Genre: Fiction/Classic
Page Count: 278
Publication Year: 1947 (translated version one year later)
Publisher: United States version Random House, French version Librairie Gallimard
Special Notes: Translated from French by Stuart Gilbert.
Summary:
“I’m just moseying along and oh my goodness, look at all the rats!”
Almost everyone dies.
As the title implies, this is not a happy book.
I know there's some philosophical and deep message buried among the rotting corpses of this coastal Algerian town. I've just never had time for existentialism. I read this for fun and mercifully didn't have to dissect the wretchedly hopeless passages for life's answers. All I noticed was how the churchgoers and pastor were portrayed in a bad light.
The townsfolk vividly illustrated the stages of grief, and that was the redeeming value of this book. The breakdown of the human spirit as death expunged all hope and punched you flat or into an early grave, came across really well. I can’t criticize the rest of the writing too much since it’s a translation and I may have read the lesser version.
Tarrou’s journal note on how to experience every minute of the day amused me, but long plotless paragraphs about the bitterness of life plodded across too many pages.
If existentialism is your jam, this will float your boat. I prefer to be beached.
Check out my rating here.
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