Author: Camus
Recommended rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
"The Stranger" unfolds through the experiences of the protagonist, Meursault, from his mother's death, shooting someone, the court trial, to waiting for death. These experiences contain a lot of the protagonist's monologue. When his mother died, Meursault did not shed tears and instead spoke out in court, being accused of being heartless and lacking humanity. The crime of shooting someone magnified the trivialities of his life. If everyone's life was examined under a magnifying glass, how dirty would it be? In the current environment, the lack of law and lack of rigor in the court proceedings led to the injustice of these trials. Although the protagonist is guilty of murder, when considering the crime, the punishment should not be death.
"There is no doubt that I love my mother, but that doesn't mean anything. All mentally and physically healthy people have imagined and anticipated the death of their loved ones to some extent." Anticipating the worst-case scenario is something everyone has thought about, but it doesn't mean they don't love their mothers. It's somewhat similar to the Stoic philosophy's endorsement of negative imagination.
If we were to find crimes in various aspects of life, everyone would have their own crimes. As the author said, "He believes that someone who has mentally and psychologically killed their own mother and someone who has murdered their own father are both guilty of the same crime, cutting themselves off from human society. In any sense, the former crime is a preparation for the latter crime, in a way foreshadowing its occurrence and legitimizing it."
Because these life details occurred in the life of someone who would later commit a murder, they were naturally demonized by the judicial authorities. These demonized personal life details became the basis for judgments such as "inhuman" and "alienation from society" in the eyes of the law. These conclusions and judgments led to the severe punishment of this ordinary clerk as "unforgivable." Not only was he sentenced to death, but it was done in the name of the "French people." This judicial logic and reasoning formed a strange loop, like a pile of soft ropes binding poor Meursault, rendering him unable to move and subject to manipulation, becoming a sacrifice to the perfect legal system and enlightened judicial procedures.
Meursault discovered that throughout the entire trial process, people were not interested in the factual details, causes, and consequences of the murder he committed. Instead, they were interested in his personal behavior in daily life. His fate did not depend on the objective facts of the murder itself but on how people perceived him, how they viewed his life, his way of life, and even his interests. In reality, it depended on certain concepts and ideologies.
Human existence is like pushing a stone up a hill, laboring in vain, determined by the existential absurdity of being born to die. Being born to die and laboring in vain is a pessimistic and despairing view of life after the death of God, the collapse of religion, and the absence of an afterlife paradise to hope for. In this understanding of life, the real world is just a foreign land where people pass by in a hurry.
Ever since this dog developed this skin disease, he has been applying ointment to it twice a day. But in his opinion, its real illness is old age, which cannot be cured.
For a long time, she had nothing to say to me. She was bored at home alone, but at least she could find companionship in the nursing home.
This sun is the same as the sun on the day I buried my mother. My head feels uncomfortable, and the blood vessels under my skin are pulsating together.
I realized that I disturbed the balance of this day, breaking the unusual silence on the beach. In this balance and silence, I was originally happy and at ease. Then, I aimed at the corpse and fired four shots into it. The bullets went in without showing anything, as if I had knocked on the door of suffering four times in a hurry.
"I think the judicial department also takes care of these trivial matters, which is really convenient." I expressed this opinion to the judge, and he agreed, believing that the law is indeed well formulated.
"There is no doubt that I love my mother, but that doesn't mean anything. All mentally and physically healthy people have imagined and anticipated the death of their loved ones to some extent."
He first said that people depicted me as a solitary and silent person, and he wanted to know my opinion on this. I replied, "That's because I never had anything worth saying, so I didn't say anything."
The pretrial judge's questions seemed illogical. He asked me if the five shots were fired continuously. I thought for a moment and concluded that I fired one shot first, then a few seconds later, I fired four shots. To this, he asked, "Why did you pause after the first shot before firing the second shot?"
No matter how grave a person's sins are, they can still receive God's forgiveness. However, in order to receive God's forgiveness, one must repent and become as pure in heart as a child, accepting God's will without reservation.
In his view, there was only one unclear point in my testimony: why did I wait before firing the second shot? Everything else was clear, but this one point, he never... never understood.
I still can't get used to the idea of being a criminal.
A few times, when they were discussing general topics, they even let me join in the discussion. I felt relieved. During these times, no one treated me badly. Everything proceeded naturally, orderly, and appropriately, even giving me a ridiculous feeling of being "like family."
I think she is beautiful, but I don't know how to express this to her.
I often think, if I were to live inside the trunk of a dead tree, unable to do anything, only able to look up at the drifting clouds in the sky day after day, I would gradually get used to it. I would wait for the birds to fly up in flocks, the clouds to gather and disperse, just like I wait in my cell for my lawyer to appear wearing a peculiar tie on Saturdays, or like I patiently wait for Saturday in my days of freedom to embrace the physical body of Marie.
Seriously, I haven't reached the point of living inside a dead tree trunk. There are many people who are more unfortunate than me. However, this is my mother's way of thinking. She often indulges herself and says that in the end, people can get used to anything.
So I realized that even if a person has only lived for one day, they can spend a hundred years in prison without feeling difficult. They have enough things to remember and will not feel bored. In a sense, it is also a kind of pleasure.
That's how I sleep, reminisce, read the news reports, day and night, repeating, day after day, and time passes. I read in a book that people in prison, over time, eventually lose their sense of time.
In my view, during these five months in the cell, I have been living the same day over and over again, doing the same things.
I recognized that it was the voice that had been echoing in my ears for a long time. I realized that I had been talking to myself during this period. So, I recalled what the female nurse said on the day of my mother's funeral. No, there is no way out, and no one can imagine what the nights in prison are like.
I just feel like I'm on a tram, with unfamiliar passengers sitting opposite me, scrutinizing the newcomer, trying to find something funny about him.
Because these people in front of me are not looking for something funny, they are looking for crimes.
He asked me personally if doing this made me feel sad. I answered that neither my mother nor I expected anything from each other, nor did we expect anything from anyone else. We have both become accustomed to our new way of life.
At that moment, the prosecutor suddenly stood up, solemnly pointing at me with a tone that I found quite excited, biting each word slowly and deliberately, calling out, "Gentlemen of the jury, on the second day after burying his mother, this man went swimming, engaged in illicit sexual relations, watched funny movies, and laughed out loud. I don't need to say anything more."
At that time, what awaited me was always a deep sleep without dreams, without any worries. But now, things have changed. I returned to my cell, waiting for the arrival of the next day, just like the familiar trajectory in the summer sky, leading to both prison and peaceful sleep.
I can say that there is indeed a lot of talk about me, perhaps more than about my crimes.
All of this happened without my participation. My fate was decided by them, without seeking my opinion.
But I find it difficult to understand why the virtues of an ordinary person become unforgivable crimes when found in a criminal.
I am always busy with things that are about to happen, with today or tomorrow, worrying and exhausting myself.
He believes that someone who has mentally and psychologically killed their own mother and someone who has murdered their own father are both guilty of the same crime, cutting themselves off from human society. In any sense, the former crime is a preparation for the latter crime, in a way foreshadowing its occurrence and legitimizing it.
Let me clarify the motive behind my murder. I spoke hurriedly, a bit incoherent, and I realized it was somewhat ridiculous. I said it was because of the sun.
I don't have time to look anymore because the presiding judge announced in a strange manner that I will be beheaded in a square in the name of the French people.
If the verdict had been announced at 20 o'clock instead of 17 o'clock, it might have been different. It would have been made by people who were serious and wearing new shirts, and it would have been made in the name of the French people (not the German people or the Chinese people), although the concept of the French people is not precise. In my opinion, all of this greatly undermines the seriousness of the verdict.
I hear my heart beating, and I can't imagine that the heartbeat that has accompanied me for so many years will one day stop.
Even so, I still wasted my efforts. Dawn and appeals still lingered in my mind. Finally, I told myself that the most reasonable thing to do was not to force myself.
However, everyone knows that being alive is troublesome and not worth it. I am not unaware that there is not much difference between dying at thirty or seventy because in either case, other men and women live like this, have been living like this for thousands of years. In short, there is nothing more obvious than this. Anyway, it is me who will die, whether now or twenty years later.
Because I am well aware that after I die, people will surely forget about me. They have no connection with me in the first place. I can't even say that this way of thinking is heartless or unkind.
The court only told me that I am a criminal. I am a criminal, and I will pay the price. Others have no right to demand more from me.