Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ

I first read this book back in art college. I was a big fan of Camus, having read all of his major works. One might say I was taken with existentialism (although Camus never wanted to be called that) - that idea that one must live for the day, seizing what one could, enjoying and experiencing life as it happened. I was young, trying to become an artist, and this idea sparked an interest in me.

Thirty-five years have come and gone since then. Life happened and I have gotten older. A lot has changed since then, although I still do art. And now a pandemic has shaken the world. Sheesh.

One probably should read La peste (The Plague) but I had this old French copy of L’etranger lying around and taking a break from a large book, I thought, why not?

What did I think? To be honest I was miffed and enchanted. Enchanted by Camus’s obsession with the glaring, Mediterranean sunlight. I recalled my time in Greece and could totally relate. Brilliant, glaring, sparkling, intense light of the sun and the warm sea water. I was surprised how much this was part of the book. The atmosphere was always tense. You knew something was going to happen.

Merseult even claimed the sun was the cause of the murder. While he spoke to the prison chaplain, he told him how he lived for the smell and sounds of nature. It made him happy. Hard to argue with this.

Miffed because of the murder. As Merseult lived for the moment, which also meant he couldn’t lie, he never told his girlfriend that he loved her, didn’t take the promotion in Paris because he had no ambition, and killed a man, because it just happened. He accepted his fate even after thinking he could get off. That was hard to accept.

It is still a classic. I get what Camus was trying to say, that an honest man accepts things, the good and the bad, doesn’t want more, doesn’t want less. one accepts life. After reading this now, I can say I must disagree. Things happen and we try to make the best of it, or are swept away with the consequences. Sounds good on paper. Life is never like that. One could say a I was young and impressionable. Hopefully that doesn’t mean that now I am old and disgruntled? Maybe I am. I will accept this.

I will give this a 3.5.


My original review on Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ, which I gave a 4 stars.

Camus wrote a brilliant novel with his lead character as the quintessential existentialist. I read this as a young man and this book spoke to the alienation I felt growing up (even though I did not live in North Africa). The opening line still haunts me "Aujourd'hui, maman est morte. Ou peut-etre hier, je ne sais pas."