I spent my summer writing bad poetry and reading novels. Self-indulgent, I suppose, and I felt twinges of guilt for not following the ambitious career paths of my fellow classmates, who were off saving poor children in Kenya or studying philosophy in Greece. But after a rather stressful year, it was a relief to sit in my room, in my bed, with my books.
Radiant, apple-cheeked Zelda Harris was a high school senior when I first met her during Pre-Frosh Weekend 2003. We were standing together awkwardly with Amy Widdowson—Zelda’s host and a friend of mine—on the gray gravel path behind Nassau Hall that … Read More
To telescope, we begin with 300 words, then slice the word count in half for each successive section. We stop when the numbers stop dividing evenly. This week, eight Nass writers telescope the word “echo” (echo, echo). Lucia Brown At … Read More
Any place that is affectionately known as the “Best Damn Place of All” cannot continue to be when bad things happen behind the FitzRandolph gates, and it gets even more difficult when the buildings themselves start yelling back.
Laid out before you are six covers from Nass history, plucked from our very own archive. Even since our first issue making its introduction in 1979, back when our forefathers had to manually and meticulously craft each issue with a … Read More
The writer Gene Wolfe possesses many gifts; he bears an almost equal number of maddening, irritating flaws. Nowhere is this more apparent than in his 1984 experimental mystery novel Free Live Free