Beyond the Campus Novel: The Secret History of St Andrews

The campus novel is a genre that has enthralled us long before the publication of Donna Tartt’s The Secret History. The campus novel, obviously set on a campus, traditionally explores the rigours of academia and the social hierarchies that shape pedagogy, learning, and one’s future. Novels like Stoner by John Williams and Lucky Jim are excellent examples. 

The campus novel’s typical narrator tends to be a naïve student, who finds themselves in a space where their intellect is challenged and, under that pressure, they begin to change. 

Sound familiar?

The campus novel does well to include the archetypes we see everyday - unorthodox professors, the maverick student, neatly organised cliques amongst many others. This fictionalisation can be delightful, and it can often ring true. However, the popular contemporary form has tended to veer towards darker stereotypes, fetishising the aesthetic and leaning into its overused tropes, creating the trend that social media has dubbed ‘dark academia’. How far does the stereotype stretch reality? Which, if any, aspects of truth are left? 

To call Tartt’s quintessential novel ‘dark academia’ might seem reductive, but The Secret History did give life to the trend’s clichés. The text is not a simple one; what at first glance seems like an atmospheric and well-written mystery becomes a political space that explores and exposes the grotesque hedonism that occurs in the West’s most prestigious universities.

We have all heard of secret societies, or perhaps more commonly put, exclusive. One might think of Oxford’s infamous Bullingdon Club, or Cambridge’s Apostles. St Andrews is also characterised by the absurd wealth of its students, their societies and their true disconnect from the country they call home. Fife Council’s latest report estimates that 25% of children in the area are living in relative poverty. Figures such as these can be easily forgotten in the glitz and glamour of an undergraduate degree.

Countless articles have detailed their boozy initiation rituals, decadent parties and preference for the ultra-rich. Of course, many of these recounts are sensationalised, playing, like the modern campus novel, on the stereotypes of the past. Indeed, exclusive societies in St Andrews aren’t all that bad, many such as the Kate Kennedy and Lumsden Club raise thousands of pounds for charity. Despite their recent philanthropy, the historic basis of the ‘secret,’ or exclusive society remains rooted in classism. While the secret society might not exist in the way it once did, its extreme and self-indulgent aesthetic remains. 

How is this connected to the campus novel or dark academia? I would argue The Secret History’s absurd hedonism is a fantastical reimagining of the very real culture that permeates this country’s elite institutions.  

A month ago, a pig’s head was found in a Sallie’s fridge. The severed head triggered a hall-wide email that was sent because it stopped the fridge door from closing. Apart from the obstruction, what other questions does the head’s presence raise? What on earth were Sallie’s students doing with a pig’s head? Of course, the head reminded me of the Bullingdon scandal, but it also inspired this article. Why is university seen as a secure place for these concerning games? Does the excess of the 1980s elite survive in the societies of our wealthiest students?

Some moments at St Andrews can feel like fiction. Our university remains a site of huge inequality and this must be kept in mind. After all, the campus itself has much more to offer than eccentric professors or sexually charged intellectual debates — it can become a site of political change. 

Illustration by Zoe Small