“Maman died today. Or yesterday maybe, I don't know.”
These are the first lines of The Stranger, a 1942 novella by Albert Camus. Naturally, one would think this is a rather dramatic opening. However, for Meursault, this is just an inevitability in life. Everyone dies eventually. He takes two days off to do all the expected motions. Then he returns to regular life, now wearing a black tie since it is the expectation of someone mourning. But what are the expectations of someone who is mourning? Why does society expect such mannerisms? Is it wrong to get a girlfriend the next day and attend the movies with her while still wearing black mourning attire? The Stranger is a book that puts the reader through the eyes and thoughts of a man who has difficulty understanding society’s norms and secret rules. Meursault is a taciturn man who is often confused by the shifting tones of other people, constantly wondering if he was at fault. Yet despite his strange and unconforming character, he is still human, capable of feeling sorrow, rage, and love. In the final moments of the book, he experiences a cascade of emotions and arrives at the same realization his mother had during her final years, finally coming to peace with his end and the gentle indifference of the world. It is only at that realization, that resignation, that he becomes a stranger no more to the world.
The book is written in short, direct sentences, often devoid of flowery adjectives. There is also an abundance of short, abrupt statements from Meursault. They explain his justifications and thoughts. Oftentimes, his justifications are longer than the one-word answers he gives. This characterizes him as a reserved person guided by logic as opposed to societal convention. If something confuses him, it will be known to the reader. If something annoys him, it will be known. Also occasionally mentioned is whatever technique he uses to escape conversations he finds repetitive or useless.
An example of this, and one of the most amusing scenes, was when the magistrate tried to convince Meursault to ask God for forgiveness. Initially, Meursault answers no to all of his questions concerning his belief in God. Eventually, he found the conversation no longer of interest, and “As always, whenever I want to get rid of someone I'm not really listening to, I made it appear as if I agreed[.]” He said yes to one of the magistrate’s statements, causing him to enthusiastically repeat his question if Meursault believed in God. Obviously, he said no, and the magistrate gave up in frustration. After that event, he never spoke anything of God to Meursault, only calling him “Monsieur Antichrist” when returning him to the police.
Despite this, Meursault is not this stoic, unfeeling person. He enjoys and seeks out his pleasures in life: mainly smoking, drinking, and fondling his girlfriend. When I first read the book, I was surprised at first to see him portray such lust. However, when I had got used to that as part of his character, a new development struck. He did not actually love Marie. Or rather, it was complicated; because of his worldviews, he did not see marriage as something particularly significant. They simply enjoyed each other, and marriage would not change anything in his eyes. But at the same time, there were moments where he admitted that he loved her or considered having a married life with her. In the end, none of this mattered, since he concluded that there is no meaning to anything in life.
Speaking of his conclusions, the ending was certainly a cathartic moment. Throughout the book, the most emotion portrayed by Meursault, even in his thoughts, was when the sun blinded and irritated him in that fateful moment, and in court when he “had this stupid urge to cry, because I could feel how much all these people hated me.” Yet both times, they were only contained to his thoughts, and not vocalized. At the end, though, when he's condemned to be executed and waits out each day sleeplessly, mind racing to find an answer to his predicament, where more often the answer does not mean escape or freedom, the chaplain visits him and attempts to get him to seek God for forgiveness, just like the magistrate did in the beginning of his legal proceedings. The relentlessly flimsy arguments eventually irritate Meursault so much that he grabs the chaplain and starts “pouring out on him everything that was in my heart, cries of anger and cries of joy.” He shouts how he lived his life one way and could have lived it just as well in another way; how it didn't matter if anyone died; how Salamano's dog was worth just as much as his wife; and just about everything in his life not mattering. After the guards tear the tearful chaplain from the gasping Meursault’s hands, he lies back down on his bunk and falls asleep. Waking up to a starry night, he thinks about his mother for the first time in a long time, and understands something about her. About why she took a fiancé despite being in her final years. Nothing had really mattered, and she was free to do anything: even living her life all over again, unrestricted by society’s expectations. Meursault too felt ready to live it all again, despite his impending end.
Part of why I love this novella is because of how relatable Meursault is. Obviously, not the part where he unloads an entire revolver into an Arab on the beach, but the alienation, the questioning of societal norms, the thoughts going through as one sits through a pointless conversation. All of these are parts of life that are quietly hidden away. On a more personal level, I really saw myself in him in the inability to lie and the refusal to speak when there is nothing to say. After all, lying usually complicates a situation. So does introducing unnecessary or thoughtless information. Now, of course, he was written to be an absurd hero: that is, someone who is meant to demonstrate how nonsensical some parts of life are. In the end, even though this book was written with a philosophical intent, it still is enjoyable in its relatable protagonist and expression of the absurd human condition.
