NEEDHAM, Mass. In spring, according to Tennyson, a young man’s fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love, but not in this western suburb of Boston. “Opening Day is April 7,” says Todd Smirsky with a sly smile on his face, referring to the first game of the season for the Boston Red Sox. “Who the hell is Tennyson, anyway?”
Tennyson: “Take me,” she begged, thrusting her nubile breasts hard against his tweed Chesterfield coat.
Smirsky is a senior who will be going on to study at the University of Massachusetts next fall–if he graduates. “It’s tough,” says college prep English teacher Jean Whitney, who struggles to keep the boys in her classes focused on their studies. “I have an obligation to make sure they are prepared for higher education, so I expose them to at least one substantial work of literature before they graduate.” Her go-to choice has for many years been Fyodor Dostoevsky’s “Crime and Punishment,” which she has found appeals even to her most indifferent male students. “There’s something about the random violence against an old woman and a general nihilistic attitude towards society in general,” she says with a puzzled expression. “I guess that appeals to the 18-year-old male brain.”
Dostoevsky: “I’m happiest when I’m depressed.”
But this semester, Whitney has faced resistance due to an unforeseen cause; Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, which has caused some to “cancel” Russian artists with no connection to their homeland’s foreign policy. “It’s sad that the Russians are targeting civilians, but if it gets me out of reading a really long book, I’m all for it,” Smirksy says as his classmate Evan Wirsch nods in agreement. “Why should we have to read a novel by a guy who’s been dead for 240 years?” he asks this reporter. “Suppose at the end we decided the Ukrainians deserved it, is that what you want to happen?”
“z . . z . . z . . z”
Whitney has tried to counter her male students new-found sensitivity to norms of international law, adding works by non-Russian authors to the approved reading list for senior book reports.
“How about ‘The Magic Mountain’ by Thomas Mann?” she asks Smirsky with a hopeful note in her voice.
“Where’s he from?”
“Germany.”
“Haven’t you heard about World Wars I and II?” the young man replies with evident disdain.
“All right–‘Swann’s Way’ by Marcel Proust?”
“Where’s he from?”
“France.”
“I hate snails.”
“I hate snails.”