Observing Albert Camus' "The Stranger"

La Femme qui Rit

The expression referenced in the title alludes to a common—though crude—aphorism in France, essentially saying “the woman who laughs has a foot in the bed”. It was the first thing that came to mind when I began to consider Albert Camus’ The Stranger through a feminism lens, observing instances of feminine stereotyping, as well as characterization. Throughout the novella, it seems as though—by fault of inattention, or simply due to irrelevance—women seem to paradoxically take both the foreground and the background. At once, characters like Marie belabor the endless force of the patriarchy in the construction of a woman’s ideals and aspirations (not to mention comportment), but on the other hand, the “robot woman” serves as an enigmatic parallel to Meursault’s character. Through the inclusion of Marie—the foremost feminine character—Masson’s wife, Raymond’s mistress, Meursault’s mother and the Robot woman all serve to show different facets of “the woman”, embodying the various segments to the mosaic of the feminine construct.

Honestly, I have to admit being interminably exasperated by Marie Cardona, ostensibly characterized as the poster child for the 1950’s stereotype of the ideal woman, save for her less-than-deal promiscuity. Upon her surprising encounter with my Meursault by the sweltering belts of sand along the Algiers beach, Marie develops an intimate relationship with Meursault. In line with the female stereotype, she appears to curtail her aspirations to cater to Meursault’s lifestyle. Perhaps the most discomfiting instance of this would be during her numerous attempts to get him to confess his love to her, which he undeviatingly refused to do, given that he most likely “did not love her”—not that it mattered. So, because it was of no significance to Meursault, Marie allowed her desire for love to be obscured, temporarily unseated from her “requirements” in the relationship. Perhaps it is simply due to my bias, but I find the idea of imbalance in the relationship—where one individual has to recurrently relinquish his or her ambitions in order to gratify the other’s inadequacies or reservations—irritates me. Additionally, I find that in these situations, it is oft the woman who falls prey to having to forsake her expectations. Looking at this through of a feminist lens, we observe the relegation of the female in social hierarchy, both through legal and tangible impositions, but also as a result of communal undercurrents.

However, observing The Stranger through the feminist lens, we are also provided with characters embodying other facets of the female mosaic, providing a sort of amalgamation of different perspectives and characters—a pastiche of womanly existence. Meursault’s mother ends up—following years of existing as a widowed mother withering in the presence of a struggling—is able to recreate her life in her last years, taking on a fiancé prior to her death. Even Masson’s “little” wife, chortle—prone and saccharine, embodies a woman contented in her relationship, existing within a dynamic of more evenly distributed marital power. Masson and his wife are happy, and claim that they get along well: one of the first instance—if not the only one—of a working, courteous romantic relationship  with the novella. The robot woman, in her own way, is able to portray the image of the woman with control and foresight, who exists as an outsider—essentially a parallel to Meursault’s character. Breaking the stereotypical mold, the robot woman appears to abide by her own functional, social and behavioral codes, unresponsive to the intrigue catalyzed by her unorthodox manner of conduct. Again, she provides an alternate facet to the structure of womanhood, uniquely representing the woman who—in her own way—assumes the charge of determining the way by which she lives. Through a feminist lens, it is infinitely interesting to consider Camus as a surveyor of human character, particularly in regards to observing the multiplex nature of the woman.