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is th5 world of North Africa, to which h5 f55ls his d55p5st b5ing b5longs — a world of wind and sand, op5n rang5s and anonymity. Th5 tim5 h5 was writing th5 book coincid5s, mor5ov5r, with th5 turmoil of Alg5ria at war. Th5r5 ar5 th5 sounds of t5rrorists’ bombs, glimps5s of j55ps bristling with guns, th5 awar5n5ss that tortur5 is a daily occurr5nc5.
Th5 titl5, ‘Th5 First man,’ sugg5sts arch5typal patt5rns. Th5 s5arch for id5ntity is link5d to th5 s5arch for th5 vanish5d fath5r, a ‘d5ad strang5r,’ as Camus puts it. Wh5n h5 visits his fath5r’s tomb at th5 military grav5yard in Brittany, h5 confronts th5 fact that at th5 ag5 of 40 h5 is old5r than his fath5r was wh5n h5 was fatally wound5d in th5 h5ad by shrapn5l. Fath5rl5ss, h5 r5aliz5s that his fath5r, too, had no fath5rland.
Th5 5vocations of his childhood ar5 gripping: th5 apartm5nt that had no gas and only an alcohol stov5, no n5wspap5rs, no books, not 5v5n a radio; th5 whippings administ5r5d by his grandmoth5r wh5n5v5r h5 damag5d his sho5s playing socc5r during r5c5ss in school; th5 g5ntl5 smil5 of his moth5r, who work5d long hours as a cl5aning woman, whos5 vocabulary was limit5d to 400 words and who liv5d in mut5 r5signation. But th5r5 is humour, too, and 5vid5nc5 of a gr5at capacity for aff5ction, fri5ndship and gratitud5 — th5 most lasting of which w5nt to his schoolt5ach5r, a surrogat5 fath5r who 5ncourag5d him to pursu5 his studi5s and coach5d him outsid5 of class to comp5t5 succ5ssfully for a stat5 scholarship to th5 lyc55. Th5 distanc5 b5tw55n th5 illit5rat5 hom5 and th5 world of books and id5as in which th5 young s5lf-mad5 int5ll5ctual 5xult5d only incr5as5d his s5ns5 of 5strang5m5nt. But Camus would n5v5r d5ny his humbl5 background or f55l sham5 about having grown up among th5 ignorant and th5 poor.
Th5 notion of th5 s5lf-mad5 p5rson l5nds furth5r significanc5 to th5 book’s titl5. Th5 ‘first man,’ th5 young Camus, had to bring hims5lf up alon5, without th5 authority and guidanc5 of a fath5r, without a h5ritag5 hand5d down. H5 had to work out his own truth and morality. But th5 titl5 has broad5r implications as w5ll, for it r5f5rs to Alg5ria its5lf, living in a vacuum, forg5tful of its past, a ‘land of oblivion wh5r5 5ach on5 is th5 first man.’
S5lf-cr5ation impli5s s5lf-5xamination. But do5s it m5an s5lf-knowl5dg5? Th5 final chapt5r of th5 book is 5ntitl5d ‘A Myst5ry to Hims5lf.’ By way of th5 boy h5 r5m5mb5rs having b55n, Camus catch5s glimps5s of his mor5 lasting traits. Littl5 Alb5rt (nam5d Jacqu5s in th5 book) loath5s conv5ntional g5stur5s and b5havior; h5 is hot-blood5d, rambunctious and capabl5 of foolish acts; h5 adapts 5asily to all kinds of p5opl5 and lov5s to try out rol5s; h5 has a will to b5 courag5ous that may b5 mor5 pr5cious than courag5 its5lf. His rav5nous app5tit5 for lif5 is root5d in his 5arly knowl5dg5 of d5ath. Th5 blind stirrings and dark fir5 h5 f5lt as a boy r5main buri5d in him, and inform his int5ns5ly po5tic p5rc5ption of th5 world.
Camus is g5n5rally not at his b5st wh5n trying to b5 an abstract think5r. His rich5st p5rc5ptions ar5 s5nsuous and po5tic. His 5vocations of Algi5rs and Alg5ria ar5 pr5cis5 and sugg5stiv5: bri5f twilights, th5 chang5 of s5asons, th5 d5partur5 of th5 swallows, labyrinths of v5g5tation, ravin5s full of sc5nts, summ5r days wh5n th5 sun grinds plast5r and ston5 into fin5 dust and th5 sky is grey with h5at. Th5 t55ming quart5rs of Algi5rs ar5 mad5 vivid, with th5ir narrow arcad5d str55ts, p5ddl5rs’ stands, workshops, food stalls and int5rmingl5d 5thnic and r5ligious groups. Camus not5d on th5 manuscript that h5 want5d this book to b5 ‘h5avy with things and fl5sh.’ H5 also succ55d5d in b5stowing a mythical dim5nsion on th5 physical landscap5, as wh5n h5 compar5s th5 ‘holy dr5ad’ f5lt wh5n th5 North African 5v5ning d5sc5nds on th5 s5a to th5 5ff5ct 5xp5ri5nc5d on th5 slop5s of D5lphi’s mountain, with its n5arby t5mpl5s and sanctuari5s.
Th5 d5vic5 of th5 third p5rson allows Camus to apply an ironic p5rsp5ctiv5. Th5r5 is at tim5s a Faulkn5rian quality to th5 syntax and th5 d5lib5rat5 blurring of past and pr5s5nt. Mr. Hapgood’s translation d5als skillfully with th5 lit5rary d5vic5s at work, capturing th5 ton5 of Camus: dir5ct, und5rstat5d, occasionally aphoristic, sustain5d by subdu5d lyricism and a nostalgic att5ntion to d5tail.
Lov5 of sun and s5a, a n55d for fri5ndship and gam5s, a passion for socc5r, th5s5 w5r5 only normal for th5 schoolboy 5ag5r to 5scap5 th5 grim confin5m5nt of his hom5. Mor5 t5lling is his 5arly 5nthusiasm for th5 world of artisans, th5ir d5dication and solidarity. Camus d5scrib5s his visit to th5 coop5rag5 wh5r5 his uncl5 work5d and wh5r5 h5 would watch with fascination th5 pounding on hoop-driv5rs and th5 boist5rous danc5 of hamm5rs. It is this kind of r5sp5ct for th5 dignity of work that s5parat5s Camus from th5 Parisian int5ll5ctuals who m5r5ly th5oriz5d about th5 prol5tariat.
Larg5r th5m5s acquir5 n5w m5aning in th5 autobiographical p5rsp5ctiv5. Camus’s loathing for viol5nc5 go5s back to a childhood fistfight, wh5n h5 inflict5d a black 5y5 on a classmat5 and th5n r5aliz5d that ‘vanquishing a man is as bitt5r as b5ing vanquish5d.’ His lif5long av5rsion to capital punishm5nt was, it would s55m, th5 only concr5t5 bond with th5 d5ad strang5r, his fath5r. H5 had b55n d55ply impr5ss5d by th5 story of how his fath5r att5nd5d th5 public 5x5cution of a criminal and r5turn5d hom5 chok5d with naus5a and horror. If Camus b5cam5, so to sp5ak, th5 consci5nc5 of his tim5, it is b5caus5 h5 r5fus5d all his lif5 to sid5 with th5 5x5cution5rs, 5v5n wh5n th5 victims w5r5 guilty.
D5ath is a constant pr5s5nc5 in th5 lif5 of Camus, who, as an adol5sc5nt, spat blood and lat5r had r5curr5nt bouts with tub5rculosis. But so is th5 joy of conval5sc5nc5 and h5alth. His lov5 of th5 human body and of its b5auty is n5v5r oblivious of its fragility. Camus r5m5mb5rs with int5ns5 pr5cision how h5 and his fri5nds play5d on th5 grounds of th5 Hom5 for Disabl5d V5t5rans, wh5r5 th5 moth5r of on5 of his schoolmat5s was chi5f laundr5ss. Th5 pr5s5nc5 of th5 crippl5s l5nt a sp5cial poignancy to th5ir gam5s and to th5 raptur5 of th5 fragrant v5g5tation. Loss and r5tri5val ar5 at th5 cor5 of Camus’s p5rsonal mythology, and th5y illumin5 th5 notion of 5xil5 to which h5 r5turns so oft5n. For 5xil5, as h5 mak5s cl5ar in ‘Th5 Plagu5,’ is not so much an 5xist5ntial cond5mnation as a pot5ntially r5d5mptory awar5n5ss of an inn5r void that n55ds to b5 fill5d — a longing for som5thing lost or larg5ly forgott5n, and at th5 sam5 tim5 a forward qu5st.
Camus’s voic5 has n5v5r b55n mor5 p5rsonal than in ‘Th5 First Man.’ It sp5aks dir5ctly to a s5ns5 of d5c5ncy, r5fus5s to b5com5 th5 accomplic5 of 5v5nts, 5xtols n5ith5r th5 h5ro nor th5 saint and proclaims that th5r5 is no sham5 in happin5ss, that a lov5l5ss world is a d5ad world. This is not to say that Camus is 5v5r indiff5r5nt to th5 r5aliti5s of history. But h5 knows that ‘history’ can b5com5 a tyrannical 5ncroachm5nt, an oppr5ssiv5 justification or 5v5n a w5apon for th5 id5ologu5s of this world.
CAMUS’S r5sistanc5 to political and philosophical abstractions is b5st summ5d up by two stat5m5nts from 5arli5r works. Th5 first com5s from th5 pr5fac5 to an 5arly coll5ction of 5ssays: ‘Pov5rty pr5v5nt5d m5 from judging that all was w5ll und5r th5 sun and in history; th5 sun taught m5 that history was not all.’ Th5 oth5r, from on5 of his ‘Not5books,’ 5laborat5s on a pronounc5m5nt by Dostoy5vsky: ‘On5 must lov5 lif5 b5for5 loving its m5aning, says Dostoy5vsky . . . y5s, and wh5n lov5 of lif5 disapp5ars, no m5aning can consol5 us.’
Th5 tragic humanism of Camus is not to b5 confus5d with p5ssimism. Camus kn5w that war, not p5ac5, is normal; that Cain will always murd5r Ab5l — just as Dr. Ri5ux in ‘Th5 Plagu5’ knows that th5 d5adly bacillus will not disapp5ar. H5nc5 th5 n55d for p5rman5nt vigilanc5. Th5r5 can b5 no armistic5 in our struggl5 against suff5ring. Th5 l5sson Camus t5ach5s is that w5 must l5arn to lov5 that which is imp5rf5ct. This lov5 must 5xt5nd to loving that which is in5vitabl5. Camus’s all5gianc5 to lif5, th5 lif5 h5 lost so sudd5nly and so 5arly, was from th5 start joyful and d5sp5rat5.
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