Take a photo of a barcode or cover
reesepective 's review for:
The Myth of Sisyphus and Other Essays
by Albert Camus
Albert Camus sets out to prove that happiness is possible without relying on hope, faith, or anything beyond immediate experience. He takes Sisyphus—the guy eternally rolling a boulder up a hill—and insists that if happiness is real, then Sisyphus must be happy. Bold claim, right? The titular essay delivers this argument in a compelling and even poetic way, but the rest of the book? That’s where things get… rocky.
The first time I tried to read this, I assumed I just wasn’t ready. Now, having made it through, I realise the truth: the book is obscure, self-contradictory, and—dare I say it—a little disappointing. There are flashes of brilliance, sure. Some passages hit like lightning, describing mundane life with the beauty of poetry. A shoe shiner’s love for their work, molecules dancing in sunlight—moments of clarity that feel profound. But for the bulk of it, I felt like Sisyphus himself, straining to push through endless paragraphs of references and convoluted arguments.
Albert Camus starts strong but gets lost in the Absurd sections, bogging down his points with an over-reliance on name-dropping philosophers. There’s a fine balance between engaging with other thinkers and using them as a crutch, and unfortunately, he tips too far into the latter. It’s like watching a debate where one person constantly says, “As Søren Kierkegaard so rightly pointed out…” instead of making their own case.
If I’m being generous, I understood about 25% of the book. And while some of those insights were fantastic, the rest was an uphill slog of tangled prose and philosophical detours that obscured more than they revealed. Albert Camus might be a literary icon, but if you’re looking for a smooth introduction to existentialism, this isn’t it. Save yourself the effort and read the interpretation on SparkNotes instead.
The first time I tried to read this, I assumed I just wasn’t ready. Now, having made it through, I realise the truth: the book is obscure, self-contradictory, and—dare I say it—a little disappointing. There are flashes of brilliance, sure. Some passages hit like lightning, describing mundane life with the beauty of poetry. A shoe shiner’s love for their work, molecules dancing in sunlight—moments of clarity that feel profound. But for the bulk of it, I felt like Sisyphus himself, straining to push through endless paragraphs of references and convoluted arguments.
Albert Camus starts strong but gets lost in the Absurd sections, bogging down his points with an over-reliance on name-dropping philosophers. There’s a fine balance between engaging with other thinkers and using them as a crutch, and unfortunately, he tips too far into the latter. It’s like watching a debate where one person constantly says, “As Søren Kierkegaard so rightly pointed out…” instead of making their own case.
If I’m being generous, I understood about 25% of the book. And while some of those insights were fantastic, the rest was an uphill slog of tangled prose and philosophical detours that obscured more than they revealed. Albert Camus might be a literary icon, but if you’re looking for a smooth introduction to existentialism, this isn’t it. Save yourself the effort and read the interpretation on SparkNotes instead.