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A Poor Translation
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Justin O'Brien's translation reads like a literal translation of a Chinese instruction manual to some piece of imported equipment rather than of one who undestands the substance of the subject. Compare this to the translation of The Stranger by Mathew Ward which is excellent and clearly conveys the meaning of the material. O'Brien's translation is a disservice to Camus.
An Interesting Thesis in Bewildering Prose
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In The Myth of Sisyphus, Camus presents a depressing philosophical problem, and then offers us a solution that is just as depressing. Man, he tells us, thirsts for a meaning in life and finds none; he is a being with an intrinsic need for meaning in a universe that appears meaningless; an animal at odds with his world. This problem constitutes what Camus calls the Absurd. And it prompts him to ask, with the subtlety of a battering ram, if we should all commit suicide. But he decides against it. Suicide symbolizes the triumph of life over the individual, cutting the Gordian knot of the absurd without unravelling it. What then is man to do? According to Camus, he must do two things. First, he must remain aware of the fact that life is absurd; that is, he must not be tempted to escape into oblivion. Camus' second imperative, both more obscure and more interesting, is that man must then try to find a defiant enjoyment in, or in spite of, his absurd existence. If he can do this, if Sisyphus can admit that he is not unhappy, and smirk to himself as he descends for the millionth or billionth time after his ridiculous bolder, that rebellious, ineradicable smirk is sufficient to undermine the gods that are punishing him and the universe in which that punishment is his fate. This is our only hope of negotiating the absurd.
The difficulty of reading Camus is that his thesis, though interesting, is couched in a bewildering philosophical prose. I think there are many aspects of his writing that could be criticized. To choose something at random, he likes to introduce everyday words and phrases which, as his usage makes clear, are being given idiosyncratic meanings known only to Camus. He does not pause to clarify what he means. Nor does he pause to substantiate the vague arguments he uses these words and phrases to postulate. Instead he goes on, breathlessly, forming yet another private argument from private premises, introducing still more words from his maddening idiolect, and recklessly multiplying the confusion until he achieves a kind of second and third-order ambiguity. Here, for example, is a paragraph that heads up a new section and is in no way foregrounded by the preceding one:
"Deep feelings always mean more than they are conscious of saying. The regularity of an impulse or a repulsion in a soul is encountered again in habits of doing or thinking, is reproduced in consequences of which the soul itself knows nothing. Great feelings take with them their own universe splendid or abject. They light up with their passion an exclusive world in which they recognize their climate."
When something is incomprehensible to you after many readings, it is reasonable to assume that the author is either a genius or an idiot. I don't think Camus is either. I think he is simply guilty of fudging sentences to make his ideas appear more complex, more esoteric, than they really are. Or perhaps the game with which he finds defiant enjoyment in the absurdity of his existence consists in avenging himself on his readers with his atrocious philosophical cant. I said that Camus' thesis is interesting. It is. Whether it is interesting enough to justify the Sisyphean toil of having to read his obfuscatory paragraphs over and over again will depend on your patience.
Definitely worth a try
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Not everyone is inclined to navel lintgazing. Nor is everyone up for the level of effort necessary to gain any type of understanding of Camus' writings either. That doesn't mean the effort should not be made though! I avoided Camus for years, until a reference at work (hostage negotiation) made me realize that Camus' work was an essential element for my toolbox - namely being able to agree with folks about the absurdity of life, have a story to tell (Sysyphus) and a general explanation how one of the "great philosophers" worked through it. At times like that, you would be amazed at what kind of attention folks pay!
I read the work at least five times through, and I can say that each time I read it, I bring a bit more away. His writing is very rich and dense. No sentence can be passed over - and that sucks if your a lazy reader!!! But... at the end of the effort, the results are worth it. You have another take on the whole "Is life, is the effort worth it?" I'll leave that for you to decide, but I do heartily recommend this book!
Interesting side thought - compare the worldly Camus with the rugged individualists across the pond (Emerson, Thoreau, and all the Transcendentalists) with their eternal optimism. Comments welcome! :)
All the best,
Jay
Years ago
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This popped up on my screen to be reviewed, so what the hell. I read this book many years ago, and I liked it. It is if I remember a collection of philosophical/ethical essays. I preferred his collection of descriptions. I know the story of Sisyphus, and I remember that Camus compared that to the human condition. That's certainly how it feels when it gets near payday. I preferred Sartre. I thought he was more interesting and humane and complex. I never understood Nausea (though I loved the chapter in the portrait gallery), never understood his point though of course the story as a story made sense. It's one of my favorite books. My favorite book for many years, however, was The Stranger. I think it's a gem. (Nausea, Sartre; Stranger, Camus.) For me the overall problem with Camus is his obsession with violence. I don't like it and now that I'm older I won't read it. His first book (A Happy Death, the main character of which has the same name as the central character in The Stranger, Mersault, why?) is a nightmare. Camus said that the most important thing in life is justice. In my pre-Bush years, that always struck me as a strange, almost superfluous credo. I don't recommend this book to anyone but philosophy majors (I'm not one), but (if you can stand things like Caligula), Camus is an interesting writer (not as much as Sartre I don't think), and I recommend over Sisyphus his collection of descriptions.
Not an easy but a worthwhile read
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I don't think Camus could have written a bad book if he had tried. In this case, I think it's accurate to say that this is the sort of book that makes you think and enjoy thinking.
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