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123 pages, Paperback
First published May 19, 1942
لقد أدركت أنه إذا قدر لي أن أعيش داخل جذع شجرة جافة من غير أن يكون ثمة أي شيء يشغلني سوى النظر الى السماء التي تعلو رأسي
فإنني حتما كنت سأتعود على ذلك بالتدريج .. ولانتظرت مرور الطيور والتقاء السحاب أيضا..
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وكأن تلك الغضبة الكبرى قد خلصتني من الشر وأفرغتني من الأمل
في ذلك الليل الذي يفيض بالنجوم أحسست للمرة الأولى بعذوبة ورقة اللامبالاة وأحسست أنني كنت سعيدا في يوم من الأيام ولازلت حتى الآن
أتمنى أن ينتهي كل شيء وأتمنى أن أكون هناك أقل وحدة من هنا
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It occurred to me anyway that one more Sunday was over, that Maman was buried now that I was going back to work, and that, really, nothing had changed.Following the funeral The Stranger chronicles Meursault’s relations with the living and the natural world, most critically concerning his courtship of Marie. Marie, it would seem, figures as an Oedipal substitute for his Maman². Whereas the relationship with Maman is cold and detached, the two of them separating much out of boredom with one another, his relationship with Marie is full of excitement and hot-blooded sexual flair, yet the text is full of imagery nudging towards Oedipal impulses. There is a fixation with her breasts, which are frequently mentioned and sought after by the motherless Meursault, or the tender moment when he seeks out Marie’s scent on the pillow and falls asleep in the warm embrace of bed and scent, a fairly childlike and soul-bearing act.
I realized then that a man who had lived only one day could easily live for a hundred years in prison. He would have enough memories to keep him from being bored.Being left with only having your past life, full of its joys and transgressions, to either comfort or haunt you for what feels like eternity reads much like an expression of an afterlife. If there is one, then life has meaning, but what if there isn’t one and we don’t have to atone for our actions?
“si me hubiesen hecho vivir en el tronco de un árbol seco sin otra ocupación que la de mirar la flor del cielo sobre la cabeza, me habría acostumbrado poco a poco. Hubiese esperado el paso de los pájaros y el encuentro de las nubes”
“¡Qué me importaban la muerte de los otros, el amor de una madre! ¡Qué me importaban su Dios, las vidas que uno elige, los destinos que uno escoge, desde que un único destino debía de escogerme a mí y conmigo a millares de privilegiados que, como él, se decían hermanos míos! ¿Comprendía, comprendía pues? Todo el mundo era privilegiado. No había más que privilegiados. También a los otros los condenarían un día. También a él lo condenarían. ¿Qué importaba si acusado de una muerte lo ejecutaban por no haber llorado en el entierro de su madre?”
“Como si esa gran cólera me hubiese purgado del mal, vaciado de esperanza, delante de esta noche cargada de signos y de estrellas, me abría por primera vez a la tierna indiferencia del mundo. Al encontrarlo tan semejante a mí, tan fraterno al cabo, sentí que había sido feliz y que lo era todavía”
“Para que todo sea consumado, para que me sienta menos solo, me quedaba esperar que el día de mi ejecución haya muchos espectadores y que me reciban con gritos de odio.”
"The Stranger" was suggested to me by the protagonist of another book, The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky. Actually, many books are cited in "The Perks of being a Wallflower", but "The Stranger" is the book that intrigued more the protagonist and me.
Meursault is a modest employee of French extraction who lives in Algiers. He lives his daily routine with indifference, unable to openly manifest even the simplest emotions. And it is with apathy that he learns the news of the death of his mother, who lived her last years in a hospice.
"Mother died today. Or maybe yesterday; I can't be sure."And it is again with apathy that one day, going to the beach with friends, Meursault kills an Arab. Emotionless, he undergoes the arrest and the consequent process, calmly accepting the inevitability of his destiny. Not a hero or an antihero, Meursault is the stranger par excellence, alien to all the emotional manifestations that are common to humans, more similar to an Asimovian android than to a man.
A small book that is consumed in one day, but it eats away at you for weeks.
Vote: 8
"Lo Straniero" mi è stato suggerito dal protagonista di un altro libro, Noi siamo infinito di Stephen Chbosky. In realtà se ne citano tanti di libri, in "Noi siamo Infinito", ma "Lo Straniero" è quello che più ha incuriosito il protagonista ed il sottoscritto.
Meursault è un modesto impiegato di origine francesi che vive ad Algeri. Vive la routine quotidiana con indifferenza, incapace di manifestare apertamente perfino le emozioni più semplici. Ed è con apatia che apprende la notizia della morte della madre, da tempo relegata in un ospizio.
"Oggi è morta mamma. O forse ieri, non so."Ed è sempre con apatia che un giorno, recatosi in spiaggia con amici, Meursault uccide un arabo. Impassibile, subisce l'arresto ed il conseguente processo, accettando con calma l'ineluttabilità del suo destino. Né eroe né antieroe, Meursault è lo straniero per antonomasia, estraneo a tutte le manifestazioni emotive comuni agli esseri umani, simile più a un androide asimoviano che ad un uomo.
Un piccolo libro che si consuma in un giorno, ma che continua a roderti dentro per settimane.
Voto: 8