Issue 198 | The Sun Magazine

May 1992

Readers Write


Having to choose, clutching a doll, finding it hard to say goodbye

By Our Readers


Monkeys are superior to men in this: when a monkey looks into a mirror, he sees a monkey.

Malcolm de Chazal

The Sun Interview

The Way Of The Hunter

An Interview With Richard Nelson

A Koyukon hunter once told me with great pride, “I’ve trapped this country for fifty years, and it’s as rich today as it was when I first started hunting here.” If you overuse or disrespect the environment, you’ll get a message back. Isn’t that exactly what’s happening to us now, on a much larger scale? The message comes to us in the form of cancers that invade our bodies, in the changing climate, in the erosion of soil, in the diminishing capacity of the earth to sustain us. The message is that we can’t go on living like this.

By Jonathan White
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

The Gifts Of Deer

Two deer came and gave the choices to me. One deer I took and we will now share a single body. The other deer I touched and we will now share that moment. These events could be seen as opposites, but perhaps they are identical. Both are founded on the same principles, the same relationship, the same reciprocity. Both are the same kind of gift.

By Richard Nelson
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

Betrayals Of My One Love

Notebooks 1974 – 1980

We are seduced by the beauty of the veils never to look further. This is God’s camouflage. We must not let Him get away with it.

By David Hopes
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

When The Bough Breaks

When we finally reach the street, it’s like moving into the current of a mighty river. We pass the White House, the Treasury, the Justice Department, all the cornerstones of empire that remind us this is Washington, where decisions are made that affect everyone, the way one careless moment, one broken promise — one broken condom — can affect your whole life.

By Sy Safransky


It’s funny how the absence of someone who wasn’t ever really there feels. It’s not like a hurt, it’s more like a bruise you don’t notice till you bump it. Then it stings. But only for a second, only for as long as it takes me to put my mind on happier things.

By Mary Sojourner

Moving In

As I walk along these cold floors to your room I hear the sweep of my nightgown sliding like a breeze through my aching legs. I am tired, Hanna, worn out from carrying too many boxes into this borrowed home full of someone else’s love for the color green. Why are you calling me now?

By Diana Greene

Don’t Take It Personally

“Go on up there and sing the hell out of that song, Shiffler,” Marva said, and then she hugged me, and I could feel the underside of her breasts brushing my shoulders.

By Kathleen Smith