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Derek Askey is an associate editor at The Sun. He lives in Durham, North Carolina, with his wife and very-brand-new son. If you like vast stretches of silence punctuated by second-rate wit, follow him on X: @derekaskey.
Askey: This is perhaps an ontological question, but do you think James Huston became James Leininger, or is there some other entity—some consciousness, some soul—that was once James Huston and is now James Leininger?
Tucker: The latter much more than the former, I think. We can only speculate, but to my mind there may well be this larger self that has different lifetimes. It’s a core that continues, though the people it inhabits are different. I use the analogy of actors in movies. When you see Jimmy Stewart in a movie, it’s undeniably Jimmy Stewart, and yet he can play very different characters.
December 2024Phone evangelist, Becky Mandelbaum, describes the hours at a time—hours!—spent with her ear to the receiver, and all the pleasure she’s derived from it, in her essay in our November issue, “The Telephone Mode.” Phones have come up in The Sun about as frequently as you’d expect. Here are some selections from our archives where a phone plays a pivotal role.
The Sun publishing Peter Stenson’s story (“Bone Frag”) was a good opportunity for me to catch up with him, which we did over Zoom a few months ago. He was older and wiser, sure, but in many ways still the Peter I had known and liked so well back in Colorado. We talked about where our lives had gone since grad school, where they were headed, and even touched on some of our questionable-to-others musical tastes.
One of my favorite pieces in our September issue is Erin McReynolds’s essay “And These Too Are Defensive Wounds,” which details the author’s interactions with the courts following her mother’s murder. It reminded me that, over the years, many pieces in The Sun have described interactions with our flawed criminal-justice system and the dramas that take place inside and outside of the courtroom.
The fact is, “green” is the way we buried our dead over 150 years ago in the US. It’s the way many Indigenous peoples in North America have cared for their dead. This other, more recent, method is the anomaly.
August 2024Sy Safransky and I visited longtime Sun contributor Sparrow in his double-wide in Phoenicia, New York, the place he’s called home for about twenty-five years. We had been forbidden to show up before 12:01 PM because Sparrow has a practice of not speaking until noon. Having spent time with them, I can tell you Sy and Sparrow are like long-lost brothers: both Jews from New York with an interest in Eastern mysticism, who read more than anyone I know and live according to their principles, consequences be damned.
Our July issue features an essay by longtime Sun contributor Dave Zoby in which he describes driving across the Canadian wilderness en route to Casper, Wyoming, on Canada Day. Zoby didn’t realize it was Canada’s national holiday until he tried to visit a bakery that was closed for the day. Such can be the case for an American abroad.
It’s one of many pieces published in The Sun where a holiday plays a central role. To celebrate Independence Day, here are a few that have appeared in our pages over the years.
The Sun isn’t exactly renowned for its humorous writing—readers are more liable to call us a sad magazine than to liken us to Mad magazine—but the truth is we like to laugh as much as the next gang of editors. If you enjoyed Finn Cohen’s interview about comedy with Kliph Nesteroff this month (“Two Guys Walk into a Bar”), or laughed at Andrew Gleason’s essay “Occupation: Fool,” then take a look at some of the funnier pieces we’ve printed.
We’re always happy when a photo pairs nicely with a piece of writing, and particularly when a whole photo essay can complement other work in the magazine. We’ve printed quite a few over the years. Keep reading for a selection of photo essays from our archive to scroll through after you’ve read some of the pieces in our April issue.
Lucy Tan’s “Falling Action in Hoboken,” from our February issue, is the story of a young woman who begins dating a man she meets at a bar, then unexpectedly finds herself pregnant. The narrator describes her hesitations about carrying the pregnancy to term: “I think about the word womb a lot, about how it sounds like a cross between wound and tomb. I don’t want to be a mother. I am not qualified to be a mother.” This month’s archive selections explore the challenges—and joys—women may face when discovering they’re pregnant.
Has something we published moved you? Fired you up? Did we miss the mark? We’d love to hear about it.
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