131 pages
English language
Published June 7, 2016 by Pegasus Books.
The day his mother dies, Meursault notices that it is very hot on the bus that is taking him from Algiers to the retirement home where his mother lived; so hot that he falls asleep. Later, while waiting for the wake to begin, the harsh electric lights in the room make him extremely uncomfortable, so he gratefully accepts the coffee the caretaker offers him and smokes a cigarette. The same burning sun that so oppresses him during the funeral walk will once again blind the calm, reserved Meursault as he walks along a deserted beach a few days later--leading him to commit an irreparable act.
A quick read that leaves you thinking about death in the face of a life that naturally provides no meaning. It ages well.
Reading The Stranger by Albert Camus left me both unsettled and oddly calm — like staring into a bright, empty sky and realizing it has no answers. Originally published in 1942, this novel is often seen as the embodiment of Camus’ philosophy of the absurd, and with good reason.
The story follows Meursault, a French-Algerian clerk who reacts to life’s most significant events — his mother’s death, a romantic relationship, even a murder — with unsettling emotional detachment. His indifference is not cruelty, but a radical honesty: he simply refuses to pretend that life has inherent meaning.
When Meursault shoots an unnamed Arab man under the blazing Algerian sun, it feels less like a crime of passion than an existential rupture. What follows is not just a murder trial, but a trial of Meursault’s character, his lack of faith, his refusal to lie about grief or belief. Society, it seems, …
Reading The Stranger by Albert Camus left me both unsettled and oddly calm — like staring into a bright, empty sky and realizing it has no answers. Originally published in 1942, this novel is often seen as the embodiment of Camus’ philosophy of the absurd, and with good reason.
The story follows Meursault, a French-Algerian clerk who reacts to life’s most significant events — his mother’s death, a romantic relationship, even a murder — with unsettling emotional detachment. His indifference is not cruelty, but a radical honesty: he simply refuses to pretend that life has inherent meaning.
When Meursault shoots an unnamed Arab man under the blazing Algerian sun, it feels less like a crime of passion than an existential rupture. What follows is not just a murder trial, but a trial of Meursault’s character, his lack of faith, his refusal to lie about grief or belief. Society, it seems, is more disturbed by his honesty than his violence.
What struck me most was the clarity of Camus’ prose. The sentences are clean and sharp, mirroring Meursault’s view of the world: unembellished, immediate, free of illusion. It’s a language that leaves no room to hide — from death, from truth, or from ourselves.
For me, The Stranger is less about a man on trial than about what it means to live authentically in an indifferent universe. It’s not comforting, but it is liberating.
"Do you have any defense, monsieur?"
"Wallah the sun made me kill him wallah."
Thank you to the stranger trying to get to Stepney Green from Liverpool st. last year who reminded me I’ve been neglecting this read.
Absurdism'i hikaye şeklinde ele alan bu kitap, hayatın anlamını aramanın gereksizliğine her yönden atıfta bulunuyor.
I read this book my senior year of high school, and it is the book that got me into philosophy. Every time I revisit the book I comprehend its place in Camus's philosophy more and more.
Maybe reading it in German didn’t help but boy was this narrator unbearable. A few interesting moments and thoughts were there but overall this felt like more of a chore.
This was a mega boring one. I had plough thru to complete it.
An interesting, albeit depressing philosophical, look at the 'life' of a sociopath...
A masterpiece.
I found this to be an enlightening piece of nihilist fiction. I would be remiss if I wrote an extended review of this book. Suffice it to say that nothing really matters. The sooner that one opens their heart to the “benign indifference of the universe,” the sooner one can experience some modicum of happiness in life.
As a misanthrope, this book is terrifying.
111 sider uten et overflødig ord, banal naivitet tilsynelatende, men alt henger sammen, hver handling og hvert ord. Side 91:
"I have never truly been able to regret anything. I was always preoccupied by what was about to happen, either today or tomorrow. "
Som om det å ikke ha et forhold til fortiden gjør oss ute av stand til å tenke rettferdighet.
Wonderful take with a very memorable first paragraph.
I loved Arthur Meursault and loved the ending as well.
