Generalism

Looking back, I suppose it was unlikely I was going to be confronted by sweetness and light whilst making my way through the pages of Albert Camus’ classic “The Plague”. What did come as somewhat of a surprise though was just how devoid of colour this seminal work appeared to be. It was, as it would seem, rather appropriate to colour its sleeve in its many hues of grey.

Now don’t get me wrong; grey certainly does not imply boring, at least not in this case If you’ve ever seen the play Art, you’ll doubtless appreciate that a creation made up of blends of a single colour can be the cause of many an emphatic emotion. Looking at Albert Camus’ book from this perspective, you can start to see why it gets the reviews that it does.

It is not a novel in what I would deem a traditional sense; plot, sub-plot, intrigue, action, start, middle, end, a rich tapestry of emotion, action and colour to keep the pages turning. Anyone looking for such base ingredients is likely to be eternally disappointed and should, one would argue, be shopping in a different isle. No, what The Plague gives the reader is exceptional subtlety and hue, characters, actions, scenery, all hewn from the same ashen rock, acting and interacting without passion or force. Days pass into weeks that continue to expand until the titular plague has passed beyond the afflicted town, leaving neither devastation nor celebration, merely grey continuity.

What makes it so right though, so correct, is the whole being clearly moulded from a single piece, a masterpiece of smooth curves and velvety edges, with never a piece out of place. Unpainted, unadorned by frivolous fancy, and completely unconcerned by their absence. A creation to absorb, reflect on, and appreciate for all its lack of more bawdy pleasures.

Would I recommend it to anyone? As with many pieces of art probably not. After all, could I encourage a friend to visit a Monet gallery? Perhaps the latest installation at the Saatchi? Well, possibly, but whether or not they would appreciate it the same way I did is always likely to be in doubt.

No, the best way to come by such a masterwork is through natural order; if you read, in all likelihood you’ll have read it or will come across it on your journey. If you don’t, then there are much richer sources of mental stimulation to be found elsewhere. On the other hand, if you are an appreciator of art with an open mind and an eye for a masterpiece, there aren’t many books or authors out there that command such universal appreciation. Perhaps a hazy Sunday afternoon on the porch could be the time and place to appreciate just how colourful a single colour can be.