What if intelligence was not a virtue, but a weapon? At first glance Donna Tartt’s ‘The Secret History’ (TSH) is a thrilling murder mystery consisting of eccentric characters and their moral decay, but beneath this lays a deep critique of academia and the elitism that thrives within it. The novel follows Richard Papen, a working-class student who finds himself drawn to a quirky, small college in Vermont, where he goes to pursue classics- alongside an almost cult-like group of students. Yet underneath their academic debates and adoration of ancient civilisations, lies a darker reality. Their intellectualism was not a tool for success- but rather the fuel behind their ever-worsening morals, egged on by their enigmatic professor, Julian.
Tartt’s novel raises questions that bear great significance to this day, two decades on. Does academic elitism breed a detachment from morality? Do academic professionals bear greater influence on impressionable young people than we care to admit? Looking at Tartt’s novel in tandem with modern academia reveals the unnerving parallels between her fictional world with the reality of higher education today.
Academic elitism in TSH is not just about exclusivity – but actively distorts the group’s moral compass. Their immersion in classical studies and dedication to the study warps their worldview and allows them to justify increasingly disturbing actions. Living in 1990s America yet adhering to the mindset and principles of Ancient Greece, blurring the lines between academic pursuit and moral corruption. The bacchanal descends into violent, uncontrollable madness, Charles and Camila’s incestuous relationship is met with apathy and no direct condemnation, and Richard’s casual reference to harming Camila reveals how detached they have become from standard ethical boundaries. Their intellectualism does not define them but instead arms them with excuses for their worst impulses, utilising history and philosophy to justify such. Prestigious academic institutions have been critiqued for fostering environments where ambition and passion are encouraged over the maintenance of ethics. Tartt suggests, therefore, that when knowledge becomes a tool for power and immorality, the consequences can be dangerous.
Julian Morrow, the charismatic professor at the heart of the novel, is as much a mystery as the students he handpicks for his secretive Ancient Greek class. Teaching in isolation from the rest of the university, he cultivates a sense of academic supremacy, with his selectiveness fostering an intense loyalty among his students. His unconventional manner of teaching – centred more around philosophical discussion than typically structured learning allows him to subtly shape their conscience while still maintaining a steady distance. His influence is perhaps made most evident by the bacchanal, with his romanticisation of the ancient world encouraging an almost cultish, religious devotion to classical ideals. Arguably, this is what turns the bacchanal from what was meant to be a transcendent, divine experience to the deadly murder scene it became. Though he does not directly instruct, his influence is undeniable, in many ways acting as the catalyst for their decaying morals.
Julian’s role in the novel thus raises broader questions about the power dynamics prevalent within academia. In elitist educational institutions, where access to opportunities is often limited to a select few, students can become deeply susceptible to the power of a single academic leader. The relationship between professor and student, particularly in exclusive academic circles, can foster an intense dependency where inspiration slips into blind obedience. Julian does not explicitly condone the group’s actions and endeavours and seems even disgusted and shocked once informed of the extent of their actions yet takes no accountability. When their crimes inevitably unravel, he disavows responsibility for the students he so carefully created. Through Julian’s character, Tartt exposes the reality that in environments of unchecked academic authority, the line between guidance and manipulation can become thin and indistinguishable.
Richard’s experience within the novel emphasises the persistent class divide within elite academia. Coming from a working-class background, he is drawn to the wealth and superiority of his new social circle, but never truly feels a sense of belonging. His friends, though seemingly welcoming, exclude him in subtle ways- whether through their casual extravagance or their ignorance of financial hardship. His desperation to assimilate leads him to lie about his past, further intensifying his sense of isolation.
This dynamic is not just fictional but reflects a broader critique of higher education, which is particularly applicable in the UK. Elite universities, despite their growing efforts to widen accessibility still overwhelmingly favour students from wealthier backgrounds. Research has shown that working-class students are likely to feel a sense of not belonging and often struggle with imposter syndrome within institutions that have historically been designed for the privileged. This applies to those who even make it to such institutions and disregards the multiple factors that influence one’s access to higher education, such as the correlation between being from a poor area and attending a low-performing school and thus not reaching the academic requirements to even attend such universities. Richard’s story, therefore, is not just about the personal insecurity that academic elitism brings but a critique of a culture that equates privilege with merit, leaving those from less affluent backgrounds to constantly feel the pressure to prove their right to be there.
Donna Tartt not only constructs a story with a fascinating plot and an unreliable narrator, but the novel also points out the insularity and unchecked power in academic spaces, and how this leads to the erosion of morality. The issues discussed within her novel remain deeply relevant now in today’s universities, making The Secret History not only a story about the past – but a warning about the present.
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