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The Sun Magazine

The Sun Interview

An Epidemic Of Deception

Why We Can’t Trust The Cancer Establishment — An Interview With Samuel Epstein

Cancer is now the only major deadly disease whose incidence is on the rise. . . . This increase is very real, and it persists even after statistically adjusting for an aging population and for smoking.

Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

Practicing Love

In 1970, Hugh Prather published Notes to Myself (Bantam), a diary of observations about his “struggle to become a person.” His short, incisive reflections struck a chord; the book went on to sell more than 5 million copies.

Open Season

The redwoods of northern California rise around us as we snake along Highway 101 somewhere south of Eureka. The air here is plush, sunlight slanting through wisps of fog among the trees. Looking out the window, my daughter says, “Look, Mommy. The light is realer.” She, my mother, and I have driven hundreds of miles in the past nine days, a couple of which were spent on my grandparents’ land in the orchards of Hood River, Oregon. My mother’s parents hover somewhere close to their final days, their skin seeming more translucent each time I visit. I’ve never watched anyone fade this way before, as if parts of them have gone on ahead.

Happy Bird Day Lorenzo

Curzio Malaparte wrote one of the great books on war in the twentieth century: Skin. It deals with the American invasion of Naples and the resulting enslavement, not of the Neapolitans, but of the American soldiers, by the families of Naples.


Last Bid

Starting at fifty cents a pound. So give me five, five, five. OK! Six, then, six, six, six and a quarter.” The auctioneer releases a slur of words into the dusty air, his voice loud and deep enough to carry over the calves’ bawling and the drone of conversations and the shuffle of boots up concrete steps and, she hopes, the wobbly way air is coming out of her nose and the tap-tap-tapping of her stubby fingernail on her knee, neither of which she can stop.


Photographs By Art Myers

I am still haunted by the memory of the phone call from my mother telling me in a trembling voice that my sister Joanne, still in her thirties, had been diagnosed with breast cancer. Following a prolonged, heroic battle to survive, she was eventually to die from that disease. Two decades later, I anxiously faced a surgeon in an antiseptic hospital waiting room as he uttered the dreaded words “Your wife has breast cancer.”

March 2000
Readers Write

The Marriage Bed

One night when I was ten, I got up to go to the bathroom and heard a strange noise coming from my parents’ bedroom. It sounded as if my mother was upset or in pain. I listened for a moment, then tapped on the door and asked if everything was OK. The noises stopped, but no one answered. Finally, my father said, “Everything’s fine. Someone just told a funny joke.” I could tell he was lying.

Personal Stories By Our Readers ▸
Sy Safransky's Notebook

March 2000

My sister dropped a teabag into a cup of boiling water she’d just removed from the microwave. The water shot into her face, scalding her with first- and second-degree burns. She’s in a lot of pain, and called last night to ask me to pray for her. But to whom do I pray? To the same God who already knows she’s suffering? 

Musings From Our Founder ▸


As I grew to adolescence, I imagined, from closely observing the boredom and vexations of matrimony, that the act my parents committed and the one I so longed to commit must be two different things.

Shirley Abbott

More Quotations ▸
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