The Ivy League: Unvarying Mediocrity?

in The Ivy League To- A. Birmingham shows deal of perception. "The lady has cultivated a kind of allure of her own, upon the theory that is the first way to an heart, and after that will take care of the rest," at one point. "There is coy or flirtatious about her. been unconsciously school-home and in her early "finishing"--in the art of along with men.

does not have the special vocabulary and point of in working girls or groups elsewhere in the . She has cultivated speech, and even tones of are gentle editions of the Leaguer's. Ofter even her is carefully unfeminine; everything possible to seductice or suggestive." true, and it is one of the of Ivy League life. it is also one of the Birmingham is on the about in the entire reasonably literate could have put together of course residential statements of library sizes, and lists of alumni simply by reading office press releases, and never leaving his armchair. to the dust jacket and Birmingham was show potential applicants parents how the Ivy are similar and how they was also attempting to the individual personality institutions. But, according accounts, the only significant between any two Ivy the size of their libaries. the Ivy League sound rather drab institutions, only by the their sameness and their and single-minded con on the academic.

the danger in what is a harmless and . If enough people take seriously, the result an influx of admissions every bit as dull and as the colleges the author . (On the encouraging it should be added picture of a consciously Birmingham on the book could dispel most thoughts The Ivy League has done nothing to interrupt the flow of very bad books about American colleges.

It is evidence of Birmingham's shallow writing that he can present the foregoing statement about Ivy girls uncritically. The masculinization of the Ivy girl is a result of a tough competitive atmosphere, a perhaps undesirable after-effect of subjecting women to a man's education. The strident, supercilious tone of various girls' remarks about Ivy boys amuses Birmingham, when perhaps a more adequate response would be horror. Many educators now feel that the Ivy girl's schooling is just building her up for the great letdown to come, when she is forced to play the woman's part. And many parents, not unreasonably, would and do hesitate before consenting to have their daughters turned into hardened, masculine fact machines. All of which flows by Birmingham, but does not touch him. He sees only the good, the true, and the beautiful--in everything.

Birmingham first confronts the question, What makes the Ivy Ivy League different? In his confused ramblings, he touches upon Ivy League clothes, high costs, bad football, location, and big libraries. Perhaps he settles longest on the Ivy Leaguer's social pre-eminence, especially his ability to marry high. Birmingham admits that these are perhaps only surface differences, and tries to explain it all with:

"Then what's all the shouting about? Is there any real difference between the Ivy League student and others?

"Of course there is, but it is a subtle one, and it varies greatly in degree."

This reminds one of the blind adoration the Midwestern girls in that classic of our time, Where the Boys Are felt for for Ivy boys. Typically, one remarked, "A date with a Leaguer! Isn't that the end?" American literature fans will remember that one of these admiring belles was ultimately taken to bed, round-robin style, by three Yalies, until late in the idyllic Ft. Lauderdale vacation, when the Yalies simply abandoned the round-robin method. Which all proves that Ivy League boys aren't really so different after all.

Whether readers are taken by the surface-differences approach or the undefinable-something method of explaining the Ivy League's uniqueness, the result is detrimental to the school's image, which has ever been too healthy anyway. Birmingham's treatment of the hackneyed surface characteristics serves to reinforce nearly all the prevailing myths about the Ivy League, and his recourse to the "somethin' else" explanation leaves the impression that the League is bathed in mystic snottiness.

Birmingham's treatment of Harvard is typically superficial. The author obviously didn't know anything about Harvard when he started, and he came up with the thinnest kind of press-release impression. A couple of hoary anecdotes, a list of Harvard Pulitzer Prize winners, a recitation of the various graduate schools, the names of Harvard men who became President of the U.S., almost a page of Harvard writers, the size of the university and its endowment, a quotation from the Information for Prospective Students booklet, a capsule description of the House system, a vague explanation of the tutorial program, and a long statement by President Pusey make up most of Birmingham's attempt to describe Harvard.

To be sure, Birmingham occasionally does penetrate an inch or so below the surface, as when he talks about Radcliffe or about the Harvard tradition of independence. But his picture has no moving parts; it does not come alive. What is any description of Harvard without mention of the Harvard-Yale football game, of the Bick, of the banks of the Charles, or of the massive amount of creative energy that goes into extracurricular activities? Harvard's diversity is not so much in its geographical distribution and large complement of foreigners, but rather in the individuality and idiosyncrasies of each separate student. Its freedom is not so much in its liberal attendance and parietal rules, but in the atmosphere of free choice and self-reliance which it nurtures.

When Birmingham writes about his alma mater, Dartmouth, he brings more passion to his description--and much less objectivity. He raves for pages about Hanover's snowy wastes and Dartmouth's hairy-chested masculinity. In the realm of education, Birmingham praises Dartmouth's "revolutionary" three-term plan (which hundreds of colleges have) and its abandonment of high school learning techniques (which thousands of colleges have).

When he finishes rhapsodizing about the external beauties of Baker Library, he notes that its "chief glory" is its 800,000 books, to which one's reaction tends to be, "is that all?". Dartmouth's great educational innovation, according to Birmingham is the Great Issues course, which requires daily reading of the New York Times. "The Dartmouth football coach," Birmingham coos, "must accustom himself to a squad that carries the Wall Street Journal and the New York Times--to prepare for the give-and-take of the G.I. course."

After quoting a man who lectured at Dartmouth to the effect that any oddball is allowed to speak there, Birmingham says, "And it's true. They study such topics as"--get this--"The Race Problem, Juvenile Delinquency, The Constitutional Issue in the South's Public School Crisis, Asian Thought in the Conflict of Ideologies, and Poetry and Personal Values." Pretty hot stuff, hey?

In short, Brimingham does not know of what he talks. His book is inaccurate, incomplete, and boring. It's a gyp. Don't buy it, and tell your friends not to, either.

does not have the special vocabulary and point of in working girls or groups elsewhere in the . She has cultivated speech, and even tones of are gentle editions of the Leaguer's. Ofter even her is carefully unfeminine; everything possible to seductice or suggestive." true, and it is one of the of Ivy League life. it is also one of the Birmingham is on the about in the entire reasonably literate could have put together of course residential statements of library sizes, and lists of alumni simply by reading office press releases, and never leaving his armchair. to the dust jacket and Birmingham was show potential applicants parents how the Ivy are similar and how they was also attempting to the individual personality institutions. But, according accounts, the only significant between any two Ivy the size of their libaries. the Ivy League sound rather drab institutions, only by the their sameness and their and single-minded con on the academic.

the danger in what is a harmless and . If enough people take seriously, the result an influx of admissions every bit as dull and as the colleges the author . (On the encouraging it should be added picture of a consciously Birmingham on the book could dispel most thoughts The Ivy League has done nothing to interrupt the flow of very bad books about American colleges.

It is evidence of Birmingham's shallow writing that he can present the foregoing statement about Ivy girls uncritically. The masculinization of the Ivy girl is a result of a tough competitive atmosphere, a perhaps undesirable after-effect of subjecting women to a man's education. The strident, supercilious tone of various girls' remarks about Ivy boys amuses Birmingham, when perhaps a more adequate response would be horror. Many educators now feel that the Ivy girl's schooling is just building her up for the great letdown to come, when she is forced to play the woman's part. And many parents, not unreasonably, would and do hesitate before consenting to have their daughters turned into hardened, masculine fact machines. All of which flows by Birmingham, but does not touch him. He sees only the good, the true, and the beautiful--in everything.

Birmingham first confronts the question, What makes the Ivy Ivy League different? In his confused ramblings, he touches upon Ivy League clothes, high costs, bad football, location, and big libraries. Perhaps he settles longest on the Ivy Leaguer's social pre-eminence, especially his ability to marry high. Birmingham admits that these are perhaps only surface differences, and tries to explain it all with:

"Then what's all the shouting about? Is there any real difference between the Ivy League student and others?

"Of course there is, but it is a subtle one, and it varies greatly in degree."

This reminds one of the blind adoration the Midwestern girls in that classic of our time, Where the Boys Are felt for for Ivy boys. Typically, one remarked, "A date with a Leaguer! Isn't that the end?" American literature fans will remember that one of these admiring belles was ultimately taken to bed, round-robin style, by three Yalies, until late in the idyllic Ft. Lauderdale vacation, when the Yalies simply abandoned the round-robin method. Which all proves that Ivy League boys aren't really so different after all.

Whether readers are taken by the surface-differences approach or the undefinable-something method of explaining the Ivy League's uniqueness, the result is detrimental to the school's image, which has ever been too healthy anyway. Birmingham's treatment of the hackneyed surface characteristics serves to reinforce nearly all the prevailing myths about the Ivy League, and his recourse to the "somethin' else" explanation leaves the impression that the League is bathed in mystic snottiness.

Birmingham's treatment of Harvard is typically superficial. The author obviously didn't know anything about Harvard when he started, and he came up with the thinnest kind of press-release impression. A couple of hoary anecdotes, a list of Harvard Pulitzer Prize winners, a recitation of the various graduate schools, the names of Harvard men who became President of the U.S., almost a page of Harvard writers, the size of the university and its endowment, a quotation from the Information for Prospective Students booklet, a capsule description of the House system, a vague explanation of the tutorial program, and a long statement by President Pusey make up most of Birmingham's attempt to describe Harvard.

To be sure, Birmingham occasionally does penetrate an inch or so below the surface, as when he talks about Radcliffe or about the Harvard tradition of independence. But his picture has no moving parts; it does not come alive. What is any description of Harvard without mention of the Harvard-Yale football game, of the Bick, of the banks of the Charles, or of the massive amount of creative energy that goes into extracurricular activities? Harvard's diversity is not so much in its geographical distribution and large complement of foreigners, but rather in the individuality and idiosyncrasies of each separate student. Its freedom is not so much in its liberal attendance and parietal rules, but in the atmosphere of free choice and self-reliance which it nurtures.

When Birmingham writes about his alma mater, Dartmouth, he brings more passion to his description--and much less objectivity. He raves for pages about Hanover's snowy wastes and Dartmouth's hairy-chested masculinity. In the realm of education, Birmingham praises Dartmouth's "revolutionary" three-term plan (which hundreds of colleges have) and its abandonment of high school learning techniques (which thousands of colleges have).

When he finishes rhapsodizing about the external beauties of Baker Library, he notes that its "chief glory" is its 800,000 books, to which one's reaction tends to be, "is that all?". Dartmouth's great educational innovation, according to Birmingham is the Great Issues course, which requires daily reading of the New York Times. "The Dartmouth football coach," Birmingham coos, "must accustom himself to a squad that carries the Wall Street Journal and the New York Times--to prepare for the give-and-take of the G.I. course."

After quoting a man who lectured at Dartmouth to the effect that any oddball is allowed to speak there, Birmingham says, "And it's true. They study such topics as"--get this--"The Race Problem, Juvenile Delinquency, The Constitutional Issue in the South's Public School Crisis, Asian Thought in the Conflict of Ideologies, and Poetry and Personal Values." Pretty hot stuff, hey?

In short, Brimingham does not know of what he talks. His book is inaccurate, incomplete, and boring. It's a gyp. Don't buy it, and tell your friends not to, either.

the danger in what is a harmless and . If enough people take seriously, the result an influx of admissions every bit as dull and as the colleges the author . (On the encouraging it should be added picture of a consciously Birmingham on the book could dispel most thoughts The Ivy League has done nothing to interrupt the flow of very bad books about American colleges.

It is evidence of Birmingham's shallow writing that he can present the foregoing statement about Ivy girls uncritically. The masculinization of the Ivy girl is a result of a tough competitive atmosphere, a perhaps undesirable after-effect of subjecting women to a man's education. The strident, supercilious tone of various girls' remarks about Ivy boys amuses Birmingham, when perhaps a more adequate response would be horror. Many educators now feel that the Ivy girl's schooling is just building her up for the great letdown to come, when she is forced to play the woman's part. And many parents, not unreasonably, would and do hesitate before consenting to have their daughters turned into hardened, masculine fact machines. All of which flows by Birmingham, but does not touch him. He sees only the good, the true, and the beautiful--in everything.

Birmingham first confronts the question, What makes the Ivy Ivy League different? In his confused ramblings, he touches upon Ivy League clothes, high costs, bad football, location, and big libraries. Perhaps he settles longest on the Ivy Leaguer's social pre-eminence, especially his ability to marry high. Birmingham admits that these are perhaps only surface differences, and tries to explain it all with:

"Then what's all the shouting about? Is there any real difference between the Ivy League student and others?

"Of course there is, but it is a subtle one, and it varies greatly in degree."

This reminds one of the blind adoration the Midwestern girls in that classic of our time, Where the Boys Are felt for for Ivy boys. Typically, one remarked, "A date with a Leaguer! Isn't that the end?" American literature fans will remember that one of these admiring belles was ultimately taken to bed, round-robin style, by three Yalies, until late in the idyllic Ft. Lauderdale vacation, when the Yalies simply abandoned the round-robin method. Which all proves that Ivy League boys aren't really so different after all.

Whether readers are taken by the surface-differences approach or the undefinable-something method of explaining the Ivy League's uniqueness, the result is detrimental to the school's image, which has ever been too healthy anyway. Birmingham's treatment of the hackneyed surface characteristics serves to reinforce nearly all the prevailing myths about the Ivy League, and his recourse to the "somethin' else" explanation leaves the impression that the League is bathed in mystic snottiness.

Birmingham's treatment of Harvard is typically superficial. The author obviously didn't know anything about Harvard when he started, and he came up with the thinnest kind of press-release impression. A couple of hoary anecdotes, a list of Harvard Pulitzer Prize winners, a recitation of the various graduate schools, the names of Harvard men who became President of the U.S., almost a page of Harvard writers, the size of the university and its endowment, a quotation from the Information for Prospective Students booklet, a capsule description of the House system, a vague explanation of the tutorial program, and a long statement by President Pusey make up most of Birmingham's attempt to describe Harvard.

To be sure, Birmingham occasionally does penetrate an inch or so below the surface, as when he talks about Radcliffe or about the Harvard tradition of independence. But his picture has no moving parts; it does not come alive. What is any description of Harvard without mention of the Harvard-Yale football game, of the Bick, of the banks of the Charles, or of the massive amount of creative energy that goes into extracurricular activities? Harvard's diversity is not so much in its geographical distribution and large complement of foreigners, but rather in the individuality and idiosyncrasies of each separate student. Its freedom is not so much in its liberal attendance and parietal rules, but in the atmosphere of free choice and self-reliance which it nurtures.

When Birmingham writes about his alma mater, Dartmouth, he brings more passion to his description--and much less objectivity. He raves for pages about Hanover's snowy wastes and Dartmouth's hairy-chested masculinity. In the realm of education, Birmingham praises Dartmouth's "revolutionary" three-term plan (which hundreds of colleges have) and its abandonment of high school learning techniques (which thousands of colleges have).

When he finishes rhapsodizing about the external beauties of Baker Library, he notes that its "chief glory" is its 800,000 books, to which one's reaction tends to be, "is that all?". Dartmouth's great educational innovation, according to Birmingham is the Great Issues course, which requires daily reading of the New York Times. "The Dartmouth football coach," Birmingham coos, "must accustom himself to a squad that carries the Wall Street Journal and the New York Times--to prepare for the give-and-take of the G.I. course."

After quoting a man who lectured at Dartmouth to the effect that any oddball is allowed to speak there, Birmingham says, "And it's true. They study such topics as"--get this--"The Race Problem, Juvenile Delinquency, The Constitutional Issue in the South's Public School Crisis, Asian Thought in the Conflict of Ideologies, and Poetry and Personal Values." Pretty hot stuff, hey?

In short, Brimingham does not know of what he talks. His book is inaccurate, incomplete, and boring. It's a gyp. Don't buy it, and tell your friends not to, either.

It is evidence of Birmingham's shallow writing that he can present the foregoing statement about Ivy girls uncritically. The masculinization of the Ivy girl is a result of a tough competitive atmosphere, a perhaps undesirable after-effect of subjecting women to a man's education. The strident, supercilious tone of various girls' remarks about Ivy boys amuses Birmingham, when perhaps a more adequate response would be horror. Many educators now feel that the Ivy girl's schooling is just building her up for the great letdown to come, when she is forced to play the woman's part. And many parents, not unreasonably, would and do hesitate before consenting to have their daughters turned into hardened, masculine fact machines. All of which flows by Birmingham, but does not touch him. He sees only the good, the true, and the beautiful--in everything.

Birmingham first confronts the question, What makes the Ivy Ivy League different? In his confused ramblings, he touches upon Ivy League clothes, high costs, bad football, location, and big libraries. Perhaps he settles longest on the Ivy Leaguer's social pre-eminence, especially his ability to marry high. Birmingham admits that these are perhaps only surface differences, and tries to explain it all with:

"Then what's all the shouting about? Is there any real difference between the Ivy League student and others?

"Of course there is, but it is a subtle one, and it varies greatly in degree."

This reminds one of the blind adoration the Midwestern girls in that classic of our time, Where the Boys Are felt for for Ivy boys. Typically, one remarked, "A date with a Leaguer! Isn't that the end?" American literature fans will remember that one of these admiring belles was ultimately taken to bed, round-robin style, by three Yalies, until late in the idyllic Ft. Lauderdale vacation, when the Yalies simply abandoned the round-robin method. Which all proves that Ivy League boys aren't really so different after all.

Whether readers are taken by the surface-differences approach or the undefinable-something method of explaining the Ivy League's uniqueness, the result is detrimental to the school's image, which has ever been too healthy anyway. Birmingham's treatment of the hackneyed surface characteristics serves to reinforce nearly all the prevailing myths about the Ivy League, and his recourse to the "somethin' else" explanation leaves the impression that the League is bathed in mystic snottiness.

Birmingham's treatment of Harvard is typically superficial. The author obviously didn't know anything about Harvard when he started, and he came up with the thinnest kind of press-release impression. A couple of hoary anecdotes, a list of Harvard Pulitzer Prize winners, a recitation of the various graduate schools, the names of Harvard men who became President of the U.S., almost a page of Harvard writers, the size of the university and its endowment, a quotation from the Information for Prospective Students booklet, a capsule description of the House system, a vague explanation of the tutorial program, and a long statement by President Pusey make up most of Birmingham's attempt to describe Harvard.

To be sure, Birmingham occasionally does penetrate an inch or so below the surface, as when he talks about Radcliffe or about the Harvard tradition of independence. But his picture has no moving parts; it does not come alive. What is any description of Harvard without mention of the Harvard-Yale football game, of the Bick, of the banks of the Charles, or of the massive amount of creative energy that goes into extracurricular activities? Harvard's diversity is not so much in its geographical distribution and large complement of foreigners, but rather in the individuality and idiosyncrasies of each separate student. Its freedom is not so much in its liberal attendance and parietal rules, but in the atmosphere of free choice and self-reliance which it nurtures.

When Birmingham writes about his alma mater, Dartmouth, he brings more passion to his description--and much less objectivity. He raves for pages about Hanover's snowy wastes and Dartmouth's hairy-chested masculinity. In the realm of education, Birmingham praises Dartmouth's "revolutionary" three-term plan (which hundreds of colleges have) and its abandonment of high school learning techniques (which thousands of colleges have).

When he finishes rhapsodizing about the external beauties of Baker Library, he notes that its "chief glory" is its 800,000 books, to which one's reaction tends to be, "is that all?". Dartmouth's great educational innovation, according to Birmingham is the Great Issues course, which requires daily reading of the New York Times. "The Dartmouth football coach," Birmingham coos, "must accustom himself to a squad that carries the Wall Street Journal and the New York Times--to prepare for the give-and-take of the G.I. course."

After quoting a man who lectured at Dartmouth to the effect that any oddball is allowed to speak there, Birmingham says, "And it's true. They study such topics as"--get this--"The Race Problem, Juvenile Delinquency, The Constitutional Issue in the South's Public School Crisis, Asian Thought in the Conflict of Ideologies, and Poetry and Personal Values." Pretty hot stuff, hey?

In short, Brimingham does not know of what he talks. His book is inaccurate, incomplete, and boring. It's a gyp. Don't buy it, and tell your friends not to, either.