At the bottom of the well, the air is damp and
it’s so dark I barely see my hands.
Down here, I move through my memory without
interference from the above-ground world –
I think so clearly that I travel through walls and
jump into dreams and hop back out.
About a month ago, I posted a review of The Plague by Albert Camus. It’s now been published in Bewildering Stories, along with an accompanying review by Don Webb, the website’s managing editor.
I have a (slight) problem with going on book-buying binges. When I feel anxious, sometimes I buy a book. I’ve reined in this annoying tendency recently to cut expenses. But when the pandemic hit in early March, I saw an essay about Albert Camus’ novel, The Plague, and knew I immediately had to read it.
There’s no rhyme or reason for the complicated bureaucracy the main character in The Castle tries to penetrate. At every turn, he deals with obstacles or receives explanations that make little sense.
Imagine one day you wake up and you’re accused of a crime. You have no memory of committing a crime, but the authorities come to your apartment and begin to take away your freedoms. They say you must now submit to a mysterious court procedure, but they’re explanations are vague.