If you’re ever jonesing for an existential bummer of a book then ‘The Outsider’, is for you. Fans of absurdism will love reading about a bunch of arseholes, indulging in their varying degrees of arsehole behaviour, and will likely savour the detached indifference of the main character as he gets himself into some major shit. Upon hearing of his fate, he revels – passively of course – in the pointlessness of it all.
Depressing as it sounds, this book is rich with multi layered questions to muse over long after you’ve read it. It will waltz your mind into the abyss, pairing morality and mortality as the only available dance partners, but you’ll probably never work out which one is leading, or who is treading on whose supremely stoic toes.
There is a clear godless message within the viewpoint of the main character that happiness can only be derived from experiencing simple pleasures, for existence is nothing but incidental. As a bedtime book, this will leave you feeling changed somehow – Sunk, or adrift, in exchange for a dreamless sleep.
Simple pleasures indeed. It almost made me wish I believed in god, (momentarily), but I still do believe in chocolate cake and that is close enough. Well done, Albert. Fellow miserable bastard.
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