The canon of popular books set in Princeton is small, but nevertheless well-read by students so jonesing for the thrill of recognition that they’ll happily slog through dozens of pages on game theory (or obscure Venetian manuscripts) for some passing references to campus landmarks.

It turns out that Princetonians have been engaging in this kind of literary navel-gazing since even before the days of F. Scott’s This Side of Paradise — if anything, our self-obsessive tendencies were worse back when there were no cars or phones connecting Princeton to the real world.

This, at least, is the conclusion I draw from Princeton Stories, an 1895 collection of largely mediocre, absolutely fascinating short fiction from Princeton’s own Jesse Lynch Williams ‘92.  (You can, and should, read the whole thing here — thanks, Google Books!)

There’s something really charming about the idea of a scrappy, marginally talented young alum becoming a bestseller (by 1906, Princeton Stories had gone through 10 printings) on the strength of Princetonians’ willingness to read any and all manner of dreck — so long as it was connected to their school.