Once again I am swept away by Camus' writing. He has this ability to paint words into a pretty artwork. The Stranger felt like being a part of an ocean wave. Gentle rolling of the waves, roaring into a bigger one, crashing on the beach and then combing the sands, pulled by the tide. Soft, strong, magnetic. 

Meursault was a blank man who thought little, said less, and felt nothing. Whether or not he agrees with someone, he went along with it. Much too good at it, he was involved in a murder case. From the time he spent in prison to the trials, you could see him change. He was more reflective, more expressive. You're on the edge of the seat, watching, waiting. What will set him off? When will he cry? Will it matter?

This was a brilliant read. It deserves all the hype and awards. I am simply in awe of this man.