The Stranger

Rating:
Summary: Classic For A Reason
Review: Okay - I somehow managed to make it past high school and college without ever reading The Stranger. Being an English major, I'm not quite sure how that happened but nevertheless it did. So, whilst in the bookstore recently, I had to pick up a copy. I had prepared myself for a boring read but I was pleasantly surprised to find a very good challenging story.

The first thing that really jumped out at me was Camus' writing style. It took time to develop a knack for reading the short, abrupt sentences. The feeling was akin to sitting in traffic - from 50 miles and hour to a full stop repeated over and over again. But I warmed to the style of writing and soaked in the language, the story and the setting.

I now understand why this is considered by many to be a cornerstone of European literature. And I highly recommend reading it. Its not as daunting as the literary world leads you to believe.

Rating:
Summary: not what i expected, but i liked it
Review: if you want to discover exstitentialism or if you've ever been curious about camus, this is a good book to start off with...the story was interesting, even if the protagonist, wasn't worth my sympathy...i liked it...

Rating:
Summary: The Stranger-Exestentialism in Circulation
Review: In a beautiful blend of contrasting elements and brilliant integration of circular symbolism, Albert Camus paints a picture of life and human nature in his existentialist novel The Stranger. This story is that of an impassive man who is convicted of a capital crime because of his indifference on trial and elsewhere in the novel. Meursault, the man whose major crime is his inability to express, murders a man on a beach. Feeling uncomfortable and oppressed by a blinding sun that "shatter[s] into little pieces on the sand and water" into his eyes, Meursault accidentally pulls the trigger of his readied gun, killing the man brandishing a knife at him. The striking feature of this novel lies in Camus' ease in completely incorporating the major motif of the novel: circularity. Circular symbols permeate its every aspect. This circle technique allows the book to comment on life, paradoxically conveying its message through an examination of death. Sun and water themes circulate around each other and are accented by the circular structure of the book itself. These themes also serve to emphasize the motif of contrasting elements that makes this book so complete in its integration. A simple writing style serves to illustrate the simplicity of the novels concept. Working similarly to Hemmingway's style, Camus writes in an extremely fluent way, which also suggests the symbolism of water. This book is one of the best out their. With an interesting plot line and amazing ability, it succeeds in most ways to explain one of life's truths.

Rating:
Summary: L'Etranger, The Stranger
Review: I picked up The Stranger expecting the worst. With a sigh I sat down to read it, and about an hour later, I put it down. I sighed again, shrugged and then ate lunch. At dinner, I told my father that I had finished reading it, and my reaction to the text. He grinned and waved his fork. "That's exactly what Camus was writing about." Confused, I read the book again. And this time, I liked it. The more I read it, the easier it was to understand. I felt connected to the characters, and sympathized with the events in thier lives. The Stranger nows has a special space in my bookcase.

Rating:
Summary: Condemned for being honest
Review: The darkness and simplicity of this wonderful book are frequently misunderstood. Many readers find Merseault cold and emotionless, but this is not the case. Merseault displays emotion in his argument with the prison priest, and (big surprise) his feelings toward his mother.

Although he is put on trial for killing an Arab, Mersault is actually condemned for failing to grieve for his mother in public. Have any of you been to the funeral of an elderly realative? Sometimes, despite the emotions you feel for that person, the experience of the funeral is flat, meaningless and logical. All of the love came before the event and will come again many times later. But somehow a funeral leaves one dry and plain. Mersault experienced his mother's death for what it was: a dry and uncomfortable event. He did not put on a show for the people involved with the funeral or those who knew the deceased. His actions were plain and honest.

But Merseault does have feelings for his mother. When he learns much later that she had a lover in the elderly home she occupied he feels glad for her. That moment of empathy if an extrordinary act of comppassion. It is also a private one.

"The Stranger" reveals many simple truths about the kind of people we are and it raises questions about the inegrity behind our thoughts and actions. It is a wonderful book whose value is easily overlooked by people who only put stock in a verbose work.

Rating:
Summary: "Poetry is that which gets lost in translation."
Review: My mediocre rating is for the translation - not for the novel (which is magnificent). Matthew Ward's humdrum translation makes me prize all the more the original, Stuart Gilbert, translation, which I grew up with and which became so indistinguishable from Camus' own voice. Ward is an American, which is somehow an explanation for his nondescript prose. Robert Frost, who penned the title of this review, was also an American, capable nonetheless of writing slendidly and evocatively. I know that Camus tried to flatten out his prose, but I cannot believe it's as flat as Ward's.

Rating:
Summary: Hero
Review: I think that The Stranger is a great book. Not only is this book an excellent departure from typical modern writing, it is also interesting in its own right. Meursault is one of the most interesting and well-fleshed-out characters I've ever read, and the book stays succinct, never becoming overlong or drawn-out. I actually felt Meursault's agitation on the beach, in the heat, with the light shining in his eyes; his annoyance in the cell with the chaplain. This book represents, to me, what can be done with a character if he's handled correctly, and even only as far as that this book is worth a lot. But it's interesting, too, which is definitely a plus. Overall, this book, short though it may be, is a welcome and worthy addition to my bookshelf.

Textually, l'Etranger is quite a strange novel. It defies many typical writing standards, while putting exceptional emphasis on others. The novel is truly a character study, with the only world-building included solely to enhance the character. As such, the book probably won't be a favorite of the general populace any time soon, with the need of most people for description, details and heroes, characters that can be cheered for. Meusault, in any event, is certainly not much of a hero to root for.

Reading The Stranger, I found myself wondering what kind of person Albert Camus is (was?). I haven't read any of his other stuff, but I find it unlikely that he is much like Meursault in attitude, or the novel would never have been written. On the other hand, how did Camus delve so deeply into the mind of such a man if he's never experienced a similar mindset? Is Meursault an embodiment of Camus' fears for the human race, what with his passivity and easy acceptance of everything, or is he an embodiment of the author's hopes, in his simple honesty and naïveté? It would be interesting to find out where Camus got the idea for this particular personage.

In closing, I would just like to point out a couple of things. First, I do know that this is regarded as an existentialist, modernist classic piece and whatnot, but I decided to judge it against other contemporary fiction because I don't really know much about that other stuff. And finally, this is definitely a book worth reading even if you don't end up liking it.

Rating:
Summary: Wow!
Review: This is my all time favorite book, ever! :) This racks up there with Catcher in the Rye!! (my second favorite)... if you are a fan of existentialism, this is THE book of books to read!! Camus did an excellent job! Bravo! cheers-

Rating:
Summary: Let's all embrace the blissful void
Review: Camus dropped the bomb on me with this piece. With a crisp clean prose my beloved Camus showed me what it is to feel the void, the absurdity, and triumph over it. So for those tormented souls out there, this book's for you.

Rating:
Summary: noble failure
Review: Though the Myth of Sisyphus is the essay in which Camus best expresses his philosophy of Existentialism, he is most familiar to many of us through this short novel. Influenced by American hard-boiled fiction and film noir, it tells the deceptively simple story of a young French Algerian named Meursault. As the novel opens he announces, in one of the best known opening lines in all of literature: "Maman died today." (In the most widely read previous English language version, by the great translator Stuart Gilbert, the line was rendered: "Mother died today.") Meursault travels to the nursing home where she is to be buried, but mystifies the staff and his mother's friends by his failure to react emotionally to her death. He does not cry, does not ask to view the body and leaves immediately after she is buried. At the close of the day he observes:

It occurred to me that anyway one more Sunday was over, that Maman was buried now, that I was going back to work, and that, really, nothing had changed.

This establishes him as an Existential hero, someone who recognizes the futility of human existence, but continues on even in the face of it's fundamental absurdity.

In the ensuing days he interacts with the other tenants of his building, including Raymond Sintes, a pimp, and with his coworkers, including Marie Cardona, actually a former coworker with whom he starts having an affair. He further demonstrates his indifference to mundane concerns in a couple of episodes. He angers his boss by not responding with sufficient enthusiasm to a promotion:

'You're young, and it seems to me it's the kind of life that would appeal to you.' I said yes but that really it was all the same to me. Then he asked me if I wasn't interested in a change of life. I said that people never change their lives, that in any case one life was as good as another and that I wasn't dissatisfied with mine here at all. He looked upset and told me that I never gave him a straight answer, that I had no ambition, and that this was disastrous in business. So I went back to work. I would rather not have upset him, but I couldn't see any reason to change my life. Looking back on it, I wasn't unhappy. When I was a student, I had lots of ambitions like that. But when I had to give up my studies I learned very quickly that none of it really mattered.

And when Marie asks him if he wants to marry her:

I said it didn't make any difference to me and that we could if she wanted to. Then she wanted to know if I loved her. I answered the same way I had the last time, that it didn't mean anything but that I probably didn't love her.

Eventually he gets drawn into a violent dispute between Sintes and a gang of Arabs. There is a knife fight on the beach one day and Meursault ends up with a gun. Later, walking by himself on the beach, he meets up with one of the Arabs and shoots him, then shoots him four more times after he's fallen to the sand.

In the second half of the novel he is put on trial for murder. Everyone from his own attorney to the judge is mystified, even horrified by Meursault's indifference to his own actions and to the proceedings which will determine his fate. During the prosecutor's summation, Meursault reflects:

I was listening, and I could hear that I was being judged intelligent. But I couldn't quite understand how an ordinary man's good qualities could become crushing accusations against a guilty man. At least that was what struck me, and I stopped listening to the prosecutor until I heard him say, 'Has he so much as expressed any remorse? Never, gentlemen. Not once during the preliminary hearings did this man show emotion over his heinous offense.' At that point, he turned in my direction, pointed his finger at me, and went on attacking me without ever really understanding why. Of course, I couldn't help admitting that he was right. I didn't feel much remorse for what I'd done. But I was surprised by how relentless he was. I would have liked to have tried explaining to him cordially, almost affectionately, that I had never been able to truly feel remorse for anything. My mind was always on what was coming next, today or tomorrow.

He is convicted and sentenced to the guillotine. While awaiting execution he entertains one fleeting dream of escape:

The papers were always talking about the debt owed to society. According to them, it had to be paid. But that doesn't speak to the imagination. What really counted was the possibility of escape, a leap to freedom, out of the implacable ritual, a wild run for it that would give whatever chance for hope there was. Of course, hope meant being cut down on some street corner, as you ran like mad, by a random bullet. But when I really thought it through, nothing was going to allow me such a luxury. Everything was against it; I would just be caught up in the machinery again.

And so, having accepted his fate again, Meursault finally has a moment of apotheosis. A priest is trying for the umpteenth time to counsel him, when:

Then, I don't know why, but something inside me snapped. I started yelling at the top of my lungs, and I insulted him and told him not to waste his prayers on me. I grabbed him by the collar of his cassock. I was pouring out on him everything that was in my heart, cries of anger and cries of joy. He seemed so certain about everything, didn't he? And yet none of his certainties was worth one hair of a woman's head. He wasn't even sure he was alive, because he was living like a dead man. Whereas it looked as if I was the one who'd come up emptyhanded. But I was sure about me, about everything, surer than he could ever be, sure of my life and sure of the death I had waiting for me. Yes, that was all I had. But at least I has as much of a hold on it as it had on me. I had been right, I was still right, I was always right. I had lived my life one way and I could just as well have lived it another. I had done this and I hadn't done that. I hadn't done this thing but I had done another. And so? It was as if I had waited all this time for this moment and for the first light of this dawn to be vindicated. Nothing, nothing mattered, and I knew why. So did he. Throughout the whole absurd life I'd lived, a dark wind had been rising toward me from somewhere deep in my future, across years that were still to come, and as it passed, this wind leveled whatever was offered to me at the time, in years no more real than the ones I was living. What did other people's deaths or a mother's love matter to me; what did his God or the lives people choose or the fate they think they elect matter to me when we're all elected by the same fate, me and billions of privileged people like him who also called themselves my brothers? Couldn't he see, couldn't he see that? Everybody was privileged. There were only privileged people. The others would all be condemned one day. And he would be condemned, too.

Exhausted by this outburst, Meursault sleeps and when he awakes a calmness has settled upon him:

For the first time in a long time I thought about Maman. I felt as if I understood why at the end of her life she had taken a 'fiancé,' why she had played at beginning again. even there, in that home where lives were fading out, evening was a kind of wistful respite. So close to death, Maman must have felt free then and ready to live it all again. Nobody, nobody had the right to cry over her. And I felt ready to live it all again too. as if the blind rage had washed me clean, rid me of hope; for the first time, in that night alive with signs and stars, I opened myself to the gentle indifference of the world. Finding it so much like myself--so like a brother, really--I felt i had been happy and that I was happy again. For everything to be consummated, for me to feel less alone, I had only to wish that there was a large crowd of spectators the day of my execution and that they greet me with cries of hate.

So ends the novel, with Meursault having become a nearly Christlike figure, with grace descending upon him as he awaits execution.

But, of course, the message here is anything but Christian. Meursault's passivity in the face of life and his indifference to the quality of his own actions, up to and including murder, are the inevitable culmination of Existential philosophy. For if it's true that nothing matters, why regulate your behavior? You may as well act on your every impulse. The irony is that Camus used this as the jumping off point to try to reconstruct morality, but on a Godless basis. Unfortunately, experience demonstrates that this task is impossible, not because of any intrinsically religious quality of God, but because it removes the concept of the absolute and necessarily replaces it with the relative. And once morality is deemed a relative set of principles there is no