serves as both the primary impetus for, and evidence in, ‘theological debates’ among the enlightened masses. In a culture where a talk show host’s approval immortalizes novels, where the most well-known humanitarian is a rock star, and where movie stars can popularize a religion created by a science fiction novelist, we cannot expect much in the way of literary and intellectual discrimination.

That may be fine for the world at large, but we at Harvard, quite frankly, are supposed to be something different. Every student here knows what it feels like to drop the H-bomb and is familiar with that tinge of pride at the recognition and respect which our institution’s name inspires. That distinction, however, becomes a point of shame when we fail to deserve the elitism which we so naturally affect and when we instead spout vulgarities from a pedestal. Harvard’s most recent and feted cultural contribution is chick lit written by an aspiring investment banker. We have fallen a long way from T.S. Eliot, and we should be ashamed.

Certainly “Opal Mehta” is the product and responsibility of a single individual (well, maybe not single...), but we are all implicated in its creation. We collectively form a system which prizes ambition and performance and calls these things superiority. When the publication of “Opal Mehta” first became known, the $500,000 advance dominated conversation and stimulated admiration and jealousy. The fact that the novel is unabashed chick lit inspired, at most, smiling pseudo-mockery. Harvard turned an indulging blind eye on bad literature and saw only an example of precocious success. Now, we are not so much horrified by the accusations of mortal literary sin as we are conscious of the public scandal and potential reversal of fortune. Contemplating this reaction, it is clear that we share, at least in some respect, the attitude and ambition which led to “Opal Mehta.”

So I return to my original question: Do we dare denounce Opal Mehta? The answer must be yes. Not a resounding self-righteous yes, for we are not much superior to what we would condemn. Our denunciation must instead arise out of our own embarrassment; it must be in part a self-condemnation and a recognition that we are now not so much a community of intellectuals but accomplices to a literary and cultural travesty. Right now, Opal Mehta is the face of Harvard, and rightfully so. In rejecting that image, we promise to reinvent ourselves.

It is easy to forget, perhaps, that Harvard’s name does not confer only status and credibility. It also offers real power. The actions of Harvard and its students are watched by the world. We are both judged and emulated, and although knowledge of this may inflate egos, it should also inspire us to act as leaders. I transferred here from another university because I recognized Harvard as the source of our society’s intellectual leadership. Now, inside these walls, I do not think that I was wrong: The world does look to us. But right now, we are not leading. Only by rejecting Opal Mehta and all that it represents can we exert our power and assume our intellectual responsibility.

Like it or not—and for the most part we really do like it—we are Harvard. And whether we deserve it or not, we have the unique power to influence all those who look to us with admiring and scrutinizing eyes. If we choose to oppose the tide of cultural mediocrity, we can be at the vanguard of a literary reformation. It is time to restore the loftiness, if not the arrogance, of the ivory tower.



James P. Maguire ’08 is a social studies concentrator in Cabot House.