The Stranger by Albert Camus: Summary, Key Moments & Review

Some books become more than just reading—they turn into a personal experience, a turning point in how we perceive the world. Albert Camus’s The Stranger undoubtedly belongs to this category. This short yet profoundly deep novel, first published in 1942, has captivated readers for decades, compelling them to reflect on the most fundamental questions: the meaning of existence, the nature of freedom, the absurdity of human conventions, and what it truly means to be authentic.

The Stranger by Albert Camus, Book cover.

Camus, one of the leading figures of existentialism and absurdism, invites us through the story of his strange and detached protagonist, Meursault, to look at familiar reality without the filter of social norms or imposed emotions. This work is not just a classic of world literature but also an intellectual challenge. It provokes discomfort, confusion, and ultimately a desire to understand oneself, which is precisely what makes it so valuable and relevant even today.

The Stranger – Summary & Plot Overview

Albert Camus’s novella The Stranger is divided into two distinct yet inseparably connected parts, each reflecting the inner transformation of the protagonist and the shift in his relationship with the world.

The first part opens with one of the most famous lines in world literature: “Mother died today. Or maybe yesterday, I don’t know.” This message from the nursing home immediately sets the tone for the entire story and defines the narrator, Meursault.

He attends his mother’s funeral, but his behavior shocks and unsettles those around him. He shows no expected grief, refuses to look at the deceased one last time, calmly drinks coffee with milk and smokes beside the coffin, and even dozes off during the vigil. For him, the heat and blinding sun cause more discomfort than the funeral rituals themselves. He does not feel the sorrow others expect of him, nor does he see any point in pretending. The very next day, back in Algiers, Meursault goes swimming, where he meets a former colleague, Marie Cardona. They spend the day together, go to the cinema to watch a comedy, and later become lovers. His life continues to flow in its usual, simple rhythm: work, meals at Céleste’s restaurant, and watching the bustle of the street from his balcony.

At the same time, He meets his neighbor, Raymond Sintès, who has a reputation as a pimp. Raymond asks Meursault to help him write a letter to his Arab mistress, whom he suspects of being unfaithful. Out of sheer indifference and with no reason to refuse, Meursault agrees—a decision that proves fatal.

Soon after, Raymond stages a quarrel with the girl and her brother, a conflict that inevitably draws Meursault in. They later spend the weekend at Raymond’s small beach house in Massacre, where they encounter the same group of Arabs, one of whom is the offended woman’s brother. The argument escalates into violence, ending in a knife fight in which Raymond is slightly wounded.

The climax comes later, when Meursault, exhausted by the unbearable heat and the blinding sun, wanders along the beach. There, he comes across the same Arab, resting by a stream. The glare of sunlight flashing off the polished blade in the man’s hand strikes Meursault’s eyes, plunging him into an almost trance-like state. Overwhelmed by both physical and mental disorientation, feeling as though his whole being is collapsing under the burning sun, he draws Raymond’s revolver and, as if compelled by some higher, inexplicable force, fires the fatal shot. Then, after a brief pause, he fires four more times into the lifeless body.

The second part of the novel is entirely devoted to the investigation and trial. Once arrested, Meursault quickly adapts to life in his cell; what troubles him more is the absence of cigarettes and his familiar routine rather than the thought of punishment. The trial itself turns into a farce, where the true defendant is not the murderer but a man who refused to play by society’s rules.

The judge and prosecutor largely overlook the details of the crime. Instead, with almost obsessive persistence, they focus on Meursault’s character, searching for proof of his supposed “heartlessness.” The key evidence of his guilt and “moral deficiency” becomes his behavior at his mother’s funeral: he did not cry, he drank coffee, he smoked a cigarette, and the very next day, he went out with a woman.

Marie tries to defend him, speaking of his honesty, but her words carry no weight. In desperation, Meursault’s lawyer even asks whether he can at least claim that his client had been “restraining his natural feelings” on that day. Meursault refuses to lie and admits that he had not. For this, he is sentenced to death by guillotine.

In the death row cell, a prison chaplain comes to Meursault, attempting to guide him toward faith and the salvation of his soul. But for Meursault, who believes only in the tangible and the immediate reality of life, these words are empty. He lives in a world of the absurd, where there is no God, only the finitude of physical existence.

This visit triggers the only genuine emotional outburst in the book. For the first time, Meursault loses control: he grabs the chaplain by the collar and, shouting, pours out all his despair and rage, rejecting both the chaplain’s consolations and the belief in immortality. After this outburst, completely drained, he attains a new, final sense of peace.

On his last night, gazing at the starry sky, he opens himself to the “tender indifference of the world” and finally finds comfort in it. He realizes that he has truly been happy and that his life had meaning just as it was. To feel that everything is complete and to be ready for death, he only wishes that on the day of his execution, there will be a large crowd to greet him with cries of hatred.

Major characters

Meursault

The central character of the novella, through whose perspective the story is told. Meursault is a low-level clerk living in Algiers. He embodies the idea of the “stranger,” a person who is completely honest with himself and refuses to conform to society’s unwritten rules. His inability or unwillingness to display expected emotions—grief at his mother’s funeral, love for Marie, remorse during the trial—marks him as an outsider in the eyes of others.

He lives entirely in the world of immediate physical sensations: heat, sunlight, fatigue, and pleasure. Although he never explicitly formulates it, his philosophy is rooted in a deep awareness of the absurd—the absence of any higher meaning in life. This understanding ultimately leads him to fully accept his fate and embrace the freedom to be himself.

Marie Cardona

Marie is a former colleague of Meursault and his lover. She embodies the image of a natural, simple, and life-loving woman. For her, the joys of life are straightforward: swimming in the sea, laughter at the cinema, and love. She is the one who asks Meursault directly, “Will you marry me?” and, receiving his indifferent reply, “If you want,” agrees because she likes him.

Marie genuinely does not understand his detachment and tries to reach his emotions. During the trial, she becomes one of the key witnesses, attempting to defend him, but the judicial system interprets her only as evidence of his immorality—after all, he became romantically involved with her the day after his mother’s funeral.

Raymond Sintès

Meursault’s neighbor, known for his reputation as a pimp and a troublemaker. Raymond is a man of passions—deceptive and vindictive—yet somehow seeks the approval of the “normal” guy, Meursault. It is he who drags the protagonist into his sordid affairs, ultimately leading to tragedy.

Raymond embodies the world of social conventions and intrigues, which is completely alien to Meursault. Their “friendship,” however, is built on a strange foundation: Meursault helps Raymond simply because he sees no reason to refuse, while Raymond, in turn, becomes genuinely attached to him and even defends him at the trial.

The Arab

It is important to note that this character is left unnamed and without any background, emphasizing his role not as an individual but as a symbol. He represents part of the hostile, faceless, and silent world that Meursault confronts. Their conflict lacks personal hatred or racial prejudice (though the latter forms a background).

For Meursault, the Arab is primarily a source of blinding light, the flash of a knife, and unbearable heat—a physical force that drives him toward a state of mental confusion. His killing lacks any rational motive; it occurs almost under the overwhelming influence of the sun, making the act one of the absurd rather than of deliberate malice.

Key Moments & Memorable Scenes

Camus’s work is built around several powerful scenes that do more than drive the plot—they reveal the central philosophical ideas of the book. One such scene is undoubtedly Meursault’s mother’s funeral. The episode at the nursing home is filled with a heavy, almost physically palpable atmosphere. The bright sun, the blinding light, the fatigue—these sensations are far more real and significant to Meursault than the customary rituals of mourning.

His refusal to look at the deceased one last time and his calm drinking of coffee by the coffin shocked those around him. From the very first pages, this scene establishes him as a “stranger,” a person living outside the game of false emotions, and foreshadows the course of his fate.

The central event of the entire narrative is undoubtedly the beach murder. Camus masterfully creates a sense of mounting, almost hypnotic trance into which Meursault is plunged under the scorching sun. The Arab with the knife becomes less a specific person and more a blinding spot of light, a source of aggressive energy.

The shooting itself lacks any rational motive or emotional impulse; it is more an instinctive, almost metaphysical act against a dazzling and oppressive universe. The subsequent four shots into the already lifeless body only emphasize the absurdity and irrationality of the event, completely severing any connection between the act and common sense.

Particular attention deserves the courtroom scene, which turns into a vivid theater of the absurd. The judge and prosecutor are far more zealous in judging Meursault not for the murder itself, but for his “crime” against social morality—specifically, for not crying at his mother’s funeral. The actual offense fades into the background, giving way to a trial of the individual who refused to pretend.

The apex of this farce comes with the appearance of the director of the nursing home and the caretaker as key witnesses for the prosecution. Their testimony about Meursault’s coldness carries more weight with the jury than all the facts of the crime itself.

The climax of the protagonist’s inner development occurs during his emotional outburst in the cell when the prison chaplain visits him. This scene is the only moment in which the outwardly indifferent Meursault loses control, grabbing the chaplain by the collar and, shouting, unleashing all his accumulated rage and despair.

He vehemently rejects the consolations of faith and its promises of an afterlife, contrasting them with his certainty in the absurd, yet for him, the only real, earthly life. It is precisely after this cathartic eruption of anger that he attains final peace and reconciles with the “tender indifference of the world,” completing his spiritual journey.

Why You Should Read “The Stranger”?

Albert Camus’s The Stranger is one of those rare books that offers no easy answers, yet asks remarkably honest and unsettling questions. The work is worth reading at least to experience the unique confrontation with absolute sincerity, even if it is shocking.

Meursault, with all his detachment, becomes a kind of blank screen onto which society projects its own fears and hypocrisies. Through his story, Camus forces us to reflect on how much of our own feelings and reactions are genuine, and how much are merely rehearsed roles that society expects us to play. It is a profound challenge to the very core of our identity.

Moreover, the novel serves as a brilliant and accessible introduction to the philosophy of existentialism and the absurd. Camus does not burden the text with complex terminology; instead, he illustrates these ideas through the life and emotions of an ordinary person. The reader, alongside the protagonist, experiences the revelation that the world has no predetermined meaning—and that this is a form of liberation, not a sentence. Meursault’s story is a journey toward true freedom, which begins with the acknowledgment of life’s absurdity.

One cannot overlook the sheer aesthetic pleasure of Camus’s prose. His style is marked by conciseness, precision, and an incredible power hidden beneath apparent simplicity. He masterfully employs symbols—blinding sunlight, the sea—that become full participants in the narrative. This is the kind of book that can be reread time and again, each time uncovering new layers of meaning in what, at first glance, seem like the simplest sentences.

Finally, The Stranger remains strikingly relevant today. In an era of social media, constant self-presentation, and imposed emotional responses, the story of a man who refuses to pretend resonates more sharply than ever. The novel serves both as a warning about what happens to those who refuse to play by the rules and as a hymn to personal freedom and the right to one’s own unique perception of the world. It challenges us to question the obvious and, perhaps, to be a little more honest with ourselves.