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The Stranger

by Albert Camus, Matthew Ward (Translator)

3.96 · Rating Details · 478,352 Ratings · 14,656 Reviews

This is an alternate cover edition for ISBN 0679720200.

Through the story of an ordinary man unwittingly drawn into a senseless murder on an Algerian beach, Camus explored what he termed "the nakedness of man faced with the absurd." First published in English in 1946; now in a new translation by Matthew Ward.

Paperback, 123 pages

Published March 28th 1989 by Vintage International (first published 1942)

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Jun 28, 2008 Trevor rated it really liked it

Shelves: literature

I don’t know what to do with these stars anymore. I give stars to books and then I think, ‘god, you give five stars to everything, people will think you are terribly undiscriminating’ – so then I give four stars or even three stars to some books. Then I look back and it turns out that that I’ve given four stars to Of Human Bondage and honestly, how could I possibly have thought it was a good idea to give that book less than five stars? It is the absurdity of human conventions that has us doing s ...more

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May 22, 2008 Ryan R rated it it was amazing

Shelves: favorites

The book is simply written and a rather quick read, but the depth Camus manages to convey through this simplicity is astounding. I think a problem a lot of people have with this book is that they fail to look beyond the whole "what is the meaning of life" message. While an interesting question, the book raises so many other philosophical questions beyond this. What I found the most interesting of these is "what truly defines humanity or makes someone human?" During Meursault's trial, he is const ...more

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Apr 26, 2015 Glenn Russell rated it it was amazing · review of another edition

Albert Camus’ 1942 classic. Here are the opening lines: “Mother died today Or, maybe, yesterday; I can’t be sure. The telegram from the Home says: YOUR MOTHER PASSED AWAY. FUNERAL TOMORROW. DEEP SYMPATHY.” A telegram, not a personal phone call or someone on staff from the old people’s home actually making the hour trip in person to inform her only son, but a terse three line businesslike telegram – cold, insensitive, almost callous; a telling sign of the mechanized times.

Then first-person narrat ...more

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May 28, 2011 فهد الفهد rated it really liked it · review of another edition

Shelves: 0-favorites, fiction-france

الغريب

بدأ لدي خلال السنوات الأخيرة هاجس قرائي مقلق، نوع من الشعور بالنقص كلما مر أمامي عنوان مشهور لم اقرأه بعد، فمن روايات دستويفسكي التي جمعتها ولكني لم اقرأ منها إلا كتاباً واحداً، إلى كافكا وشتاينبك وتشيخوف وغيرهم ممن لم اقرأ لهم شيئاً أو قرأت عملاً وحيداً، وهذا بسبب أن مرحلة القراءة الجوهرية لدي – الثانوية والجامعة – كانت فقيرة، فالمكتبات لدينا في الرياض كانت لا تعرض إلا النادر من الكتب في التسعينات وبدايات الألفية، كما أنني كنت حينها بلا خارطة قرائية، فلا مكتبة في المنزل، ولا قارئ مهتم في الغريب

بدأ لدي خلال السنوات الأخيرة هاجس قرائي مقلق، نوع من الشعور بالنقص كلما مر أمامي عنوان مشهور لم اقرأه بعد، فمن روايات دستويفسكي التي جمعتها ولكني لم اقرأ منها إلا كتاباً واحداً، إلى كافكا وشتاينبك وتشيخوف وغيرهم ممن لم اقرأ لهم شيئاً أو قرأت عملاً وحيداً، وهذا بسبب أن مرحلة القراءة الجوهرية لدي – الثانوية والجامعة – كانت فقيرة، فالمكتبات لدينا في الرياض كانت لا تعرض إلا النادر من الكتب في التسعينات وبدايات الألفية، كما أنني كنت حينها بلا خارطة قرائية، فلا مكتبة في المنزل، ولا قارئ مهتم في العائلة يساعدني أمام هجمة العناوين، ولا حتى انترنت ومواقع محترفة تحدد لك ما يمكنك اقتنائه، وما يجب عليك تجاهله من كتب، الآن بالنسبة للجيل الجديد الفارق شاسع، يمكنهم في المرحلة الجوهرية – مرحلة ما قبل المسئولية والعمل والعائلة - الحصول على أهم الكتب، بأجمل الطبعات، وبأبسط الطرق والوسائل، وقراءتها في مرحلة التشكل العمرية هذه، بحيث لا يصل أحدهم لمنتصف عشريناته إلا وقد قرأ أهم وأجمل الكتب، وتفرغ لقراءة الجديد أو سد الفراغات البسيطة، أو التعمق في قراءة من أعجبه من الكتاب.

على أي حال الشكوى لا تفيد، والعمر لازال في مقتبله – إن طال -، فلذا بدأت لحل هذه المشكلة بفهرسة كتبي، وتقييم أهميتها وقيمتها الفكرية والأدبية، ومن ثم وضعت قوائم بما يجب علي قراءته أولاً بأول، بحيث يكون لدي مئة كتاب، ومن ثم مائة تالية، وهكذا، وتكون كل مائة منها خطة قرائية مستقلة يمكن تطعيمها مع الوقت بالكتب الجديدة، والمزاجية – أي التي توافق مزاجاً ما فيميل عليها -، طبعاً لا أتوقع من نفسي الالتزام بهذه الخطط بحذافيرها، فلاقتراحات الأخوة في الجودريدز، وللأفكار الصغيرة التي تأتي بها الأيام، ولتدفق تيار القراءة الذي قد يجرفك لكتب توقعت أنها ستعتق في الرفوف بلا قراءة، كل هذا سيجعل الفكرة تنفذ على مدى سنوات، ربما تزيد على الخمس، ولكن في النهاية كل هذا جزء من المتعة والتجربة والعالم الجميل الذي تخلقه لنا الكتب.

هذه المقدمة لا علاقة لها بهذا الكتاب، إلا لأنه فقط كان من الكتب المؤرقة، هو وكتاب كامو الآخر (الطاعون)، وكلاهما من قائمة المئة رواية التي تنتظر، وها قد أنقصت بقراءته القائمة.

كامو هو الأديب الفرنسي الوجودي الشهير، ولد في الجزائر المحتلة حينها من فرنسا في سنة 1913 م، فلذا تدور روايته هذه هناك، وكذا روايته الأخرى الطاعون، كل من قرأوا هذه الرواية تحدثوا تقريباً عن شيئين الأول هو العبث، والثاني هو الغربة، عبثية ما يحدث في الرواية للبطل، وكذلك غربة البطل وعدم فهم المجتمع له.

برأيي هاتين الملاحظتين تنقصهما ملاحظة ثالثة لا تقل أهمية، ويمكننا اعتبارها قاسم مشترك بين العبثية والغربة، ألا وهي مدى تأثير وتركز الوجود المادي للبطل عليه وعلى أفكاره وتصرفاته، وهذه بالنسبة لي هي عبقرية الرواية، حيث هذا الجانب مهمل لدى أغلب الروائيين، كما أنه مهمل لدى كل من يحكي حكاية، إننا نركز على الأحداث، على الأقوال والأفعال وننسى ما انتبه له كامو في روايته.

أعرف أن كلامي السابق غامض، ولتوضيحه سأروي قصة شخصية، قبل سنوات حضرت جنازة حزينة، كانت أول حالة موت مباشرة، أول جنازة أحضرها ويكون المدفون شخص أعرفه، مجرد تلك الفكرة بأن إنسان كان يذهب ويجيء، يتحرك، يتكلم، يأكل، يضحك ويغضب، ومن ثم انتهى، هذه الفكرة الهائلة ملأت قلبي ففاض بحزن جديد، حزن لم أعرفه ولم أجربه من قبل، وحيث وقفت هناك في المقبرة الجرداء، تسفيني الريح، وتصليني الشمس، ويدفعني الزحام، وتغرقني أصوات الناس من حولي، شعرت بقلقٍ غريب، فالحزن في داخلي سماوي شفاف، أريد أن أفهمه، أن أتملاه، ولكن فوضى الناس من حولي، والحرارة والعطش، جعلت الحزن يتراجع قليلاً ليحل محله وجودي أنا، جوعي وعطشي وتعبي، كان ذلكم الشعور بالنسبة لي مخزياً، كيف يمكن لهذا أن يكون !! ألا يمكنني في مثل تلكم اللحظات التخلص من تلك الأحاسيس التافهة؟ ومنذ ذلكم اليوم، كلما حضرت جنازة أو عزاءً، أعاني من هذا الشعور، لا أفهم كيف يبتسم الناس في المقبرة؟ كيف يتحدثون أحاديث جانبية وهم يدفنون عزيزاً، ولا كيف يعودون ليتناولوا غداءً لذيذاً، فالحزن الذي أفهمه، هو حزن انفصالي، يفصلني عن الواقع، عن الجسد ولو لساعات قليلة، إنها أبسط ما أبذله لإنسان أحببته، أن أخلي روحي وقلبي لساعات أتذكره فيها، ولا أنشغل بذاتي ولا بالآخرين.

ميرسو في الرواية كان هذا الرجل، الرجل الذي لا يجيد إخفاء ذاته، لا يجيد التظاهر بالانفصال ليعيش بين الناس، إنه يتصرف وفقاً لما يشعر به، فلذا تكثف وجوده وشعوره في الرواية، فهو يتعب ويعطش، يحتاج إلى القهوة والسجائر حتى في جنازة أمه، ويخرج مع صديقته إلى الشاطئ، إنه غريب، لا يمكن للمجتمع أن يفهمه، ولأنه كذلك، لا يجد أي تعاطف من المجتمع معه، فلذا عندما يقع، ويرتكب جريمة قتل، لا يحاكمه المجتمع على جريمته، بقدر ما يحاكمه على غرابته، وهو في خضم المحاكمة وفي خضم الحكم وتنفيذه وأيامه في السجن، لازال كما هو، لا يمكن لخوف اللحظات الأخيرة أن يقنعه، فيجعله يتظاهر بشيء لا يؤمن به حتى ينال خلاصاً ما.

ميرسو إذن مختلف، غريب، فماذا إذن عن العبثية؟ إنها ضاربة في الرواية، فالجريمة التي ارتكبها ميرسو، كان يمكن تجنبها، لقد قتل شخصاً لا علاقة له به، من أجل شخص لا تربطه به علاقة قوية، لقد ساعد ميرسو إنساناً منحطاً بلا دوافع كافية، فقط لأنه طلب منه ذلك !! ولحظة قتل ميرسو للشاب الجزائري لو استعدناها، تعبر بالضبط عن الفكرة التي أشرت إليها، فميرسو تحت الحرارة الشديدة، والشمس المسلطة عليه، ولمعة خنجر الشاب الذي لم يكن يهدده جدياً، قام بإطلاق النار وقتل الشاب، فلذا عندما سُأل في المحكمة عن سبب قتله للشاب، كانت إجابته حقيقية، إنها الشمس، لقد كانت الشمس تضايقه بالفعل، لقد أثرت على اتخاذه للقرار، ولن نفهم هذا من دون فهم تأثير الوجود المادي للإنسان على روحه وتصرفاته وأفكاره.

هل يعني هذا أن نتعاطف مع ميرسو؟ لا بالطبع، فهو قاتل، والرصاصة التي أطلقها أتبعتها أربع رصاصات أخرى، في هذه الرواية لا تهم مشاعرنا تجاه ميرسو، ما يهم هو رؤيتنا له، هل هو مختلف؟ أم هو مخبول؟ يمكننا أن نجرم كل ما فعله ميرسو، ويمكننا أن نتفهم شيئاً من أفعاله، ولكن المهم هو أن ندرك أن ميرسو وقع تحت حكمنا عليه، وأن اختلافه وغرابته ستجعله يدفع ثمناً، ربما لم يكن سيدفعه لو لم يختلف، لو كان نسخة منا.
...more

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Feb 23, 2011 Ian "Marvin" Grayejoy rated it it was amazing · review of another edition

Shelves: reviews, camus

If You Exist

"The Stranger" dramatises the issues at the heart of existentialism.

The same issues are probably at the heart of life, whether or not you believe in a god.

Being Judged

It's interesting that there has been a crime and now Meursault is being "judged".

The judgement is symbolic not only of the justice system, but of God's judgement of humanity.

Defending Yourself

You would normally expect the defendant to assert their innocence or plead not guilty in the criminal justice system (cue Law and ...more

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Feb 27, 2012 Huda Yahya rated it really liked it · review of another edition

Shelves: philosophy, novels_novellas, absurdism

Aujourd'hui, maman est morte. Ou peut-être hier, je ne sais pas.

الحياة لا تساوى أي عناء

هذا هو الشعار الأعظم لفلسفة اللامبالاة
تلك الفلسفة التي يتمسك بعضنا بها كطوق نجاة أخير
تلك الفلسفة التي أتمسك أنا بها كطوق نجاة أخير

لا يعرف أبدا أي بشري هذه الفلسفة حتى يتألم ألما عظيما
إما أن يقضي عليه
وإما يعيد بعثه من جديد

وميرسو هنا وضعه مختلف
إننا لا نعرف ما الذي أصابه ليصير هكذا
إنه يحمل كل أوجاع البشرية وكل سؤال أطلقه الانسان في الفراغ

ربما لم يصبه شيء
ربما ولد كبش فداء
ربما جاء إلى هذا العالم ليفعل ما لم يجرؤ ا Aujourd'hui, maman est morte. Ou peut-être hier, je ne sais pas.

الحياة لا تساوى أي عناء

هذا هو الشعار الأعظم لفلسفة اللامبالاة
تلك الفلسفة التي يتمسك بعضنا بها كطوق نجاة أخير
تلك الفلسفة التي أتمسك أنا بها كطوق نجاة أخير

لا يعرف أبدا أي بشري هذه الفلسفة حتى يتألم ألما عظيما
إما أن يقضي عليه
وإما يعيد بعثه من جديد

وميرسو هنا وضعه مختلف
إننا لا نعرف ما الذي أصابه ليصير هكذا‏
إنه يحمل كل أوجاع البشرية وكل سؤال أطلقه الانسان في ‏الفراغ

ربما لم يصبه شيء
ربما ولد كبش فداء ‏
ربما جاء إلى هذا العالم ليفعل ما لم يجرؤ الكثير منا على فعله

::::::::::::::::::::::
لقد أدركت أنه إذا قدر لي أن أعيش داخل جذع شجرة جافة من ‏‏غير أن يكون ثمة أي شيء يشغلني سوى النظر الى السماء ‏التي ‏تعلو رأسي ‏
فإنني حتما كنت سأتعود على ذلك بالتدريج .. ولانتظرت ‏مرور ‏الطيور والتقاء السحاب أيضا..‏
ــــــــــــــــ
‎
ميرسو لا يبالى بشيء‏
لا بموت أمه
لا بصديقته
لا بحياته
ولا بموته

كل الأمور تتساوى ‏لديه ‏
الله ,,الحب والزواج,, الموت والحياة،،النجاح والفشل ،،الخير ‏والشر
جسده هو المؤشر الوحيد الذي يعمل وفقا له
وهو الوحيد الذي يتأكد منه

إنه تضاءل حتى لم يعد يرى سوى حاجاته الأساسية
فقط جسده هو ما تضخم وأخفى كل ما ليس من متطلباته‏
يأكل ..يشرب ..يدخن..يقضي حاجته..يمارس الجنس
لا يجعل أحداث "تافهة" كموت أمه أو كحكم إعدامه تقف في ‏طريق تحقيق هذه الطلبات الضرورية

::::::::::::::::::::::

عندما سئل ميرسو لما قتل الرجل الجزائري ‏
أجاب ببساطة: الشمس
كانت حرارة الشمس تضايقه وتعكر مزاجه
ومرة أخرى ينتصر الجسد
الذي خضع لألمه المؤقت فأنهى حياة شخص آخر ‏

ميرسو لا يبالي بمن قتله
ولا بالدم الذي أراقه
قدر ما اهتم بذلك الوخز بداخله
كي يشرب ويتبرد بسبب الحرارة الشديدة

::::::::::::::::::::::

كل الكائنات التي يقابلها ميرسو تبدو كارتونية بالنسبة إليه
أمه.. ماري..المحامي ..القضاة ..الكاهن
إنه ينتظر أن ينهي أحدهم حديثه الذي لا يعنيه في شيء
حتى يأكل أو يشرب أو ينام
إنه منفصل تماما ‏عن المجتمع
يبدو إذن للعين الناقدة مجرد شخص أناني وكسول ومتبلد ‏العاطفة

‏ ولكن ميرسو لم يجد في حياته ما يثير ‏اهتمامه
وهو لا يستسلم عن ضعف
وإنما لغياب المعنى
إنه لامبالاته تلك تكنيك دفاعي لم يجد سواه يناسبه
بل لم يعرف حتى أنه تكنيك دفاعي
فهو لا يشغل دماغه بتحليل ما يفعل
أو بالأحرى ما لا يفعل

إنه شخص تحرر من كل سجن عاطفي أو إنساني
يودع أمه دار مسنين
لا يحزن على موتها ولو لدقيقة
لا يبالي بهذا العربي الذي قتله
ولا بأنه سيقتل بسبب فعلته
لا يتشبث بحياته ولا يحاول الدفاع عن نفسه
بل يغرق في حواراته الداخلية
ويصمت وينعزل عن الجميع

إنه إذن غريب ‏
يعيش فى عالم لا ينتمي ‏إليه
لا ‏يفهمه المجتمع
لا يتعاطف معه
بل ربما يحاكمه الجميع بسبب غرابته وبروده‏
لا بسبب جريمة قتل
إنه ‏اللامعنى الذي يسكنه ويخيف الآخرين
‏ الخواء الذي يستسلم له ويرعبهم
إنه الاختلاف يا سادة
هذا هو ما كان يحاكم عليه

‏::::::::::::::::::::::
وكأن تلك ‏الغضبة الكبرى قد خلصتني من الشر وأفرغتني من ‏الأمل
في ذلك ‏الليل الذي يفيض بالنجوم أحسست للمرة الأولى ‏بعذوبة ورقة ‏اللامبالاة وأحسست أنني كنت سعيدا في يوم من ‏الأيام ولازلت ‏حتى الآن
أتمنى أن ينتهي كل شيء وأتمنى أن أكون هناك أقل وحدة ‏من ‏هنا‎
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‎‏ ‏
قال ميرسو هذه الكلمات لنفسه قبل إعدامه‏
ومات

فهل ياترى صار أقل وحدة هناك..؟
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May 05, 2008 Chris rated it did not like it

If every few words of praise I’ve seen for “The Stranger” over my lifetime materialized into small chunks of rock in space, there’d be enough sh!t to conjure up the Oort Cloud. Much like this distant collection of debris bordering the outer solar system, I can’t really comprehend the acclaim heaped on this story, but luckily, like the Cloud, it’s usually out of sight, out of mind, and has absolutely no discernable current influence on my life. And just like the Oort can occasionally spit a chunk If every few words of praise I’ve seen for “The Stranger” over my lifetime materialized into small chunks of rock in space, there’d be enough sh!t to conjure up the Oort Cloud. Much like this distant collection of debris bordering the outer solar system, I can’t really comprehend the acclaim heaped on this story, but luckily, like the Cloud, it’s usually out of sight, out of mind, and has absolutely no discernable current influence on my life. And just like the Oort can occasionally spit a chunk of sh!t at the earth and devastate all life upon it, so too can I hear/read some lip service paid to “The Stranger” resulting in my transition to Freak-Out Mode, resulting in me slapping someone in the face, usually someone I have to deal with again at some point in time (if only in court).

Personally, I don’t see what the big deal is. Armed with a 100-word vocabulary, a meager 123 pages to bore one with, and a character who simply doesn’t seem to give much of a damn, Camus somehow shook the world of literature with this inane garbage. I haven’t sat down to conduct a thorough analysis, but using some reasonable guesstimation I will say that the average sentence in this book is about eight words long. I’m not asking that every sentence in a book run the length of a page, but the end result when employed by Camus was that either a twelve year old or some sort of retarded robot wrote this. (Cue robot voice) It struck me as strange. The sentences were so short. It was very peculiar. This could be read very fast. I began to read this on the train on my in to work. I finished it on my way back home.

Who the hell writes like that? More importantly, who the hell reads a book like that and suspects therein lay some complexity? Each time I noticed how condensed everything was it occurred to me that somehow the literati had spent all this time adoring the published equivalent of a commercial.

Here’s a snapshot of the dude we’re supposed to give a hoot about. He doesn’t readily assimilate to or accept the conventional mores everyone else seems accustomed to. He’s not overly concerned, but he seemingly knows there’s some kind of disconnect. He’s also not out to go f#ck with the system for lack of anything better to do or in some attempt to make a statement. He’s pretty emotionless, he shows some genuine concern for himself at times, but even those close to him really aren’t too significant in his grand picture. His testicles are extremely small and sterile, and he fondles them often.

Not long after the death of his mother, Our Hero is chilling on the beach when some Arabs come around looking to start sh!t with an acquaintance of his, and after a small skirmish earlier in the day, Our Man goes back down to the beach and shoots an Arab. He gets arrested and pretty much just goes with the flow, he rolls over and let’s the prosecution have their way with his scrawny white ass. The whole time he pretty much just thinks it’s all pretty ridiculous and isn’t too concerned with the proceedings.

I wasn’t too concerned about the book. More than anything I was just bored with it. There was no build up, there was no action, there was no climax. There was nothing funny, nothing exciting, nothing interesting, and nothing to really take away from the book; just the same words repeating over and over, grouped in strings of seven or eight. The longest sentence in the book was also the only thing which I found even remotely amusing: “Finally I realized that some of the old people were sucking at the insides of their cheeks and making these weird smacking noises”. That isn’t particularly funny, but compared to the rest of the book it was comedic gold.

“The Stranger” is some seriously weak shit. I’ve gotten more enjoyment from looking a map of Kentucky.
...more

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Apr 08, 2007 karen rated it really liked it

Shelves: littry-fiction

THIS MAN'S MOM DIES HE FEELS NOTHING.

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Jul 02, 2017 Elyse rated it it was amazing · review of another edition

I just finished reading this famous - classic story. All this time I had no idea what it was about.

What an interesting little book. I enjoyed reading in the same way that I have
"Siddartha", by Herman Hesse, or "The Alchemist", by Paulo Coelho.

It's a brilliant small book - especially knowing it was written so long ago: 1942..... but it's timeless.

Is everything the same as everything else? Does it matter who we marry or if we marry? Does it matter if we live or die? Must murder have a meaning? ...more

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Sep 24, 2011 s.penkevich rated it it was amazing

Shelves: nobel-prize-winners, death, morality, murder, trials

‘It was like knocking four quick times on the door of unhappiness.’

Even if we exist in a world devoid of meaning, why is it that our actions still bear so much weight? The crime and punishment of Nobel Prize winning author Albert Camus’ academically canonized The Stranger depicts the ironies of enforcing meaning in a void and the absurdities that surround us as humans walking towards the same cold, lifeless fate. ‘Since we're all going to die,’ writes narrator Meursault, ‘it's obvious that when ...more

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Jun 25, 2016 Helen Ροζουλί Εωσφόρος Vernus Portitor Arcanus Ταμετούρο Αμούν Arnum rated it it was amazing · review of another edition

Αυτόν τον έξυπνο,ειλικρινή,απαθή και διαταραγμένο "ξένο" τον συμπάθησα πολύ. Τον εκτίμησα βαθιά και τον αγάπησα σε κάποιες στιγμές που δεν μπορούσε να αντιληφθεί γιατί οι άνθρωποι γύρω του δεν μπορούσαν να αντέξουν την αλήθεια που έλεγε και εννοούσε.

Ένας κοινωνικά αντισυμβατικός και αντιφατικός άνθρωπος, που αφενός ζει και απολαμβάνει την καθημερινή ρουτίνα του χωρίς καμία αλλαγή και παράλληλα ειναι ένας άψογος εργαζόμενος που τηρεί ωράρια,πρωτόκολλα-εργασιακούς κανόνες και τυπικές κοινωνικές σ Αυτόν τον έξυπνο,ειλικρινή,απαθή και διαταραγμένο "ξένο" τον συμπάθησα πολύ. Τον εκτίμησα βαθιά και τον αγάπησα σε κάποιες στιγμές που δεν μπορούσε να αντιληφθεί γιατί οι άνθρωποι γύρω του δεν μπορούσαν να αντέξουν την αλήθεια που έλεγε και εννοούσε.

Ένας κοινωνικά αντισυμβατικός και αντιφατικός άνθρωπος, που αφενός ζει και απολαμβάνει την καθημερινή ρουτίνα του χωρίς καμία αλλαγή και παράλληλα ειναι ένας άψογος εργαζόμενος που τηρεί ωράρια,πρωτόκολλα-εργασιακούς κανόνες και τυπικές κοινωνικές σχέσεις, αφετέρου αρνείται να πει το παραμικρό ψέμμα,αδιαφορεί για τα πιστεύω και κυρίως τα συναισθήματα των άλλων,είναι απομονωμένος κοινωνικά,συμπεριφέρεται αλόγιστα,επιπόλαια,απαθέστατα και αγχώνεται με οποιαδήποτε συμπεριφορά ειναι απρόβλεπτη απο τον ίδιο.

Είναι σαν να ζει μέσα σε ενα ενυδρείο με ζεστό και φιλικό για τον ίδιο στερεότυπο περιβάλλον απο το οποίο παρακολουθεί με απάθεια και αδιαφορία οτιδήποτε συμβαίνει εξω απο αυτό και παρόλο που του δυσκολεύει τη ζωή εκείνος αρνείται ενστικτωδώς να παραδεχτεί τα κοινώς αποδεκτά.

Περισσότερο ξαφνιάζει τον αναγνώστη αυτός ο "ξένος".
Δεν έχει όνειρα,φιλοδοξίες,φίλους. Δεν συμμετέχει ενεργά ούτε στην ίδια του τη ζωή. Ζει άβουλα, υποταγμένα σε μια μοίρα που δεν προσπαθεί να αλλάξει,ειναι άθεος και στην ουσία απλός θεατής του κόσμου.
Παράλληλα με το θάνατο της μαμάς του-υπέροχα τρυφερό να λεει "μαμά" σε κάθε αδιάφορη αναφορά για τη μητέρα του- έρχεται και το έγκλημα που κάνει σκοτώνοντας έναν Άραβα.

«Σήμερα πέθανε η μαμά. Ίσως και χτες, δεν ξέρω. Έλαβα ένα τηλεγράφημα από το άσυλο: «Μητέρα απεβίωσε. Κηδεία αύριο. Θερμά συλλυπητήρια». Αυτό δεν μου λέει τίποτα. Μπορεί να ήταν και χτες.»

Αδιάφορος στην κηδεία, απαθής στο δικαστήριο, λυτρωμένος στην φυλακή.

Ίσως όλη αυτή η συμπεριφορά και η αντιμετώπιση ήταν η αμυνα προστασίας και το όπλο του απέναντι στους φόβους του για τη ζωή,το θάνατο,τη μοναξιά,την απάνθρωπη κοινωνία.
Δεν σώπασε ποτέ και δεν υποκρίθηκε σε κανέναν. Δεν σεβάστηκε τα "πρέπει" των άλλων. Δεν υποδύθηκε ρόλους για να κερδίσει εντυπώσεις. Δεν έβαλε τη μάσκα του τέλειου καθωσπρεπισμού για να αποκτήσει δικαίωμα στην ευτυχία και την κοινωνική αποδοχή.
Μέσα απο το παράλογο περιφρουρεί τη μοναδικότητα του και αρνείται να ενταχθεί στην κοινή αντίληψη.

Δεν ζητάει συγχώρεση,δεν υποτάσσεται. Παραδέχεται ότι λάτρεψε τον καυτό ήλιο του καλοκαιριού που τον παρέσυρε σε ενα αληθινό τέλος.

"Για να φτάσουν όλα σε μια τελείωση, για να αισθάνομαι λιγότερο μόνος, δεν μού μένει παρά να ευχηθώ να έρθουν πολλοί θεατές τη μέρα που θα εκτελεστώ και να με υποδεχτούν με κραυγές μίσους".

Καλή ανάγνωση.
Πολλούς ασπασμούς! ...more

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May 30, 2014 Sanjay Gautam rated it really liked it · review of another edition

It came as something quite shocking which left me dazed for days. I don't consider myself worthy enough to review this book because I won't be doing justice to this book, at all. This book has left me in a certain distress with so many questions to ponder upon. And sometimes I think if this book can be reviewed at all.

The prose of Camus is very simple and eloquent, and is a pleasure to read, but he raises some philosophical questions a layer beneath his beautifully crafted novella which leaves ...more

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Jan 31, 2014 Lyn rated it really liked it

The Stranger was first published by Albert Camus in the original French in 1942.

I cannot help comparing the hollowness, the emptiness in Meursault’s soul to the soldier in Hemingway’s short story “Soldier's Home”. But in that story, Hemingway describes a change from the war and his reactions are connected with his recent martial experiences.

Camus makes no mention of Meursault’s past experience, his emptiness is fundamental to his soul, and his reaction is to the world in general. Camus introdu ...more

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Jun 01, 2014 Petra Eggs rated it it was amazing · review of another edition

Shelves: fiction, 2014-read, 2014-reviews, reviewed

Mersault, a twenty-something clerk of great intelligence but no ambition, little expressed emotion and the attitude of why bother changing or making a choice, there's nothing wrong with the status quo. But if pushed, by his girlfriend into marriage he will go along with it. Or whe his violent pimp of a neighbour wants him to compose a letter to his mistress that is meant to result in extreme nastiness towards her (but backfires), he will act. It's as if inertia is his default. The only time he r Mersault, a twenty-something clerk of great intelligence but no ambition, little expressed emotion and the attitude of why bother changing or making a choice, there's nothing wrong with the status quo. But if pushed, by his girlfriend into marriage he will go along with it. Or whe his violent pimp of a neighbour wants him to compose a letter to his mistress that is meant to result in extreme nastiness towards her (but backfires), he will act. It's as if inertia is his default. The only time he really shows emotion is when he is annoyed at the heat and glare of the sun, a major annoyance for such a commonplace event. It's the only time he acts of his own volition too.

His crime: Mersault is on the beach where he had been invited by his friend, the pimp, and sees one of the Arabs, brother to his friend's ex-mistress. The Arab has just stabbed his friend after the pimp attacked him. Mersault stares at him, he is annoyed to see him and annoyed that the sun is so hot, as hot as it was at his mother's funeral and it annoyed him then too, upset him more than his mother's death. The Arab flashes a knife. Mersault remembers he has the pimp's gun he took to prevent violence, and he shoots him. Then a few seconds later, he shoots the dead body four times more.

He is arrested. Once he has adjusted to prison life, he finds that he gets pleasure from his memories and looking at the small square patch of blue sky he can see from his cell. He says that if a person had one day only of freedom, it would create enough memories to live on for the rest of their life. But freedom or imprisonment, it's all the same to him. He is sure things will go his way.

He refuses to help his lawyer, denies the existence of god, has no belief in Jesus and shows no remorse at all. It is all the same to him. This, here and now, is all there is, he says, but although he says that, he wants more. Too late, the death knell rings and at the last moment he expresses emotion. When he is led to the guillotine he wants there to be a large and noisy crowd of people who hate him. The same people who were bemused that a law-abiding clerk could commit such a senseless, such an absurd murder. What is the purpose of this angry crowd? Why does he want them there? How else, without religion, can he expiate his sin?

Mersault is finely-drawn as one who watches but whose participation is limited to when it suits him. His lack of emotion means he is not immersed in situations, throwing his whole self into things as the very emotional people around him do. These people, his late mother's aged fiance, the pimp, his angry boss, the girlfriend who loves him, the mistress who fights back, the Arabs full of thoughts of revenge, the religious lawyer, are full of passion. But he is the outsider. He observes much and acts little. Except for the once.

Existentialism is, it isn't a philosophical choice, and Mersault, while holding those views, doesn't do so through conviction or acceptance, but more because of his damaged personality. Perhaps that is why Camus denied this was an existentialist book.

5 stars, plus 2 extra for genius writing and the strength of emotional involvement of the reader, or this reader at least. ...more

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May 18, 2012 Madeleine rated it it was amazing

Shelves: head-in-the-clouds-nose-in-a-book, 2012, our-libeary, maybe-it-s-time-to-live, tooting-my-own-muted-horn, blogophilia

I was so amped about this book when I tore through it a few weeks ago; alas, in that yawning chasm of time between then and when I first sat down to start this review (as opposed to this most recent effort -- I think at least my fourth?), I found that I’d forgotten a lot of the specific reasons why it had hit all the right spots for me.

Fortunately, since Goodreads has instilled in me the need to take notes on, emphatically underline passages from and analyze the pants off every book I read thes I was so amped about this book when I tore through it a few weeks ago; alas, in that yawning chasm of time between then and when I first sat down to start this review (as opposed to this most recent effort -- I think at least my fourth?), I found that I’d forgotten a lot of the specific reasons why it had hit all the right spots for me.

Fortunately, since Goodreads has instilled in me the need to take notes on, emphatically underline passages from and analyze the pants off every book I read these days, a quick revisit to my thorough defacing of this novel got me right back in the mindset of being unexpectedly taken by a deceptively disinterested narrator. This is a work that got under my skin and burrowed deep into my brain in slightly disturbing but mostly welcome ways right from the first sentence.

I am not a terribly literal person. I love hyperboles and understatement and metaphors because they allow for elasticity of interpretation. It lets people impose their own inner landscapes on the seemingly uniform outside world, just as it leaves room for individual interpretations of message, intent, subtext, whatever. People do not perceive and interact with the world the same way, so why should they be expected to hear the same things, pick up on the same cues, follow the same logic of thought? To me, that’s how you get to the core of a person and their internal workings: Let them show you how they operate by giving them enough variables to put in comprehensible order as they see fit.

Of course, forcing the observer to do some creative thinking on the fly (or trusting them to observe at all, in some cases) has a tendency to backfire more often than simply saying what's on your mind to eliminate all doubt, but that's how you suss out the mental midgets. Or, you know, wind up with a death sentence. Like life, it's all a gamble and not always worth the risk.

As odd (though probably unsurprising, given the nature of my reviews) as it is to say, I found a certain kinship with Meursault. True, there’s not much to the fellow when you observe him as an outsider (that is, outside his head), but when I let myself roll around in the vast implications of what he says and the fathoms of unspoken depth in what impels him to behave as he does, I started to recognize so many of my own leaps of logic and nonsensical-without-an-explanation reactions.

To me, Meursault is just a guy who just doesn't process the world in the same rank-and-file way as others do. He's an open book, an adaptable entity and honest to a fault, a man who doesn't subscribe to societal norms -- not because it's cool to be That Guy but because he truly seems to process events and impulses with a sense of sincerely stoic reservation. How many people haven't cried at a loved one's funeral, only to crumble under the emotional weight days or weeks or months later after some mundane event hammers home the finality of loss? Or have taken up an unpleasant task to relieve a friend from its terrible burden? Or shrugged their shoulders in the face of an ugly truth because nothing can change the course of fate once the momentum reaches its unstoppable peak? What, really, is the point of getting emotional when it's not going to change a damn thing?

Meursault knows he is powerless to change things. He knows he has no business making assumptions about other people and their behaviors based solely on his own. What's so wrong with that? Fighting death is the most hopeless of causes so don't even bother wasting the effort; similarly, he knows that crying over his mother's death won't bring her back. Besides, what we know about their relationship is only what Meursault reveals, overtly or not, so who are we to judge him strange for not reacting as histrionically as we would? Isn't it awfully presumptuous to impose our sense of "normal" on a stranger? But by the time he shares his belief that no one has a right to cry over his Maman when being so close to death allowed her a peace that simply does not exist in the bloom of life, Meursault's own minimal relevancy to the world is nearing its close. We are not supposed to get to the heart of him but we sure can appreciate where he's coming from with just enough effort to realize that the example made of him misses the point by a shamefully vast distance.

This book touched on a lot of things that annoy me about society, mainly the need to cling to misconceptions when confronted with an individual or circumstance that can't be neatly cataloged as a "type" or doesn't fall into a inflexibly prefabricated black-or-white category. Why is it so difficult for the staggering masses to extend the courtesy and minimal exertion of critical thinking to appreciate and be educated by a deviation from the norm? I appreciated the opportunity to judge that which I cannot stand in a cathartic, safely isolated way. It allowed me to focus on feeling just awful for Meursault. I mean, c'mon -- someone had to, right? He's the victim of the dangers of monochromatic thinking in a world painted in every hue, common or not.

(Alternate read is that Meursault is an emotionally stunted Maman's boy who can't cope with life sans mommy, throws himself at this woman he barely knows and then gets himself legally killed so he doesn't have to do it himself, but that's so... so.... nope, not even gonna consider that one.) ...more

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Dec 01, 2007 Danny rated it really liked it

The Stranger is considered by many to be one of the most important philosophical novels of the 20th Century. In most college courses on Existentialism (a philosophy which holds that human beings create the meaning and essence of their own lives) The Stranger is usually the first thing you will read. If you're interested in philosophy, or Existentialism specifically, The Stranger is a great place to start.

Camus describes Meursault, the main character, only sparingly; and for the majority of the n ...more

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Jan 14, 2013 Jeremy rated it it was amazing · review of another edition

Shelves: literary, translated-from-french, canon, albert-camus, reread, five-and-a-half-stars

Writing about your favourite and the most influential single book of your life—not that that means anything—is a little like staring into the sun, the same sun here in an Australian suburb as that of an Algerian beach: so I shall squint, if you don’t mind.

Firstly, Sandra Smith’s work is excellent. I have read all four English translations of L’Étranger that I am aware of (Stuart Gilbert, Joseph Laredo, and Matthew Ward being the other three. If you know of another, please let me know…) at least ...more

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Aug 01, 2016 Nishat rated it really liked it

Shelves: classic

L'Étranger is an exemplary work of literary art causing apathy and humanity into an union, in such a manner that is paradoxical, yet profoundly fulfilling. This laudable writing explores the numerous possibilities to human life while acknowledging its absurdities in all aspects.

Albert Camus brilliantly introduces the indifference of the world towards its inhabitants through the title character, Meursault's withdrawal from his surrounding society. Meursault, devoid of ordinary sentiments, is tri ...more

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Apr 12, 2013 Jr Bacdayan rated it did not like it

The Stranger by Albert Camus, though quite regarded by many as a great philosophical/existentialist novel (I'm gonna be a non-conformist here.) is not quite right for me. I'm really quite at odds here. Before anything else, I would like to state that I was rather pleased with the first half of the novel, but sadly not by the second. Sure, this novella exposes certain absurdities in our society. I'd agree to that. But for me, the truths that this book expounds upon is not enough to make up for th The Stranger by Albert Camus, though quite regarded by many as a great philosophical/existentialist novel (I'm gonna be a non-conformist here.) is not quite right for me. I'm really quite at odds here. Before anything else, I would like to state that I was rather pleased with the first half of the novel, but sadly not by the second. Sure, this novella exposes certain absurdities in our society. I'd agree to that. But for me, the truths that this book expounds upon is not enough to make up for the negativeness that it entails upon its readers.

In the way that I understand it, one of the point of his message in the end states that: What we do is not important, because we will all perish anyway. Why invest in morality, in relations, in feelings, when all that awaits us is certain death? Sure, life can be absurd at times. Sure, we'll all die. But just because of these known realities, should we throw away things that make sense? Throw away our life? Should the negative destroy the positive? It comes to me like this. Because we urinate what we drink, then it doesn't matter whether we drink muddy water or urine or orange juice. We'll all urinate them later just the same. Sick. Why do we live? Do we live because there might be a slight chance of immortality? Do we live because everything makes sense? We live in-spite of everything. We live because we do. Our consciousness is being insulted, our intelligence trampled, and our life spit-upon by this very grim way of thinking. His insistence that one can just about get used to anything shows man's innate capability to adjust. That we plow on through obstacles and hardships. That we fight even if we encounter difficulties and absurdities. He suggests we shouldn't. That we lay useless and wait for death. Not for me. Go do that yourself. His very pessimistic and rather narrow way of looking at life and death rather pissed me off.

Secondly, the very glaring message of indifference rather fires back against Camus's message of non-conformity. You see, indifference, transforms a person in a passive state. And this passive state will easier conform to the norms of society than resist. Personally for me, it is the worst kind of attitude that a person can attain. Intellectually, Camus makes a point. But in the real world, indifference is what destroys this planet. Indifference causes global warming, causes pollution, causes mass extinction. People who don't care are more dangerous than crazy people. Why? Because there are few really crazy people, but there are billions of people who simply don't give a shit. Hitler was mad as hell, all the German soldiers were just indifferent. Indifference is tricky because you're stranded in a solid state of passivity and it's very hard to sway you from one view to another. A person who thinks that littering is good is better than a person who doesn't care if he litters. At least, the former can be persuaded to change his views, but the latter won't under any circumstances. Indifference is a problem without a solution. And this particular message is the worst for me.

Now, we've come to a part where I partly agree with Camus but still not quite. That no matter what truths are, all that matters is what each individual's personal choice is. That we shouldn't impose upon others. He equips Meursault with a sort of a Moral Relativism belief (that truths are essentially based on each person's paradigms/cultures/construct) while the Priest that of Moral Realism (that truths are based on a certain definite, universal set). He uses this clash of beliefs to set a stage for his final act and I expected/wanted a rather different outcome. I was rather disappointed. I agree that Meursault found some sort of solitude in losing hope, in his final indifference. But I expected Meursault to find some sort of closure in the acceptance of death as a necessary and meaningful event. That death allows us to appreciate life. I expected that in the end even though I knew it had no chance of happening. The surrealist/existentialist Camus would never do that. But I never expected that it would be as grim and bleak as it was.

“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.”

I ate, but I wasn't nourished. I was poisoned. ...more

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Feb 13, 2016 Councillor rated it really liked it

Shelves: reviewed, classics, ebook, prison, rated-4-and-a-half-stars, to-read-2016-priority, africa, read-2016, first-person-narrator, those-books-anyone-should-read-once, personal-must-read-list, beautiful-writing, philosophy-religion, 1940s

It is almost impossible to describe Camus' The Stranger to people who haven't read this book yet. L'Étranger is so unlike many other novels with philosophical themes that you can easily see why it has received its position among books people say everyone should read once in their life.

If you get around to reading this surprisingly short novel, don't do so with the wrong expectations. In a more common book, the plot would leave much to be desired; and Camus doesn't invent characters you care suc ...more

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Apr 17, 2015 Franco Santos rated it really liked it · review of another edition

Shelves: libros-en-digital

Hace rato que tenía ganas de leer este libro de Camus. De seguro leeré los demás pronto.

El extranjero es una mirada punzante al absurdo existencial a través de un extraño en propia tierra que, indiferente, niega su ser a fin de que la muerte sea algo ya contemplado. Una manera de afrontar el misterio de un más allá sin significado y una vida apática que no es más que un lento suicidio.

Camus explora en la impasibilidad, en la neutralidad de un protagonista con una angustia concentrada que se mani ...more

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Jun 01, 2014 Carmen rated it it was amazing

Recommends it for: Anyone

Recommended to Carmen by: Jess

Shelves: fiction, classics, traditionally-published, he-says

This review has been hidden because it contains spoilers. To view it, click here. I didn't feel anything except that he was beginning to annoy me.

Well, this book was fucking amazing. It's smart, short, quick, and funny. I'd highly recommend it to anyone.

BASIC STORY
This book is about an autistic man who ends up on trial for murder.

THOUGHTS

Camus famously said "In our society any man who does not weep at his mother's funeral runs the risk of being sentenced to death."

This basically sums up the whole novel.

Our protagonist, Meursault, is pretty apathetic to anyone else's feelings ...more

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Aug 18, 2013 Lynne King rated it it was amazing

Shelves: camus, fiction

Albert Camus rightly deserves his place in history as a Nobel Laureate and the following statement made in 1957 when he was awarded this prize in Literature says it all:

“For his important literary production, which with clear-sighted earnestness illuminates the problems of the human conscience in our times".

The tragedy of it all is that three years later he will be killed in a car accident in France and “In his briefcase was the incomplete first draft of a new book, Le Premier Homme (The First M ...more

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May 28, 2013 Mohsin Maqbool rated it it was amazing · review of another edition

Shelves: favorites

The eye-catching front along with back cover of the copy of "The Stranger" (aka "The Outsider") which I read in 1999.

I FOUND the book to be a lot more different than anything else I have ever read. Its opening line: "Mother died today. Or yesterday maybe, I don't know." Then Albert Camus goes on to describe Mersault's feelings regarding his mother's death. But surprisingly he has none. One is shocked at reading this and finds Camus's hero or rather anti-hero to be absolutely strange or rather a ...more

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May 31, 2015 Seemita rated it really liked it

Recommends it for: those looking for a life-update

Shelves: for_legacy, nobel-laureates, philo, novella, translated, fiction, france, sharp_sword, algeria, cult

What happens when we bump into a hive of sticky words that seem delectable on the surface but grasping them blurs the lines etched in our minds? How does it feel when some kind of hurricane is unleashed on our notions that were, until now, not subject to acute ambiguity? It’s a bit harsh actually; voluntarily letting oneself meander into alleys which have danger signs dangling at every short step, at every dark window. But the human mind is a peculiar, peculiar creature - it's as much ours as it What happens when we bump into a hive of sticky words that seem delectable on the surface but grasping them blurs the lines etched in our minds? How does it feel when some kind of hurricane is unleashed on our notions that were, until now, not subject to acute ambiguity? It’s a bit harsh actually; voluntarily letting oneself meander into alleys which have danger signs dangling at every short step, at every dark window. But the human mind is a peculiar, peculiar creature - it's as much ours as it's free.

I met a certain Monsieur Meursault in these alleys yesterday. I had met him long ago too. But this remarkably unremarkable man had left not much of an impression on me. Except of course, with his lash of absurdity, which was rather abhorrent but unavoidable. Meeting him again was intriguing since time, I had heard, changes people. Or may be time changes itself? But nonetheless, the more time elapses, the more striking the change appears. But Mr. Meursault defies this logic. He appeared absurd then, he appears absurd now. But has the 'absurd' changed?

Not knowing the age of his deceased mother, not shedding a single tear during her funeral, returning to his life and living like nothing has changed, finding no difference in marrying the woman he makes love to and a random woman on the road, agreeing to stand witness for a rogue in lieu of a black pudding dinner, allowing himself to follow a marked man for no apparent reason, remembering only the faint tinkering bell from a passing ice-cream cart out of all the noises during his trial (for murder) – Does all this make him absurd in my eyes? No. His state of mind can easily pass as someone's who has taken a barrage of reality bullets on his chest and has let his eyes be blinded by the truth floating at a level easily missed by the squatting populace. In his acute observations of the mundane, one can almost touch his sensibilities. In his tacit acceptances, one can value his measured detachment. In his distracting ways, one can sense a scorching need for action that keeps the frozen feet of life from remaining so.

What then makes him absurd? His dubious use of freedom. He is free to act and be accountable for the consequences. Why then, a consciousness emanating from his deepest throes, is in conflict with his happiness? Why are there flashes of wishes bothering him from streams which were firm in his grasp and he let them slip in his ennui? If he indeed was viewing life from a balcony that didn't have a lamp from Worldly Fairs, then why should its glow trouble him in prison? Why should he attempt to be like others having gotten the compliment the previous day of being different, intelligent even? If people’s opinion does matter, then he is far from being indifferent.

Meursault appeared to be a person who had embraced life in a certain way. But his fingers kept slipping off life's pulse which continued to alter its trail. He had his moments of triumph and failure. Just like me. But he bagged the role of the protagonist in Camus' story and not I, because he never stopped believing in what he did despite calamities of enormous magnitudes. Whether that was right or wrong is not deductible but what is deductible is his courage to be faithful to himself.

’I never thought of days as such, only the words 'yesterday' and 'tomorrow' still kept some meaning.

Yes, he had simpler definition of life which our complex eyes may find difficult to fathom. But a long, careful look and we won’t label him a stranger. For he represented a part of us that is occasionally absurd to the onlooker; a part of us that only makes sense to us. ...more

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Nov 21, 2008 Manny rated it really liked it · review of another edition

Shelves: french, life-is-camus

Strange, emotionally damaged man, lacking in affect and with an ambiguous attitude to religion, falls into bad company and ends up shooting an Arab for reasons that aren't clear even to himself. It was hot, and he wasn't thinking straight.

Now why would George W Bush not merely read this shortly after the Iraq War, but go to some lengths to let the world know he had done so? A minor literary mystery that will perhaps never be fully resolved. Personally, I think Laura had something to do with it.

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Jun 01, 2013 Dolors rated it it was amazing

Recommends it for: Nonconformist outsiders

Recommended to Dolors by: Ian "Marvin" Grayejoy

Shelves: read-in-2014

My first encounter with Camus and with the stranger that had been hiding inadvertently within me during all these years left me quite perplexed. Is the title of Camus’s novel that obvious? Who is truly “The Stranger” here? The disenchanted narrator of a story with no real plotline and no definite answers? The faceless mass of people who loathe and condemn him according to arbitrary morality? The alien countenance that stares back at me in the mirror on a muddled succession of monotonous Mondays? My first encounter with Camus and with the stranger that had been hiding inadvertently within me during all these years left me quite perplexed. Is the title of Camus’s novel that obvious? Who is truly “The Stranger” here? The disenchanted narrator of a story with no real plotline and no definite answers? The faceless mass of people who loathe and condemn him according to arbitrary morality? The alien countenance that stares back at me in the mirror on a muddled succession of monotonous Mondays? Aren’t we all strangers in this confusing world where time is an agreed convention that really doesn’t exist?

“It occurred to me that somehow I’d got through another Sunday, that Mother now was buried, and tomorrow I’d be going back to work as usual. Really, nothing in my life had changed.” (p.18)

I could never get to the bottom of Mr. Meursault’s psyche. An indolent bon vivant who didn’t cry at his Mother’s funeral or who was incapable of repentance after having killed an Arab at the shores of an Algerian beach because his presence annoyed him and because it was scorchingly hot.
Incarcerated and deprived from his liberty, Mr. Meursault’s apathy gradually transforms into a wish to cling to life amidst the congenial indifference of the universe surrounding him. He learns to find contentment “gazing up at the patch of sky just overhead” or “watching for the passing birds or drifting clouds” or “waiting for dusk to come as a mournful solace”. The little window of Meursault’s cell and his accumulated memories grow to be his only means to mental freedom while the concept of time dissolves and becomes senseless and indivisible.
Whether he lives or dies is indifferent to him and he accepts his “being” only in the present undisturbed by past or future. An opaque reflection of an aseptic man defined by a sequence of actions is all the reader gets, for Meursault becomes an impenetrable character with no other principle than to accept the organized chaos of existence and his own nothingness.

One won’t find answers in this moralistic novel, only an orchestra of painstakingly chosen words that compose a concise and compressed prose, which in turn describes detailed scenes and casts many obscure shadows. Words are hollow and don’t carry essence. It is in the silences between the haltering sentences or in the passages with sporadic lyricism when the void of Meursault’s existence can be heard rather than understood.
If both the main character and the prose remain elusive, what can be inferred then from mere acts? A condemned man whose biggest crime is refusing to behave accordingly to political correctness and to human nature, if something as such exists. He showed no feeling when his Mother passed away! Guilty. “An inhuman monster wholly without a moral sense”. Guilty. “A criminal at heart”. Guilty. “A menace to society”. Guilty. Meanwhile the remorseless assassin reads a scrap of newspaper that contains the story of a prodigal son murdered by his own Mother. The irony of it all.

Enlightened atheist? Pacifist revolutionary? This novel breathes out all the false contradictions that are in fact a reflection of an extreme coherence amidst the absurdity of existence. The term “Absurdity” is much more than a word but a bit less than a concept. It is the unequivocal rupture between mankind’s obsession to find meaning in the mute response of the universe. “Absurdity” might be unacceptable as an abstract idea or a doctrine, but when it is experienced rather than studied, one can learn to accept it in quiet rebellion, like Meursault did. I can’t claim I understood his actions but the outsider in me did. Similarly, I can’t corroborate Camus being a philosopher, but I admire this spontaneous freethinker who jumped into the abyss of reality with nothing else than his ruffian hunger for living and the gutsy insolence of not accepting a thoughtless existence.
In the absurd then, I learn to live.
...more

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Dec 23, 2015 Lawyer rated it it was amazing · review of another edition

Shelves: philosophy, 20th-century, 1940s, morality, nobel-prize-winner, french-literature, 2015, albert-camus, indifferent-universe, social-conventions

The Stranger: Mersault in the Moment

Is that all there is?
Is that all there is?
If that's all there is my friends
Then let's keep dancing
Let's break out the booze and have a ball
If that's all there is--Jerry Leiber, Mike Stoller

I hear the people singing, so it must be Christmas time

So here it is, Christmas night, 2015. And I have been reading Albert Camus rather than Charles Dickens. I have completed The Stranger rather than A Christmas Carol and Other Christmas Writings or The Gift of the Magi.

S ...more

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Dec 06, 2011 Jess ❈Harbinger of Blood-Soaked Rainbows❈ rated it it was amazing · review of another edition

Shelves: favorites, top-10, top-100, read-more-than-once, modern-classics, to-reread, reviewed, cover-love, thanks-mom-and-dad, the-list, classic, favorite-reviews, the-bowie-project, best-ever-favorites, my-friends-who-dont-wear-pants

The Ward translation I just read has left a new mark upon my consciousness. I will be reviewing that version as a completely separate review to come as soon as I can wrap my head around it.

Still 5 stars. Still my favorite book.
________________________________________

Since my all time favorite pantaloonless people decided to read this for our November selection, I will gladly tag along for my sixth turn through this fabulous book that is akin to a religious text for me.
Dear friends,

And no, Steph ...more

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Nov 19, 2015 Annie rated it really liked it · review of another edition

Recommended to Annie by: Parthiban Sekar

Shelves: recommendations

It is human to want to group everything in neat little rows. Little lists that rationalise an order. Best books to read once in lifetime. Number of followers on Instagram. How much money is standard for a certain position. What level of education is the norm. The amount of period it is acceptable to be jobless after graduation. Rules. Edicts. Government. Laws. Religion.Dictionary. We adhere to these like a flame to a candle wick. Looking for an explanation, a definite end to everything. To make

If you haven’t read this book yet, maybe it’s a good idea to not read any further.

The stranger is Camus’ comment on the absurdity of life. Mersault is the anti-hero who floats through life as a sexist, a racist, and finally a villain. His life is a string of ‘indifferent’ moments, wherein he exhibits callousness at his mother’s deathbed, is dismissive of his ’relationship’ with his female co-worker and often accepting of how his physical needs sometimes prohibit his feelings, helps a friend (the friendship here that seemed to be mostly verbally agreed upon, rather than resulting from any real affection) ‘punish’ his mistress for cheating, and so on. There are quiet moments where Mersault looks upon the street outside his apartment window at the comings and goings of folks where it would seem the ‘reality’ of it all dawns upon him, but no sooner than such a thought can nestle in snugly, Mersault shows himself stripped off all consciousness.

Mersault is one of the most interesting characters that I have come across. By which I do not mean to say that I condemn his remove from everything and especially his sexism and his seemingly inability to possess empathy for his fellow beings grate. For example he is an accomplice to his friend who conjures up a scheme to ‘punish’ his mistress for cheating on him and looks to Mersault for advice. As reluctant as he seemed at first, which wasn’t much, he helped not only lure the woman to his friend’s apartment but also, proceeded to ignore her cries that resulted from said ‘punishment’ and then provided his friend an alibi to escape from any possibility of a punishment. But he is peculiar. It would seem that he tries to understand his mother. He lets the countryside award him with a glimpse of his mother as means to understand her last living days. Something that gives on his own final predicament. But he is unable to explain why he takes the life of the Arab. The proximity of the two incidents on the timeline, Punctuated by less than effable events smattered in between, makes Mersault stand in a gruesome light. He lives a life of meaninglessness, and that made this book position itself in a light of horror for me. For if there is no rational structure to it all, it is all meaningless. Aint it?

I do not know if Camus meant to assert the absurdity of life. But the mere exercise of the book that pushed me to think beyond the ‘disorder’ of the protagonist’s life, to also, empathise with the plight of the sexist, abhorrent character, is perhaps his attempt at driving the consciousness beyond that which is capable of the mind of Mersault. For even though, ‘**** da police’ might have been cool at sometime, the lawlessness that should be cultivated of being bereft of a dictionary, law, government, yada, yada, yada, will I am sure not be a palatable predicament.

...more

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About Albert Camus

Albert Camus (1913-1960) was a representative of non-metropolitan French literature. His origin in Algeria and his experiences there in the thirties were dominating influences in his thought and work. Of semi-proletarian parents, early attached to intellectual circles of strongly revolutionary tendencies, with a deep interest in philosophy (only chance prevented him from pursuing a university care Albert Camus (1913-1960) was a representative of non-metropolitan French literature. His origin in Algeria and his experiences there in the thirties were dominating influences in his thought and work. Of semi-proletarian parents, early attached to intellectual circles of strongly revolutionary tendencies, with a deep interest in philosophy (only chance prevented him from pursuing a university career in that field), he came to France at the age of twenty-five. The man and the times met: Camus joined the resistance movement during the occupation and after the liberation was a columnist for the newspaper Combat. But his journalistic activities had been chiefly a response to the demands of the time; in 1947 Camus retired from political journalism and, besides writing his fiction and essays, was very active in the theatre as producer and playwright (e.g., Caligula, 1944). He also adapted plays by Calderon, Lope de Vega, Dino Buzzati, and Faulkner's Requiem for a Nun. His love for the theatre may be traced back to his membership in L'Equipe, an Algerian theatre group, whose "collective creation" Révolte dans les Asturies (1934) was banned for political reasons.

The essay Le Mythe de Sisyphe (The Myth of Sisyphus), 1942, expounds Camus's notion of the absurd and of its acceptance with "the total absence of hope, which has nothing to do with despair, a continual refusal, which must not be confused with renouncement - and a conscious dissatisfaction". Meursault, central character of L'Étranger (The Stranger), 1942, illustrates much of this essay: man as the nauseated victim of the absurd orthodoxy of habit, later - when the young killer faces execution - tempted by despair, hope, and salvation. Dr. Rieux of La Peste (The Plague), 1947, who tirelessly attends the plague-stricken citizens of Oran, enacts the revolt against a world of the absurd and of injustice, and confirms Camus's words: "We refuse to despair of mankind. Without having the unreasonable ambition to save men, we still want to serve them". Other well-known works of Camus are La Chute (The Fall), 1956, and L'Exil et le royaume (Exile and the Kingdom), 1957. His austere search for moral order found its aesthetic correlative in the classicism of his art. He was a stylist of great purity and intense concentration and rationality. ...more

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