One of my 'awakening' books is a profound work that has left an indelible mark on me. It tells the story of someone who never lies yet is still despised by society, teaching me a valuable lesson that I have carried with me throughout the years.

Camus has the remarkable ability to揭示 the 'fallen' aspect within all of us. He shows us the point where we become so alienated that, after becoming strangers to everyone else, we also become strangers to ourselves. His writing is not just beautiful; it is achingly beautiful. A kind of poetry of negated observation pervades his work, filling the reader with a sense of emptiness.

My friends who speak French claim that the English translation is merely a shadow of the original beauty. They say there are sentences that simply cannot be accurately translated, losing their essence in the process. This book is truly one of the most influential in my life, shaping my perspective and understanding of the human condition.

It makes me reflect on the importance of authenticity and the consequences of being misunderstood or ostracized by society. It also reminds me of the power of literature to touch our souls and make us question the world around us.

One cannot be content with reading this novel just once. For with each reading, things that were hidden from you in previous times will be revealed to you!

Nor can this text be read in isolation from the general philosophy of Albert Camus. The protagonist of the novel, "Meursault," through his actions, words, and attitudes, establishes some of the characteristics of the philosophy of absurdity and the revolt that Camus adopted and developed. And this is not surprising; for Camus, literature was one of the forms of awakening to the fact that life is sheer absurdity!

Perhaps the most accurate thing that has been said - and will be said - about this novel is what Sartre (Camus' friend before they parted ways) said:

"There is no sentence that is not useful, no sentence that is not retrieved later, and thrown onto the simplicity of the discussion. And when we close the book, we realize that it could not have started in any other way, and that it could not have ended with any other ending."

I was once at a vineyard. Nearby, a staff member was describing their wine with the typical highfalutin language: “…aroma of the blackberry balanced by tannins and the subtle earthiness of sandalwood.”

One of the group members took a drink and said, “Oh yes, I can taste the sandalwood.”

After they left, I commented to my sommelier, “How in the world do people know what sandalwood tastes like?”

She laughed and responded, “If you put it on the bottle, someone will always taste it.”

I suspect the great depth many people find in The Stranger is largely due to the fact that its depth was 'put on the bottle.' This is hilariously ironic. After all, The Stranger is an absurdist text about a man who refuses to behave as society expects. Yet here we have a book celebrated for its depth by readers who, for the most part, seemingly fail to even understand said depths. Oh kool-aid, how sweet thy taste.

But before you dismiss me as an intellectual snob, let me share a true story. This book made an acquaintance of mine go crazy (to be more precise, reading it triggered his latent sociopathy). This led to a sort of Kessler Effect that damaged those around him. I had to watch the darkening of a beautiful soul - his girlfriend, my friend, who'd already had to deal with a father suffering from delusional disorder.

Not only that, but this book offends me personally. I am actually a card-carrying, dyed-in-the-wool Existentialist. I believe the universe offers neither intrinsic morality nor meaning. I believe the individual creates his own morality and meaning, in life, literature, and everything else. Contrary to popular belief, this is a fundamentally empowering, liberating belief. And yet the term 'existentialist' invokes negative, nihilistic connotations because of crap like The Stranger.

So let's explore some of the nonsense you might encounter in fellow readers' responses to The Stranger.

First, the claim that “Mersault [the protagonist] is an Existentialist hero.” In a nutshell, the protagonist Mersault goes through life rather passively, existing more as a creature of gross senses than a sentient, thinking being. His mother dies in the beginning, and he doesn't feel much because there's not much of a sensory experience attached to it. Eventually, he randomly kills an Arab and goes on trial. That's the plot.

Now, I don't dispute that The Stranger is a Hero’s journey, albeit not a hero in the traditional sense. But it’s only at the VERY VERY end – when he rants and raves at the priest – that he actually becomes what one could conceivably call ‘an existentialist hero.’

But even with that ending, Mersault is BY NO MEANS an existentialist. He's a sociopath and an idiot. Existentialism is not nihilism; it’s not about being a blank void of a human being, which is what Mersault is. He’s lazy and a coward. Failing to assign meaning to anything, he allows society and the people around him to assign meaning for him. Thus he loses his freedom. THAT'S NOT EXISTENTIALISM.

Existentialism is about having the courage to ignore the values society attempts to place upon you and instead create your own. It’s very much a life-affirming philosophy, not nihilistic or anti-society like The Stranger makes it out to be. The pure existentialist is a non-conformist, as opposed to an anti-conformist. The pure existentialist neither follows the crowd in jumping off the bridge NOR fails to follow the crowd in jumping off the bridge. He stops and thinks about it first and then decides. Sometimes there are damn good reasons to jump off the bridge, like when Godzilla is rolling up with a mouth full of lightning.

Second, the claim that “Mersault is put on trial for failing to conform to society.” Certainly, Camus may have intended it as such, and it is easy to read it that way. His trial is rather farcical after all.

But, honestly, that's a superficial reading of the text. Mersault would never have been on trial in the first place had he not committed murder. Which has nothing to do with failing to conform to society...?

Third, the claim that “Existentialism requires atheism.” It’s true that Camus believed that making the ‘leap of faith’ in response to the absurd nature of reality was a cop-out. He believed following any religion caused a critical corruption in your free-will/free-thinking capacities.

I personally am agnostic, but I disagree with his claims. There’s nothing intrinsically impossible about investigating a religion and finding it good and then choosing, of your own free will, to follow it. Sure, adopting a religion wholesale is a foolish idea. But then so is adopting ANYTHING wholesale, including Camus’ own Absurdist doctrine. There’s nothing wrong with using religion (or the holy book of a religion) as a foundation for one’s interface with reality.

Finally, the claim that “I empathize with Mersault. I'm an outsider too.” What in the nine Applejacks hells!?

Mersault is a bad human being. He’s not some courageous rebel.

There's this false dichotomy: you can either be A) a conformist, a mere cog in society or B) you have to be a heartless, amoral sociopath like Mersault. CHU CHU. WELCOME TO THE NOPE TRAIN. It is more than possible to be a non-conformist AND a friendly, caring, kind human being.

So it rather disturbs me to see teenagers, or even adults, glorify The Stranger as this anti-authority, anti-society bible. It isn’t. Not only do such people miss the point of this book, but their praise suggests they want to pursue their lives in a way that, very likely, will be spiritually, emotionally, and materially unrewarding.

Basically, I think The Stranger is a mediocre book because, without its philosophical underpinnings, it’s mediocre. And its philosophical underpinnings are mediocre too. It misrepresents existentialism and inadvertently lionizes emotional & intellectual laziness and jerkface-ness. It (apparently) leads to an interpretation that is nihilistic and anti-society, leading readers into The Stranger’s figurative jail, when I suspect Camus meant to show people the way out of it. Whoops!

Why can't we choose whether we wish to come into this world or not? There should be some mechanism to judge the will of the fetus, something to measure the "consent" of the unborn to be born or not.

This would save a great deal of trouble that looms later in life. Provided, of course, that one is not captivated by the "only one really serious philosophical problem that is suicide" too early to avoid the trouble.

Because for every thinking entity, the question of existence is inevitable. What is the meaning of existence? If there is none, why do we continue to exist? Is it because we have no choice but to live the life we are given? Keep going, keep breathing until the inevitable takes hold of us? God and the afterlife are out of the question, being stupid fabrications of mediocre minds that only undermine the importance of the present. Life is absurd, and so is the question of its meaning. To accept the absurdity is the only hope. Because if religious hope is based on the false belief that death, in the sense of the complete extinction of body and soul, is not inevitable, that something of us remains intact long after we are dead, to be resurrected again, then the hope of a final hour is stupid. But accepting life as absurd and meaningless is wise. We can enjoy the sensuous pleasures in the phenomena of nature only when we deny our senses of sensing God.

This reflection on absurdity and suicide follows closely on the publication of Camus's first novel, The Stranger. Our protagonist is a completely ordinary man with a slight difference in the way he views life and its belongings. He is more like a spectator in the events that lead him to the inevitable, rather than a participant.

The objective, detached, and indifferent tone of the narrator is typical of the Camus hero, for whom: "Maman died today. Or yesterday maybe, I don't know. I got a telegram from the home: 'Mother deceased. Funeral tomorrow. Faithfully yours.' That doesn't mean anything. Maybe it was yesterday."

The opening sentences of the novel exemplify Meursault's absurdist outlook on life, his emotional indifference and detachment from people, and his passive but quiet alienation from the rest of society.

I did not resent him for his cold heart, his misanthropic behavior, his objective approach to life, and his remorseless attitude toward the killing he senselessly committed. Rather, I felt so closely connected with his views and feelings. In fact, I came to acclaim him for his truthfulness. He never once deceived people with false emotions. He didn't once try to make the jury believe otherwise. He never once claimed to love Marie or to love his mother. He simply reflected who he was, and for that, he was to be hanged for not weeping at the death of his mother!

In the end, "He realizes that he has always been happy. The idea of death makes one aware of one's life, one's vital being – that which is impermanent and will one day end. When this vitality is appreciated, one feels free."

I felt truly down while perusing this particular piece.

The main character within it has such a profound effect on you.

He seems completely indifferent to everything around him, and morals appear to be a foreign language to him.

This portrayal leaves a distinct feeling of emptiness lingering within you.

It makes you realize the importance of having some sort of moral compass and caring about the world and the people in it.

After reading this, there is an urgent need to pick up something uplifting next.

Something that will restore your faith in humanity and bring a smile to your face.

Maybe a story about kindness, love, and hope.

Something that will counteract the darkness and emptiness that this character has left you with.

Full Disclosure: This review will not be up to my usual quality standards. I’m still shaking like a leaf from an incident earlier. There are things I wish that I could unsee. This afternoon, after receiving a relaxing massage, a very smiley member of staff came over to tell me that a member of our party had smashed her face open and needed stitches. And here is the kicker: I am in a foreign country. In case you were wondering, the concierge doctor turns the hotel room into an operating theatre.

Right…The Stranger.

This book got under my skin but not in a good way. Meursault, the main character, is indifferent and unemotional. He didn’t move me. However, as an introvert, I understood the pressures of being told to externalize feelings to people that he doesn’t know and being judged unfairly as being cold.

I was listening to some commentary about who was The Stranger or The Outsider, and the “answer” was Meursault. However, I strongly disagree with this. Just because Meursault is detached does not necessarily make him strange. Because the world *IS* cruel and detached!

“I opened myself to the gentle indifference of the world.” – Albert Camus in The Stranger

Everyone believes that he or she is the hero of their own story, but even when the chips are down, most people don’t care. After living in Troy for 13 years, not one person has come to visit me since I became sick. My voice is hoarse from disuse during the week. Have you ever visited a doctor who could have helped you but doesn’t care, who treats you with gentle indifference? Recently, there was a prisoner released from confinement after 23 years. For decades, he pleaded his innocence, but it didn’t matter. The world treated him with indifference.

Meursault just received a jolt to his system, an awakening as to his importance in society (which is practically nothing).

These are the books that I don’t enjoy because I am not casually indifferent, and I want to feel and be moved. I want to feel alive inside before I’m dead.

When Meursault is talking to Marie, she asks if he will marry her, and he responds that he will. He further clarifies that he would marry anyone who asked him. People aren’t interchangeable. At least not to me. I want to be seen as I truly am, kissed by greatness, and this book just made me depressed.

You might like The Stranger if you enjoyed On The Road by Jack Kerouac because that character also was essentially the equivalent of “hey man, everything is great. Everything is groovy. One chick is as good as another. Don’t worry about anything in life.” As for me, I want extraordinary, and this wasn’t it.

What I Paid – Softcover Text – I don’t remember but I bought it for 40% off at the Barnes and Noble Going Out of Business Sale

2025 Reading Schedule

Jan\\tA Town Like Alice

Feb\\tBirdsong

Mar\\tCaptain Corelli's Mandolin - Louis De Berniere

Apr\\tWar and Peace

May\\tThe Woman in White

Jun\\tAtonement

Jul\\tThe Shadow of the Wind

Aug\\tJude the Obscure

Sep\\tUlysses

Oct\\tVanity Fair

Nov\\tA Fine Balance

Dec\\tGerminal

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4.5…maybe 5 stars?!?

Wow, this book is truly a remarkable piece of work. It's like a gentle punch in the face, in the best possible way.

From the very first page, it grabs your attention and doesn't let go. The story is engaging, filled with twists and turns that keep you on the edge of your seat.

The characters are well-developed and relatable, making it easy to invest in their journey.

The writing style is beautiful, flowing smoothly and painting vivid pictures in your mind.

Whether you're a fan of fiction or just looking for a good read, this book is definitely worth checking out.

I highly recommend it to anyone who loves a great story that will leave them thinking long after they've turned the last page.

It's one of those rare books that you'll want to read again and again.

So, go ahead and give it a try. You won't be disappointed!

Seventh reading down, this time read to gain perspective after a personal tragedy. It's truly amazing how my mindset at that time frames my perception of this book's events and what that mindset chooses to focus on.

Almost for the first time in many months I thought of my mother. And now, it seemed to me, I understood why at her life's end she had taken a 'fiance'; why she'd played at making a fresh start. There, too, in that Home where lives were flickering out, the dusk came as a mournful solace. With death so near, Mother must have felt like someone on the brink of freedom, ready to start life all over again.

This book delves deeply into death, grief, the concept of a soul, and the afterlife. And this is what my heart clings to this time around.

Life isn't meaningless. It is precious, yet short. Sadly, most people don't realize this until the end. Meursalt lived his life in truth, and for that, I admire him. But he lacked passion and awareness of what he was living in, and for that, I pity him. Even at the end, he claimed all he wanted in an afterlife was to remember the life he had. Why care about memories of a meaningless existence? The proximity of death made him realize what he had missed, and that truth breaks my heart. Which is why I still live, fight, and survive even in the darkness. Every life has meaning, every life deserves to be lived, and every person on this earth is fighting a battle you know nothing about.

The Ward translation I just read has left a new mark on my consciousness. I will be reviewing that version as a completely separate review as soon as I can make sense of 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 like a religious text to me.

Dear friends,

And no, Stepheny is *NOT* rubbing off on me. *eats chocolate cake and sips grape kool-aid*

Where do I begin with this book? I mean, this is the fifth time I've read it, and I feel that every time I hold its worn binding, yellowed pages, and weathered cover in my hands to pore over these words, I discover something new, something I either forgot and regained or found for the first time. The last 10 pages of this short novel contain some of the most powerful words I've ever read, and now I find it rather strange and daunting to have to share my thoughts about them and how they've consciously and unconsciously shaped my adult life.

First of all, I read this book for the first time the summer after I graduated from high school. I found it on my dad's bookshelf, a memento from one of his existentialism classes in college, and was immediately drawn to it because of that fabulous cover, the retro font, and the back blurb:

\\nThirty years after its original publication, The Stranger remains among the most influential books of our time. A terrifying picture of a man victimized by life itself--he is a faceless man, who has committed a pointless murder--it is a book whose unrelenting grip upon our consciousness has not diminished to this day.\\n

A man victimized by life itself? What does that mean to a self-centered, pseudo-intellectual, and phony wannabe hipster high school graduate who wants to be known as the girl who reads Nietzsche for fun but who cannot actually understand what the words are saying? And yes, unfortunately, that is how I see my eighteen-year-old self. A girl just released from the prison of high school who tasted real freedom and independence for the first time and couldn't wait to prove to everyone around her how much smarter and more sophisticated she was than everyone else in her small rural Pennsylvania town. I picked this book up because it just looked like something I should be reading before college. A college where I pictured myself wearing hipster glasses and reading things like this by myself in a lonely corner of the library while drinking wheatgrass juice or eating organic granola. And perhaps maybe some hipster college boy with a dark and tortured soul would notice me reading this and think that I was just so totally cool. I asked my dad what he thought about it, and he muttered something nonsensical about having to read so many dark and existential novels in college that they all blend together. Thanks, dad. Total help. My 9th grade Honor's English teacher saw me reading it one day and commented that the book changed her life, which totally reinforced the idea that this was a good start to maturing my reading tastes. I got to the end of the novel, and on the outside, I was like:

But inside, I was like:

Onto reading #2. In college. A bit more maturity on my side, and a teacher to kind of explain it all. I began to understand the underlying themes a bit more, but more importantly, it was the way this book made me feel that was crucial. I felt so distant from my emotions after reading this book, and it made me feel really sad for no reason. To find nothing out of life, to feel so trapped inside yourself that you commit a senseless murder just to find a way out of it. Meursault was an enigma to me. His mother died, and he felt nothing. The girl he was sleeping with wanted to get married, and his response was "Sure. Might as well. Whatever you want." He goes to jail for committing a murder, and he doesn't really care what happens to him. Is that all life is?

Reading #3. I am 22 years old now. I just had my heart broken and its contents spilled out for everyone around me to see. I can't stop crying. It hurts to breathe. I am working at a new job for the summer with people I don't really know, and I am supposed to be some kind of role model for 14-year-old girls. No friends, no family, no man I loved to death. Only pain. And living. And routine, day after day. I pick this book up, and it speaks to me again, but in a different tone. It tells me that I should stop caring.

\\n  I'd passed my life in a certain way, and I might have passed it in a different way, if I'd felt like it. I'd acted thus, and I hadn't acted otherwise; I hadn't done x, whereas I had done y or z. And what did that mean? That all the time, I'd been waiting for this present moment, for that dawn, tomorrow's or another day's, which was to justify me. Nothing, nothing had the least importance, and I knew quite well why. He, too, knew why. From the dark horizon of my future a sort of slow, persistent breeze had been blowing toward me, all my life long, from the years that were to come. And on its way, that breeze had leveled out all the ideas that people tried to foist on me in the equally unreal years I then was living through. What difference could they make to me, the deaths of others, or a mother's love, or his God; or the way a man decides to live, the fate he thinks he chooses, since one and the same fate was bound to "choose" not only me but thousands of millions of privileged people who, like him, called themselves my brothers.\\n

Everything that is bound to happen will happen. That is what I took away from this third reading, and it scared the hell out of me, but it stayed with me all the same. I started becoming a total control freak. I didn't like the idea that I didn't have control over my own existence, that I was fated to die alone in some dark corner because life had dealt me my cards, and the outcome was smashed on the floor in front of me with its contents spilling out. No. I would do my thing. I would make being alone something to enjoy. Being alone meant that I would always be around the only person I could trust. Myself.

Reading #4, 26 years old. A quarter century plus one year old. My sobbing heart has been picked up, stitched back together, and placed inside my chest cavity again. I have become quite successful and find myself living with someone else who is even more successful. We wake up, do our morning routines, go to work, come home from work, eat dinners together, and fall asleep, just to wake up and do it all over again. Repetitive. Boring. But totally under my control. My boyfriend and I decide to go on vacation, and as I am packing up some books to read, I come across my tattered and worn copy of my old friend, and think, "what the hey? It's been awhile. Come along with me, you old sport." And when I read it again, I felt an overwhelming melancholy grip me. For the first time, I completely identified with Meursault. I was living the same kind of existence. Not necessarily without emotion, but without passion. I had given up most of the things I was passionate about. My passion left when I stitched that beating heart in my chest back up. Passion made me human, and passion made me alive. And those were things that made me vulnerable. I decided again, after this reread, that I felt trapped. Victimized by life itself to quote the back cover. Just as Meursault finally explodes in the last several pages of this novel, I felt something brewing inside me that was longing to get out. I didn't want this life, and I'm not sure how it is that I came to be here.

I read this a few months ago for the fifth time. I am about to turn thirty. I quit my job and my 5-year relationship. I am back in school, and finding some more of my passion, but that road back is sometimes very hard. I was showing a friend of mine my book collection one evening, and I picked this one up again. "Oh my old friend," I muttered. " You always seem to find me at the right time, don't you?" The stranger greeted me again with a smile and a wink, and we journeyed together one more time, knowing that these journeys will probably be fewer and farther between as I continue on my life, but nonetheless they bring me comfort anyway. This book is perfection. It is passion. It makes me laugh and cry in the same breath. It makes me think about every single specific detail of my life now, and the lives that came before this one. It makes me think of all the characters in the story of my life, and how each one has shaped me into me. And this road I'm on has got some twists and turns and bumps and toils, but the scenery has been really beautiful. This book is the reason that I read. This book has done its part in giving me the most colorful world I can have. 5 stars. 5 uncompromising, splendid, heartbreaking, melancholy stars. Oi, what a beauty it is.

If you have ever craved an in-depth philosophical exploration of the afterlife, death, regret, the meaning of life, justice, religion, or the futility of human emotion, then you're in for a treat.

And if you also desire to be able to read such a profound work in approximately 45 minutes, well, boy oh boy, do I have the perfect book for you.

This book delves deep into these complex and thought-provoking topics, offering unique perspectives and insights that will challenge your beliefs and expand your understanding.

It takes you on a journey through the mysteries of existence, forcing you to confront your own mortality and question the very fabric of our reality.

Whether you're a philosophy enthusiast or simply someone looking for a meaningful and engaging read, this book is sure to satisfy.

So, what are you waiting for? Pick up this book today and embark on a philosophical adventure like no other.

This is a truly astonishing and perhaps even disturbing story. A man experiences the loss of his mother, yet he claims to feel nothing. It's a situation that challenges our understanding of human emotions and the bond between a child and a parent. One might wonder what could have led to such a seemingly cold and unfeeling response. Was there some underlying psychological issue at play? Or perhaps a complex history of a difficult relationship that had numbed his emotions over time? The video link provided, THIS MAN'S MOM DIES HE FEELS NOTHING, offers the opportunity to explore this strange and thought-provoking case further. It leaves us with many questions and a sense of curiosity about the inner workings of this man's mind and heart.

This is an odd little book that is both easy to read and well narrated.

In the first part, something unexpected occurs, which immediately grabs the reader's attention. It sets the stage for what is to come.

As the story progresses into the second part, the consequences of that initial event are gradually revealed. The reader is drawn deeper into the narrative, eager to discover how everything will unfold.

Throughout the book, the oppressive heat of the climate looms large, casting a shadow over every scene. It adds an extra layer of atmosphere and tension, making the reader feel as if they are experiencing the story's events firsthand.

Overall, this is a unique and engaging read that will keep you hooked from beginning to end.

The book "The Crazy One" by S. Sadghi is a unique piece of literature. It stands out among other books with its distinctiveness. Just like the book "The Crazy One" by an unknown author, it has its own charm. And the book "The Crazy One" by S. Sardi also has its own characteristics.

Each of these books titled "The Crazy One" offers a different perspective and story. They might explore different themes or present the concept of "crazy" in various ways. Whether it's the writing style, the characters, or the plot, there is something that makes each of them special.

Readers who are interested in books that challenge the norm and offer a fresh take on different ideas might find these "The Crazy One" books quite appealing. They can embark on a journey of discovery and exploration as they delve into the pages of these unique literary works.