Welcome back to Her Passionate Pen! Today I will be reviewing one of my summer reads: Nausea by Jean Paul Sartre. I’m going to start from the get-go and say I was not the biggest fan of this book. I took a big dive into philosophical texts this summer, exploring the works of Camus, Nietzsche, and Blanchot. Unfortunately, Nausea stands as the dark spot of spilled Icees, flat tires, and a lack of hotels within a 50 mile radius on my literary trip this summer.
I suppose I will start off with plot- oh wait, there was none! In all seriousness, though, I think if I did the math this book would be 75% Antione sipping tea in a café, smoking cigarettes, and despairing about the pointlessness of the universe. Now that’s not to say that I immediately dislike books because they lack major conflict. Interesting novels can detail everything from choosing pancakes over cereal for breakfast to breaking your toe on a hot air balloon ride. But, in the case of Nausea the absence of a compelling plot is coupled with an overall dearth of engaging content.
Narrated through Antointe’s journal entries, the first-person perspective from a character who isolates himself means we’re stuck with him as the sole nuanced character. Although I use “nuanced” loosely, as his self-absorption became repetitive- constantly portraying himself as the sole sufferer of Nausea. The only other semblance of depth that we encounter in outside characters is Anny. Even then she is superficially portrayed and defined primarily by her relationships to men.
Now, I don’t want to completely rip on this book. I realize many consider it a philosophical cornerstone of the Existentialist movement rather than a traditional novel. Looking at it through that lens, I would say that Nausea definitely offers nuanced insights on life … Many of which I don’t personally agree with- what with my prioritization of optimism, guided meditations, and good vibes posters- but that are interesting nonetheless. Sartre tackles life’s lack of inherent purpose, asserting that it’s our existential responsibility to shape our own meaning in a seemingly meaningless world. He also delves into the fluid nature of identity and the feeling of alienation. A standout idea, for me, was his assertion that individuals aren’t constrained by fixed essences but rather defined by their choices and actions. There is freedom in not having purpose. Amidst a novel that evoked in me emotions to mirror its title, this nugget of wisdom was incredibly reassuring.
With this in mind, I suppose my critiques of Nausea boil down to precision. It presents a strong foundation of ideas but strays into superfluous territory. This novel could very well have been distilled into a concise five-page essay, where its ideas could truly shine. Unfortunately, across its 253 pages of cafes and existential walks through town, I’m compelled to grant Nausea a modest two-star rating. Thank you for joining me in this review. Catch you later in the bookshelf!