In this blog post, we’ll examine the connection between absurdity and rebellion through Albert Camus and his novel ‘The Stranger’.
Albert Camus (1913–1960) was a writer born in Algeria, then a French colony. He began writing around the age of twenty and later gained widespread fame through his interactions with the philosopher and novelist Jean-Paul Sartre—whom he met in Paris—and the Surrealists; yet throughout his life, he kept returning to the Mediterranean Sea, its sunshine and breeze, as well as the Algerian desert, its wildflowers, and its rocks.
While Sartre found veins of intellect and thought in his grandfather’s study, Camus, a native of Algeria, found the roots of his writing in the swimming he enjoyed on the Mediterranean coast and in his childhood—a time of poverty yet one in which he never lost his dignity. In short, for Camus, Algeria was another name for his mother, who raised him alone from childhood, and the fundamental homeland of his life and writing.
Camus was an outstanding writer who displayed talent in many fields. He was a novelist who wrote ‘The Stranger’, ‘The Plague’, and ‘The Fall’, a philosophical essayist known for works such as ‘The Myth of Sisyphus’ and ‘The Rebel’, and he was active across a wide range of genres, from plays and poetic prose to current affairs commentary.
In 1957, he became the youngest recipient of the Nobel Prize in Literature in the award’s history. As a Frenchman of colonial origin, he adopted an ambiguous stance on the Algerian independence movement, which led to a conflict with Sartre and ultimately their parting of ways. He died prematurely in a car accident in 1960, while still in the prime of his life.
Camus’s literature is typically discussed in the context of existentialist literature, but his brand of existentialism differs in nature from Sartre’s. While Sartre viewed existence as preceding essence and regarded freedom as the ultimate expression of existence, for Camus, “absurdity” and the “rebellion” derived from it were the core concepts.
For Camus, “absurdity” stems from a strange sensation that life and the world are fundamentally separated. Absurdity is precisely that subtle sense of the ineffable complexity of human existence—arising from separations such as life and death, humanity and nature, finitude and immortality.
“Rebellion” is the act of protesting the separation between life and the world that arises from the recognition of such absurdity. In other words, if absurdity is the sense of and reflection on this separation, rebellion is the resolve and action to confront it. However, absurdity and rebellion are not a longing for the reunification of what is separated; rather, as a tragic fate, the protagonist lives not through passive resignation but through active rebellion.
Thus, the figure from the myth of Sisyphus becomes, for Camus, the symbolic hero of absurdity and rebellion. The work that stands at the very starting point of this absurdity and rebellion is ‘The Stranger’. This novel marked Camus’s full-fledged breakthrough, and Sartre described it as “the stranger in French literature.”
‘The Stranger’ begins as follows: “Aujourd’hui, maman est morte. Or maybe yesterday—I don’t know.”
Just as in the original French text, the protagonist, Meursault, refers to his mother simply as “Mom” rather than “Mother,” and uses the blunt phrase “died” instead of “passed away.” Furthermore, his attitude—seeming unable to distinguish whether it was today or yesterday—reveals his nature as an outsider.
Neither the person closest to him (Mom), nor an event significant to others (death), nor the decisive moment of the event (today) holds any importance or meaning for him.
The name “Meursault” evokes images of the sea and the sun. As he fires a pistol at an Arab man under the intense sunlight, he appears to be a being closer to nature—like a primitive man or a child—rather than a social entity.
The novel unfolds as a first-person monologue, with Hemingway-style concise sentences moving like isolated islands, precisely depicting Meursault and the world around him. At the same time, this creates an effect akin to a transparent glass window that invisibly separates the two.
While attending his mother’s funeral after her death in a nursing home, Meursault neither mourns her nor reminisces about her in front of his colleagues. Throughout the funeral, he acts indifferently, as if merely fulfilling a duty, and even dozes off from exhaustion. This behavior makes him appear as though he lacks emotions, a past, or memories.
Upon returning home after the funeral, the only thing that truly matters to Meursault is “the joy he felt at the thought that he could finally lie down and sleep for twelve hours.” As a man of such indifference, a man focused solely on the present, Meursault is the very embodiment of absurdity.
Meursault’s attitude carries over into his daily life immediately following the funeral. He spends a weekend no different from any other: going swimming with Marie, who shows interest in him, inviting her home for a meal, and spending the night with her. His realization that “Today was still a long, boring Sunday; my mother is now buried in the ground; I’m going back to work; and in the end, nothing has changed” clearly illustrates his indifference.
The novel is divided into two parts. Part 1 unfolds slowly after his mother’s funeral, and just as it nears its end, the murder that seals Meursault’s fate occurs. Part 2 covers the trial, the verdict, his imprisonment, and the period leading up to his execution, unfolding at a relatively faster pace than Part 1.
The most memorable scene is the murder on the beach. Immediately after the altercation with the Arab men linked to Raymond, Meursault goes alone to look for them. Near a spring on the beach, he spots one of the Arab men; as the man approaches him slowly with a knife drawn, Meursault fires his pistol almost unconsciously. “The trigger was pulled, and he felt the smooth belly of the pistol’s grip. And so, with a dull bang, it all began.” He then fires four bullets in rapid succession into the dead man’s abdomen.
Some critics interpret the murder as having been caused by the sunlight or a “dazzling blade of light,” or attempt to draw allegories of racial prejudice or colonial and imperial conflicts from the fact that the victim was an “Arab.” However, these interpretations alone cannot fully explain the complex layers of the incident.
The questions of “why?” and “how?” regarding Meursault—and their answers—ultimately become the responsibility of the prosecutor, the defense attorney, the jury, the judge, and the media—in short, society. His past actions—such as his mother’s funeral, his relationship with Marie, and his involvement with Raymond—all serve as pretexts to portray him as a felon deserving the death penalty.
Yet Meursault makes no plea and files no appeal. He does not seek an excuse or a way to leave prison; instead, maintaining a sense of clarity and awareness sharper than ever, he remains thoroughly absorbed in himself. His refusal to even accept the chaplain’s urging to repent for his crime makes him an outsider to society and its norms, but at the same time, it becomes the only way he can exist as himself.
Meursault “opens his heart to the gentle indifference of the world” and, feeling the world as his “brother,” confesses, “I was happy before, and I am still happy now.” Who judges him, prosecutes him, and condemns him? Who claims to understand him? Amid such questions, Meursault stands as a free man.
Albert Camus’s ‘The Stranger’ can be read as the first step toward the freedom of life through absurdity and rebellion. This novel sharply reveals a sense of indifference and alienation while simultaneously demonstrating a way of being that confronts that alienation—a life of rebellion.
