Author: Albert Camus
Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
"The Stranger" unfolds through the experiences of the protagonist, Meursault, from his mother's death, shooting someone, the court trial, to waiting for his own death. These experiences contain a lot of monologues from the protagonist. When Meursault's mother dies, he does not shed a tear and is accused of being heartless and lacking humanity in court. The crime of shooting someone magnifies the trivialities of his life. If everyone's life is examined under a magnifying glass, it would be so dirty. In the current environment, the lack of law and the lack of rigor lead to the irrationality of these trials. Although the protagonist is guilty of murder, in terms of 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 a bit like the negative imagination advocated by the Stoic school of thought.
If we were to find crimes in various aspects of life, everyone would have their own crimes. As the author said, "He believed that someone who mentally and psychologically killed their own mother and someone who 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 happened to a person who would later commit a crime, they were naturally demonized by the judicial authorities. The demonized personal life details became the basis for judgments such as "inhumanity" and "deviation 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 is like a pile of soft ropes that bind poor Meursault, making him unable to move and allowing himself to be slaughtered, becoming a sacrifice to the perfect legal system and enlightened judicial process.
Meursault discovered that throughout the entire trial process, people were not interested in the factual details, causes and consequences of the murder he committed. They were only interested in his behavior in daily life. His fate did not depend on the objective facts of the murder itself, but on how people perceived him, on their views of his life and lifestyle, and even his interests. In reality, it depends on certain concepts and ideologies.
Human existence is like pushing a stone up a hill, toiling in vain, and is determined by the existential absurdity of being born to die. Being born to die and toiling 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 look forward to. In this understanding of life, the real world is just a foreign land that people pass through in a hurry.
Ever since this dog got this skin disease, he has been applying ointment to it twice a day. But in his opinion, its real illness is old age, and old age cannot be cured.
For a long time, she had nothing to say to me. She was bored at home alone, but at least she can find companionship in the nursing home.
This sun is the same as the sun on the day I buried my mother. My head feels as uncomfortable as it did that day, and the blood vessels under my skin are pulsating together.
I realized that I had disrupted the balance of the day, disrupted the unusual silence on the beach. In that balance and silence, I was originally happy and at ease. Then, I aimed at the corpse and fired four shots, the bullets went in without showing anything, just like I knocked hurriedly on the door of suffering four times.
"I think the judicial department also takes care of these trivial matters, which is really convenient." I told the judge my opinion, and he agreed, thinking 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 portrayed me as a solitary and silent person, and he wanted to know what I thought about it. I replied, "It'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 those five shots were fired continuously. I thought about it and concluded that I fired one shot first, and 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 serious 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 unreservedly.
In his opinion, the only unclear point in my testimony was why I waited before firing the second shot. Actually, everything was clear, except for this one point that 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 went 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 feeling 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 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 in the trunk of a dead tree. There are many people who are more unfortunate than me. But 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 to get through. 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, day and night, day after day, and time passes. I read in a book that people in prison, over time, will eventually lose their sense of time.
In my opinion, during these five months in the cell, I always lived the same day, always doing the same things.
I recognized that it was the voice that had been echoing in my ears for a long time. I understood that during this period, I had been talking to myself. So, I remembered what the 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 across from 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, and I didn't expect anything from anyone. We have both become accustomed to our new way of life.
At this point, the prosecutor suddenly stood up, with a solemn expression, pointing at me with his finger, and in a tone that I found quite excited, he called out, word by word, slowly and deliberately, "Gentlemen of the jury, on the second day after burying his mother, this man went swimming, began engaging in improper relationships, and went to see a comedy film, laughing out loud. I don't need to say anything more."
At that time, what awaited me was always a carefree sleep without dreams. 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, which can lead to both prison and peaceful sleep.
I can say that there is indeed a lot of discussion 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 committed by a criminal.
I am always busy with things that are about to happen, with today or tomorrow, worrying and exhausting myself.
He believed that someone who mentally and psychologically killed their own mother and someone who 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 that led me to commit murder. I spoke quickly, a bit incoherently, 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 would have been different. It would have been made by some serious people 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 accurate. 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 am still wasting my efforts, and dawn and appeals are still on my mind. Finally, I tell myself that the most reasonable thing to do is not to force myself.
But everyone knows that living is troublesome and not worth it. I am not unaware that whether I die at thirty or seventy, the difference is not significant, because in either case, other men and women live like this, and they have lived 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 and unkind.
The court only told me that I am a criminal. I am a criminal, so I have to pay the price, and others have no right to demand more from me.
For a long time, I thought of my mother for the first time. I seemed to understand why she found a "fiancé" in her old age and started playing the game of "starting over."
Around a nursing home where life ends sadly, the night is like a melancholic gap.
In order to end well and complete good deeds, in order not to feel like an outsider, I hope that on the day of my execution, many people will come to watch the spectacle and shout hatred towards me.