Oxford Envy

Oxford I know is not for me—wrong gender, wrong century, wrong class, wrong country—but I am envious anyway. I am just grumpy with hopeless envy. Maybe it’s because so many English writers have Oxford in their past, in the pasts of their characters, and the ideal is built into my brain. I don’t like the feeling of envy. It is uncomfortable and shameful. But it is true that every trip to Oxford has been miserable. Today, it has been mostly because of Chris [age 10], who has moaned and stomped and sulked and miseried his way around town all afternoon. He and I wander about Radcliffe Square and Christchurch, bumping into each other and getting rained on.

Something about vertical spaces appeals in an innate, primitive way. I wonder if it has to do with our lives in the trees before we came down to the savannah. When I dream of flying, I dream enclosed spaces, clearings between huge trees, the inside of cathedral spaces, deep gorges with high curving cliffs on either side. I don’t even want to think of Freudian interpretations. But the loveliness of Oxford includes a vertical, enclosed, protected space or sense. And then of course Oxford goes beyond that almost to the ludicrous (the obviously Victorian-built parts)—the effect of being just overweeningly rich and proud. But generally the cushion of wealth and care is very comfortable to the senses.

I suppose it is salutary for me to feel envious of the wealth, pride, and knowledge of the Oxford tradition, as most people in the world may be jealous of Americans. Oxford is simply beyond my reach. For most, even if they are physically in the US, “America” is beyond their reach as well, and maybe they walk longingly and envious through the streets of America as I walk in Oxford, peering into walled gardens

with signs that say “Private. No visitors.”

Even the arguments may be the same. "If we let everyone in who wants to come, we will be overwhelmed." All the tourists are crowded onto the crass and busy High Street, while the meadows are behind locked gates. I can argue that Oxford is archaic, hierarchical, irrelevant, even bad and dangerous, but there is no arguing with the attraction to me of this particular combination of privilege, learning, and power.

So this is my weakness, which feels like a weakness, and is painful and uncomfortable. I should remember it. I am vulnerable to intellectual snobbery and envy. Not a comfortable picture of myself. (2003)

OK Oxford, I’m not jealous of you anymore. Not my favorite town but at least bearable this time. I recognize that part of what I thought was exclusionary is just the nature of English towns—crowded High Street, walled gardens, etc. And the students are so extremely young. I’m done with that, thank God. I do, I work as I choose.

To be truly at Oxford, one would have to not be a frantic, sex- and beer-obsessed undergraduate, but a teacher, a researcher—someone who lived here and watched the children come and go like the ebb and flow of the tide. A lot like John’s job at BYU, as a matter of fact, especially since the new Humanities Building with its gorgeous courtyard garden, cloistered walkways, overhanging balconies, fountains, sky-lights and winding stairs. I don’t want his job—the politics would be too much for me—but I’m glad John has it, since he loves it and I can participate peripherally. All wealthy universities—which BYU certainly is—have these things in common, I believe: the community of scholars (with its advantages and disadvantages); the yearly infusion of bright, beautiful, enthusiastic young people; the opportunity to be passionate about a very narrow, impractical (in terms of money) art or other interest; and the setting for people who were always very bright and comfortable in school, top of their class, to stay in that sheltered, academic setting forever.

Virginia Woolf eventually came to see the public school/university tradition (at that time completely anti-female) as poisoning the whole world (in “Three Guineas”). I don’t believe it is innately or inevitably evil. Maybe more openness has helped alleviate the problems. I still think there are particular blind spots in academic thinking (VW calls it “the little spot at the back of the head”) that can be very dangerous in people who believe themselves to be so smart they see everything. Oh well, it’s interesting. It’s nice not to be angry at Oxford anymore. I have found my (metaphorical) cloistered halls. The danger I could fall into is too much freedom and isolation, mixed with my innate laziness and desire to stay in my comfort zone. (2005)