Camus Summer In Algiers Portable Direct

There is a common misconception about Albert Camus. We tend to paint him in monochrome: the brooding existentialist in a trench coat, chain-smoking in a Parisian café, muttering about the absurdity of life.

He calls this the "genius of the race." It is a tough, pagan love of life.

He celebrates. If we are all dying (which we are), then the only logical response is to burn as brightly as possible. The "summer" in Algiers represents the fleeting, intense, beautiful moment before the autumn of death. "In the midst of winter, I finally learned that there was in me an invincible summer." This essay is the source of that famous feeling. Camus isn't promising eternal happiness. He is promising a wild, intense, temporary joy that is worth the price of admission. You may not be in Algiers. You might be reading this in a cubicle, on a rainy Tuesday, or in the middle of a cold winter.

He writes about the people of Algiers with a kind of jealous admiration. These are not people saving up treasures in heaven. They are people who live in the total present. They are young, poor, and gloriously physical. They spend their mornings on the diving boards, their afternoons in the cinema, and their nights on the beach.

But here is the twist: