The second installment to our 2021 Siblings’ Book Club, The Stranger, was one that surprised us all with its pessimistic, absurdist worldview. Most of my siblings read it in one single bite, while I took a few days to finish it (balancing it with my many other readings!). Most of us came away with similar sentiments: we loved the writing, we felt a bit off concerning the subject matter, and yet we all felt great joy in the Hope we have as followers of Christ, especially when contrasted to the bleak world of Monsieur Meursault.

The story begins with this middle-aged man attending his mother’s funeral at an old-folk’s home in the French Algiers (North Africa). He had put his mother up in the home a while back, simply because he couldn’t afford to care for her at home, and she hadn’t been happy anyways. Their relationship had strained a bit, due to the distance and to her initial trouble adjusting, but she eventually made friends and settled in. And then died.

Meursault attends the requisite overnight vigil with the casket and several quiet friends, but is mostly distracted by the heat, the coffee, the cigarettes. He sheds no tears, for he’s not a tear-shedding kind of guy. He walks the long, hot distance under the blazing sun to her burial site, and then he returns to work and life as he knew it: working, smoking, watching the street below, swimming, rarely talking to people, etc.

But then he happens upon a woman he used to know, Marie, a woman who shows a bit of interest. They chat, see a movie, do some things overnight, and hope to see each other again. For whatever reason, he also thinks it high time he get to know some of his neighbors, including one who very well might be a violent pimp. Through these relationships, he soon finds himself in a situation where he’s got a gun in hand protecting his new friend from these “Arabs” who want to exact vengeance on the pimp for his past treatment of a girl. The gun smokes, an Arab gets smoked, and Monsieur Meursault gets locked up and set for trial.

The remainder of the book follows that trial in which the prosecution seeks to prove this man’s inhumanity which drove him not to self-defense but to outright, premediated, soulless murder. Our “hero” sits through it all, half-interested that his life and future hangs in the balance, while a jury must determine whose story, whose interpretation of this man’s life—as described by both the prosecution and defense—is most likely true. Is he just your average man, knowing right from wrong, warm within human relationships, stuck in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or is he in fact a cold, careless, moral-free wretch indifferent to the sufferings and needs of others?

Even he isn’t sure! He watches the scenes played out in the court—the scenes which will determine his innocence or guilt—with passive interest. “Who am I really?” he seems to wonder.

Camus’ writes beautifully (even through translation: the French was published in 1942), and this story is both mesmerizing and off-putting. He certainly knew how to mix things up! Through this tale of freedom and loss, Camus cuts to the heart of how he views the world: nothing is really as serious as we all make it out to be. There is no moral code. There is no right or wrong. The social mores to which we’re all so desperately tied are nothing more than a façade we’ve built to feel safe, toothpick-walls with light seeping through. When Camus’ lead character finds himself in prison, forced to listen to the Chaplain fight for his salvation as he sits so near the brink of death, we see Camus’ own heart ripped open, the veil torn: “I went close up to him and made a last attempt to explain that I’d very little time left, and I wasn’t going to waste it on God.” (95)

A depressing look at life? Absolutely. But a look against whose blackness the loving hope of Christ shines more brightly? Even more so. We found ourselves in our discussions bemoaning the lostness of the world around us, the hopelessness that such a world without God would bring, and yet in contrast also our joy in Christ.

Jesus’ own example of this was that of the rich man who thought, “Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die!”, yet this makes me wonder. Even that outlook suggests that there are social norms within which a godless person must live. If there truly is no moral code, no right or wrong, no foundation for our social mores, then why don’t more people live with a harsher mentality: “Rape, kill, and be selfish, for tomorrow we disappear!”? If there is no God, then why behave at all? It seems like such a waste to be kind, generous, humane, humble, loving, careful, considerate. If there is no God, there is no afterlife, no point to this life, no reason for caring. “Lie, cheat, and be a horrible person, for tomorrow doesn’t matter a lick.”

There, but for the grace of God, go I.

One member of our Club brought out Camus’ literary device of using sunshine and heat in this story as a means of blinding Meursault from the truth of his own heart. Whether at the funeral, on the beach, or in the courtroom, Meursault seems so constantly distracted by the weather, its feel and look. Only when he finds himself locked in the cold cell (sometimes with the Chaplain) can he ever think straight. And his straight-thinking leads him to the most striking recognition of all, the final line of the book.

While we all enjoyed this book and how it forced us to think about and appreciate the moral basis for our life (not to mention the necessary existence of God), I don’t think any of us are going to run off to the bookstore in search of another Camus book. Been there, done that, time to move on. This is a short enough read for you to get a taste of his self-avowed absurdism (and granted, he wrote during the awfulness of WWII, so he had a bit of an excuse for viewing the world this way), but that’s about as far as I can recommend the book.

©2021 E.T.