The approach of midterms week means Dante’s Inferno is to be found in the sweaty hands of freshmen this week. Urban Spelunker Gavin McGown was not content to simply flip pages: he was jonesing to explore! Mudd’s basement is a dark and terrifying world Dante surely would have assigned to heathens and traitors.
Huddled as it is against the northeast corner of campus, the unapologetic Seeley W. Mudd Hall extends itself many stories aboveground, a bulwark against ignorance, home to generations of Columbian engineers. Its characteristic miner of shrewd and pinched face embodies the literal and figurative steel of the structure, casting a disapproving sneer at those filing in and out of the building at whose entrance he stands attendant, as if he sensed in them intellectual pursuits directing them towards weak disciplines (gender studies, pure mathematics, political “science”).
Finding myself, however, at that unaesthetic edge of the campus, I ignored the statue’s contemptuous glare that seemed to counsel me to abandon all hope, and marched brazenly on through the doors that opened, supermarket-like, at my advance. No Limbo eased the passage between light and darkness: I crossed, so to speak, the river Acheron (descending a staircase infected with the sound of an unceasing and ominous mechanical whirring), and found myself immediately confronted by a dusty and dreary vision as the first of many basements, bathed in a sallow light, extended on before my eyes.
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