Paperback, 123 pagine
lingua English
Pubblicato il 17 Aprile 1989 da Vintage.
L'Étranger (French: [l‿e.tʁɑ̃.ʒe]) is a 1942 novella by French author Albert Camus. Its theme and outlook are often cited as examples of Camus' philosophy, absurdism coupled with existentialism, though Camus personally rejected the latter label.The title character is Meursault, an indifferent French Algerian described as "a citizen of France domiciled in North Africa, a man of the Mediterranean, an homme du midi yet one who hardly partakes of the traditional Mediterranean culture." He attends his mother's funeral. Weeks later, he kills an Arab man in French Algiers, who was involved in a conflict with one of Meursault's neighbors. Meursault is tried and sentenced to death. The story is divided into two parts, presenting Meursault's first-person narrative view before and after the murder, respectively. In January 1955, Camus wrote this:
I summarized The Stranger a long time ago, with a remark I admit was highly paradoxical: "In our society any man …
L'Étranger (French: [l‿e.tʁɑ̃.ʒe]) is a 1942 novella by French author Albert Camus. Its theme and outlook are often cited as examples of Camus' philosophy, absurdism coupled with existentialism, though Camus personally rejected the latter label.The title character is Meursault, an indifferent French Algerian described as "a citizen of France domiciled in North Africa, a man of the Mediterranean, an homme du midi yet one who hardly partakes of the traditional Mediterranean culture." He attends his mother's funeral. Weeks later, he kills an Arab man in French Algiers, who was involved in a conflict with one of Meursault's neighbors. Meursault is tried and sentenced to death. The story is divided into two parts, presenting Meursault's first-person narrative view before and after the murder, respectively. In January 1955, Camus wrote this:
I summarized The Stranger a long time ago, with a remark I admit was highly paradoxical: "In our society any man who does not weep at his mother's funeral runs the risk of being sentenced to death." I only meant that the hero of my book is condemned because he does not play the game. The Stranger's first edition consisted of only 4,400 copies, which was so few that it could not be a best-seller. Since the novella was published during the Nazi occupation of France, there was a possibility that the Propaganda-Staffel would censor it, but a representative of the Occupation authorities felt it contained nothing damaging to their cause, so it was published without omissions. However, the novel was well received in anti-Nazi circles in addition to Jean-Paul Sartre's article "Explication de L'Étranger".Translated four times into English, and also into numerous other languages, the novel has long been considered a classic of 20th-century literature. Le Monde ranks it as number one on its 100 Books of the Century. The novel was twice adapted as films: Lo Straniero (1967) (Italian) by Luchino Visconti and Yazgı (2001, Fate) by Zeki Demirkubuz (Turkish).
O prota é un existencialista ou simplemente é autista? Está todo o tempo queixándose de que ten calor, que hai moita xente, que non sabe que dicir, non entende as convencións sociais... meu rei, estabas saturado de estímulos, non xustifica que matases a ninguén pero a resposta está aí. Puxeras lentes de sol!
Reading The Stranger by Albert Camus left me both unsettled and oddly calm — like staring into a bright, empty sky and realizing it has no answers. Originally published in 1942, this novel is often seen as the embodiment of Camus’ philosophy of the absurd, and with good reason.
The story follows Meursault, a French-Algerian clerk who reacts to life’s most significant events — his mother’s death, a romantic relationship, even a murder — with unsettling emotional detachment. His indifference is not cruelty, but a radical honesty: he simply refuses to pretend that life has inherent meaning.
When Meursault shoots an unnamed Arab man under the blazing Algerian sun, it feels less like a crime of passion than an existential rupture. What follows is not just a murder trial, but a trial of Meursault’s character, his lack of faith, his refusal to lie about grief or belief. Society, it seems, …
Reading The Stranger by Albert Camus left me both unsettled and oddly calm — like staring into a bright, empty sky and realizing it has no answers. Originally published in 1942, this novel is often seen as the embodiment of Camus’ philosophy of the absurd, and with good reason.
The story follows Meursault, a French-Algerian clerk who reacts to life’s most significant events — his mother’s death, a romantic relationship, even a murder — with unsettling emotional detachment. His indifference is not cruelty, but a radical honesty: he simply refuses to pretend that life has inherent meaning.
When Meursault shoots an unnamed Arab man under the blazing Algerian sun, it feels less like a crime of passion than an existential rupture. What follows is not just a murder trial, but a trial of Meursault’s character, his lack of faith, his refusal to lie about grief or belief. Society, it seems, is more disturbed by his honesty than his violence.
What struck me most was the clarity of Camus’ prose. The sentences are clean and sharp, mirroring Meursault’s view of the world: unembellished, immediate, free of illusion. It’s a language that leaves no room to hide — from death, from truth, or from ourselves.
For me, The Stranger is less about a man on trial than about what it means to live authentically in an indifferent universe. It’s not comforting, but it is liberating.
Lo straniero è uno di quei romanzi che vanno letti perché non si possono proprio raccontare: è uno di quelli che basano la loro forza sulle sensazioni e sulle riflessioni che quelle sensazioni portano con sé. È anche molto probabile che a persone diverse dica cose diverse, perché alla fine la storia di Meursault è così insignificante da non poter essere ignorata e liquidata come una storia senza importanza.
Meursault all’inizio del romanzo ci suscita subito antipatia, per nessuna ragione se non per il fatto che è uno straniero. E non uno straniero qualunque: potremmo definirlo lo straniero definitivo, così estraneo da esserlo anche nei confronti della vita stessa. Non possiamo incasellarlo nello stereotipo del bravo straniero perché non si distingue per particolari meriti, né nello stereotipo del cattivo straniero perché non briga per fregare lз autoctonз. Sta nella sua vita senza alcun entusiasmo, giusto perché ci è ritrovato …
Lo straniero è uno di quei romanzi che vanno letti perché non si possono proprio raccontare: è uno di quelli che basano la loro forza sulle sensazioni e sulle riflessioni che quelle sensazioni portano con sé. È anche molto probabile che a persone diverse dica cose diverse, perché alla fine la storia di Meursault è così insignificante da non poter essere ignorata e liquidata come una storia senza importanza.
Meursault all’inizio del romanzo ci suscita subito antipatia, per nessuna ragione se non per il fatto che è uno straniero. E non uno straniero qualunque: potremmo definirlo lo straniero definitivo, così estraneo da esserlo anche nei confronti della vita stessa. Non possiamo incasellarlo nello stereotipo del bravo straniero perché non si distingue per particolari meriti, né nello stereotipo del cattivo straniero perché non briga per fregare lз autoctonз. Sta nella sua vita senza alcun entusiasmo, giusto perché ci è ritrovato in mezzo.
È un uomo così intrinsecamente ai margini da risultare sgradevole per come pensa, per come agisce e per come non agisce. Non ci va bene così com’è e sentiamo il bisogno di scuoterlo, perché faccia qualcosa in modo che possiamo emettere un giudizio su di lui senza sentirci nel torto: abbiamo bisogno che ci permetta di salvarlo o di condannarlo in modo da sentirci in pace con noi stessз e i nostri principi.
Meursault, invece, non farà nulla del genere, ma a mano, a mano che la lettura prosegue si inizia a sentirsi sempre peggio per lui. Si perde il desiderio di scuoterlo, si perde la centralità del proprio giudizio e ci rimane solo il desiderio che qualcunǝ veda la sua condizione di straniero totale e assoluto e abbia compassione di lui. Perché come potrebbe sentirsi parte del consesso umano un uomo che non è mai stato ascoltato, ma al quale sono sempre state imposte delle verità che non lo includevano?
Thank you to the stranger trying to get to Stepney Green from Liverpool st. last year who reminded me I’ve been neglecting this read.
