The name Albert Camus has always met me with intrigue. It’s brought up with a certain air of reverence when speaking to a western intellectual. You could say it’s due in part to his rare combination of philosophical essays with short digestible novels. Or his unique brew of a deeply irrational yet positive philosophy. The author’s reputation casts a large shadow, and so, curious as I am, I decided to investigate by starting with L’Étranger.
(Content warning: this article discusses themes and portrayals of death, depression, and physical abuse)
Drawing on his life experiences, he developed and contributed literary themes still used today. His absurdist Übermensch recognizes the meaninglessness of life, yet carries on due to his love of the little pleasures of daily life such as a particularly good cup of coffee.
Looking into Death’s Eyes with Indifference
Known in English as The Stranger, the first novel he wrote would come to form a component that shares themes with the later essay The Myth of Sisyphus. The book starts very strong. The setting daunts the reader with an intriguing hook that immediately demands full attention. The protagonist finds himself at a grim scene, surrounded by sobbing faces at his mother’s funeral, swiftly introducing a discourse on death that delights in its shock value.
The strange in the Stranger begins when the protagonist displays no shock, nor grief, nor any of the myriad of emotions expected from someone after the loss of a relative. In a later work, Camus expresses that “the beginning precludes the ending.” In accordance with his philosophy, this is a particularly crucial and standout scene in the book at large, serving as the evidence in our protagonist’s impending Final Judgment. Still, Camus knows that he hasn’t gone far enough to fully condemn the main character, and he leaves room for curiosity.
Continuing forward, the author adds more spin on the character. In the same scene, an older man appears, said to be the former lover of the dead mother. This man, whom our main character has never met, is unable to hold back his sorrow and grief, providing an example of the appropriate reaction in this doomed situation. Through the normal straight man, we are meant to perceive the main character as a strange and undesirable. Nevertheless, the first person perspective means that we relate strongly to the main character at the same time. Besides, who hasn’t been in this situation before, when you feel that you should cry, but you can’t bring yourself to? We recognize that the grieving man is the more normal reaction, so why can’t we bring ourselves to grieve as well? Why don’t we care? The fact that this scene takes place when we know nothing else about the plot and characters further escalates the contrast between our lack of care for anything that is happening, versus those heartbroken sobbing spectators, who seem a touch too overdramatic.
The Selfish Virtue
The second quarter of the book continues on this thread by providing even more instances and scenarios of the peculiar main character who the reader can understand the flaws of yet deeply sympathize with. From an entertainment perspective, the plot does suffer a bit from focusing so much on the characterization, but Camus is not attempting an interesting plot here, he wants only to characterize. Being utterly carefree after the bothersome funeral which sapped all of his scarce energy, he partakes in some indulgences to lift his spirits. One of the first things he does is spend an entire evening just people-watching local pedestrians, and laughing at their normalcy.
Throughout this section, Camus begins to introduce characters that highlight the hidden virtues in our protagonist, which outweigh his emotional flaws. Even though he is an unremarkable employee, his boss applauds him for his consistency and even offers to promote him to a higher-paying and more favorably located position in Paris. Being led to believe our main character would jump at the chance, he shockingly declines this offer with almost no thought or remorse, it would just be too much work for him to move. This frustrating twist illustrates the failure, for Mersault, to connect his external and internal circumstances. (Mersault being our protagonist's name, which is never actually mentioned in the book itself) Not only that, but if he had taken the offer of escape, he would have gotten away from the horrors to come.
It becomes all the more annoying when we meet his unofficial girlfriend, Marie (like Mother Mary). Ironically, throughout the book Mersault is shown to only be bothered about few immediate hedonistic concerns including a comfortable breeze, or again, fondling of a woman's breasts. Actually, he doesn’t just care about these pleasures, but there seems to be an intense inner longing for “the small things.” So much so, that he seems like he would sacrifice anything for them. This draws him away from the more important concerns of his life.
For example, when his not-quite-girlfriend (not if she can help it) asks if he loves her, he replies a short brazen "no". He responds that any woman in her place what do the job and that she doesn't matter, and that he only wants her body. The echoes of the author's womanizing habits creep up on the reader here, but that can stay under the surface for now. Heartbroken, Marie expresses her love for him and even asks him his hand in marriage (!) He waits a while, thinks it over very long and hard, and then begrudgingly accepts her proposal, but doesn't go to the effort of setting a date, citing too much anxiety and pressure.
Emasculated Fragility
You might not feel it just reading this, but trust me, the middle part drags. Scores and scores of pages' worth of unadulterated apologia in which characters are introduced just to highlight how much of a swell guy our protagonist really is. This includes a man who’s dog dies, and is consoled when Mersault gets him to realize that “nothing really matters.” As I was reading this, I really hoped that the author was writing some sort of complex, purposely overdramatic satire, with our main character being shown for the hollow shell that he really is, but, from here it becomes clear that it’s becoming something… else.
After the self-worship is over, we finally meet Raymond. This character represents a lot of things. He is the embodiment of fascism, masculinity, and chauvinism just to name a few, and he’s also an excellent scapegoat. Our first encounter with him is delightful, he beats a prostitute senseless and then when the police arrive he goes full on victim-blame. Of course, the police being what it is, it works perfectly. Somehow, this brutal display of macho that Mersault stumbles into provides the first real challenge to his worldview, the first chance for true introspection. However, this opportunity will end up sorely wasted. It also finally ignites the central conflict of the book. The victim, who is apparently a “Muslim” (although it’s unclear if she actually is), barely escapes with her life, and Raymond remarks that she’ll probably seek revenge.
Raymond shows a desire to push Mersault’s worldview to the limit, and possibly exploit him if he can. The first step is a loyalty test. He asks him if he is bothered by what he saw. Being his same typical self, our protagonist replies that he doesn't care either way, and even goes so far as to say Raymond's actions are justified from a certain point of view. It’s notable that instead of feeling any kind of sympathy, Mersault again shows that he simply doesn’t care in situations when it is socially unacceptable. The funeral example may have seemed somewhat harmless, while this time it stokes a newfound alienation, and pity for the character: you think to yourself, I, the neurotypical socially acceptable being that I am, would never befriend such a monster! How can you be indifferent to a woman’s suffering?
We don't ever actually see her again, with her role being filled in by her brothers, who are supposedly (according to Raymond) chasing him to "settle their score." It is implied that maybe there was preexisting beef between him and this family. There is still something highly suspect about the whole affair, but Mersault obviously can't be bothered to think too hard about it.
In the meantime Raymond begins courting main character even further, leading to Mersault becoming more and more helpless and dependent, and eventually aiding and abetting his abuser. Firstly, he writes an alibi for him and even talks to the police department for him, as his witness. The directly leads to Raymond, the virile would-be prostitute murderer, getting off with no charges. Mersault is even able to see that he is in a subservient position, although he doesn't seem to mind, and can’t be bothered to do anything. He just thinks about warm coffee and soft breasts. Eventually, as a show of "gratitude," Raymond invites Mersault and his fiancee to a beach outing.
Quickly, it becomes clear that this is no ordinary vacation, and is that a scheme is afoot, although we don't really know exactly what's happening. The Muslim family begins appearing all around them, in every alleyway and window, as if a haunting spectre. During this part of the book, the narration becomes more ambiguous, and unconscious psychological symbolism begins to take precedent over actual circumstances. Our beloved sympathetic anti-hero finds himself watching his abuser attempting to woo Marie, but naturally doesn't care. Again, as long as his senses are pleased and his needs are met he has no reason to complain. After some spontaneous fun on the beach which again involves fondling breasts, the climax suddenly slingshots its way in.
Scorched by the Sun
With the Muslims continuing to haunt him, Mersault excuses himself from the party. He wanders the beach alone, but, he’s brought Raymond’s gun, locked and loaded. It’s important that the author doesn’t really tell us why he’s armed, or attempt to give justification, he just is. Once again, a figure appears to him. They have a long stare down, almost like a Western duel. At this point, the hallucinations are unleashed, swirling around the narrator’s mind, which prevents us from decrypting what’s even physically happening. Once we finally come to, we arrive at a truly dreadful scene: pistol pointed at the spectre, he blasts and blasts away. Whether the man screams or not isn’t clear, but he’s definitely met his end. Our narrator, finally breaking into unhinged insanity, continues shooting into his lifeless body. Ambiguous details, owing to the narrator's unsound mental state, make the reason unclear.
It’s a huge shock, and the reader has finally experienced a break from the relatability of the protagonist. No longer empathizing, suddenly we are questioning this unknown protagonist, wholly alienated from us. The expedient might even find cause to question themself for understanding the protagonist up to this point, and question their judgments of the whole story. This marks another shift in storytelling, from a figurative to a purely spectacular representation of Camus' philosophical system.
Courtroom Circus
He is quickly arrested, setting the stage to further escalate the author’s demonstrations of his philosophical event. The protagonist really doesn’t know what to make of his situation, faced with unfamiliarity. However, he doesn’t mourn the fact that he might be in prison for his whole life, or worse, but he is again faced with trifling material concerns. He misses his freedom, which allowed him to
The court proceedings can only be described as otherworldly. Bizarrely, discussion of the events of the murder are sparse throughout. Instead, the prosecution team focuses on the fine details of Mersault’s life history, attempting to paint his guilt that way. The lawyer does not even speak the name of the victim, but instead espouses emotional pathos-laden arguments. The fact that our character did not grieve over his mother in the beginning of the book, and even dared to catch a movie and go to the pool after the funeral. Camus blatantly builds this prosecutor as a living straw man, biased against Mersault, keeping the jury from seeing that despite any peculiar behaviors, he has a good heart.
The cruel and cold prosecutor, speaking with an evangelical fervor, derides Mersault's social ineptitude, and describes it as a scourge on French society. This accusation is meant to incite resistance in the reader. The entire book was spent sympathizing with the protagonist and experiencing the good things that he does for other people, before an absurd act of violence. Surely, this does not define him. Should a man really be blamed for one outburst after a history of treating others the best he could?
This assertion that the author tries to make is especially odd considering the fact that Mersault clearly could have done better to nearly every character that we met. Camus creates a dissonance, specifically, why does Mersault, who the reader and the author should both agree is an essentially good person, consigned to a murder trial in a kangaroo court? Being denied of the justice that he deserves, he is at the hands of an unfeeling mob that influences the jury, a la Socrates.
The trial reveals the tragic ineptitude of all the characters involved, and it is inevitable that Mersault turns to murder. That is, if something isn’t done. But, the dilemma is that nothing really can be done, from Camus’ point of view. All we can do is question the validity of our own will to live with the question: “should I commit suicide?”
Mersault fails to capitalize on the witnesses that God carefully and painstakingly crafted for the sole purpose of asserting our protagonist’s virtues. It can only be blamed on the fundamental apathy that comes with the absurdist viewpoint. It is not a nihilism however, it is a defeatism. You are only left to dream of ice cream and breasts because of the impossibility of connecting external and internal reality.
This absurdity blinds him of the fact that his life will be immeasurably worse if he is given a guilty verdict. This keeps the absurdist from even their measly hedonist hopes, and allows him to make himself a martyr. Inevitably, the trial ends in him being sentenced to execution. The unfair system impervious to reform sends Mersault to oblivion.
Definite Jail of Finitude
In the end, decaying in his cell, Mersault begins to lose his sense of time. All of the delightful pleasures that he couldn’t even chase vanish from his grasps. His only delight is just seeing his girlfriend’s smiling face, and this happens only once, with her grin beginning to fade. In this predicament, our noble anti-hero finds new pleasures for himself within his small containment cell.
Camus implies that we are all in a similar predicament, from the time we are born. Being born is an amazing expression of creativity that we are unable to know at the time, much less care for. It is like our mother’s funeral. Eventually, the misadventures of youth lead to the walls that enclose us all.
Yet Mersault finds pleasure. How is this even possible still? Now we find the author’s major contribution over his predecessors. You see, even though Mersault appears to be in the worst situation imaginable, he can still find hope for something. Like Jesus on the cross, he looks at the foolishness of the world, and pities them for locking him away. Even with no escape, says Camus, we have to find our own occupations, if only to escape boredom momentarily.
Furthering his point, he portrays more phenomena that cause you to question yourself. He illustrates your similarities with a death row prisoner, causing you to further question yourself. In an oddly sympathetic moment, our character discovers he has been talking to himself all this time without realizing it. He only figures it out because he can hear the sound of his voice bouncing off the walls.
While it seems strange to us, Camus leaves the reader with the impression that if we were in the situation, we wouldn’t respond much differently. And since, according to him, we actually are in fact in the same situation, he implies that we all require a little insanity just to function. Devoid of the sources of entertainment, our only choice is to lie in our jail cell, stare at the ceiling, and dream about the sky.
The author does not want to make it seem like he mourns our situation, but in fact he does. He unconsciously infantilizes the main character, and humanity, by asserting the inescapability of existence as a limitation that leaves us bed bound like a prisoner waiting to die. Suffering and destitution become universal states, necessary conditions for life. In a perfect world, we would all be beyond definition, our will to power set free. But alas, this is restricted from us, with the infinite Absurd standing in the way.
We must stop because it is here that we find the utopian hypothesis which fuels the grand spectacle. For things to really be different, that would require the character be a completely different person, and the world to be unrecognizable. Not only that but we would need to live in a completely different universe where social norms and dynamics consisted of an altogether unrecognizable character. In such a scenario, there would be no Albert Camus, nor would there need to be.
One must ask, what is the ultimate worth of speculating about such a thing? While it’s tempting answer that it is virtually worthless, it is indeed a useful tool of deception. Instead of dreaming about these speculations, clearly, it would have been more productive for Camus to engineer improvement from where we are now instead of dreaming about alternate realities. This is achieved in many ways by humanity on a daily basis on an unprecedented pace and scale. Art, Literature, science, technology, all of the things that are unfathomable young compared to the Earth, stand as antithetical to Camus’ hypothesis.
Bloodthirsty Denial
In this moment, when everything is reduced away, the author shows his truth. He wants to escape dimension and definition, to set the void free. However ironically yet, in alignment with rational expectations, it is ultimately futile. Which begs the question of the true motives while highlighting what the book ultimately was: a work of spectacle, like a grand circus performance.
By appearing to contain eternity or rather an inexhaustible number of points between reality and the true world, Camus himself is the true prosecutor, the sophist with a silver tongue. He philosophy is the cement that he wishes to use in order to stop discourse, stop advance, and plunge the real world, our world, into confusion. He alienates by asserting the Absurd, and implying its opposite. The ending involves Mersault screaming at a priest, reminiscent of Camus accusing the old Catholic purist naivete that he believes limits French discourse, and with it, the modern world.
At multiple points, the main character carelessly perpetrates vices, which he is only lauded for. Doubtless, a more caring society is one to strive for. However, it has never found its way to justice by way of freedom from the defining walls of existence. Counter to the Anglo principle that Camus clings to so fervently, it is only by studying the patterns of definition that man expresses true freedom, only by justice that the prisoner is released. Through the process of definition, the actions of being manifests into becoming. This dialectical truth of motion is Camus’ true target.
The True Test of Freedom
There is exactly one lie that I told on purpose throughout this essay. Actually, Mersault’s jail cell had no ceiling. One could imagine a scenario in which the law of gravity suddenly ceases to function. Camus’ man would finally have his wish.
Unfortunately, the loss of gravity in the universe would be a catastrophe. Galactic bodies would come apart at the seams, and all life would quickly cease. And so we see that, Camus, without drawing the line of his own conclusions, wants to sacrifice existence in order to usurp God in His throne, outside the universe of pain.
Fortunately for us, the laws of physics aren’t going anywhere. However, even though the dreamers will never achieve their wish, they will still act as if they can. If existence really is Absurd and everyone is doomed to the same fate as them, the only morals we can hope for necessarily permits harm. Rational inquiry is hopeless, there only truth we can find is hidden within self impressions that provide us temporary moments of control. It would be justified to lock such a person up, as we always have.
Final Verdict
Overall it is hard to deny that L’Étranger poses a provocative, harder than it looks challenge. There is more depth than you might expect from a hundred page book.
On technical merits alone, the work is fine but not special. The mellow narration provides comedy, especially how it contrasts with the setting. The author seems to make a conscious attempt to recycle the prose from American literature of varying time periods, with snappy figurative language that gets the illustrates the point but could hardly be called graceful.
The largest realization that came with this review is that sometimes, taking on a simple problem can be tough, if the book has built complex layers around its message, or has gripped the public imagination. Even though it is a short, light book I could talk on and on about the significance and meaning, especially when counterposed with Camus’ philosophical colleagues. However, in my opinion, complex mysticism does not a good book make.
I would not recommend the novel for pure entertainment either, as there were some points where my attention lapsed, or I felt straight up bored. In fact I had to stop reading it about three times before I finally finished it. There is something to be said about being entertained and reading philosophy at the same time, and that’s probably the most you’ll get out of it. But, ultimately, the root of the message is spectacle and escapism, which is useful for understanding the current world, but hardly rules to live by.
And so, I would recommend reading it if you’re curious about Camus, like I was, or about the time period. It’s a good entry point for understanding Indo-European culture, but you will need to branch out quickly or your view will become distorted.
If you’re just looking for a good book to pass the time, the ideas that Camus is exploring have since been built on and done way better, even by Camus himself. You’ll be better off reading something else.
In summary, it’s an average psychological novel/essay with extremely varied quality. I rate L’Étranger by Albert Camus 6.5/10.
