The Stranger

In The Stranger Albert Camus exposes the terrifying gap between social convention and social reality. Meursault's narrative begins with the death of his mother and the famous line, 'Maman died today'. He explains the very human nature of the estrangemed relationship: he could not afford to care for her, and neither was good company for the other, so he sent her to a home where both could be happier. Nonetheless, he confesses to a prevailing feeling of guilt: 'It's not my fault'. It is a curious statement, made more curious by repetition, but it becomes clearer with the realisation that Meursault is recalling these events from prison.

As the trial proves, a rational motive for Meursault's crime is difficult to trace. 'It was the sunlight', is all that he can say. However, throughout his narrative his victim is referred to simply as 'the Arab', part of a gang of 'Arabs', who are not granted any differentiation: 'The Arab fell flat in the water, facedown, and lay there for several seconds with bubbles bursting on the surface around his head. Meanwhile, Raymond had landed one too, and the other Arab's face was bleeding [....] But the other Arab had gotten back up.' The court never interrogates racial prejudice, the blindness of an individual to the humanity of another. Rather, it is Meursault's seemingly unfeeling attitude to his mother's death that provides a basis for his conviction. The prosecutor declares that Meursault lacks a soul, 'not one of the moral principles that govern men's hearts'; it is 'an abyss threatening to swallow up society'.

Meursault is not the threat; he is merely a keen observer of the malaise. Early in his narrative, he meets Salamano and his dog, who enact a cycle of brutality, hatred and terror: 'Salamano stumbles. Then he beats the dog and swears at it. The dog cowers and trails behind. Then it's the old man who pulls the dog. Once the dog has forgotten, it starts dragging its master along again, and again gets beaten and sworn at. Then they both stand there on the sidewalk and stare at each other, the dog in terror, the man in hatred. It's the same thing every day'. Tellingly, Meursault does not intervene. In fact, he rarely acts, and when he does, his actions are a product of circumstances rather than decisions of a conscious will. In such a twisted world, there is no hope, only the comfort to be found in the consistency of hate.