In another thread [MENTION=377]Jarhyn[/MENTION]; dropped a couple book titles but didn't mention the author(s). One was The Stranger. Wondering if I knew about it (thought maybe it was Dostoyevsky), I looked for it, and saw it was Camus. Alright, I said, I haven't read Camus yet - always avoided him for some reason, perhaps because I don't generally love transtations - so I figured I'd take a look.
Man am I glad I did. I'm only about thirty pages in but I love it, particularly the details of mundane things, the general dreariness of boredom and living in a way that seems almost pointless.
Thanks, Jarhyn, oh ye Grand Wizard, for the drop. I can now be glad I didn't die without checking out Camus!
I might recommend reading more of Camus, namely The Rebel. It's more academic, but it discusses a very interesting aspect of philosophy surrounding concepts of agency. It's right up there in my list with The Dispossessed and The Left Hand of Darkness (Ursula K LeGuin).
My current read though, as far as the last pages I scribed my eyeballs over, though, is Foundations of Mathematics. It's about five orders of magnitude more dense than Camus, whose text is roughly the density of neutronium.
Interestingly, I read The Stranger along with Voltaire's Candidae, which had very similar themes
Hm?*
I finished The Stranger yesterday. Very engrossing, breezy read. Albeit a translation (Stuart Gilbert), the writing was top-notch, calling to mind a scrummy blend of voices, ie: John Dos Passos, Pio Baroja, Steinbeck (kinda), even Hemingway (the testosterone).
I was a wee tad disappointed when (rather abruptly I thought) I reached the end. I didn't know it was a novella (77pg via PDF doc).
Disappointed because I wanted to find out more about the guy. Why the hell did he....
Spoiler alert:
shoot the guy at all, let alone five times?? In fact, the more I thought about it, why the hell did he take the gun along, and why the hell take a walk on the beach by himself, right there, that place, that time????
But the more I thought about it, like right now, I thought: that's just the thing! Sometimes one finds oneself somewhere doing something automatically, and then wondering why one did it, or why they were even there, then. And then, aha!
ME!
The poet Rilke wrote, profoundly:
You must change your life.
The poet James Wright, profoundly, wrote:
I have wasted my life.
Now, which me did I apprehend?
I am entangled.
*For some reason Candide is not jibing with me. I have tried to read it twice, once many years ago, again about a year ago. Both times, stopped somewhere in the middle.
Did you put a spell on me, Jarhyn, O ye Great Wizard?