There's a short story by the late William Styron in this week's New Yorker. It's called "Rat Beach," and it's the story of a young academic who enlists in the Marine Corps during World War II. I don't know how others read this story, but I read it as a metaphor for depression.
The narrator is a seventeen year old student, and he enlists for reasons of "bravado mingled with what must have been a death wish." He hasn't actually confronted the reality of the combat; everything about it is romanticized. He's too young to fight at Iwo Jima, but he sees what's ahead for him in the near future in the fates of the men coming back: either a gruesome death, or living with the physical and emotional repercussions of survival. Neither outcome is a possibility the narrator has the bravery or emotional resources to deal with. He respects those who do have those emotional resources and realizes he will never have them himself. He is stuck in an impossible situation.
I don't want to give away too much more of the story, but it's a vivid, hallucinogenic piece of writing that's subverts several conventions of the short story, and is effective on every level. I've never read Styron before, so I'm glad I came across this story. I plan on picking up one of his books soon.
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