THE OUTSIDER

Author: Albert Camus
Year: 2013 (1942)
Publisher: Albert Bonniers Förlag
Language: Swedish (translator Jan Stolpe)

The universe has neither purpose nor direction. It is as meaningless as it is vast. Consequently, everything in universe must be meaningless, including life. Including mankind. Including you and me. Humans have evolved the intelligence to understand this but also the arrogance to refuse to accept it.

Existentialism, as established by Søren Kierkegaard and later cut and polished to an intellectual diamond by Jean-Paul Sartre among others, purports to provide mankind with the tools to make sense of a world that is in essence pointless. It attempts to assign meaning to the meaningless. The human being is destined to be free, says Sartre, and with this freedom comes the opportunity, or duty even, to assign meaning to his or her own existence.

Sartre’s contemporary Albert Camus, on the other hand, argues that all such efforts must, by design, be futile. If life has no meaning, any endeavour to create one must fail as it will never move beyond the quality of self-delusion. He put his ideas to the test in several short but poignant novels, one of which is “Främlingen” (“The Outsider” or “The Stranger”). 

The main protagonist, Meursault, introduces himself in the opening line by telling the reader about the death of his mother. “Aujourd’hui, maman est morte. Ou peut-être hier, je ne sais pas”. We are faced with a man who is unfazed by the death of his mother. The opening reflection on the telegram that carried to him the news of his mother’s death defies any analysis. It is just there. It is neither important nor unimportant.

This disinterested tone follows Meursault throughout the novel. He shows no interest, no preferences, no passion or opinion either way. He floats through existence wherever fate takes him. He does not weep at his mother’s funeral. When his neighbour asks him to help him cover up his brutal assault on his ex-girlfriend, he casually agrees. When his own love interest, Mary, asks if he loves her and if he would marry her, he answers that he probably doesn’t but would agree to marry her if it would make her happy. He does not care one way or the other.

SPOILER ALERT

In the second part of the book things escalate. In a temporary lapse of reason, Meursault kills a man who had previously confronted his neighbour on account of the ex-girlfriend he abused. Meursault did not have to kill him. Nor did he want to kill him. But he killed him anyway. When he is arrested and asked by the investigators why he had shot the man, he simply answers that the sun was hot that day and that it had tired him.

But the novel goes much deeper than merely showing one man’s indifference to an absurd and trivial existence. Meursault’s trial is most illuminating in its description of a society desperately trying to organise itself around some universal values which are so fragile that the existence of a man like Meursault shakes its foundations. The further the trial proceeds, the more Meursault feels left out as the prosecutor and Meursaults attorney do most of the talking above his head, as if the trial was not about him at all. And maybe it was not. The ultimate piece of evidence that compels the jury to sentence Meursault to death is the testimony that he did not cry on his mother’s funeral, as if to say that the final verdict is for a breach of social code rather than an act of violence. He is sentenced for not participating in the discourse of meaning. In a war-torn world on the brink of revolution, Meursault is sent to death essentially for being too passive.

Albert Camus’ writing is exquisite. Every word pulls its weight. Every thought is crystal clear. Every detail indispensable, no detail omitted. The novel is written in the first person, as Mersault himself is telling us his story. We get the feeling that he wants to confide in us. To get something off his chest. Camus constructs his narrative to explore his protagonist from different angles. His words, his thoughts, his actions, his thoughts about his actions, and his subconscious. The things Meursault wants to tell us about, and things he allows to go unsaid are all carefully chosen.

Meursault’s indifference is beautifully manifested in a scene where Mary visits him in prison after his arrest. He remains on his side of the bars, surrounded by other inmates talking to their visitors with all the noise and chatter that entails. Throughout the scene, Meursault pays as much attention to the other conversations as he is to Mary, as if to show that they are all equally important. Or equally insignificant.

The only time Mersault shows any feelings at all is when on the eve of his execution, he is visited by a priest whom he tosses out of his cell after having vigorously proclaimed his atheism to him. As he nears his death, he finally finds peace in the absurdity of ever being alive. His mother’s death was, in a way, the beginning of his own demise.

Maybe this puts the small but unmissable dent in the absurdism that Camus claims to profess. After all, in his final hours Meursault finds it necessary to tell us about his experience. A few hours before he is to be taken to the guillotine, he decides that he needs to deposit his story with someone; the reader. Is it a way to survive, to live on after he is beheaded? Or is it a futile attempt to assign meaning to an otherwise meaningless death putting an end to a meaningless life?