Le Premier Homme and the substitute father

Following on from Sairah’s post about familial love, I think it’s interesting to note that, early on in the novel, Jacques tries to find a father figure amongst his teachers, of whom he says “il fallait choisir entre ceux qu’on aimait et ceux qu’on n’aimait pas”. At first the narrator says that teachers become “plus près d’un père”, but he quickly amends this, stating that love for a teacher is not required in the same way that a father’s love arguably is. Instead of finding a substitute for his absent father at school, he instead discovers that they are “comme ces oncles entre lesquels on a le droit de choisir”. It is phrased positively (one has the right to chose) yet it is still not the same thing as having one’s own father. Certainly, Jacques' uncles do not seem to have a particularly strong influence over him in the parts of the novel that exist.

Le premier homme and society/class

I thought it was interesting to see Le premier homme in relation to Camus’ changing friendship with Sartre, and particularly the differing backgrounds that seemed to eventually lead to friction. In the novel, Camus frequently describes the poverty that surrounds Jacques, and the persistent need to work hard and avoid unemployment: “Le travail dans ce quartier n’était pas une vertu, mais une nécessité qui, pour faire vivre, conduisait à la mort” (283). In this environment, Jacques and his peers find themselves accusing “les Italiens, les Espagnols, les Juifs, les Arabes et finalement la terre entière de leur voler leur travail – attitude déconcertante certainement pour les intellectuels qui font la théorie du prolétariat, et pourtant fort humaine et bien excusable”. This last part of the quote, with the reference to “intellectuals” and their proletariat theories, is perhaps a dig at Sartre, whom Camus felt could not possibly truly understand the roots of social inequality, coming as he did from a well-off bourgeois family. I thought the detailed passage with Jacques and his two francs piece was especially interesting, as it seemed to mark a moment of Jacques’ realisation of his family’s own hardship: “il comprenait que ce n’était pas l’avarice qui avait conduit sa grand-mère à fouiller dans l’ordure, mais la nécessité terrible qui faisait que dans cette maison deux francs étaient une somme” (122). In this same passage, Jacques also understands the necessity to work in order to live, and this is described as a “leçon de courage, non de morale”. This vocabulary is used earlier in the novel to refer to the many children born into this same position: “des centaines d’orphelins naissaient dans tous les coins d’Algérie, arabes et français, fils et filles sans père qui devraient ensuite apprendre à vivre sans leçon et sans héritage” (84). The mentioning of lessons and learning allude to education, or rather, the lack of it. In referring to growing up fatherless and without heritage, Camus further confronts social issues of which, in this later autobiographical work, he reveals he, unlike Sartre, had first-hand experience.

Le Premier Homme and Familial Love

I found it very interesting in this novel, the emphasis that Camus puts upon beauty, notably upon the protagonist's family members. He speaks about his mother's beauty and wanting to be close to her in an almost sexual way (I'm thinking in particular about the bit where he wants to be close to her, but does not think it appropriate). In this sense, perhaps Jacques is trying to take his father's place, in searching for him, feeling that someone should desire his beautiful mother. Similarly, the grandmother in the novel seems to be more forgiving of Ernest because he is handsome, something that Jacques notices when looking at her conduct towards him, a mixture of desire and maternal instinct.
There is a level of needing to be accepted throughout the novel, but Jacques seems to need perhaps a more exaggerated love to make up for the love of a father. In searching for the father, he needs the help of the rest of his family, and this, like affection, they seem unable to give, at least in large doses. In a house largely of women, he is unable to infiltrate their sphere, as highlighted by the birth at the beginning, where women assist with the birth without the aid of any of the men. Jacques is reduced to an outsider, who projects desire on to his mother to try to gain acceptance.

Le Renegat

Ok...so I'm going to write on Le Renegat too...

What struck me the most was the level of unrest in the language. I guess this isn't surprising given the plot, but still the word choices still seemed to be very different from the sensual language of Noces when talking about nature etc., which was quite unexpected. For example, he repeatedly creates images of things bristling, "se herissent" (how do you do accents on this?!), dazzling or shivering (pp42-43), so even though what Camus is describing is very beautiful, you don't get the normal sense of deadly stillness and quiet as you might expect with this kind of scene. There seems to be a permanent sense of suspicion in the language throughout, echoing a plot which is full of traps and unexpected turns for the narrator.

I also found something online which I thought was interesting (can't find it now, sorry! will look later), talking about how Le Renegat is all about repression, throughout the plot people forcing their ideas on others and trying/failing to convert people to their beliefs. This seems to be a common element when Camus is addressing religion, so perhaps what he objects to is not the sentiments in many religions themselves, but more the suggestion that there is only one way of thinking something and the manner in which it is thrust upon it's followers with no allowance for different interpretation/change?

Le Renegat

In the interest of balancing things out a little, I'm going to post on Le Renegat. I think it is perhaps the one story in L'Exil et le Royaume where Camus explicitly tackles the idea of colonialism. It seems that a lot of critics have picked up on the Beckettian influence in Le Renegat, including (once again) David Carroll. I guess it is from a Beckettian standpoint that I'd like to frame my 'discussion'.

What I found striking in the story were the passages where the protagonist laughs. (p47 especially), especially sincne this motif also ties in with La Chute. It seems bizarre that laughter should be the eponymous character's reaction to his torture. Beckett has always made use of humour and comedy in his works, a tactic which makes viewers feel somewhat uncomfortable. Whilst Camus is by no means trying to make us laugh, the laughter of his character seems almost inexplicable. Perhaps there would be a case for his laughter near the end of the tale, where he has in some way achieved retribution (and also through his mental state). I guess what I'd be asking, is, seeing as the laughter is inenxplicable through reason or sense - in its first instance anyway - how does this tie into Camus's idea of the absurd? Is laughter the ultimate absurd act? Is it always an inexplicable and in some ways 'unplaceable' act which cannot be explained away? It is interesting that, having had his tongue cut off, laughter is still possible, but coherent expression is not.

L'Hôte

I think L'Hôte resonates strongly with Derrida's ideas of "Absolute Hospitality" which I'm not pretending I properly understood but which definitely struck a chord whilst I was reading. Daru treats the Arab as common courtesy dictates with no regard for the fact that he is a criminal, save the consideration he gives to the gun. The moments where we see him untying the Arab's bound hands and, later, refusing to retie him are poignant in that they demonstrate the gift of freedom he will ultimately offer. In the end Daru seems to lose out in every possible way; his attempts to save the Arab are for some unknown reason, denied. He has slighted his friend, Balducci. He has the solitude he wished for but it is tainted by the knowledge that those who threaten him are capable of breaking into his schoolroom with apparent ease. Having bestowed every kindness upon the Arab, even when they went in direct conflict with his feelings towards him, Daru has gained nothing. If this is a comment on the idea of "absolute hospitality", it is a very bleak one.

L'Hôte: Choosing between sides, not justice

Daru is put into the position by Balducci where he must choose a side. Daru must be with or against the Arab, he is not however presented with a choice of being for or against justice. There is no question that the Arab has committed a crime. The dilemma that Daru finds himself in though, and the threat at the end, demonstrates the way in which a conflict such as Algeria can become more about which side is right, rather than what is right. The Arab chooses to turn himself in, an acceptance of the crime that he has committed and a recognition that he has to be held to account, that justice must be served. The threat then ignores the issue of right and wrong. It focuses solely on the distinction between ‘us and them’, a distinction that Daru wishes to avoid and one which the title alludes to in the conflict between being both host and guest.

L'Hôte

In L'Hôte, it's interesting to note how much Camus emphasises that both Daru and the Arab prisoner are outsiders. When we meet Daru, he is alone on the plateau and we are told that "il se sentait exilé", while Balducci tells him "Tu as toujours été un peu fêlé". Meanwhile, the prisoner is dressed in traditional Arabic/North African dress and his appearance (particularly his "énorme lèvres") strikes Daru as unusual. In the first few pages of the story, Camus takes time to emphasise just how isolated Daru and the people who live near him are, relying on supplies coming from the nearby town to survive (interestingly, Daru is the one given the power to distribute these supplies.) What he has to offer when being the host is scarce and he relies heavily on others to receive it. As the narrator then says, "Dans ce désert, personne, ni lui ni son hôte n'étaient rien". Camus has chosen two isolated figures to explore hospitality, an idea that includes welcoming people whether or not you know them.

L’hôte and choice

The idea of choice again echoes in L’hôte. There seem to be a lot of descriptions of Daru tirelessly caring for the Arab prisoner, where often the detail of the passages highlights this kindness. Yet is there a sense that it is essentially untenable? At one point, the prisoner can hear Daru’s breathing as he sleeps: “Dans la chambre où, depuis un an, il dormait seul, cette présence le gênait. Mais elle le gênait aussi parce qu’elle lui imposait une sorte de fraternité qu’il refusait dans les circonstances présentes” (94). On Daru’s part, the proximity between him and the prisoner is also emphasised; at one point, he hears the prisoner coughing: “Daru l’écouta, presque malgré lui, puis, furieux, jeta un caillou qui siffla dans l’air avant de s’enfoncer dans la neige. Le crime imbécile de cet homme le révoltait, mais le livrer était contraire à l’honneur: d’y penser seulement le rendait fou d’humiliation” (96). This moment in which he is “furieux” seems to be the one where he thinks of giving up the prisoner, which he knows would be dishonourable. I think here we see Daru stuck and trapped by these thoughts, which is crippling for him, particularly when he does not act upon them: “Daru se leva, tourna en rond sur la terre-plein, attendit, immobile, puis entra dans l’école” (96). Camus maintains this idea of torturous indecision up until the end, when Daru witnesses the prisoner exercising the ability to choose and watches with “ le coeur serré” (99). I think the final sentence appears ambiguous: “Dans ce vaste pays qu’il avait tant aimé, il était seul” (99). I’m not sure if we’re meant to believe that his kindness was entirely pointless, or that the numbing, almost nihilistic atmosphere at this point (with “les terres invisibles” and the message scrawled into the table: “‘Tu as livré notre frère. Tu paieras’”) will be a haunting result of Daru’s lack of resolve and failure to take the decision for himself.

Le renégat and the tongue

I think that ideas about man’s place in the world correspond brilliantly with the cutting out of the tongue, which signifies so much. The tongue, as organ of speech, can be both beneficial and deviant. Its severance can be associated with (dis)honour and punishment, both in religious scripture and art. (I’m thinking particularly of Shakespearean and other Elizabethan work – sorry, once did an essay on this!) I think it’s interesting to see this in the light of freedom, and the decision/ability to speak or not speak. In Le renégat, the narrator says that “le jour où l’on m’a coupé la langue, j’ai appris à adorer l’âme immortelle de la haine!” (50). The cutting out of the tongue detaches someone from civilisation as they knew it. If it is self-inflicted, it may be an act of disengagement, a way of exercising will or showing disapproval (Hieronimo in The Spanish Tragedy??) In Le renégat, could the act perhaps comprise both, firstly with the narrator’s absolute disillusionment and conversion, and also the act being an assertion of power? The narrator sees that his tongue was removed “pour que sa parole ne vienne plus tromper le monde” (53), but equally he becomes disgusted by the “insolente bonté” displayed by the not-tongueless new missionary (54), and is thus disgusted by what he sees as his own former naivety. His love of goodness was sacrificed along with his autonomy; the tribal indoctrination made him blind to his own capacity to choose. Perhaps the brutal act in turn made the narrator convert to a system of brutality; the cutting of the tongue was the catalyst. I think this could go well with a lot of what we’ve said about totalitarianism: the suppression - in this case physical - of individual voices in order to eradicate choice and spread absolutism.

Le Renégat and heat/thirst

I found Le Rengat most interesting in the way that it emphasises the way that the body feels. Like in L'Etranger, there is a definite emphasis on the effect of heat and the sun, but here, the stress seems to fall upon thirst and torture. Salt is mentioned consistently through the story, emphasising the dry and barren land around the protagonist. The invocation of the body feeling things, both in terms of violence towards the protagonist and his mental anguish always seems to come back to thirst, be it a thirst for power, freedom or just water. This being mentioned, I find the final line 'Une poignee de sel emplit la bouche d'esclave bavard' very interesting, as it underlines both the thirst and hopelessness of the protagonist's situation.

Daru/Camus' neutrality

I think we can see the same deliberate neutrality in Daru as we've been talking about with regards to Camus' position on the Algerian War, justice etc. Daru tells the gendarme that "tout ca me degoute, et ton gars le premier. Mais je ne le liverai pas. Me battre, oui, s'il le faut. Mais pas ca." This seems to define what we know was Camus' opinion - like Daru, he loathed killing (as represented by the Arab, who murdered his cousin), but also like Daru's refusal to hand the Arab over to the prison, Camus didn't take a 'side' in the Algerian War. Daru seems willing to fight, but he implies that he only would under duress (earlier he insists that he won't take orders until war is declared). Daru's decision to let the Arab choose a path reflects the deliberation of Camus' position - it is not passive, as it would be if the Arab had run away because Daru didn't lock the schoolhouse door, but an active decision to wash his hands of a binary choice.

L'hote

I thought it was particularly interesting how Daru seems to insist that the Arab is presented with a hospitable environment, while Balducci seems much less forthcoming: "Il resservit du thé à Balducci, hésita, puis servit à nouveau L'Arabe..." (87). As the story continues and Dura is left alone with the Arab, the sentence structure becomes more complex, and I thought that this could represent the growing complexity of the guest/host relationship. Throughout the story, Daru is accommodating, asking if "Tu as faim?" (91), and tells the Arab "N'aie pas peur. C'est moi. Il faut manger" (95-96). His role as the doting host continues to the end, as he offers a man he is told is a criminal the choice of freedom or imprisonment; does the fact that this offer eventually ends poorly for Daru signify that there is a danger in being the "perfect" host?

L'etat

I hope that I read this correctly otherwise this is going to be a completely irrelevant and useless comment.

When I was reading L'etat de siege, I noticed that the character of 'la peste' is also sometimes referred to as 'l'homme'. If you check the 'distribution' at the beginning of the play, I think that this is correct because there isn't a character listed as 'l'homme'. As 'l'homme' translates as man or mankind, it is interesting that Camus decides to parallel mankind with la peste in such an obvious fashion. Camus clearly suggests that man is its own downfall and this would have been particularly pertinent at the time as an allegory about totalitarianism, Franco etc. As others have previously commented, L'etat de siege is much more obvious in the points it makes, especially with the strong binary opposition of good/evil and I think the way in which Camus equates 'la peste' and 'l'homme' together is an important part of this.

La Chute & honesty

I really enjoyed La Chute, both in the content and the style in which it was written. I liked the focus on one character in depth as opposed to works like L'Etat where it seems like you get a more shallow overview of a character's mindset - by reading everything from Clamence's point of view you can look not only at what he says but how he chooses to say it, as well as Camus's potential influence/autobiographical tone as Gareth mentioned, which I think is quite interesting. I especially liked the sort of issues Camus/Clamence was bringing up (is charity selfish? etc.) which were quite different from some of the more repetitive themes he addresses.

As Catherine was saying, I think I could really relate to the honesty and complexity of the character, the conflicts when Clamence was accepting how he wanted others to see him/to appear, and the rationale behind his actions in actuality, the difficulty in doing this etc. It was also nice to have a character who considered his morality as opposed to many of Camus's other characters who don't seem to do that (e.g. Martha) to the same extent, and where the reader is encouraged to make their own judgements rather than hear the character's. I liked the honesty of Clamence and the blunt tone at times, in lines such as (p55) "Je vivais donc sans autre continuite que celle, au jour le jour, du moi-moi-moi. Au jour le jour les femmes, au jour le jour la vertu ou le vice, au jour le jour, comme les chiens, mais tous les jours, moi-meme, solide au poste." I also thought a lot of the language (as in the above sentence, for example), was beautifully written and quite poetic, as in some of the more sensual passages in Noces (my favourite!). It felt this gave the language a sort of rhythm and pace that made La Chute quite compelling.

L'Etat de Siege - The Comet & Diego and Victoria

I found L'Etat very interesting to read as it does seem so different to most of the other Camus we have read, in terms of his writing style. I also agree with everyone that in La Peste he seems to get his point across a lot more clearly and less invasively. L'Etat seems to make the same points again and again and doesn't really seem to progress in the way that La Peste does, in terms of the audience arriving at various realisations or moments of reflection.

I found two things a bit bizarre and couldn't really get my head round them! One was the comet. I found La Peste so chilling because it all seemed so realistic and brutal - the moment when they are all discussing what to call 'La Peste' and how to deal with the public comes to mind as being particularly realistic and uncomfortable. However, while I can see why the use of a comet as a sort of omen/symbol makes sense, it seemed a bit silly (for want of a better word!). It opened the text with a sort of weird sci-fi/mystical tone which then distanced it from the realities of the town in a way that La Peste didn't. Obviously it signifies many things for different readers etc. but for me it just seemed a bit incongruent and distracting...

Also I found the relationship between Diego and Victoria a bit puzzling, mostly because at times I thought their dialogue was so cliched and saccharine that it seemed a bit sarcastic, for example p34 D "Que tu es belle!" V "Que tu es fort!" D "Avec quoi laves-tu ce visage pour le rendre aussi blanc que l'amande?" V "Je le lave avec l'eau claire, l'amour y ajoute sa grace!"... etc. I wasn't sure what Camus was trying to say with the couple...is he satirising other writers or is it more then nature of young lovers/new relationships which then seem to sour later..? The other relationships we have studied (not necessarily romantic) always seem so disfunctional compared to Diego and Victoria, but I don't believe the point of them is to show the "perfect" relationship... Also even if it was, this all seems a bit at odds with Camus's larger point about the government/law etc. I'm not sure why it has a place in the text but sure I must be missing something...?!

Religious imagery in La Chute

I thought one of the most interesting elements of La Chute was the abundance of Christian religious imagery, which have been relatively scarce in Camus until this point. As well as the obvious allegory between Clamence's life and the fall of man, and the comparison between Amsterdam and the circles of hell (which is, admittedly, more Dante than the Bible), Clamence uses religious language and examples both thoughtfully and casually. One that particularly struck me came early on in the novel, when Clamence says that he felt like "fils de roi, ou buisson ardent". The "son of the king" could be a reference to Jesus, while the "burning bush" is a significant Old Testament image. It's found in Exodus 3 - an angel of God appears to him in a bush that burns but is not consumed, and from there God tells him that he will lead God's chosen people out of Egypt to the promised land. The description of the bush comes in verses 2 and 3, which are:

2 here the angel of the LORD appeared to him in flames of fire from within a bush. Moses saw that though the bush was on fire it did not burn up. 3 So Moses thought, “I will go over and see this strange sight—why the bush does not burn up.”

In verse 6, it says that " Moses hid his face, because he was afraid to look at God." By comparing himself to the burning bush, Clamence is essentially calling himself God, which fits in with the idea of him being the "juge-penitent".

La Chute & L'Etat de Siege

I’m also a fan of La Chute, by placing the reader in the position of Clamence’s companion Camus engages the reader, you are made to work, to formulate the questions that he is answering and to fill in the gaps in the narrative. I am interested in Clamence’s role as a “judge-penitent”, the seemingly contradictory role that he describes himself as holding. I understand this in opposition to the role that he played in his previous life in Paris; a lawyer who was “soustrait au jugement comme a la sanction” (shielded equally away from judgment as from penalty). Having found a comfortable niche between those judging and those being punished in Paris, in Amsterdam he embodies both rather than neither. He seems to be paying a price for his earlier lifestyle whilst also drawing others into the realisation that their lives may not be as innocent as they believe.

Camus’ comment on the reasoning for killing in the name of justice in L’Etat de Siege interested me. Diego states that he knows the old arguments that “To do away with murder we must kill, and to prevent injustice we must do violence.” (Apologies for the English quote – I know I’m a terrible person.) Diego’s questioning of capital punishment and of general killing and violence in the name of justice reflects Camus’ understanding that a re-examination of society’s moral values was necessary. Despite his brief backing for capital punishment after the end of the Second World War, Camus believed that life was ultimately more important than the idea of justice that could be used as the ends to justify violent means.

La Chute et L'Etat de Siege

David Carroll, in speaking about La Chute, picks up on the possibly semi-autobiographical nature of the novel. He says that Camus, by the time he had written La Chute had lost his authority as a dissenting political force, and recognised himself as having fallen. It might be interesting to perhaps tease out which parts of Jean-Baptiste's character we can see in Camus, and the extent to which we think that the novel may be autobiographical. It might also be interesting to look at the way in which Camus adopts the form of Notes from Underground to his own novel, the reasons for using this form, and his manipulation of it.

The allegory in l’Etat de Siege is so clear and two-dimensional that one often finds oneself wondering whether it might have just been more effective (or less cheesy at least) if Camus had cast off the allegorical naming of characters, a technique which detracts from artistic value and seems an insult to our intellect as discerning readers/viewers. Surely a great work of literature is multilateral and leaves space for deeper interpretation? L'Etat de Siege fails on this basic level, and seems comparatively anaemic. What surprises me about L’Etat de Siege is (and maybe this could be something to discuss) how morally reducible it is. From an author capable of a text as (arguably) morally irreducible as L’Etranger, L’Etat de Siege just seems silly and one dimensional. The idea of ‘complete good vs. complete evil’ is an idea I thought Camus would have disagreed with, given his Nietzschean influence, and given his opinions on the death penalty, (where he makes a point of condemning it from the perspective that there is always some humanity in an ‘evil’ act - another idea which is distinctly Nietzschean). Maybe I’m not sure what Camus is trying to get at. Pretty much the whole of mainland Europe knew about the dangers of totalitarianism, from Franco, to Mussolini, to Stalin, to Hitler, so why does Camus tell his audience what they already know, and in such black and white terms...?

p.s. If I can find that quote from David Carroll I'll add it onto this post as a comment.