Only the educated are free...Epictitus"" -- reads the inscription on the portals of the University. Wince and enter, all ye readers familiar with the over-trod paths of cliche irony. And it's too bad, because Mr. Walter knows a great deal about university life. He understands the cult of ""Publish or Perish"". He's obviously very hip vis-a-vis recondite graffito, the pusillanimity of faculty, the importance of contributions from wealthy Right Wingers, and the causes and effects of panty raids. His ""types"" are well-drawn; the ambitious liberal college President who makes too many concessions, the Negro student who refuses to represent anything, the teetering lesbian fighting lucidity, and that lonely idealist who stands erect before the mighty God Tenure. Unfortunately, the University lacks a name. It and its inhabitants are without the quirks of individuality which -- ironically enough -- impart universality. Stacy Tower is an extensive structure, but a dimension is missing.