Published in 1942 by French author Albert Camus, The Stranger has long been considered a classic of twentieth-century literature. Le Monde ranks it as number one on its \'100 Books of the Century\' list. Through this story of an ordinary man unwittingly drawn into a senseless murder on a sundrenched Algerian beach, Camus explores what he termed \'the nakedness of man faced with the absurd.\'
I answered that, of recent years, Id rather lost the habit of noting my feelings, and hardly knew what to answer. I could truthfully say Id been quite fond of Mother but really that didnt mean much. All normal people, I added as on afterthought, had more or less desired the death of those they loved, at some time or another. Here the lawyer interrupted me, looking greatly perturbed. You must promise me not to say anything of that sort at the trial, or to the examining magistrate. I promised, to satisfy him, but I explained that my physical condition at any given moment often influenced my feelings. For instance, on the day I attended Mothers funeral, I was fagged out and only half awake. So, really, I hardly took stock of what was happening. Anyhow, I could assure him of one thing: that Id rather Mother hadnt died. The lawyer, however, looked displeased. Thats not enough, he said curtly. After considering for a bit he asked me if he could say that on that day I had kept
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No, I said. That wouldnt be true. He gave me a queer look, as if I slightly revolted him; then informed me, in an almost hostile tone, that in any case the head of the Home and some of the staff would be cited as witnesses. And that might do you a very nasty turn, he concluded. When I suggested that Mothers death had no connection with the charge against me, he merely replied that this remark showed Id never had any dealings with the law. Soon after this he left, looking quite vexed. I wished he had stayed longer and I could have explained that I desired his sympathy, not for him to make a better job of my defense, but, if I might put it so, spontaneously. I could see that I got on his nerves; he couldnt make me out, and, naturally enough, this irritated him. Once or twice I had a mind to assure him that I was just like everybody else; quite an ordinary 41
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Albert Camus (cid:153) THE STRANGER person. But really that would have served no great purpose, and I let it goout of laziness as much as anything else. Later in the day I was taken again to the examining magistrates office. It was two in the afternoon and, this time, the room was flooded with lightthere was only a thin curtain on the windowand extremely hot. After inviting me to sit down, the magistrate informed me in a very polite tone that, owing to unforeseen circumstances, my lawyer was unable to be present. I should be quite entitled, he added, to reserve my answers to his questions until my lawyer could attend.
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To this I replied that I could answer for myself. He pressed a bell push on his desk and a young clerk came in and seated himself just behind me. Then weI and the magistratesettled back in our chairs and the examination began. He led off by remarking that I had the reputation of being a taciturn, rather self-centered person, and hed like to know what I had to say to that. I answered: Well, I rarely have anything much to say. So, naturally I keep my mouth shut. He smiled as on the previous occasion, and agreed that that was the best of reasons. In any case, he added, it has little or no importance. After a short silence he suddenly leaned forward, looked me in the eyes, and said, raising his voice a little: What really interests me isyou! I wasnt quite clear what he meant, so I made no comment. There are several things, he continued, that puzzle me about your crime. I feel sure that you will help me to understand them.
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