Reading: The Plague

by Albert Camus

I could kick myself for preconceived notions. I’ve avoided Camus until now because I’d been told his writing was cold and hopeless and (that dreaded word) existential; a label, it turns out, the author vehemently opposed.

From The Plague:

“And he knew, also, what the old man was thinking as his tears flowed, and he, Rieux, thought it too: that a loveless world is a dead world, and always there comes an hour when one is weary of prisons, of one’s work and of devotion to duty, and all one craves for is a loved face, the warmth and wonder of a loving heart.” (p. 231)

There’s light enough in that quote, I think, to beat back the absolute bleakness that’s been stamped on Camus’ works. Much of his world-view or philosophy (or whatever you choose to call it) is bleak; an absurd world doesn’t lend itself to rosy pictures. But popular depiction seems to have missed the tempering phrases like “wonder of a loving heart.” Love in an absurd world. That sounds wonderfully hopeful to me.