If, like me, after reading a foreign language or disobedience at an inappropriate time (for myself, it's adolescence), you have fallen victim to "bewilderment", be sure that by reading this book, you will join the ranks of its lovers.

"We have lost the light, the mornings, the innocent, the sacred ones who sacrifice themselves, we have lost all of them."

This passage seems to convey a sense of profound loss and perhaps a feeling of disorientation. It makes one wonder about the significance of the things that have been lost and how they might have shaped our lives.

The idea of losing the light and the mornings could symbolize the loss of hope and new beginnings. The mention of the innocent and the sacred ones who sacrifice themselves might refer to those who have given up something precious for a greater cause.

Overall, this text evokes a complex range of emotions and invites the reader to reflect on their own experiences of loss and the search for meaning in life.

Rating: 4* of five

The Book Report: Presented as an extended monologue over several days, Jean-Baptiste Clamence reflects on the extreme highs of his life as a respected criminal attorney and the profound lows as a libertine lacking a clear conscience or moral guide. He tells his life story to an unseen and unheard Other, a tourist from France in Clamence's adopted city of Amsterdam, whom he meets in a seedy bar. At each significant juncture in Clamence's life, the narrative reveals another layer of self-serving awfulness. The reader recognizes the shared humanity in Clamence's descent from the pinnacles of public acclaim and good wishes into the depths of a personal hell, shaped by the deeds done and left undone that, with our regrets, mold us into new internal forms.

My Review: I read La Peste when I was seventeen and ***HATED*** it. I was furious at the waste of even a single tree to print it in any language and in all countries worldwide. I loathed every syllable. I swore never to read another word by Camus. From that cold winter night in 1976 until I was compelled by the Book Circle to pick up this book, I adhered to that promise.

Well, I stand corrected. La Chute is a captivating moral fable told by a storyteller of great power and impeccable command over his material and language. (I'm reliably informed that the original French is superb, and this translation is excellent.) I'm so glad I didn't make the mistake of allowing my teenage judgment to go unchallenged. I would have missed a significant high point in my reading life. I'm accused, like Clamence, of leading a life based on the illusions of one's own superiority and infallible rightness. HA! Wisdom, when it arrives, comes at a high price. The life of an innocent, the decision to remain silent, and the power of life and death over a virtual stranger are all things that occur to many, if not most, of us. Of course, they're not always immediately evident, so we let them pass unnoticed. But how do you know that your complaint about the service you received didn't cause someone to lose a last-chance job, spiral into depression, and end their life? You don't. Clamence does. (That didn't happen in the book, by the way.)

This book accomplished what only the very best books by the very best writers can do: It permanently realigned my internal compass. Read it! Soon!

I have come to the conclusion that in a hurry, until the masters arrive with their novelties, we must reverse the argument like Copernicus in order to succeed. That is, now that others can no longer be judged without ourselves being judged, we must first judge ourselves and then be able to judge others.

This idea presents an interesting perspective. It emphasizes the importance of self-reflection and self-evaluation before passing judgment on others. By taking a step back and examining our own actions and behaviors, we can gain a better understanding of ourselves and avoid being hypocritical.

It also suggests that in order to make a valid judgment about others, we need to have a clear understanding of our own standards and values. Only then can we apply those standards fairly and objectively to others.

Overall, this passage from the book offers a thought-provoking reminder of the importance of self-awareness and fairness in our interactions with others.

Mon chéri, it seems Amsterdam has disagreed with you. You're so pale.

Ah, mon amour, oui, I never want to leave the Paris sun again. I want to hold you naked and hang my fog-drenched clothes over the terrace to dry and never look at another dismal canal or smoky bar.

But I thought my man liked those things about Amsterdam.

I did, sweet, until I had the misfortune of running into this rather shabby, verbose character. He was a French expat named Jean-Baptiste, or so he said. He called himself a "judge-penitent" often, but never really explained what he meant. I think he thought he was a judge judging himself, but then he made a big deal about judgment being hypocritical. He told me all about his libertine adventures, like being named the pope in a prison camp, and bragged about how he flattered people while laughing at them behind their backs. He was really obnoxious and stuck-up. He kept hinting that he had some deep wisdom, but ended up talking in circles and contradicting himself. And I couldn't get rid of him! He showed up every day for five days, no matter where I was, in a bar or on a ferry. It was like being accosted by Raskolnikov from Dostoevsky's Crime and Punishment for a week and having to listen to his compulsive confessions. Needless to say, I didn't get anything done on my business trip in Amsterdam.

Goodness, honey, sounds awful!

It was, it really was. The guy would say things he thought were profound, but when you analyzed them, they were just obvious truisms. For example, he would say something like: "Be it said, moreover, that as soon as I had re-won that affection I became aware of its weight. In my moments of irritation I told myself that the ideal solution would have been the death of the person I was interested in. Her death would, on the one hand, have definitively fixed our relationship and, on the other, removed its compulsion. But one cannot long for the death of everyone or, in the extreme, depopulate the planet in order to enjoy a freedom that cannot be imagined otherwise." But if you simplify that, he just meant: "You can't kill people to be free of them." Duh!

But then, he would say something fairly profound and straightforward, like: "No man is a hypocrite in his pleasures."

Mr. Self-important Diarrhea Mouth will probably write a novel about his adventures and ruin it by spouting a bunch of confessional thoughts that he doesn't really explore before going off on ten more tangents. Then he'll throw in some Amsterdam atmosphere to make it seem like he's setting the scene. Knowing the literary critics and academics, they'll probably go crazy with praise and try to come up with all the usual biblical allusions. But I digress like he did. Alas, he seems to be rubbing off on me. Fortunately, I'm well rid of him!

From a certain point in the book, I couldn't establish a connection with the way it was written. But from a certain place - which I didn't exactly know where it was - suddenly everything became fascinating to me and my heart didn't want to let go of it.

What was interesting to me was that the person whom I was initially judging, as he spoke more, I saw that I was understanding him. As I moved a little further, I saw that this person was actually me! Myself with all the confessions that I never had the courage to make. With all the desires and intentions that until before this I was even unaware of some of them myself. But as if it wiped the dust off the mirror for me and I was able to see a better picture of myself with new dimensions.

Certainly, in the future, I must read it again...

As with most of Camus' works, this book is, within the span of about a hundred pages, equivalent to an entire decade of therapy.

If, after reading this book, you don't experience a sense of feeling worse about yourself and people in general, yet oddly remain optimistic, then you're either inhuman or precisely the person this book was intended for.

Someone once lauded this book as "an examination of modern conscience," and it was from this perspective that I initially embarked on reading this work. That's accurate, I suppose, up to a certain point. However, to stop the interpretation there would be to deprive this book of its most essential, vivid, and palpable readings.

On the surface, the book appears as a dialogue (presented in the form of a monologue - how strange is that?), a "confession" of one man to another over the course of five days. Each day, the narrator, Jean-Baptise Clemence, reveals more of the story of his life as a lawyer, his (existential!) crisis with life in general, and the resolution he has reached now, so many years later.

I believe my previous study of Existentialism aided in my understanding of this book, and consequently, a significant portion of my enjoyment. However, a profound knowledge of Camus is not necessarily required.

Albert Camus throughout the book speaks of moral messages;

He speaks of judging and condemning one another, of fraud and lies in oneself and in society.

He brings these concepts into the writing in the form of the main character of the story and through his language in a beautiful monologue.

The fall is like a mirror in front of human societies so that they face the truth of lies, fraud, judgment, and condemnation.

And they come to the truth of their sick society.

The fall is a book for each and every one of us.

It makes us reflect on our actions and the state of the world around us. Camus uses powerful language and vivid imagery to make his points, and his work continues to be relevant today as we grapple with many of the same issues he wrote about.

If you are eager to explore the world's longest monologue, then The Fall by Albert Camus is definitely a worthy choice for you. My initial encounter with Camus was through The Stranger, which I adored. You know, it had that captivating element called a 'plot'. However, is completely lacking in a plot.

We are introduced to Jean-Baptiste Clamence, a Parisian lawyer, who engages in a continuous reflection on life and various other matters with a stranger in Amsterdam. Although I might have missed many, or perhaps even all, of the profound scholarly points in this piece, the vivid sense of the environment, the charming canals, and the chilly atmosphere were truly highlights for me. In fact, it made me long to visit Amsterdam myself!

Clamence rambles on incessantly for several days without a break. We don't hear a single word from the stranger throughout. As someone who prides herself on being an interrupteur extraordinaire de classe mondiale, I would have left this guy hanging on page two or pretended to be dead. Can you even fathom listening for several days straight?

I have delved into the themes encompassed within this work. They include the exploration of a meaningless life, the search for value in a seemingly meaningless world, innocence, and guilt, among others. The analyses also suggest that this is a retelling of the Biblical Fall of Man. However, to be honest, I didn't really notice any of these themes. They simply passed me by.

Nevertheless, I did have cause to ponder over some of his remarks. For instance, his self-glorifying statements about his charitable acts (which, to me, seemed more like a show-off) and his initial excessive self-importance. This, however, didn't last long as his behavior lost some of its shine as the book progressed.

I can't deny that I didn't fully grasp the themes here, but I was still engaged in what this guy had to say. I found some of it interesting and relevant to the lives of ordinary people. "The (actual) Fall" was indeed an intriguing incident.

Overall, it was an enjoyable read, but perhaps a bit too intellectually stimulating for my personal taste.

3 Stars

Note: Fionnuala's review really piqued my interest and led me to pick up this book.

The Fall by Albert Camus is like a hall of mirrors that invites us to step inside and take a profound look into our own deserts of absurdity.

As we enter this hall, we are greeted with a brilliance that is both revolting and captivating. Each gaze into our reflection reveals the illusions of grace that we have constructed for ourselves. We may not like what we find, but that's tough.

Maybe we'll claim that we can't recognize our own reflection, but that's either a lie or a sign that we are living under the veil of consciousness, trapped in a deep slumber. Camus, however, will wake us up and make us feel the truth.

In this hall of mirrors, we will encounter the guilt, fear, misery, and woe that stem from our betrayals. These emotions grow within us and wear us like shining armor, replacing our skin and everything that makes us human.

Camus will judge our morals, expose our selfishness and hypocrisy, and show us no mercy. His enchanting and seductive writing will rip us apart, and yet, we might even enjoy it.

After finishing The Fall, I felt an overwhelming urge to start it all over again. Camus's words passed through me like a storm that raged all night, stripping me down to the bone. Some books wrap us in a dreamy, cozy veil and transport us to a different reality. But The Fall did the opposite. It laid bare my true self.

Camus's words will stay with me for a long time, and I'm fine with that. As he said, "So we are steaming along without any landmark. We can't gauge our speed. We are making progress, yet nothing is changing. It's not navigation but dreaming."

This profound statement sums up the essence of The Fall and leaves us with much to ponder.

Don't wait for the Day of Judgment to come. In fact, this judgment takes place every day.
It is highly recommended that you always be prepared. We should be constantly aware that our actions and behaviors are being evaluated. Every decision we make, every word we speak, and every deed we do has consequences.
By being conscious of this daily judgment, we can strive to improve ourselves and make better choices. We can work towards being more kind, more honest, and more responsible individuals.
Let us not take this daily judgment lightly. Instead, let us use it as a motivation to become the best versions of ourselves and live a life that is worthy of praise and respect.

It is difficult for me to write a review of this novel in the midst of this thick fog over Amsterdam and the smoke spreading in the cafes of Hanah Nijmegen. Then this lawyer doesn't stop talking, doesn't refrain from speaking for a moment, has not left anything unspoken with honesty and courage. Then, all of a sudden, he poses existential questions that sweep the dust away from my dreamy mind, adding dust to the smoke to the fog. So how will I write the review?

"The truth is like light, it blinds. The lie is like the beautiful mercy that charms every being."

A friend recommended this novel to me as the French sister of Dostoyevsky's Notes from Underground. I don't think that's quite right. Except that the Russian work includes in its other half scenes and dialogues, while Camus continues with a series of monologues that take you in one door and out another without entering actual characters or detailed scenes. It's just Jean-Baptiste Clamence, the self-contradictory observer who makes you think he has great confidence in himself and then as you get closer you feel he is a broken person inside, his spirit is torn in the search for questions that have no answers.

"What is the sincerity of a deliberate death, from which you want people to take the idea you want them to take from you? As soon as you die, they will exploit your death to attach base and mean motives to your actions. Martyrs must choose between being forgotten, being laughed at, or being exploited. Or else they will be understood - never!"

A stream of thoughts flows from the mouth of the lawyer or the repentant judge who relates the course of his life from his peak to his decline towards the gutter. It will not be a series of events and situations, but rather a philosophical cloud that rains theories about humans and society. You will hear a lot of denunciations about social hypocrisy, about death and its meaning, about the relationships between men and women, about integrity and its falsehood, virtue and its truth, and you will feel the boredom and verbosity dripping from the words of this man. There are also some symbols that will intrigue you and which may be no more than a passing incident in other literary works: such as the fall of an unknown woman into the river, the mysterious laughter he hears behind him, and also the scene of the fight with the cyclist.

"Covered in ashes, my hair tousled, my face smeared with filth and with two sharp eyes I stand before humanity on a Sunday morning, naked without losing focus on the effect I create and I say 'I am the lowest of the low' and then gradually I move from 'I' to 'we'. "

It is true that the book is short but it is not easy. The speech flows like this for pages far from the traditional narrative, and the weighty words with meanings make me stop repeatedly to think about this or that part. It may seem suitable for a light and quick reading but it is not. The Fall is a seamless work between literature and philosophy, a thick smoke that is difficult to inhale without choking, but you want to inhale it until the last particle.

A person's life story may be that of great luck, or perhaps of misfortune, as he confronts the problems of his existence. When everything seems fine and in its place, and he may have no more desires, suddenly he stumbles. He faces another chapter of his life story, and hears a laughter; a laughter that exposes the sins and naivety of his life. Suddenly, it reminds him of his downfall. He realizes that the laughter is the sound of mockery of all that he once felt on top of his desires. How much can the hardships and sufferings in our lives mean?

Perhaps, to the extent that being, in the language of existentialists, was a problem for me, to that extent I established a connection with different parts of the book. The first half of the book, which is a life story about confronting the problem of being in this world, was a narrative. A narrative that perhaps, with all its uniformity and the narrator's breathless storytelling, had the power of an exciting and stormy story. The second half carried with it an ambiguity that perhaps indicates the path that Camus took and left for us; a path that requires different experiences in life. A path that, although not yet fully understandable to me, but the Camus that I knew in the first half, with all its concise sentences and flowery descriptions, maintained my trust in it so that I could live and also understand the meaning of the incomprehensible parts.

As for the translation, it is also tiring. I had to look at the English translation in some parts because the translator quickly lost credibility. Where he had translated the negative copy and image as the negative copy and image, and at once forfeited his credibility.