#albertcamus — Public Fediverse posts
Live and recent posts from across the Fediverse tagged #albertcamus, aggregated by home.social.
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The Wind at Djémila (1936)
I just read The Wind at Djémila, an essay about Roman ruins in Algeria by Albert Camus. This image of a Roman arch makes me think of the “triumphal arch” that Donald Trump is building in Washington, D.C. today. It also reminds me of a poem, Ozymandias (1818) by Percy Bysshe Shelley that I memorized in school about 55 years ago.
https://share.google/fKhWbICmFtpkjYIT0
#Poetry #Literature #AlbertCamus #Algeria #PercyShelley #Ozymandias #Trump #Reading #Books
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The Wind at Djémila (1936)
I just read The Wind at Djémila, an essay about Roman ruins in Algeria by Albert Camus. This image of a Roman arch makes me think of the “triumphal arch” that Donald Trump is building in Washington, D.C. today. It also reminds me of a poem, Ozymandias (1818) by Percy Bysshe Shelley that I memorized in school about 55 years ago.
https://share.google/fKhWbICmFtpkjYIT0
#Poetry #Literature #AlbertCamus #Algeria #PercyShelley #Ozymandias #Trump #Reading #Books
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The Wind at Djémila (1936)
I just read The Wind at Djémila, an essay about Roman ruins in Algeria by Albert Camus. This image of a Roman arch makes me think of the “triumphal arch” that Donald Trump is building in Washington, D.C. today. It also reminds me of a poem, Ozymandias (1818) by Percy Bysshe Shelley that I memorized in school about 55 years ago.
https://share.google/fKhWbICmFtpkjYIT0
#Poetry #Literature #AlbertCamus #Algeria #PercyShelley #Ozymandias #Trump #Reading #Books
-
The Wind at Djémila (1936)
I just read The Wind at Djémila, an essay about Roman ruins in Algeria by Albert Camus. This image of a Roman arch makes me think of the “triumphal arch” that Donald Trump is building in Washington, D.C. today. It also reminds me of a poem, Ozymandias (1818) by Percy Bysshe Shelley that I memorized in school about 55 years ago.
https://share.google/fKhWbICmFtpkjYIT0
#Poetry #Literature #AlbertCamus #Algeria #PercyShelley #Ozymandias #Trump #Reading #Books
-
The Wind at Djémila (1936)
I just read The Wind at Djémila, an essay about Roman ruins in Algeria by Albert Camus. This image of a Roman arch makes me think of the “triumphal arch” that Donald Trump is building in Washington, D.C. today. It also reminds me of a poem, Ozymandias (1818) by Percy Bysshe Shelley that I memorized in school about 55 years ago.
https://share.google/fKhWbICmFtpkjYIT0
#Poetry #Literature #AlbertCamus #Algeria #PercyShelley #Ozymandias #Trump #Reading #Books
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The Wrong Side and The Right Side, 1935-36
Excerpts from a preface, written by Albert Camus in 1958, after two decades had passed and he decided at the urging of others to let what he considered his flawed essays be published:
“Naturally, a writer has some joys he lives for and that do satisfy him fully. But for me, these come at the moment of conception, at the instant when the subject reveals itself, when the articulation of the work sketches itself out before the suddenly heightened awareness, at those delicious moments when imagination and intelligence are fused. These moments disappear as they are born. What is left is the execution, that is to say, a long period of hard work. On another level, an artist also has the delights of vanity…
In order to be created, a work of art must first of all make use of the dark forces of the soul. But not without channeling them, surrounding them with dikes, so that the water in them rises. Perhaps my dikes are still too high…
The second reason I've kept these early essays to myself will then be clear: clumsiness and disorder reveal too much of the secrets closest to our hearts; we also betray them through too careful a disguise. It is better to wait until we are skillful enough to give them a form that does not stifle their voice, until we know how to mingle nature and art in fairly equal doses; in short, to be. For being consists of being able to do everything at the same time…
Yes, nothing prevents one from dreaming, in the very hour of exile, since at least I know this, with sure and certain knowledge: a man's work is nothing but this slow trek to rediscover, through the detours of art, those two or three great and simple images in whose presence his heart first opened.”
-
The Wrong Side and The Right Side, 1935-36
Excerpts from a preface, written by Albert Camus in 1958, after two decades had passed and he decided at the urging of others to let what he considered his flawed essays be published:
“Naturally, a writer has some joys he lives for and that do satisfy him fully. But for me, these come at the moment of conception, at the instant when the subject reveals itself, when the articulation of the work sketches itself out before the suddenly heightened awareness, at those delicious moments when imagination and intelligence are fused. These moments disappear as they are born. What is left is the execution, that is to say, a long period of hard work. On another level, an artist also has the delights of vanity…
In order to be created, a work of art must first of all make use of the dark forces of the soul. But not without channeling them, surrounding them with dikes, so that the water in them rises. Perhaps my dikes are still too high…
The second reason I've kept these early essays to myself will then be clear: clumsiness and disorder reveal too much of the secrets closest to our hearts; we also betray them through too careful a disguise. It is better to wait until we are skillful enough to give them a form that does not stifle their voice, until we know how to mingle nature and art in fairly equal doses; in short, to be. For being consists of being able to do everything at the same time…
Yes, nothing prevents one from dreaming, in the very hour of exile, since at least I know this, with sure and certain knowledge: a man's work is nothing but this slow trek to rediscover, through the detours of art, those two or three great and simple images in whose presence his heart first opened.”
-
The Wrong Side and The Right Side, 1935-36
Excerpts from a preface, written by Albert Camus in 1958, after two decades had passed and he decided at the urging of others to let what he considered his flawed essays be published:
“Naturally, a writer has some joys he lives for and that do satisfy him fully. But for me, these come at the moment of conception, at the instant when the subject reveals itself, when the articulation of the work sketches itself out before the suddenly heightened awareness, at those delicious moments when imagination and intelligence are fused. These moments disappear as they are born. What is left is the execution, that is to say, a long period of hard work. On another level, an artist also has the delights of vanity…
In order to be created, a work of art must first of all make use of the dark forces of the soul. But not without channeling them, surrounding them with dikes, so that the water in them rises. Perhaps my dikes are still too high…
The second reason I've kept these early essays to myself will then be clear: clumsiness and disorder reveal too much of the secrets closest to our hearts; we also betray them through too careful a disguise. It is better to wait until we are skillful enough to give them a form that does not stifle their voice, until we know how to mingle nature and art in fairly equal doses; in short, to be. For being consists of being able to do everything at the same time…
Yes, nothing prevents one from dreaming, in the very hour of exile, since at least I know this, with sure and certain knowledge: a man's work is nothing but this slow trek to rediscover, through the detours of art, those two or three great and simple images in whose presence his heart first opened.”
-
The Wrong Side and The Right Side, 1935-36
Excerpts from a preface, written by Albert Camus in 1958, after two decades had passed and he decided at the urging of others to let what he considered his flawed essays be published:
“Naturally, a writer has some joys he lives for and that do satisfy him fully. But for me, these come at the moment of conception, at the instant when the subject reveals itself, when the articulation of the work sketches itself out before the suddenly heightened awareness, at those delicious moments when imagination and intelligence are fused. These moments disappear as they are born. What is left is the execution, that is to say, a long period of hard work. On another level, an artist also has the delights of vanity…
In order to be created, a work of art must first of all make use of the dark forces of the soul. But not without channeling them, surrounding them with dikes, so that the water in them rises. Perhaps my dikes are still too high…
The second reason I've kept these early essays to myself will then be clear: clumsiness and disorder reveal too much of the secrets closest to our hearts; we also betray them through too careful a disguise. It is better to wait until we are skillful enough to give them a form that does not stifle their voice, until we know how to mingle nature and art in fairly equal doses; in short, to be. For being consists of being able to do everything at the same time…
Yes, nothing prevents one from dreaming, in the very hour of exile, since at least I know this, with sure and certain knowledge: a man's work is nothing but this slow trek to rediscover, through the detours of art, those two or three great and simple images in whose presence his heart first opened.”
-
The Wrong Side and The Right Side, 1935-36
Excerpts from a preface, written by Albert Camus in 1958, after two decades had passed and he decided at the urging of others to let what he considered his flawed essays be published:
“Naturally, a writer has some joys he lives for and that do satisfy him fully. But for me, these come at the moment of conception, at the instant when the subject reveals itself, when the articulation of the work sketches itself out before the suddenly heightened awareness, at those delicious moments when imagination and intelligence are fused. These moments disappear as they are born. What is left is the execution, that is to say, a long period of hard work. On another level, an artist also has the delights of vanity…
In order to be created, a work of art must first of all make use of the dark forces of the soul. But not without channeling them, surrounding them with dikes, so that the water in them rises. Perhaps my dikes are still too high…
The second reason I've kept these early essays to myself will then be clear: clumsiness and disorder reveal too much of the secrets closest to our hearts; we also betray them through too careful a disguise. It is better to wait until we are skillful enough to give them a form that does not stifle their voice, until we know how to mingle nature and art in fairly equal doses; in short, to be. For being consists of being able to do everything at the same time…
Yes, nothing prevents one from dreaming, in the very hour of exile, since at least I know this, with sure and certain knowledge: a man's work is nothing but this slow trek to rediscover, through the detours of art, those two or three great and simple images in whose presence his heart first opened.”
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L’étranger de François Ozon
Tiré du roman d’Albert Camus, l’histoire est sur l’absurdité de la vie. Le jeune Blanc vit dans un pays qui n’est pas le sien et vit l’hostilité entre blancs et arabes. Ses premiers mots dans le film ne sont pas pour sa mère, comme dans le roman, mais sur l’arabe qu’il a tué.
Nous sommes à Alger en 1938. Meursault (Benjamin Voisin), jeune homme en début de trentaine, est un petit employé sans envergure, sans ambitions, sans émotions, qui vit au jour le jour. Il enterre sa mère sans même pleurer et entame une liaison avec sa collègue de bureau Marie Cardona (Rebecca Marder) sans la désirer. Seul le corps fonctionne, en fonctionnaire fidèle, sans état d’âme. S’il entend le voisin battre sa maîtresse (arabe) et un autre battre son compagnon (chien), il ne dit rien, ne pense rien, laisse faire. Chacun a ses raisons, ce qui l’indiffère.
Sa vie est terne, sans relief, tissée d’habitudes sans projet ni avenir. Il n’a plus son père mais une mère en institution qui va mourir peu après. Alors, pourquoi donner du sens ? Nager dans la mer donne du sens au corps sage et pâle, aimer sa petite copine donne du sens aux relations sociales ; mais encore ? L’amitié virile conduit aux bagarres et aux beuveries. Son voisin Raymond Sintès (Pierre Lottin) l’entraîne dans ses histoires louches qui mettent de l’animation dans sa vie. Il se laisse faire. jusqu’au drame sur la plage. La faute au soleil, implacable ; la faute au reflet sur la lame du couteau arabe, qui suscite le réflexe. Meursault tue, parce qu’il est blanc et que l’autre est arabe ; parce qu’il est un jeune homme et que c’est lui ou moi ; parce que tout est indifférent, au fond, sa vie comme la mienne.
Il ne comprend pas ce qui lui arrive et se laisse aller par le destin, Il ne se défend pas, au grand dam de son avocat (Jean-Charles Clichet) et de Marie. Il sera condamné et aura la tête tranchée. Il ne souscrit pas aux apparences qu’adore la société, ni à sa religion de soumission – il ne joue pas le jeu et se trouve définitivement « étranger » à ce monde social frelaté. Il sert donc de bouc émissaire à « la justice », pour clamer l’égalité devant la loi, blanc et arabe même chose, pour la joie de la sœur du tué, Djemila, qui a servi de pute à Sintès. Comme si c’était la réalité…
De la conscience de Meursault ne s’élève pas le « pourquoi » salvateur. S’il est « innocent », il ne réfléchit pas à son existence, ne prend pas conscience de sa condition d’homme. Au contraire, il renonce. Au mariage, à l’amitié, aux relations sociales. Il tue un arabe pour exister, mais cela même le tue.
Le personnage central est attiré par le vortex du nihilisme ; aucune révolte en lui – aucun élan vital. Même le sexe ne conduit pas à l’amour, et se réduit à l’institution civique et religieuse du mariage. Tourné en noir et blanc pour rendre l’austérité du personnage, le vide de sa vie, le gris de sa conscience – mais aussi situer l’histoire hors du temps – le film est fort et pose la question brute : que fait-on ici et maintenant, dans la pure indifférence du monde ?
Le dialogue final avec le curé est pour moi trop long, trop prêcheur. On sent bien la colère de Camus (et d’Ozon) contre l’Église, ses clercs qui ânonnent la langue de bois de la croyance, l’incompréhension manifeste envers qui ose penser différemment, le carcan social et moral du christianisme d’Église, l’idéalisme porté à sa quintessence. Dieu ne signifie rien puisque le monde va sans intention, poussé par ce qui est et devient. Les humains comparent trop volontiers ce qui est eu présent à ce qui devrait être. Ils imaginent un monde idéal, un Paradis, la cité de Dieu, les idées éternelles, l’impératif moral, la marche inexorable de l’Histoire, l’État réalisant l’Être… Tout ce fatras est irréel, enfiévré ; il incite à quitter le monde pour le rêve, à situer le vrai ailleurs qu’ici et maintenant. C’est tout cela que conteste confusément Meursault, sans y penser vraiment, sans l’assumer.
Il se laisse faire, il se laisse vivre, il se laisse aller. Pas étonnant à ce que le néant ne l’absorbe peu à peu tout entier.
César 2026 du meilleur acteur pour Benjamin Voisin et du meilleur second rôle pour Pierre Lottin
DVD L’étranger, François Ozon, 2025, avec Benjamin Voisin, Denis Lavant, Pierre Lottin, Rebecca Marder, Swann Arlaud, Gaumont, français, 1h58, €19,99
#absurde #albertCamus #arabe #benjaminVoisin #cinema #curé #Dieu #dvd #film #françoisOzon #france #idéalisme #indifférent #justice #meurtre #nihilisme #noirEtBlanc #renoncer #sansémotions #sens #sexe #soleil -
Following up on Alberta's book ban legislation, CBC used Access to Information requests to compile an updated list of banned books. [1]
Last fall I posted about the initial list - which was criticized by Danielle Smith even though her legislation created it. [2]
I am sad to see graphic novel versions of Albert Camus in the list as his work greatly influenced me as a teen.
[1] https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/edmonton/alberta-school-book-ban-order-graphic-novels-9.7118495