Jesse Lynch Williams opens Princeton Stories by drawing a sharp contrast between the old and new versions of the Cane Spree: the modern event is held in broad daylight on University Field, advertised on posters, and watched from bleachers with girls present, while the earlier version took place at midnight on wet grass, with a full moon and a fierce rush following each bout. This tension between a romanticized, rough-and-tumble past and a more regulated, respectable present runs through the collection. Williams repeatedly signals that things have changed—"We are a university now"—yet the stories themselves dwell on the older, more chaotic traditions, suggesting a nostalgia for the very practices the narrator claims are obsolete.

Nostalgia and the Changing Campus

The opening story, "The Winning of the Cane," establishes a pattern of looking backward. The narrator directly addresses the reader: "This is to be a story of 'How we used to do when we were in college.'" The cane spree is described as something a fellow lived for, an honor comparable to playing on the 'Varsity or winning the Lynde debate. Yet the narrator also notes that reviving the ancient spree would not do—it was bad for football training hours. This ambivalence appears throughout: the stories celebrate the old ways while acknowledging their incompatibility with the new university ideal. In "The Hazing of Valliant" and "Fixing that Freshman," the rituals of class rivalry are portrayed as both cruel and exhilarating, with characters like Thompson and Darnell manipulating each other through a game of one-upmanship that feels both trivial and deeply serious.

The Scrub Quarter-Back: Body and Will

In "The Scrub Quarter-Back," Williams focuses on Tommy Wormsey, a meek, ugly boy who weighs 137 pounds stripped and is covered in court-plaster. The crowd laughs at his appearance—his torn suit, mismatched stockings, and sorrowful face—but they also recognize his football instinct. Williams emphasizes the gap between Wormsey's external meekness and his internal drive: he is a coward at heart, yet he dives at two-hundred-pound guards and yells signals in a shrill earnest voice. At night, he practices alone, stacking pillows and cushions in a corner and punishing himself when he misses the black one in the centre. This portrait of a character who is both absurd and admirable, who says "Yes, sir" to coaches and sniffls back to his place, reveals Williams's interest in the contradictions of college masculinity—where physical courage coexists with deep insecurity.

Rivalry and Manipulation in Student Life

Several stories explore the dynamics of influence and control among students. In the excerpt from "The Responsibility of Lawrence," two characters—Thompson and Darnell—each confide in Lawrence about the other, each believing they are manipulating the other's behavior. Thompson claims he is keeping Darnell from making a fool of himself by poling (studying) late into the night; Darnell claims he is managing Thompson's jealousy by the same tactic. Lawrence's dry response—"Yes, lots of people are"—underscores the irony. Williams presents these rivalries as a kind of social game, where each player thinks they are the one in control. The stories do not resolve who is right; instead, they leave the reader with a sense of the intricate, often petty, but absorbing social world of the college, where reputation and influence are constantly negotiated.

Readers approaching Princeton Stories should attend to the way Williams uses the frame of nostalgia to critique and celebrate college life simultaneously. The stories are not simply period pieces; they are self-conscious about the act of remembering. The narrator's voice—sometimes wistful, sometimes ironic—invites the reader to question how much has really changed. Pay attention to the recurring motifs of physical appearance, ritualized violence, and the gap between public performance and private feeling. These elements give the collection a coherence that transcends its episodic structure.