“The Road” was my first Cormac MacCarthy, and certainly it will not be the last. I picked it up for two reasons: 1) I’ve been trying to read more contemporary works, and; 2) a few years ago everybody seems to be reading this book, and I had heard great things. I knew the style was going to be unconventional, and that the plot was going to be depressing. Already I anticipated having a hard time with it.

As it turned out, however, it only took a few pages to get me completely into it. MacCarthy’s prose was eloquent and moving. I didn’t have a hard time with his refusal to use dialogue tags or quotation marks, because he wrote so well it was clear what was going on at every moment. The story doesn’t really go anywhere, but there is something fascinating in watching the characters live and survive among the unusual and seemingly impossible circumstances. I don’t particularly sympathize with the characters; what is captivating is how they deal with the situations, and what they reveal about themselves as they face challenges.

I have had conversations with people who are turned off by writing styles that aren’t easily accessible. I, too, am not particularly fond of unconventionality, especially when it seems forced or unreasonable. I don’t think that is the case with “The Road,” even though I can’t exactly explain why it had to be written this way, nor do I think MacCarthy has an answer for that. But the thought that occurred in my head as I was reading it was that somebody had to write like this—that there cannot be only one way to write the novel. Readers shouldn’t set any expectation on what the pages should look like when they open the book. It should always be an adventure to discover what style the author chooses to employ in order to tell a particular story. Because I didn’t have a hard time with the style in which this book was written, I appreciated it, not because I thought it was genius, but because the form must constantly change and grow in order for it to survive, and because somebody found a way to change it and make it work superbly.

"Desire Under the Elms" by Eugene O'Neil

There are few things as effective as sex in art. Because it is so primitive in humans, it appeals to the majority of people. It seems that when picking sex as a subject of a work of art, you already have half of your work cut out for you. That doesn't mean, however, that writing about sex requires no effort. Just because something has the power to affect people doesn't mean that the people are going to want to touch it. I personally don't read erotica—it's not on my bookshelf or reading list, even though I have no doubt that it could be pleasurable. I don't read for the purpose of getting pleasure or getting turned on, but for education. Therefore any books that use sex as a subject would have to use it in a certain way that will educate me in some ways.

Because I often write about sex, it is interesting to look at how other writers write about sex. A lot of times I find that descriptions of sexual desire or sexual activities serve as a good device that writers use to reveal something about the characters. In “Desire Under the Elms,” Eugene O'Neil demonstrates how sex can be used to develop both plots and characters.

The main characters in this play are driven by their desire for each other. Eben, the youngest son of Ephraim Cabot, shows strong hatred for his father's new young wife, Abbie. At the same time he is unable to deny his feelings for her. She, too, is interested in him, though her intention is less conspicuous. Once their desire is realized, they are on the road toward their downfalls.

The play is about sex because it shows are the desire begins, progresses, and subsequently ends the story. It shows the power of sex to control actions and emotions. The play is based on a Greek myth, so that love and sexual desire are relatively interchangeable. Eben and Abbie may not love each other in a sensible sense, but they do in this tradition of storytelling.

The main struggle of the characters is not adultery but themselves and their lacks of trust in each other. Eben thinks that Abbie is using him to get the house, and Abbie, in an attempt to prove herself, ends up murdering her own child. In this way, the play doesn't steer from its course—it doesn't change the subject to the struggle between desire and society, but stays with the struggle between desire and self. It is their desire that brings them to their ruins.

This play is a bit of a melodrama, and is perhaps less interesting now than at the time of its publication. It is also probably more interesting to see than to read. I almost feel as if it has to be staged out of this world in order to make the audience believe in the story. I will recommend it for its prominence in American literature rather than for its entertaining quality.