Nausea
If I were to recommend a book to a friend it would be Jean-Paul Sartre’s Nausea. The novel is neither elongated nor compressed, the writing is neither abstruse nor elementary, and the subject is neither commonplace nor altogether alien. Sartre’s exploration of the existential crisis is not something that only disciples of philosophy may enjoy, it is accessible enough to draw readers with a gravitational sort of humanism – that strand so prevalent in literature, which makes the read plain exciting on top of intellectually innervating.
Roquentin’s peculiar problem with nausea, the physical symptoms of Sartre’s anguish, rings true especially due to my and my friends’ age: situated precisely on the precipice of being endowed full responsibility for being. We must soon seize the reins absolutely; before, we have had only the tails protruding behind the fists of our keepers. That impending responsibility coupled with physical development serves as impetus for all the, so-called, ups and downs of the teenage years. This book, Nausea, could provide a modicum of guidance to my fellows who might be floundering: it will show that one cannot help but flounder in the sweet sickness of existence, but that from simple existence one must construct themselves and lend their life a meaning – or an essence.
If I am to recommend this novel to a person who, for whatever reason, is not interested in the aforementioned philosophizing; the plot of Nausea shines brightly even separate of ontological overtones. Antoine Roquentin’s story seems to defy classification: it is not an action novel, not particularly a romance nor historical fiction though the main character is an historian. The events, relayed through a diary, are simply a fictional account of Roquentin’s experience of the phenomenon ‘nausea,’ but it’s not a horror story; it is the account of an existence – and from that, its appeal appears. Since the novel is so consummately focused on an existence, albeit often an ‘absurd’ one, nearly all can relate to it. And sometimes, that is enough for an enjoyable read: one does not always need a fantastical account of great deeds, only a sense of solidarity with and understanding of the protagonist’s plight.
All the appeals of the plot and of the philosophy are nothing if the novel is not accessible. War & Peace is an excellent example of great literature left unread due to its supreme girth and lengthy, but beautiful, prose. Nausea, thankfully for those to which it is recommended, is accessible – but not simple. It is of an average length, running about 175 pages dependent on the printing, and the exposition is approaching economical though, coalesced with the substance of the story, it proffers that challenge which is indispensable to reading.
No novel has ever attained a ubiquitous appeal, so I must consider that particular of my friends may hold convictions or have preferences contrary to those evinced in Nausea. Of course, it is relatively safe to assume that friends to which I would recommend a text, from their definition as friends, share the same general spectrum of interests as I do – so smoothing some contentious grounds; but, one particular place at which I foresee certain of said-friends taking issue is the denial, or absence, of God. The novel’s concept could properly be seen to base itself on Dostoevsky’s “if God doesn’t exist then everything is permitted,” and if the reader is to believe in God then it is logical that they would be put off by such a structure. Yet, I would still recommend it: exposing oneself to varying opinions and assertions is key to establishing a solid belief in what one does believe, or the opportunity to modify one’s precepts on fresh information; ignorance must never be the excuse for one’s principles.
I recommend Jean-Paul Sartre’s Nausea above other like works, because, whether one accepts or rejects the assumptions upon which it is based, it is not too great of an ordeal to read nor does it consume time excessive to the enjoyment garnered; the subject matter is intriguing – from detachment if one disagrees, and from the depths if one agrees; and, perhaps with primacy over the rest of the criterion, the story evokes compassion and involves the reader despite their position on the subject matter. I have, actually, recommended this book to certain of my fellows before, and one, now, is in the process of reading it – so far, she has reported favorably though I know her beliefs to be opposed to Jean-Paul Sartre’s Existentialism. Thus, my decision to recommend Nausea has been vindicated; if my constant suggestion of books to my friends is enough to induce in but a few people an agreeable literary experience then I will persevere.
- Photo by Librairie Mollat Bordeaux / Used with Permission
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Yes, yes, and yes (for however many paragraphs there are in this review).
Sorry, again, that it’s taking me so long to read Nausea.
Maybe I’ll hop to it when you pick up Jitterbug Perfume.
p.s. “an historian.”