ABSURD OBSERVATIONS : A review of The Outsider by Albert Camus

What a surprise to find that ‘The Outsider’, the 20th Century classic by French writer Albert Camus, had been chosen as the next book at my monthly book club. Having fallen on my own sword once already with the fatal decision to pick Madame Bovary on my designated month, I was shocked that another of my top five, favourite books of all time had been picked… and not by me! It’s French, for a start, and the hero is a baddy: just my sort of thing. This story and me have history, namely that I read it in my second year of university and decided to break with my hitherto Existential allegiance, faint as it was (loosely based on the idea that existence is pointless, French accents are dead sexy and I liked chain smoking and wearing black polo neck jumpers), pronouncing I was now an ‘Absurdist’ to anyone who would listen, probably the unfortunate person next to me at the student union bar, oh, yes, and the teachers pet I tried to impress, who seemed to know the names of all the ‘important thinkers’ that I had never actually read. Looking back, I really knew how to clear a table.

Naturally, armed with my new knowledge of the world, I decided to write an essay about the book, hoping the teachers would think I was very clever picking something not on the prescribed reading list, in fact this turned out to be a bit of a disaster. Possibly because the question wasn’t ‘Tell Me About Your New Favourite Book in 2,500 Words’, but quite probably because my thinking was tainted by my new philosophical outlook which dictated that when things are difficult, challenging or confusing, the thing to do is light a fag, buy some wine from the garage, drink it, smoke some more and start the sentence again, all the while pretending that this is helping with the creative process by somehow channelling ‘Frenchness’ through Bordeaux. Needless to say, it didn’t, and I got a rubbish mark.

But, I digress. This is a very good book, firstly because of the beautifully simple language which evokes feeling and places so vividly and with such depth. The scene where the protagonist Mersault commits his crime was emblazoned on my memory as soon as I read it – just as it is for him. The beach, the salty water where he had been happy just hours before, the rays of the North African sun reflected off the sand; one has the impression of a blinding setting that is at once hot and cold, where time and space mingle, that lingers in the memory.

Reading this is a sensual experience, I’ll try to explain. When you do something stupid or get caught for doing something stupid, you get that feeling that things are happening too quickly and in slow motion simultaneously, like when you press down on a button that says ‘press button only in emergencies’, you put your finger on the spot and push gently at first, you could stop at any minute, but you don’t and the alarm goes off and it’s too late. There is no going back and it is all your fault. Camus is a master of detail.

Secondly, I am a great believer in art having a purpose, I won’t read a book about nonsense just to make some publishing house or author a few quid. Why anyone would want to waste their time on a film or book or anything at all that just tells a story and doesn’t encourage you to think is totally beyond me. Camus had a purpose with this book; he set out to critique hypocrisy in society, and to address the peculiar state that it is to be human.

Of Algerian origin, the subject of a colonized country, he moved to 30s Paris where he was active in the French resistance to occupation in WWII. Being rather tossed into the melting pot of conflicting ideologies that was 20th century Europe, he was deeply opposed to totalitarianism and drawn to revolutionary politics and the search for truth. A friend of the famous existentialist, Jean-Paul Sartre (their relationship was to sour), he rejected Existentialism for his interpretation of Absurdism. Rejecting nihilism but in favour of individual freedom, Camus is obsessed with our mortality, noting the fleeting happiness we experience in an unjust world, a happiness we fail to appreciate. A philosophy I find rather satisfying.

When Mersault encounters the state and the institutions of law and church in his story, they question him on his motivations and emotions, answering truthfully, he is punished with greater severity than if he had towed the line; he does not want to atone for his ‘sins’ as society sees them, but he feels ‘annoyance’ with himself for ending any chance of lasting happiness. We are all caught in the torrent of the waves, crashing against the rocks on the beach, where eventually we will break. Regardless of where you stand on the Existential/Absurdist divide, you can identify with a character who refuses to perform like a clown and who resists the pressures to conform, to the end, however imperfect he is.

As one of our group so adroitly noted, it really makes you think. I think I’ll have a fag….

Posted 09:21 PM on Tue Jul 14 2009

By Rehab Barbie

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