written and posted by members of Lancashire Dead Good Poets' Society

Showing posts with label Albert Camus. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Albert Camus. Show all posts

Thursday, 31 August 2023

The Plague

Immediately I saw the topic for this week’s blog my thoughts were taken to the novel by Albert Camus. I had read it years ago and darted over to my bookshelves and was relieved to find I had still had my dog-eared copy as well as all his other novels, I must have been going through a Camus phase.


Before I come to the book let’s have a quick look at the background to the author. Camus was born to a French family in Algeria, which was then a colony of France. He was raised in poverty, and suffered from tuberculosis while at the University of Algiers. He joined the Communist Party for several years, then wrote for an anti-colonialist Algerian newspaper, joined an anarchist group, and then wrote and fought for the French Resistance against the Nazi occupiers in WWII. He was married to Simone HiĆ© and later Francine Faure, and had two children. He consistently supported human rights, and vigorously opposed war and capital punishment. He won the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1957. He was killed in a car accident at the age of 46.

The following is the best synopsis of the book I could find and was written by Scott Anderson in 2017: 
'The Plague ' is a novel by Albert Camus, published in 1947, that tells the story of a plague sweeping the French Algerian city of Oran. It asks a number of questions relating to the nature of destiny, and the human condition. The characters in the book, ranging from doctors to vacationers to fugitives, all help to show the effects the plague has on a populace.

The novel is believed to be based on the cholera epidemic that killed a large percentage of Oran's population in 1849, following French colonization, but the novel is placed in the 1940s. 'The Plague ' is considered an existentialist classic, despite Camus' objection to the label.


Camus included a dim-witted character misreading Kafka’s 'The Trial ' as a mystery novel, as an oblique homage. The novel has been read as a metaphorical treatment of the French resistance to Nazi occupation during World War II. Additionally, he further illustrates the human reaction towards the absurd. 'The Plague ' represents how the world deals with the philosophical notion of the absurd, a theory that Camus himself helped to define.

The novel became a bestseller during Covid to the point that its British publisher Penguin Classics reported struggling to keep up with demand. Camus' daughter Catherine said that the message of the novel had newfound relevance in that "we are not responsible for coronavirus but we can be responsible in the way we respond.”

Here are a few excerpts to give a flavour of his writing.

Part One Chapter 1: ‘In any case the narrator (whose name will be made known in due course) would have little claim to competence for a task like this, had chance not put him in the way of gathering much information....but perhaps the time has come to drop preliminaries and cautionary remarks, and to launch into the narrative proper. The account of the first days needs giving in some detail.’

Chapter 2: ‘When leaving his surgery on the morning of 16 April, Dr Bernard Rieux felt something soft under his foot. It was a dead rat lying in the middle of the landing.’

Part Two Chapter 4 ‘What I want doctor is this. On the day when the manuscript reaches the publisher, I want him to stand up and say to his staff “Gentlemen, hats off.” 

Rieux was dumbfounded...though he knew little of the literary world, Rieux had a suspicion that things didn’t happen it quite so picturesquely – that, for instance, publishers do not keep their hats on in their offices.’

Chapter 8: ‘The evil that is in world always comes of ignorance, and good intentions may do as much harm as malevolence, if they lack understanding. On the whole men are more good than bad; that, however, isn’t the real point. But they are more or less ignorant, and it is this that we call vice or virtue; the most incorrigible vice being that of ignorance which fancies it knows everything and therefore claims for itself the right to kill.’

I hope the above shows the mixtures of tone in his writing. Reporting, philosophy and humour.

The other reason that I wanted to mention Camus is for something which he said in 1957:


His actual words were: “After many years in which the world has afforded me many experiences, what I know most surely in the long run about morality and obligations, I owe to football.”







Thanks for reading, Terry Q

Tuesday, 24 July 2012

Three Lions on a Shirt........Shivers Down my Spine





by Sheilagh Dyson

Call me a sentimental, idealistic, over-optimistic, unrealistic fool, but there’s a song that sends shivers down my spine. It did at the time and it still does now. Three Lions, the magnificent opus created by the Lightning Seeds, Baddiel and Skinner in anticipation of Euro ’96, when football was coming home to England. It fades in, rising to a crescendo – ‘It’s coming home, it’s coming home, it’s coming, …..football’s coming home.’ This time was going to be different. Thirty years of hurt never stopped me dreaming. All the bitter disappointments, the ignominy of non-qualification, the Hand of God – all would be swept away this time in a glorious climax at Wembley, when England would at last reclaim the mantle of champions, the three lions passant would again tower imperiously over the football world. Football was coming home to our country, where it all began. Nothing could stop us this time. (Germany, on penalties, in the semi-final, actually. They could.)

            It is in the nature of a football supporter to be a blinkered, romantic who has an unshakeable conviction that it will be better next time – a triumph of hope over experience, if ever there was one. This is applicable to all levels of football, but most of all to England, whose long suffering supporters face each tournament with renewed certainty that this time……Meanwhile, the over-hyped, overpaid, mercenary primadonnas who carry all our hopes and dreams once more flatter to deceive, let us down and another two years of national navel-gazing, anger and resentment beckon – but only till next time, when the hopelessly misplaced optimism ramps up again.

All that I know surely about morality and the obligations of man, I owe to football.’ Albert Camus said. What would he have made of today’s game, with its gangster chairmen, culture of celebrity, grotesque unaffordable wages, the diving, the cynicism and the bloated agents calling all the shots? It’s still a beautiful game though, for all that, but sadly one that is now far removed from its grass roots. For anyone interested, please try Gary Imlach’s excellent book ‘My Father and Other Working-Class Football Heroes’ which tells the story of his father’s experiences as a professional footballer in the 1950s and early 1960s, when footballers received the wages of a worker and lived in the same streets as their supporters. Compare and contrast!

I will finish with two poems. The first is a haiku I wrote in anger about Blackpool FC’s relegation from the Premier League. The second is a commentary on the game today and is by Ivan Donn Carswell.


Lament for Blackpool FC

The tangerine dream-
Smashed by a dark juggernaut
The Premier League


To win a game


by Ivan Donn Carswell


How do you win a football game? Not by skill alone or clever plays,
in modern days the game has changed and subterfuge and actors
ways will pave the path to glory. Fitness pays a fair reward to keep
a fleetness in the feet, a clearness in the head, and special food
and clever drinks recharge the cells when batteries are low or dead.
But referees are certain keys to all the famous victories.
Linguistic tricks of lunatics in soccer strip are even matched by
hieroglyphs from coaches dressed in two piece suits, with
hearts on sleeves, grieving for the chances missed, pleading
with the referee for plays he did or didn’t see, for ploys that failed
to turn his head, for verdicts made and judgements dread.
And referees are equal keys to infamy or certain fame.
Then there’s the crowd, a seething throng of attitude and energy,
baying for their chosen team, living in a plastic dream of cinematic
death or glory; dressed in kind and cheering on, drinking, singing,
chanting long and loud the songs expressing hopes and fears of masses
pressed in servitude, praying for a famous win, praying to the soccer rood.
But referees are willing keys to all the prayers and eulogies.
How do you win? Why do you care? Theatrics grimace everywhere,
a game so crafted for the stage with pathos, bathos, great despair,
actors playing parts and reading scripts with human traits, protagonists,
antagonists, depicting gallant characters with artful flair,
it’s all encompassed there, entwined in referee maturity, so grin
and bear it friend, you see, it looks so good on home TV.
© I.D. Carswell