Albert Camus is likely the most popular novelist who is also often regarded as consequential in the history of philosophy, and his book “A Happy Death” illustrates this double existence more transparently than in his other works. It is the first novel Camus wrote and contains previews of the many important intellectual developments that would later make Camus famous. Widely known because of his masterpiece “The Plague” and his brief philosophical treatise “The Myth of Sisyphus,” much of Camus’ thought is misinterpreted and often, as a result, miserably undervalued since the general literary public (of which Camus is an icon) restrains themselves to only his most popular works.
I blame this fact more on the existentialists than on Camus or his part-time readers. Camus was never supposed to be interpreted as an existentialist (even though he was in correspondence with them) and in fact, part of Camus’ appeal is his ability to differentiate himself philosophically without constructing the dense compendiums that his counterparts often did. His short novels are brilliant and it is perhaps this brilliance that drives the wedge between the academic—particularly philosophers—and literary crowds, a division which has also devastated proper understanding of Camus’ work.
All of this is to say that context is necessary when reading Camus. Is it fair to treat his novels as a work of philosophy? Yes, and one should (though academics in analytic circles would likely quarrel with this injunction). A firm belief that narrative and story can still have philosophical implications is what makes reading Camus enjoyable. It is also a necessary condition if a reader wants to get the most out of his work; therefore, if one accepts this basic premise, the work of Camus will accept them.
“A Happy Death” is a strange novel and, admittedly, somewhat dull. It is the work of a new writer with intense ideas about the world and the nature of life. The dullness derives from the fact that “A Happy Death” seems to be a merely translated storyline (perhaps, from a certain unhappy Russian named Raskolnikov in the streets of 1860’s St. Petersburg) and the murder-plus-confrontation story appears hardly original. This delicate flaw, however, is made up for by the fluidity and vividness of the prose. Camus is indeed one of the rare writers who can command attention with his language alone, which, unlike many writers who obsess over vagueness, is polished and clean. I should not be interpreted so as to say that the storyline is bad: in fact, it is rather interesting, but in reading it, I inevitably began to feel as if I knew exactly what was coming and any reader who knows what that feeling is like also acknowledges it is a rather unwelcome sign. But since Camus is such a good writer, the prose guides the reader through.
The story follows the protagonist, Mersault, who simply seeks to have a happy death. Such a goal imposes on him a life of escape, isolation and rouge questioning. To evade this, Mersault makes a decision. A decision to act. For he understands that the path to happiness is a product of decisive and direct action. Like Camus’ later and more popular work “The Stranger,” “A Happy Death” contains a random murder followed by a deep existential examination of the nature of life itself. After killing, Mersault flees and tries to attain what he desperately searches for: happiness.
Mersault finds himself in Algeria (the place not only where Camus was born, but is also the setting for “The Stranger”). He settles down, and this is the part of the book, in my reading, where Camus attempts to be his most contemplative. It is where Mersault pauses to reflect on life and where he eventually dies after taking in the immenseness of his existence and the space around him. Contemplation when read through prose that speaks to the heart invokes the intoxicating mix of dread and ecstasy. It is in this space where Camus writes at his finest.
This idea is best explained in an exchange between Mersault and Bernard. Reflecting on his own life, Bernard muses:
“Because for me, loving life is not going for a swim. It’s living in intoxication, intensity. Women, adventures, other countries… It’s action, making something happen. A burning, marvelous life. What I mean is—I want you to understand me… I love life too much to be satisfied with nature.”
Camus presages our current age, where humans avoid nature at any cost. There is so much growth, innovation and rapid change in the world, all of it bringing luxuries and comforts that were previously unimaginable. It is these things we cling to, for they divorce us from our own nature and mortality. Camus knew humans could not possibly be happy this way and his response to this phenomena was they key to his development of “Absurdism,” which, in essence, can be summed up in a simple quote from Camus:
“You will never be happy if you continue to search for what happiness consists of. You will never live if you are looking for the meaning of life.”
Camus thinks idealists like Bernard are doomed. Their crisis is unrealistic expectations and an infinite regression of unfulfillable desires; thus, if people can dispose of such expectations and desires, maybe then they will discover happiness. Mersault explains this idea further:
“You make the mistake of thinking you have to choose, that you have to do what you want, that there are conditions for happiness. What matters—all that matters, really—is the will to happiness, a kind of enormous, ever-present consciousness. The rest—women, art, success—is nothing but excuses. A canvas waiting for our embroideries… If I had my life to live over again—well, I would live it over again just the way it has been.”
In our day, long after Camus offered his work to the world, humans still struggle with the most basic questions. Camus argues that the increase in contingent conditions does not have any basic effect on the nature of our happiness and that if we are able, somehow, to release ourselves from these things, we can settle with how things are. Camus thinks laboring over large, existential questions is natural but only leads to bad outcomes. His novels are a way of communicating this, especially since he places his characters in situations of intense suffering—as he does in “A Happy Death” and “The Stranger.” He assumes the Aristotelian problem of wonder but denies the teleology. There is no meaning in searching for an existence that has no inherent meaning. Life is absurd and, therefore, should be constructed by individuals in their image. At the risk of associating Camus with the existentialists once more, much of his philosophy can be summed up in the words of Jean Paul-Sartre when he claimed that: “existence precedes essence.”
In summary, I recommend everyone read Camus. To the casual reader and the acutely aware critic alike, “A Happy Death” is one of the better introduction to Camus’ oeuvre as it briefly illustrates many important themes that come in Camus’ later work—and though it might not match novels like “The Plague,” it is still a worthwhile read and could be completed easily in two or three days.
Rating: 7/10
