I’m taking a class on European modernims this semester. I’ve read a lot of dark depressing books, plays, and poetry which I thought were great, Waiting for Godot for example. The Stranger, however, is my least favorite piece for the semester. It seems so hopeless (which yes, is part of the point of the book), and the narrator was so distanced from the reader. Maybe I don’t like hopelessness and narrative distance all in the same work. Maybe existentialism isn’t my thing, who knows. What I do know, is that I didn’t particularly care for The Stranger.