The Stranger

I selected The Stranger by Albert Camus as the first topic for the Philosophers Book Club that I recently launched and I thought that I had read it. Or believed that I did but was not sure but when I begin reading the book I quickly realized that I had--remarkably, never read it. Most likely, the references to The Stranger are so frequent in books and discussions on existentialism that I had just assumed I read it; I've probably read some excepts along the way. And perhaps I feel myself a little like Meursault--the narrator and subject of the book, as passing thoughts just sort of became a perceived reality.Clearly, I hope you realize, that I am jesting as I don't think or believe myself capable of what Meursault did or allowed himself to do or did not stop himself from doing. But this is the mood of most of the book, which is completely in the form of Meursault's narration. Camus' writing is truly exquisite. This short novel just breezes by easily and is the perfect complement to the nature of this character who is like a tumble weed, or perhaps a dog with his nose to the ground just moving in whatever direction he is inclined or stimulated to pursue. His mother died so, okay, his only concern is whether his boss is upset because he needs to take a day or two off to travel in order to attend the funeral. In retrospect, it is perhaps surprising that he even bothered to go to the funeral, but I suppose that this is intended to suggest that our narrator has at lease some sort of ethical frame. Emotionless he endures the vigil, then goes back home to Algiers and meets a woman he knew a while back and quickly begins an affair the day after his mother was buried. And so on it goes. His friend wants to beat up his girlfriend because he thinks or imagines she is cheating on him and wants Meursault to write a letter to entice the young woman to visit him. Well, he just became friends with this thug so hey, why not, he'll help him. And in one scene and one incident after another this stream of consciousness depicts an utterly amoral individual that is strangely estranged from everyone and everything and, perhaps, most of all, himself.The Stranger is one of the most famous philosophical novels ever written, but this review is merely a sort of existential reaction a couple of days after reading this remarkable book. Even the edition I read, the Everyman's Library edition of Matthew Ward's translation and intro by Peter Dunwoodie, is a beautiful little volume that feels precious to hold in one's hands. I do not imagine what I have to say has not been said by many others, but my reaction is that this semiconscious existence, just living seemingly absent any self-reflection of love or death or friendship or work is shockingly changed at the end of the book. Quite suddenly, as Meursault is coming to grips with his impending execution he is also dealing with the religious exhortations of a chaplain-priest. This non-reflective amoral but generally nice young man who ultimately ends up killing someone--triggered largely on account of the hot sun was beating down on him on a hot summer late morning or early afternoon in Algers, suddenly, finally having had enough of the priest, enters into a highly structured rant on his philosophy of the absurd. And death or taking a life is apparently, for some, as meaningless as living it.I do not think that there is much question that The Stranger is a great piece of modern literature. And the philosophy of the absurd his extremely important because--and I'm not sure if this is an oversimplification, like hot and cold absurdity and non-absurdity need each other so that the difference is explainable. And this may explain my own discomfort with this book. There also needs to be a foundation for understanding the distinction between absurdist philosophy and mental illness. I think that Foucault addresses some of this in Madness and Civilization. Meursault could have been criminally insane or merely criminal. His philosophically sophisticated outburst at the end of the book, I think, reveals his sanity. I think this conclusion is forced upon us unless we want to defend the indefensible or excuse the inexcusable. Who can possibly doubt that life is brimming with absurdity? Meursault, however, falls into the pit of darkness where boundaries and distinctions are ignored at great peril because--while they are often murky and ambiguous, they are also, in principle, the only things that not only distinguish absurdity and amorality from what is not absurd or is not amoral, but are, indeed, the very things that make philosophy and theater of the absurd possible.

Often, when I think of "classic" literature, I fear that it will be over my head, or so fussily intricate that it will leave me with nothing but a dull, metaphorical headache for my trouble. Not so here. Google said that Camus was an "absurdist" writer. Okay, I could deal with that. I find I have a few absurd thoughts myself. But The Stranger didn't seem absurd to me at all, or if so, it was absurd in such a mild, funny way that it was mostly a delight to read. And it really isn't that old. It was written in 1942. Being a senior, that was interesting to me because I could perceive certain ideas that gained momentum thru the 1950s and on into the Civil Rights movements of the 60s. And so on, as we try to figure out how to live with each there without strangling The Stranger.

good price. good quality.

I guess I neglected to read the measurements, but why would I think to do that with a book? Well I will from now on. It’s the size of a coloring book. Such an odd choice.

On the surface 'The Stranger' is the story of Meursault, who after attending his mother's funeral embarks on a series of events that ultimately lead to murder.The genius of this book is the first person narrative, offering a 'personal diary' of the character, a man struggling with a disconnect from society. He encounters people and situations that should inspire feelings in him but he recognizes they do not. Much like Nabokov's Humbert in 'Lolita,' the madman begins to convince his reader that he deserves sympathy, only to demonstrate to you yet again why he does not.At 117 pages it may be tempting to devour this book in one sitting, but I think it is well worth the time to comb these pages meticulously. The psychological depth of Camus' work truly lends itself to patience.I would strongly recommend this literary classic. You might also check out Arthur Koestler's 'Darkness at Noon,' a lesser known novel of a former revolutionary leader caught up in Stalin's purges. Its insights into the mind of a condemned man are also astounding.

Interesting read,but it leaves me wondering why one can't both accept the absurdity of life and also find passion, joy, and love. Why can't we still find value in the time we are given? It's true that life is short, but can't this serve to infuse life with meaning rather than bleakness. couldn't it rather intensify love rather than dismiss it as unnecessary? Can't we find humor in the absurdity of life and allow for the possibility of a type of God that transcends our traditional understandings of an all-powerful deity, and a fine-tuned universe. My issue with the conclusions of this story are that Camus seems to oversimplify things. The very idea of absurdity precludes some type.of meaning, because death and pain wouldn't seem so strange and alien (again, absurd) if there weren't something we feel like we're losing when we die.

I think so. Without it, what's the point? I've read this book a couple of times now and I've gotten something from it both times. I found the plot for the story good, the characters interesting, the locations and descriptions great and the trial portion preposterous, a farce. Different country, different laws, different time, different customs, all-man jury. Well, alright. The takeaway for me was that life has to have meaning. Further, without order, reason AND meaning, chaos would prevail. All things considered, five stars.

Much different than I thought it was going to be when I started. Interesting nihilistic take on the human condition. Gets you thinking.

Good enough

Camus is often cited in existentialist field of thought, particularly in his self-named field of absurdism as a great thinker.This book is a quick demonstration of something critical towards the absurdity of life.Our main character is not a cold blooded murderer, yet he is not wholly innocent. He is not a man of many words or belief in God, yet he has thought to something divine. The book is littered with these absurd contradictions yet also shows a singular narrative pathway.It's well done and I'm very pleased to have finally gotten around to this

There was no indication that the book was printed around A4 size with massive print. It's uncomfortable to read and to store. A very stupid format and a dishonest product.

Muito bom.