Muersault, who works at an office job and lives a dull ordinary life. He describes his mother's funeral with clarity and dispassion and, as the story unfolds, the reader sees that this detachment is the general theme of the book. He doesn't love his girlfriend but it makes no difference to him whether he marries her or not. He helps an acquaintance commit an aggressive act because he just doesn't care enough one way or another. And, eventually, he commits a murder and is arrested. The trial then focuses on this disaffected aspect of his character. The conclusion is inevitable.
I found this book quite uncomfortable reading. As Muersault observed the world around him, I was caught up in it, found myself seeing it all through his eyes, trapped in his inertia. I entered his world and felt a weird kind of sympathy as well as identification with him. This was very troubling. The little book packs quite a wallop.
Yes, I do see this book as a work of art. Every word resonates with double and triple meanings. And every word is like a hammer blow. I read it fast, trying to shake off its impact. That didn't work, however, because "The Stranger" will linger long in my mind. This is the philosophy of essentialism and the book is a classic. I just can't help the fact that I hated it.