Life comes in bits and bytes, in train tickets and in shreds of scratch papers. Most of the ones posted in novels (with reference to a few profoundly honest ones) are fabricated pastiches of fake images and occasional truths with gleams of syrupy sentimientality. In all its truth life is a mess, only seen with structure because our human minds prefer to see order and disple the chaos of our daily humdrums.
From "The Stranger" I saw a world quite different from the fakes we manufacture. I do not have the boldness to confrotn the world as Camus sees it or perhaps I do not possess the particulars that shaped his vision of life, but I am led to think and act on ebvery moment with pensive recall. At times, I dare not make decisions out of cowardice perhaps or simply out of boredom. While I have lots of questions about issues raised by this bold Frenchman, I have as much comments to what he also expounded on: meaninglessness, creating your own meaning and even agnosticism.
I do not find his agnosticism attractive nor his despair compelling though I will not renounce the place of despair in human life. I see it as everyday presents it...in cycles of commuting and reporting for work. Perhaps there is more to life's melodrama more than the poets and visionaries have presented it.
