Featured Selections | The Sun Magazine

Featured Selections

From the Archives

Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

A Thousand Elephants

This is The Sun’s thirty-third anniversary issue. How grateful I am that this improbable dream continues; that my ardor for the work is undiminished. I’m married to The Sun, I expect, till death do us part.

By Sy Safransky January 2007
Sy Safransky's Notebook

April 2006

This morning, I came across these words by Ramana Maharshi: “God’s grace is the beginning, the middle, and the end. When you pray for God’s grace, you are like someone standing neck deep in water and yet crying for water. It is like saying that someone neck deep in water feels thirsty or that a fish in water feels thirsty or that water feels thirsty.”

By Sy Safransky April 2006
Sy Safransky's Notebook

July 2012

History laughs as the wind lifts her skirts. It’s too late for modesty now.

By Sy Safransky July 2012
Sy Safransky's Notebook

January 1990

Letter By Letter

Words become sentences in spite of themselves, as moments become a life.

By Sy Safransky January 1990
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

Fire All Around

Even though we all breathed the smoke from the destruction of the town of Paradise in 2018 — breathed in their burning cars, homes, animals, and bodies — it was still happening “over there” to “other people.”

By Alison Luterman December 2020

Jumping Jacks

Let it burn, Bunk says again, and the deadness in his voice scares you. His mesmerized stare at the flames licking, crackling, devouring — that scares you, too. You don’t understand the hypnotic allure of destruction.

By Doug Dorst September 2003
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

A Single Suitcase

We left before they told us to evacuate. I saw the smoke over the hills, knew the ferocity of the Santa Ana winds, and figured it wouldn’t be long before the fire would reach us. I packed a small suitcase.

By Parnaz Foroutan July 2019

They Leave You Here Alone In The Dark

When I was 4 years old they put me in the hospital / to remove my tonsils and adenoids. / The night after they operated / I could not sleep so I got up // and I wandered down the huge corridor, / nobody in sight, and I came to 2 big doors / so I went through them and that is when / I first heard the sound of real pain

By Red Hawk August 1998
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

Not Suitable For Children

She looked as though she’d been jolted by electricity, her beautiful brown eyes alive with surging energy but puffy and gray underneath. At times her zest to complete tasks frightened my brothers and sisters and me, and I’d hide from her, even though I liked to help her cut out pictures for collages.

By Doug Crandell July 2011
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

Sitting On My Mother

The scar in the turf in front of her headstone has long since healed. Her death date was blank at her funeral, reflecting our disbelief. It now reads, Sept. 11, 2010. Beside that is another blank for my father.

By Vincent Mowrey September 2020