the stranger

The Stranger (L'estranger) by Albert Camus, translated by Matthew Ward, is a small book, only 123 pages, but its a chilling, tightly written glimpse into the mind of a what, sociopath? pschopath? I don't know well enough to tell. I'm not sure we had the words to describe the man Camus tells this story about in the 1946, maybe we did. Again, I'm not the person to say. I'm sure the interwebs knows.*

Its written is short, staccato sentences, especially in the first half, that according to Ward, the translator, Camus based on what he called the 'American Style.' So we find ourselves wandering along with this fellow, as he goes off to the funeral of his mother, spends some time at work, with neighbors, at the beach, and with a girlfriend.

Told in the first person, after a while its becomes clear that our man Meursault may be lacking in empathy, but its goes further than that. Stranger is right; Camus tells a tale of a man that just doesn't seem right, and in the end, isn't really right at all.

It was creepy, but a good read. Thanks to Lino for loaning me this book. I apologize for keeping it so long.



* Looks like psychopath is closer to what I was thinking. Thank you internets.