This post is just merely my raw, personal views on the book and life itself. I am in no way enforcing my views and opinions on anyone.
It’s been about three years since I heard about the book, “The Stranger”. I wanted to read it three years ago but I never could bring myself to. As interested as I was in reading the book, part of me back then just really did not care.
I had other stuff to worry about- like college and my growing depression. I was too preoccupied with being miserable- or at least leading myself to believe that I was to even give the book a thought. But now, here I am, three years later, no longer in school and perpetually seeking to find meaning for a life that is essentially meaningless.
It seems to be our plague; forcing this idea that we exist solely to be successful. To make something of ourselves and live the remainder of our lives working, paying bills and raising children.
We fail to realize, however, that it’s all in vain. We’re just specks of dust in this vast universe and that the world doesn’t revolve around us. If we one day cease to exist, it’d be the least eventful thing to happen in the universe.
But on “The Stranger” and what I took from Meursault’s realization at the end of the book- yes, life has no meaning and we are all inevitably going to die. That is our fate. That’s just how it is.
Despite all that, one of our greatest torments is loneliness. Loneliness is unbearable and even Meursault recognized that when he wished “…that there be a large crowd of spectators the day of my execution and that they greet me with cries of hate.”
It is our one flaw; our dying need for companionship.