Maggie's Farm

Bird Dog ... Thank you for finding this lovely rant -- a true classic among rants.

I need to reluctantly accuse Mr. Roethke of some naivete. He seems to think that rich girls are going to take literature seriously, by the sweat and anguish of their brows, so to speak. Uh-uh, Ted. I went to school with many of them [Harvard for two years before Columbia] The great majority of them don't care about literature, per se. They are there, these sweet Muffys and Dodies and Ashleys et al, to learn how to be trophy wives, proper spouses to be displayed by their rich husbands [who don't read much literature either] at social events. "Wuthering Heights" and "Henry V" and Thomas Mann are going sail right over their heads. They have a lot of niggling little details to learn that are really important, like which stores are best [beside Tiffany's of course], and how to give a successful charity ball, and who's doing what to whom in their baffling little worlds.

There are smart rich girls at schools like Bennington and Barnard. But like smart people, rich or poor, everywhere, they are thin on the ground.

Sound like a bloody socialist, don't I? Not.

Marianne

Forgot to say that I did meet one fairly mindless guy during my college years who had an extremely successful sex life because he memorized Andrew Marvell's "To His Coy Mistress" in its entirety. And used it, over and over, to seduce sweet young things. The guy in question, however, got a D in his English.

Edmund Crispin, a Brit mystery story writer of great charm, once wrote about a character who was hugely successful with the ladies because "he reassured them and gave them sweet things to eat."

Sounds like a successful career path to me.

Marianne