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.