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The Sun Magazine

Essays, Memoirs, and True Stories

A Dance For Your Life In The Marriage Zone

Marriage is the most dangerous form of love. Count the casualties and you know. It turns many people to stone. We all have seen that. Our society is cracking under the weight of many stone-lives. We all know that. But will we, or will we not, discover all that a man and woman can be? Marriage is not the answer, but it is the most demanding way to live the question.


The House Of Esperanza

Esperanza had informally inherited the house from Salvador Escondido, her husband by common law, who one morning kissed her goodbye at the door, left for work in the fields, and never came back.

The Testimony Of The Snake

Yessssss: and every snake must slough its skin, leaving a trail of cellular clothing around the forest, or, as it were, this garden. And I myself have undergone multiple transformations: I am not the snake I was before, or before that, but was once an entirely different arrangement of protoplasm, not unlike you. So you see that, no matter how much you bathe or pray, despite your fears of the darkness, we are much alike, yessssss?

Small Talk

I was flirting more that summer than ever before or since, but I had a dull and temporary job at a convenience store, with the prospect of serious employment in the fall; I was new in town and unattached; and there were, apparently, plenty of lesbians in the neighborhood, or at least on their way home. I was especially interested in two women, one of whom came into my store over the radio.

You Go To My Head

When she first sees Sol, he’s telling stories at a party, a party for musicians. All the players sit in the living room, drinking beer and telling jokes. Some of them tell musical jokes, humming the punch lines from albums which appear to be sacred. They are happy people. They have shine in their eyes, they rock.


There was a scarecrow named Sam. He lived in a field of corn, with no shelter from the sun and snow. He wore an old felt hat — gray — and a faded black suit jacket. On special holidays, he wore certain accessories: on Easter, flowers; on Halloween, a mask; at Christmas, a cross. Sam was four years old, but he felt older, possibly from living outdoors. Once a year he came inside. The family near him, the Andersons, invited him for dinner on July 13. (They pitied him more in the heat than in the cold.)

*NOTE: Original copies of this issue are no longer available. Unbound, laser-printed copies will be provided for print orders.

Readers Write


On the subway platform sat two crumpled men in their fifties, unshaven but dressed in clean clothes. They were drinking beer, and they were not waiting for the train.

Personal Stories By Our Readers ▸


That sudden and ill-timed love affair may be compared to this: you take boys somewhere for a walk; the walk is jolly and interesting — and suddenly one of them gorges himself with oil paint.

Anton Chekhov

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