Footnote: Gonna be honest, I hate listening to a capella. I just want to hear the real song.
Overheard in Terrace
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Under the Hood
Combustion has been a constant on Princeton’s campus since the 18th century. What will its role be in a net-zero future?
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Once Upon A Time, There Was A Mountain – Part 4: The Asking
“It had been the same mountain in 1860, when a heartbroken man walked up it in the rain.”
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Dispatch from New York
In late March, former New York City Mayoral candidate Curtis Sliwa made a sensational appearance at Whig-Clio.
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Between Tongues: An Interview with Translator Julia Sanches
This interview has been edited for length and clarity.
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To catch and pin a butterfly: Full Design
Pick up a copy around campus, or view the full design here!
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Letter From The Editor
Dear friends, I keep a careful journal of my days and habits. What did I buy? What did I eat? What was I grateful for? I do this mostly so that I can understand myself better, so that I can flip through the year as twelve two-page spreads and identify the patterns that facilitate…
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Chiaroscuro
The microscopic elements that made up the Princeton Opera Company’s recent production of Gianni Schicchi.
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Bluebells + How to Stop the Bleeding
Bluebells “The temple bell stops— but the sound keeps coming out of the flowers.” – Bashō Truth is the quiet color of the wind over the ocean, the temple on the cliffside, the oxidized bell that sweeps clean the plain. It stops the dust from building up as a patina,…
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How to Have a Spring Fling
A Nass writer revels in the aftermath of a brief love affair, and argues that there is beauty in its being contained.
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Shoulder Strain
The golden sand of a cemetery wound claws with rancor, rests its plaster-filled palms on your provident shoulders, steers you into this braided soil and, Lord, it molds you like a Scythian collar, its latch unsealed.
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Once Upon a Time, There Was a Mountain – Part 3: The Story
“A girl arrived at the temple gate in the autumn of 2008. She was nine or ten, barefoot, her feet thick with hardened skin and scaly with sores. She sat down in the courtyard and looked at the monk with the peculiar weatheredness of a child who has lived through things that did not belong…