Latest news with #Camus
Spectator
6 days ago
- Entertainment
- Spectator
Britain fought on the wrong side of the first world war
It's more than two months since I returned from Dublin, and at last the hangover is beginning to fade. I flew out with our team at The Rest is History to record a series about the Irish War of Independence and Civil War. Our guests were Paul Rouse, a professor at University College Dublin and former manager of Offaly's Gaelic football team, and Ronan McGreevy, an Irish Times journalist and author of a terrific book about the murder of Sir Henry Wilson. On the first night Ronan took us for an excellent curry; on the second, Paul organised a pub crawl. Well, I say a crawl, but in truth we barely got beyond the first pub, the Gravediggers, which is just a few hundred yards from the graves of Michael Collins and Eamon de Valera. I'm pleased to report that we more than held our own, and there are some excellent pictures of our producers, Theo and Tabby, after sinking a few dozen pints. But one member of the team was missing, having flown home immediately after the recording because he didn't 'really have the stamina for a pub crawl'. Listeners to the show can probably guess who that was. Some readers may be wondering if there is anything going on in my life apart from the podcast. The answer, by and large, is no. Indeed, as if I wasn't already spending enough time behind a microphone, I've recently been working on a new project: a books podcast with our producer Tabby. This week we're recording an episode about Albert Camus's novel L'Étranger, a book I adored as a student. Preparing to re-read it for the first time in 20 years, I actually felt a little nervous. Would it prove as intense and profound as I remembered, or is it really just a book for miserable teenagers? One thing I found unexpectedly fascinating was the problem of translation. In the United States the book is known as The Stranger, but in Britain it's The Outsider. But neither quite captures the ambiguity of the French étranger. And then there's that famous first sentence: 'Aujourd'hui, maman est morte.' How do you translate that crucial word maman? 'Mother' is surely far too formal, but 'mummy' doesn't sound right at all. The recent Penguin translation by Sandra Smith – which is excellent, by the way – opts for 'my mother', but I think that's quite a departure from Camus's original. 'Mama', perhaps? But who uses 'mama' these days? Suggestions on a postcard, please. Although my life sometimes feels like one recording after another, as if I'm podcasting's answer to Camus's Sisyphus, there has been a dramatic new development. We moved house a few weeks ago and have been forced to confront some harsh home truths. First, the number of boxes of unread books is a disgrace by any standards. Second, if my career as a historian doesn't work out, I could make a small fortune selling chargers for bits of electronic equipment that were last used when people cared about the millennium bug. And most importantly, the mystery of what happened to our money has at last been solved, since it's now clear that my wife spent it on glass jars. A dozen jars might seem reasonable, 20 a little excessive, 30 rather over the top. But 70? How many different kinds of rice can there be? And how could she genuinely believe that we'll find the time to decant each packet into its own jar, instead of piling them up to gather dust at the back of the cupboard, like normal people? In some parallel universe a version of me is unpacking vast quantities of books. But I've been distracted by something much more exciting – the Herculean task of getting ready for our summer holiday. In many ways I enjoy this even more than the expedition itself. Each element of the build-up has become a time-honoured ritual, as on Cup Final morning in the mid-1980s. Every year I look forward to the purchase of a new shirt, almost identical to one I already own; the desperate hunt for last summer's sunglasses, bought at great expense but destined never to be seen again; and above all, the final touches to my spreadsheet, to eradicate any last trace of spontaneity or joy. Fortunately, this particular holiday should be entirely joy-free, since we are recreating the last journey of Archduke Franz Ferdinand from Vienna down the Adriatic coast to Sarajevo in 1914. The whole enterprise will be haunted by regret, since the Archduke's murder meant he was never able to implement his dream of a federal United States of Greater Austria, stretching from Trento and Trieste to Lviv and Brasov. When I think what a tremendous country that would have been, I feel even more ashamed that we fought on the wrong side after his death. The chance to stand up to terrorism and finish off the French for good, and we blew it! Madness.
Wall Street Journal
16-06-2025
- Health
- Wall Street Journal
Why Is Everything an Existential Crisis?
So-called existential risks seem to be everywhere. Climate change, artificial intelligence, nuclear war, pandemics and more threaten to return us to nothingness. Most people using this term aren't consciously evoking the philosophy of Sartre or Camus. Still, they may be drawing on associations with existentialism more than they realize and unconsciously expressing deeper concerns about morality and meaning. In psychoanalysis, it isn't unusual for a word to have an unconscious double meaning. For example, a patient in therapy might say that she can't 'bear' children. She could consciously mean that she's unable to get pregnant, while also unconsciously communicating that she can't stand children. Or a grieving patient who's struggling to find the right word might say, 'I'm at a loss.'
Yahoo
11-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
From a Rare Camus Cognac to a Custom Portrait: 3 Drops on the Vault
What does it take to capture the essence of something or to bottle the moment? This week's selection from The Vault tries to answer that question, albeit in very distinctive ways. The instant when you taste something that's not quite possible to believe? We can help with that. That unforgettable twitch that suggests you're landing a landmark fish? Yes, The Vault's got that covered. As for seeing someone through fresh eyes, or an indelible image of their likeness? Obviously, we can make that happen for you—or maybe (hint) for the father in your life. More from Robb Report This Striking $10.1 Million Home in London Was Born From a Cold War Weapon Site Todd Snyder on His New Nashville Store, Outlaw Country, and Music City Style This 133-Foot Charter Superyacht Has a Large Extended Aft Deck for Sports Click here to read the full article. Picture a cellar master, in the half-darkness, stalking the archives at a distillery with a dogged determination, intent on hunting down the elusive, extraordinary one-offs that are aging in those caves. That's where this offering from The Vault began: Julie Landreau, the nose for family-run cognac maison Camus, eventually handpicked just four vintages from more than 300 options to form the basis of this exceptional one-off offering. If you can already taste that once-in-a-lifetime blend, read on. Inquire The late Tom Morgan understood all too well that moment of anticipation when hours of patience finally pays off. The Montana native was a fishing guide who turned to rod making after buying one too many sub-par options that ruined the meditative triumphs of a day's fishing. He wanted to create kit that truly matched the magnificence of his surroundings, in craftsmanship and performance—which you can try out for yourself via this offering. Inquire In a world of retouched selfies and Facetuned snapshots, true portraiture is even more precious. It captures the essence of someone, painstakingly and over hours of work, yet still reflects a fleeting moment; it's both enduring and elusive at the same time. British artist Fab Gorjian is an emerging talent who combines technical expertise (his lithograph-inspired esthetic is instantly recognizable) with the emotional insight of the best portraitists. If you want to capture a fleeting moment forever, read on. Inquire
The Age
30-05-2025
- Politics
- The Age
This is fine: An existential guide to Australian politics
Albert Camus would have been a lousy goalkeeper. Think about it. The French-Algerian standing between the posts, his head in the clouds. Reports say the writer excelled for Algiers Racing Uni's First XI, but I have my doubts. Imagine relying on Albert as your last line of defence, the bloke spouting stuff like, 'The only real progress lies in learning to be wrong all alone'. Or: 'An intellectual is someone whose mind watches itself'. Wake up, Albie! The ball is coming! Tuberculosis intervened, sadly, the goalie trading gloves for philosophy, plus those olive-green novels – The Stranger, The Fall – that ask the big questions. Each title has been a staple of high school and Existentialism 101. Not that Camus used the term. Indeed he rejected the e-word, preferring instead to forge fables around the incomprehensibility of existence. As that's the central plank, that irksome query about why we're here, and what we should do about it. 'Man is the only creature who refuses to be what he is,' as Camus said. Which makes you wonder what we're meant to be. Precisely the conundrum heard in Canberra this month. Is it any wonder? How can a power bloc of two parties implode into a rabble, losing seats like musical chairs, going from Coalition to Noalition? Cartoonist Cathy Wilcox depicted a bisected couch, one parent per half, both insisting 'Mummy and Daddy still love you very much'. Question being, are Mama Ley and Papa Littleproud going through a break-up, or merely a break? Either way, whether this new reunion lasts, the existentialism burns deep, fanned by those pesky Camus questions. 'I can't go on, I'll go on,' as Samuel Beckett said, a handy left-hand opener for Trinity College, and another writer besotted by existentialism. Macquarie Dictionary defines the ideology as 'a group of doctrines – some theistic, some atheistic – deriving from Kierkegaard, which stress the importance of existence, and of the freedom and responsibility of the finite mind.' Existential first emerged about 1693 as an adjective for existence. A century on, Soren Kierkegaard co-opted the ism to refute the divine logic that Georg Hegel fancied, where the rational is actual, and vice versa. Lort, thought Soren: Danish for bullshit. In his milestone work Either/Or, the philosopher writes, 'There are two possible situations – one can either do this or do that. My honest opinion, and my friendly advice is this: do it, or do not do it. You will regret both.' Loading Remind you of anyone – federally, I mean? Hence the e-word's rise. Existential now applies to politics, the arts, deconstruction cuisine, eco-anxiety, and anywhere you look. Last year Flinders University revealed how doomscrolling – surfing online between Gaza and La Nina – breeds existentialism. Reza Shebahang, the study's lead, claimed the custom has 'dire consequences on our mental health, leaving us feeling stress, anxiety, despair and questioning the meaning of life'. Smart machines and AI inroads only deepen the abyss. Pushed to existential extremes, we feel like adjuncts to this thing called life. Avatars. Daydreamers in the goalmouth. Or characters living life forwards so that we might understand what we're doing in hindsight, to paraphrase Kierkegaard. If it's any comfort to party leaders, doomscrollers and general AI alarmists, remember that 'the key to being happy isn't a search for meaning. It's to just keep yourself busy with unimportant nonsense, and eventually, you'll be dead'. Camus? Beckett? Try Mr Peanutbutter, the easygoing labrador from BoJack Horseman.
Sydney Morning Herald
30-05-2025
- Politics
- Sydney Morning Herald
This is fine: An existential guide to Australian politics
Albert Camus would have been a lousy goalkeeper. Think about it. The French-Algerian standing between the posts, his head in the clouds. Reports say the writer excelled for Algiers Racing Uni's First XI, but I have my doubts. Imagine relying on Albert as your last line of defence, the bloke spouting stuff like, 'The only real progress lies in learning to be wrong all alone'. Or: 'An intellectual is someone whose mind watches itself'. Wake up, Albie! The ball is coming! Tuberculosis intervened, sadly, the goalie trading gloves for philosophy, plus those olive-green novels – The Stranger, The Fall – that ask the big questions. Each title has been a staple of high school and Existentialism 101. Not that Camus used the term. Indeed he rejected the e-word, preferring instead to forge fables around the incomprehensibility of existence. As that's the central plank, that irksome query about why we're here, and what we should do about it. 'Man is the only creature who refuses to be what he is,' as Camus said. Which makes you wonder what we're meant to be. Precisely the conundrum heard in Canberra this month. Is it any wonder? How can a power bloc of two parties implode into a rabble, losing seats like musical chairs, going from Coalition to Noalition? Cartoonist Cathy Wilcox depicted a bisected couch, one parent per half, both insisting 'Mummy and Daddy still love you very much'. Question being, are Mama Ley and Papa Littleproud going through a break-up, or merely a break? Either way, whether this new reunion lasts, the existentialism burns deep, fanned by those pesky Camus questions. 'I can't go on, I'll go on,' as Samuel Beckett said, a handy left-hand opener for Trinity College, and another writer besotted by existentialism. Macquarie Dictionary defines the ideology as 'a group of doctrines – some theistic, some atheistic – deriving from Kierkegaard, which stress the importance of existence, and of the freedom and responsibility of the finite mind.' Existential first emerged about 1693 as an adjective for existence. A century on, Soren Kierkegaard co-opted the ism to refute the divine logic that Georg Hegel fancied, where the rational is actual, and vice versa. Lort, thought Soren: Danish for bullshit. In his milestone work Either/Or, the philosopher writes, 'There are two possible situations – one can either do this or do that. My honest opinion, and my friendly advice is this: do it, or do not do it. You will regret both.' Loading Remind you of anyone – federally, I mean? Hence the e-word's rise. Existential now applies to politics, the arts, deconstruction cuisine, eco-anxiety, and anywhere you look. Last year Flinders University revealed how doomscrolling – surfing online between Gaza and La Nina – breeds existentialism. Reza Shebahang, the study's lead, claimed the custom has 'dire consequences on our mental health, leaving us feeling stress, anxiety, despair and questioning the meaning of life'. Smart machines and AI inroads only deepen the abyss. Pushed to existential extremes, we feel like adjuncts to this thing called life. Avatars. Daydreamers in the goalmouth. Or characters living life forwards so that we might understand what we're doing in hindsight, to paraphrase Kierkegaard. If it's any comfort to party leaders, doomscrollers and general AI alarmists, remember that 'the key to being happy isn't a search for meaning. It's to just keep yourself busy with unimportant nonsense, and eventually, you'll be dead'. Camus? Beckett? Try Mr Peanutbutter, the easygoing labrador from BoJack Horseman.
