I personally see this as a message from Camus. It seems like he is trying to show that it doesn't actually matter who narrates this story. Of course, there is also the additional interpretation that Rieux wants to provide a reliable, unbiased account of the story, but this is too big of a reveal for that to be the only reason. I think what Camus is trying to get the reader to realize is that once a plague or any other disaster ends, those who tell the stories become nothing more than names on paper. Rieux and the other characters who lost loved ones in the story are "unreachable" in the sense that the reader has no true connection to them other than through Rieux. For us, the deaths are merely numbers and the narrator is nothing more than a voice that guides us through the event. The narrator could have been any other character, or even an omniscient 3rd-person narrator (Though that would change the whole structure of the novel), and we would have gotten the same "effect". By keeping Rieux's identity anonymous, Camus is mimicking the terrifying effect of time unto the reader. People are so willing to pretend like the plague had never happened and that the deaths of victims are just numbers. Even now, we are suffering because when the pandemic began, people were quick to deny it, and only when things got truly bad they acknowledged it -- But when it starts to go down just a little, people go right back to denying the potential of the virus.
Imagine you had kept a diary of the effects of the pandemic on your life or a small community you were a part of. If you never revealed your identity to the reader, do you really think people 100 years in the future would care who wrote it? Do you think they could truly understand the pain of losing someone close to you or the foolish repetitive cycle of people denying the virus and ultimately spreading it further? I believe Camus brilliantly depicts the devastating, numbing effect that time has on one's identity, and it brings to mind a quote from Ozymandias:
My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;
Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
No comments:
Post a Comment