I've finished sifting through the murky mind of Albert Camus, for now. The Stranger was nothing like what I had anticipated. I bit off more than I could swallow with The Fall, but not more than I can chew.
Both of these novellas can be ingested, though not wholly digested, in a single sitting. I read The Fall entirely one afternoon this week on a riverside park bench, book in one hand, coffee in the other. If you're the type, the current weather is ideal for getting one's mind into a state conducive to Camus.
The title tells the story, really. Meursault is an unfeeling man that Camus dares the reader to relate to. He can be charming, eloquent, and innocent in the right moments, but you will always find yourself repelled by him.
