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The Sun Magazine

The Sun Interview

Breathing Lessons

An Interview With Larry Rosenberg

A person says, “I’m trapped in this room; I’m very unhappy.” I point to the door. The door is in their own mind. I tell people that the exit from their suffering is as close as their breath. It’s in the same place as the suffering.

Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

Fist Stick Knife Gun

My mother, my three brothers, and I lived in a small apartment in the Bronx. I tell people that we were the poorest welfare cheats that ever were. With welfare, and working for slave wages (which is all they paid even the most competent black women in 1958), my mother could barely keep a roof over our heads.

The Other Woman

I’m sitting on the beach, watching my son play in the water, and thinking about Gina, my boyfriend’s other girlfriend.

At Home In L.A.

The first time I met my future in-laws, I was standing next to the bed that their son and I had been sharing for some months. The apartment was small, the bed very large. While the four of us made a stab at pleasantries, our eyes darted furtively to pillows and sheets. It didn’t help that B. T., our cat, kept rolling across the blanket, purring and occasionally licking her stomach.

The Kingdom, The Kingdom

Here I am, resident of Saudi Arabia, and my government papers label me an infidel and a woman. But I don’t care — I love it here! I love the sun and the sand and the aridity. It’s so arid I have to sleep with bottles of moisturizer within reach and wake up in the wee hours to anoint my hands. The hot air instantly dries everything to the point of near sterilization; rot can’t occur here. Deep in the heart of this desert land, rising up out of nowhere amid the sea of sand, is the city: Riyadh! We can drive out of town a bit and see camels wandering about; their owners let them loose to wander for eleven months at a time! We can see glorious huge escarpments and not a tree, not a bush, no green anywhere, just the endless beige of the sand and, above, the invariably blue sky.

Fiction

The Game Of High School

Bob Penny, voted Most Self-Absorbed Hunk by a committee of me, said, I am in my big-boob period, as he pretended to swoon over Lisa Belia. I took his remark to be of the making-me-jealous variety. I didn’t even have to pretend to ignore it, because I was in love with you.

Readers Write

Manners

We were dining at the most exclusive restaurant in the city, the sort of place you have to call the minute it opens on the first of the month to get a reservation for next month. The chef’s reputation was world-class, the atmosphere was as quiet as a bank vault (which, considering the tab for the prix fixe dinner, seemed appropriate), and there was one waiter whose only task was to make sure each diner had a fresh, hot dinner roll at all times.

Personal Stories By Our Readers ▸
Sy Safransky's Notebook

August 1996

The inescapable aloneness I tried every day to escape. The key was somewhere; I was sure of it. Her arms. The tattered book about God. The next cup of coffee, or the next.

Musings From Our Founder ▸
Quotations

Sunbeams

Whenever people say, “We mustn’t be sentimental,” you can take it they are about to do something cruel. And if they add, “We must be realistic,” they mean they are going to make money from it.


Brigid Brophy

More Quotations ▸
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