"T-shirts?"
This is my husband once again wondering about my latest fad. Books, post cards, t-shirts.
"I love my t-shirts. I have book shirts and bird shirts. That's all. Oh, and art shirts. That's really all. Uh, and Star Trek shirts. That's really, really all."
And it will be all for a while. I could wear a different shirt every day of half a month.
Nausea by Jean-Paul SartreMy rating: 5 of 5 stars
This is the first book I read by Sartre. I had read so much about him, that when I saw this book in a shop, I decided to give him a go.
I do not know if Sartre is as powerful a writer as Camus. They both certainly know how to describe the meaningless of existence, although, Camus' Le Stranger, is more about a man who has no conscience.
Sartre's book is about a man, Antoine Roquentin, who is driving himself insane. But he does so honestly. I think if more people evaluated their life as the protagonist did, they would arrive at the same conclusion.
Nausea is written in first person narrative and we read all the frantic thoughts pulsing through Antoine's mind. He does not know why he is alive. He is a writer. Is he alive to write his book? Why does his book matter? He loved once, but his lover, Anne, is now gone. She's with someone else. Does he still love her? Did he ever love her? Or did he simply enjoy sleeping with her? He goes to see her to find out.
Many of the novel's scenes take place in a cafe, where Antoine takes his meals. He watches the other people and deconstructs their existence. One man in particular, stalks young boys. Antoine watches him, fascinated. He is repulsed but also sympathizes with the man. After all, what does it matter? Does anything matter?
He realizes that nothing does matter and the end of his existence would probably bring him final peace.
Sartre writes his protagonist's thoughts in a surreal, dreamlike, fluid style. Antoine pumps his ideas out like running water.
And he's right. If there is no God, which at the time Sartre and consequently, his Antoine, believes, what is the reason for existence? Simply to stay alive? Eat, drink, be merry for tomorrow we die?
I do not know whether Sartre was exploring this possibility or whether he was expounding his own belief, but he certainly arrives at the right conclusion. If there is no God we are simply star stuff moving in one direction, until we fall away.
Needless to say, Sartre's views are the opposite of my own.
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