The New Yorker: Fiction cover image

Clare Sestanovich Reads Alice Munro

The New Yorker: Fiction

CHAPTER

The Milky Way, the Sun, the Moonless Mercury

There was a faint echo chamber effect. The dark ceiling was filling with stars. A model of the solar system was spinning away in its elegant style. An odd arrangement, not as satisfying as the old one for months. Why did they give out such confident information only to announce later that it was quite wrong? Finally, the red soil of Mars, the blooming pink sky. When the show was over, I sat in my seat while the children clambered across me and made no comments on anything they had just seen or heard. They were pestering their keepers for eatables and further entertainments. Children have a natural immunity, most of them, and it shouldn't be

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