Albert Camus was born 100 years ago. But he never got to age. Instead, he died in a car crash in his 40s, still handsome, vital, emotionally alive, his work incomplete. Comparing our lasting image of him with that of his friend who became his adversary, Jean-Paul Sartre, it is striking how differently we recall someone cut down at the peak of his powers with one who was fortunate enough to age. Sartre managed to sum up and say his farewells, but he had already lost most of his sight and needed constant companions, ending life as most of us do, a shadow of his once-formidable self. We remember this final Sartre in decline. Camus died suddenly, brutally, saying no goodbyes, his unfinished manuscript of The First Man found at the scene of the accident, leaving tangled relationships and two children still in their teens. Unlike Sartre, he will always be a tragic figure to us -- and he will always be young.
Posted on: Thu, 07 Nov 2013 10:30:49 +0000
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