“Maman died today. Or, maybe yesterday; can’t be sure.” When I read that line as an opener to the book, I paused and read it again. There is something unsettling about such a response to a mother’s death.
But then again, this is The Stranger, and the line feels fitting.
First published in 1942, the novel follows Meursault, who has just lost his mother. His reaction is not what one would expect after such a loss, especially in a society where unspoken rules govern grief.
I couldn’t shake the feeling it left behind. I found myself returning to that line, trying to understand what unsettled me about it.
Only then did I start to wonder. Is such a reaction acceptable? And if so, to whom? Who gets to decide how one ought to respond to something as final as death?
During the funeral, his manner bothers those at the home where his mother spent her last days. To many, he appears indifferent, as if her death is something to be handled and set aside so he can return to his life. But in his mind, the reality has not yet settled. He seems to believe that perhaps it will only become real after the burial.
That is the thing about grief. It does not manifest the same way for everyone. There have been moments when my own reactions came late. At times, I have laughed because I didn’t know what else to do with the pain. In that sense, I found myself understanding Meursault, at least for a moment.
When he returns from the funeral, life resumes almost immediately. He meets Marie at the beach. They swim together and start a relationship. For Meursault, the space between loss and living is almost nonexistent.
So when Marie asks if he loves her, his answer is not surprising. He says no. What is surprising is that he is willing to marry her simply because it would make her happy.
Entering into something as significant as marriage simply because it would make someone else happy is a bold move, one I am not sure I am capable of. It made me wonder how much of what we consider essential in relationships is truly felt, and how much is simply performed because it is expected, because saying yes is easier than holding your ground.
His refusal to perform for a society that sets the rules for how each of us should behave finds him on trial for exactly that. Yes, he is in prison for killing a man, but in the courtroom, it is his entire life that is placed under scrutiny.
The prosecutor keeps coming back to the funeral, where he did not cry; he smoked, he had coffee. And that the next day, life simply went on. These are not treated as details, but as evidence. Evidence of a man who does not feel the way he should.
In Meursault’s world, life unfolds regardless of how one responds to it. Things happen. They pass. Whether you grieve deeply or remain unmoved doesn’t alter what has already occurred. But this isn’t how society expects one to live.
There is an understanding, even if unspoken, that certain emotions must be shown and certain reactions performed. To know this and still refuse is to step outside what is considered acceptable. It is a line Meursault does not attempt to stay within.
Even in his final moments, waiting for his execution, Meursault holds on to who he is at his core. When a priest comes to offer salvation, he tells him plainly that certainty about anything beyond this life is meaningless, that he has no interest in a God who offers comfort in exchange for confession. It is the only moment in the novel where his emotions spill over, and they do so in defence of his own truth.
“I had only a little time left, and I didn’t want to waste it on God,” he tells the priest.
Afterwards, he thinks of his mother. Of how she, too, had chosen to live fully in whatever time remained. He understands her now. Neither of them wasted what they had performing for others.
I kept thinking about that opening line. How quickly it unsettled me, how easily I judged it. And I began to wonder if the discomfort had less to do with Meursault, and more to do with what I expect from people.
Perhaps we are more attached to how things should look than we realise. To the right words, the right emotions, the right reactions. We learn them, we repeat them, and over time, they begin to feel like truth.
Meursault refuses to perform. And perhaps that is what makes him so unsettling.
Jane Shussa is a digital communication specialist with a love for books, coffee, nature, and travel. She can be reached at [email protected].
