The Stranger

I have to read this book for Lit by Monday. I finished it today...

Twisselmann said it was existential and depressing. I was really excited to read it, because depressing things make you think. Somewhere in Ecclesiastes it says that sorrows are better than laughter, for sorrow refines the heart. Or something along those lines. I love sad books and sad movies and sad music and sad conversations, because they're the ones that mean the most. Anyone can talk about how much fun they had at the movies, but the sad things make us who we are.

So I had some pretty great expectations for this book...

And it didn't reach my expectations. Not close. Not at all. It was all kind of pointless. It wasn't even that sad. I didn't feel bad for Mersault--he was just a shell. I don't understand how someone like him actually lives. Is there any Mersault anywhere in the world? Or is it just a grotesque overstatement?

Maybe I'll like it more when we analyze it.

But I don't think there's even anything to analyze.