Sy Safransky is a normal guy. He’s experienced your usual loss, exploration, self-discovery, and soul-searching that we all go through, at some point. But the way he conveys his experience, his story, his purpose in telling it, it’s almost poetic. He is fluid in his wording, and reading his essays were an absolute joy that I waited too long to dive into.
You know those men that look at you like they can see your underwear through your jeans? Sy Sanfransky looked at me like he could see my soul’s underwear. The thing about Sy is, he peers at you from underneath his adorable John Lennon glasses like he’s a love and forgiveness dumpling offered in an empty room with no food or water. I didn’t have to sell myself or charm him. I froze, stuttered, as if he was John Lennon. Our toes nearly touched (it was a small office). I felt redeemed. I had an impulse to cry. Not like I’m five years old and he’s the dentist cry, but the kind where I whistled to the watchmen in my heart; gave my internal security guards the night off. “Four in the Morning” his collection of essays had this effect. The stories span over ten years and they’ve all appeared in The Sun. The most touching part of his writing is the way in which he loves women. But he doesn’t stop there. He turns the act of hitchhiking, camping and losing his hair into loving women. He’s like an emotionally accessible, lesbian version of Joan Didion. In “Roads” he describes the act of calling someone on the phone as, “an act of pure magic, an act as tender and as reckless, as reaching across the table to give a perfect stranger a kiss” (99). The way Sy loved women was fresh and emotional. “Breathing Space,” my absolute favorite, was a beautiful meditation on ambition, loss and anxiety. Troubled by a pressure on his chest-“like a hand resting there,” he shined a light on the feelings we get busy denying because we can’t tolerate them: Sorrow. “Instead of mourning our losses, we deny them” (96). The most wonderful, intimate subject Sy addressed was that complex loss of youth fading, his aging body, his sexuality and desire changing. He peers closely into that ultimate transformation, death. The way “Four in the Morning” inhabits love and sorrow is compelling and profound, like a hopeful innocent God that doesn’t care if it’s hair thins.
My brother started me out on The Sun Magazine, and I am so very grateful. The power, the depth, the chaos of the magazine, the joy of life, as well as the dark places. So of course I had to read the book of essays written by the founder of The Sun, Sy Safransky. The essays have similar power and the writing is so lovingly put together that it entranced and moved me. Definitely a book to read more than once.
Really inspired by the writing style. The essays are short and sweet. Each sentence matters. Really recommend putting this by your bedside. Very easy to get through one essay a day. Maybe make it a part of your morning routine for a month to read an essay.
No doubt Safransky's writing is lovely and brutally honest, but his essays are just too self-absorbed, too dark, and each left me with a feeling that he'd stopped writing in the middle of a thought, like a pianist who won't play that blasted final note. Yes, he admits that he wants to write more about the beauty of life but finds that writing difficult. This is an old collection - I hope he subsequently found more joy.