Bartleby, Savitri, & Me

The idea sounded great: conduct a seminar for English teachers in one of the world's greatest libraries, with literary experts leading scholarly discussions. But after the author asked a department of ed employee to award the teachers credit, he was reminded of Melville's scrivener, who'd prefer not to.

By Sam Swope

The woman I’ll call Savitri Pathak labored somewhere in the vast labyrinth of the New York City Department of Education. I never laid eyes on her. Our only contact was by phone and e-mail. Because her duties included approving professional development programs, I was her supplicant. About a year ago, I’d been named the first dean of the New York Public Library Summer Seminars for High School English Teachers, and I wanted our participants to receive professional development credits.

Thanks to my days teaching immigrant kids in Queens, I recognized Savitri’s name as Indian. Was she an immigrant, too? If so, what strange path had brought her from India to the city’s education department? Did she wear a sari? Was she homesick, as my students’ mothers had been?

I never had a chance to ask these questions, though. From the first, Savitri’s manner was professional, and I stuck to...