There are books that make you laugh, books that make you cry, and books that make you stare at the wall for an hour wondering if you just read a secret manual to the universe. In this review, I’m talking about one of those wall-staring books: The Stranger. If you’ve ever wondered what it’s like to watch a guy react to life (and death) with less emotion than I have when losing at Monopoly, keep reading. I’ll walk you through the weird, the funny, and the “what the heck did I just read” moments, so you can decide if you want to join Meursault on his sun-soaked, existential holiday.
In a nutsheel
The Stranger is a classic novel by Albert Camus. It falls into the genres of philosophical fiction and literary fiction. You could even call it existential, but don’t worry—there’s no pop quiz at the end.
The book follows Meursault, a man who lives in French Algeria. He’s not your typical hero. In fact, you’ll notice he’s about as emotional as a potato in a rainstorm. The story explores big themes like the meaning of life, death, and what it means to follow (or ignore) society’s rules. Camus packs in a lot of deep thinking without making you feel like you need a dictionary and a therapist.
If you’re after a book that makes you think about the world and your place in it (while maybe laughing at how weird people can be), The Stranger is a great place to start.
Meursault: The Oddball Next Door in The Stranger by Albert Camus
So, you ever meet that person at a party who just stands by the food table, not talking, not smiling, just epicly zoning out? That’s Meursault in Albert Camus’ The Stranger, only all the time, and (get this) it’s not even a party. The guy has the emotional range of a damp tea towel. His mom dies in the first pages and all he cares about is if the coffee is hot. I once missed a bus and thought about it for an hour. If Meursault missed a bus, he’d probably shrug and go for a swim.
What is wild is, Meursault doesn’t try to act normal. He’s not hiding it. He flat-out says he doesn’t love his girlfriend, Marie, right to her face. She asks him to marry her, and he says, ‘Sure, if you want.’ I mean, who does that? Most of us fake it when we get gifts we don’t like—Meursault can’t bother. Maybe he forgot the word ‘pretend’ even exists. Not to mention, if something doesn’t interest him, he just tunes out. When people get mad, he seems confused, like he’s watching a different movie.
His whole vibe makes you ask, ‘Is he an alien? Or just French?’ (I joke. Sorry, France.) But it’s not just for laughs. Camus gives us a main character with almost no filter, who is honest, but it’s honesty that feels kinda empty instead of freeing. It’s awkward and awkwardly real.
If you think Meursault is weird, wait till we talk about how he handles the meaning (or lack) of life! That’s the next stop on this rollercoaster, and trust me, you want your existential seatbelt on!
Exploring the Meaninglessness of Life and Existentialism in The Stranger by Albert Camus
If you ever wondered what it feels like to wake up, stub your toe, spill your coffee, and then question the entire purpose of the universe, well—welcome to the world of Albert Camus’ The Stranger. This book holds a masterclass in meaninglessness. Even my goldfish seemed to have more direction in life than Meursault, the main character! Existentialism is all about facing that giant, yawning void and asking, “What if nothing I do really matters?” Then, instead of panicking, you shrug and keep going. (Meursault would probably just light a cigarette and look at the sun.)
Camus pokes at the idea that life is kind of random and unfair. Good things happen to bad people, bad things happen to good people, and sometimes you get sand in your swimsuit for no reason. In The Stranger, this is not some deep tragedy, it’s just Tuesday. Meursault doesn’t care about finding life’s purpose—he’s too busy living in the now, like an overgrown toddler with a license to mope. Existentialism, according to Camus, says that you have to give your own meaning to life, because the universe is about as helpful as a broken umbrella in a hurricane. And let’s face it, sometimes that’s the truth of adulting.
But before you toss your morning toast in despair, hang on—next up, I’ll tackle how Camus pokes fun at society’s strange rules. Get ready to unbutton your collar as we explore the absurdity of societal norms—no tie required!
The Absurdity of Societal Norms in The Stranger by Albert Camus
Let me tell you, I’ve been to a few awkward family gatherings in my day, but nothing beats the weirdness of the society in The Stranger by Albert Camus. Camus has a knack for pointing out how strange our rules really are. You know, like pretending to care about the weather or laughing at your boss’s jokes. In this book, everyone freaks out because Meursault doesn’t act how a “normal” person should when his mom dies. Poor guy can’t even enjoy a cup of coffee in peace without someone judging him. Reminds me of the time I wore socks with sandals to a wedding—same shocked faces all around.
Camus isn’t just picking on Meursault here. He wants us to think about why we follow these invisible rules. In the book, it seems like being honest about your feelings is a bigger crime than, well, actual crime. Meursault’s honesty makes people uncomfortable, and suddenly everyone’s whispering, “What is wrogn with this guy?” Been there, buddy. It’s almost as if society cares more about the performance of grief than real grief itself. Camus shows us how upside-down things can get when people just follow the crowd without asking why. It’s like clapping at the end of a movie—do you really want to, or are you just afraid to look weird?
This book isn’t just a story; it’s a giant question mark about the world’s unwritten rulebook. And just when you think things can’t get any stranger, Camus throws us into the wild world of courtrooms and justice. Get ready—next, we’ll put the murder trial under the magnifying glass and see if the justice system needs a little of Meursault’s honesty (and maybe some new socks).
Murder, Morality, and Mock Trials: The Justice System Under Camus’ Microscope
If there’s one thing The Stranger by Albert Camus does with gusto, it’s poking the justice system right in the eye. Once Meursault strolls into his own murder trial, things get weirder than my uncle’s cat at a dog show. The court isn’t nearly as interested in the actual crime, but instead, they seem obsessed with the fact that Meursault didn’t cry at his mother’s funeral. Yes, you read that right. His lack of tears gets more air time than the murder itself. Imagine being on trial for your life and the judge only wants to know why you skipped hugging your aunt at Thanksgiving. Wild stuff.
Camus turns the whole system into a circus, with Meursault as the world’s most awkward clown. The lawyers and jury care less about evidence and more about whether Meursault fits their mold of what a decent human should be. It almost feels like a courtroom roast, except the roast-ee can end up getting the guillotine. Camus isn’t just critiquing the French legal system—he’s asking if any justice system can ever truly be fair when people are so quick to judge things they don’t understand. I have spilled more pasta sauce on my shirt than the judge gave thought to the facts of this case.
So, would I recommend The Stranger? Yes, but only if you’re ready for a book that swaps courtroom drama for an existential staring contest. Bring snacks and an open mind.
Conclusion
Alright, folks, that wraps up my review of The Stranger by Albert Camus! This book is like the weird uncle at family gatherings—awkward, hard to read at times, but strangely interesting. It’s not for everyone, but if you like scratching your head while reading and yelling, “Just show some feelings, man!”, then you’re in for a treat. Camus makes you question life, rules, and even your lunch choices. Sure, Meursault isn’t winning any popularity contests, and the story can feel as dry as a sun-baked sidewalk, but it packs a punch. If you want a book that’s short, sharp, and makes you think about the meaning (or lack of meaning) in everything, go for it. Thanks for hanging out with me and my existential crisis—until my next review, don’t forget to question why your cat looks at you like that.
