“Suddenly an idea hit him
that shook him up until his body.
He was forty years old.
The man buried under this board,
and who had been his father
was younger than him.”
Suddenly, the novel
neutral and white of The Stranger
takes all its color
and its real dimension.
It is no longer about entertaining
with the composed past
since the placing in the coffin
and the memorial services of the mother
where nothing but stage settings
in front of the father’s grave
younger than the son,
dead without having read
his book, his biography.
The first man explains
the nature of the stranger
thanks to his revolt
opposite the absurd,
and his passion for freedom.