Rats wobble out into daylight and begin dying in ones
and twos. Then by the dozens. Then by the thousands. This is how The Plague begins.
The authorities are slow to accept the looming tragedy in 1940s Oran, a
port city in French Algeria. But Dr. Bernard Rieux, with a growing sense of
urgency, finally goads the medical community into action. Rieux is the main
character, and most of the novel's action unfolds in the hearts of the men in Rieux's
orbit. They experience fear, defiance, isolation, desperation, and resignation. And in their trials they achieve moments of shame, faith, solidarity,
courage, and compassion.
Philosophy—existentialism, of course, by
Albert Camus—seeps through
the pages. The human condition? Weakness and suffering and the exercise of moral
freedom and responsibility in the face of an absurd and indifferent universe. Camus
writes a dark story in which redeeming human moments sometimes catch the light.
The Stranger is probably my all-time favorite book,
but no other Camus book, including this one, has connected with me the same way. The prose here is lovely, but the characters remain distant, and I never invested in them.
It
could be my timing: when I read it, I had just spent weeks soaking in the raw inner lives of
Richard Yates's characters; Camus's men seem aloof by comparison.
Note: The Plague was published in 1947.