THE STRANGER by Albert Camus ⭐⭐⭐⭐

(Original review written February 29, 2020)

I had no real grasp on what the book was about when I began, and I’m not convinced I do after, but this one has pushed me to unravel its message more than most.

I purposely try not to research too much into these classics before reading them so I can have a fresh perspective. And maybe that turns into cringey reviews at odds with things and ideas everyone already pieced together.

I find myself reevaluating The Goldfinch now, using the filter of Camus’ work to find more meaning or appreciation for that book. I find the positivity from the Goldfinch’s message (maybe nothing matters and just being part of a beautiful thing along the way is the highest we can get) a nicely wrapped way of describing our existential crisis, while The Stranger is more intriguing in the way people-watching is intriguing; knowing that you share a connection with that random grandpa on the street running his errands or that crazy lady that looks too similar to her dog, just by being alive in the chaos and void of the universe. And this people-watching is just a glimpse at a few threads of an endless number, all of which don’t really matter. At least, that’s what The Stranger tells me.

This is an eternal question that seems to be seeking me out through my reads, wanting me to ponder it. Well, it’s working! And I still have no idea what any of it means. I don’t even know if what I just wrote means. Does it really matter?