In my teenage years, a serious-minded and rather eccentric girl seemingly dropped by aliens in a small Lancashire mill town, I was determined to be an existentialist philosopher when I grew up. I could imagine nothing more glamorous than spending my working life writing in a notebook in a Parisian cafe (I’d never been abroad). This despite having been tortured by a French syllabus that included Sartre’s [amazon_link id=”2070368076″ target=”_blank” ]Huis Clos[/amazon_link] and [amazon_link id=”2070384411″ target=”_blank” ]Les Mains Sales[/amazon_link]. The fact that he was neither a good philosopher nor a good writer didn’t put me off. For there was Simone De Beauvoir, whose novels like [amazon_link id=”207036769X” target=”_blank” ]Les Mandarins[/amazon_link] are ok, and whose [amazon_link id=”009974421X” target=”_blank” ]The Second Sex[/amazon_link] is a seriously important book.

[amazon_image id=”207036769X” link=”true” target=”_blank” size=”medium” ]Les Mandarins 1: 001[/amazon_image]

And above all, Albert Camus, the archetype of the honourable man in a dishonourable world, and a great novelist. I read [amazon_link id=”B006E3KCT6″ target=”_blank” ]La Peste[/amazon_link] tucked up in bed with an old fashioned metal hot water bottle that my mother had covered with a sock so it wouldn’t burn me. The sock had a hole and the bottle raise some small blisters on my arm. I was so wrapped up in the book that I didn’t notice the burn, but when I spotted the blisters later, ran downstairs to my bemused mum, shouting that I had caught the plague.

[amazon_image id=”B006E3KCT6″ link=”true” target=”_blank” size=”medium” ]La peste[/amazon_image]

So reading about Camus on the occasion of what would have been his 100th birthday this week – a brilliant essay by Claire Messud in the NYRB and Michael Azar in Glanta – I bought the new book of Camus essays, [amazon_link id=”0674072588″ target=”_blank” ]Algerian Chronicles[/amazon_link], edited by Alice Kaplan and translated by Arthur Goldhammer. I set aside Jonathan Fenby’s (so far) excellent [amazon_link id=”1847394116″ target=”_blank” ]Tiger Head, Snake Tails[/amazon_link] about modern China and plunged instead into Algeria at the tail end of France’s colonial occupation. Alastair Horne’s [amazon_link id=”1590172183″ target=”_blank” ]A Savage War of Peace[/amazon_link] is still as far as I know the best single book on the conflict.

[amazon_image id=”0674072588″ link=”true” target=”_blank” size=”medium” ]Algerian Chronicles[/amazon_image]

What these essays by Camus – appearing for the first time in English – add to the history is that same sense as from Camus’ wartime years of the near-impossibility of morality in polarized times. The pressures to say one side or the other is all right, the opposing side all wrong, to justify any means in terms of ends, are almost irresistible. It is very interesting to read Camus on terrorism and counter-terrorism – there is an obvious parallel with our own times. More generally, the polarization of politics away from the centre ground in the context of slow economic growth and the extreme tone encouraged by online discussion, make it interesting to look once again at existentialism. For decades it has seemed hopelessly retro (only an ignorant teen in a provincial backwater could have found it glamorous even as long ago as the 1970s); but maybe the times have circled back and ‘authenticity’ is having another moment.