HW 10 - Who Is This Guy? (Read the NEW DRAFT)

I don't know if I am lack of slumber or I am just tired. Reading the book The Stranger, I kept losing the lines and it takes longer to just read one page for me. Almost every line that the author wrote is detach from each other that caused me to lost track of what he is saying. Very random. I have to admit this is the most rare character that I ever read by now. He is not special, and I do think he is human. But somehow I just can't find the point that is on him to connect to mine.

As what we discussed in class yesterday, he doesn't seem to react to what is going on that much but he does react to his surroundings. In chapter one, when his mom passed away, he seems cold. Although he sounds like he is careless about his mother's death, this could seem as a hint of how he actually feels. When the director asked him if he wanted to see his "mother one last time", he said, "no". Then after awhile, he did mentioned that he "noticed right away that the screws on the casket had been tightened". This really indicates that he is human and he does being aware of his surroundings. It is just the way he react to things or express himself does not make sense to the outcasts. Just like the moment he realized his mother's casket has been sealed, he might not react to it right away, but he is definitely reacting to what is happening. If not, I don't think he will even bother to bring it up.

One of the motif that I found on this book is the light (sun, night, stars, . In every chapter, Meursault seems to be so distracted or he wanted to be bother by his surroundings, that he refused to open himself up to anybody. He does express his feelings, but only to the ones that he wanted to.

It is so ironic in a way that I feel disconnected from him, but I already wrote two paragraphs about him. From the first chapter when his mother died, he doesn't seem to react to it strongly. However, he did talked about the whole process of it. Does this mean he

Ideas are all over the place, not yet organized.

Since I saw John and May already commented on what I wrote above, I don't want to modify it as they are commenting on the new draft. So i will restart below. No offense. :)

↓↓New Draft↓↓

I don't know if I am lack of slumber or I am just tired. Reading the book The Stranger, I kept losing the lines and it takes longer to just read one page for me. Almost every line that the author wrote is detached from each other that caused me to lost track of what he is saying. I have to admit this is the rarest character that I ever read by now. However, he is not special, and I do think he is human. But somehow I just can't find the point that is on him to connect to mine. All these are caused by the fact that Meursault is a stranger to me. I am sure Camus delineates Meursault like this on purpose, and I think he expect us to feel comfortable reading about him. Aren't that's what we are doing every day? Passing by strangers, not by reading it, but seeing them. Why all of sudden we feel so uncomfortable reading one of these strangers that we used to see everyday?

Reading this character might seem strange to a lot of people because everything that he said is certainly absurd. He is emotionless throughout the first few chapters and he totally chooses to ignore the readers. Not only that Meursault is passive, he refused to be himself in the moment in front of the audience. It is because he views us, the readers, as strangers. Will you ever open up yourselves to share your feelings to the stranger who sit next to you on the subway? As passing by many strangers like the day we went to Madison Square Park, seeing those people that I completely don’t know is just the same as reading this book. They all just look so weird and it makes you wonder who and why they act this way. They could passed by you, stares at you, and walked away. Who am I to expect everybody to open up themselves to the others that they don’t know? With that being said, why should we as readers, expect so much from Meursault. He is just one of those strangers that we passed by everyday. Why can't we connect to him? We see this everyday.

As the story starts up with Meursault’s mom, who just passed away, Meursault doesn’t seem to have any emotions to it throughout the first few chapters that I read. However, he does describe the things or happening around him to the readers except his own self-awareness feelings. One part that I felt Meursault very cold was when the director asked him whether he wanted to see his “mother one last time”, he simply replied, “No”. Perhaps, from the dominant culture’s reaction, this may seem a little outrageous. But if you really did think about this, what kinds of emotions do you expect him to have when he suddenly heard that one of his love ones that has been taking care of him has died?

I think the way Meursault’s react to his surroundings is definitely understandable, and I would not consider it weird. Even from the second chapter at the end, he said, “really, nothing had changed” after his mother died, I still believe that Meursault is going through the process of grief but trying to move on fast. Just like when we are depress, people often tell us to feel better soon. It is the same for Meursault, I think he is trying to be optimistic about what had just happened to him, and thus he kept looking for distractions around him. Additionally, he is feeling something inside of him; it is just that he refused to open up to the readers. It is almost seem like he is completely numb about his mother’s death that he is unable or does not know how to express himself. He is fear of pain, therefore, he choose not to interact with feelings, but his surroundings, something that he can physically see. Like the way he describes the "light", "sun", "people on the street" and how people in the funeral react. He wants to detached himself from his own experience, but at the same time connect to the others.

It is so ironic in a way that I feel disconnected from him, but I already wrote four paragraphs about him. Maybe we still think Merusault is weird, cold, emotionless, and unique, but I do see that in all of us. We are all strangers, not only to Meursault, but to rest of the people that do not know. As reading this book, it really makes me want to know his background. Perhaps, if we amplify every strangers that we pass by, they all have some awesome stories to share.