There are some insightful ideas about what constitutes a real life, one where living to your fullest even though you know there is no "meaning of life" is the answer. To face the absurd and thrive in the face of it is the ultimate life well-lived. He almost loses his point by writing as if his audience is a group of Philosophy doctorates, so I would not recommend this to someone unless they have a working knowledge of that subject.
The essays at the end are touching even if a bit waffling; the title essay is a literary essay on a philosophical topic, and its so poorly structured that its hard to follow the argument, although it does have many interesting sentences in it. There is virtually no editing at all: who is Chestov? what are the works being referred to? or even the events being referred to? I should think that after sixty years they could have tracked them down (seventy four years, if you count from the French edition).
A lovely discussion by a north-African about the distinction between hope and lucidity. The author equivocates, because hope is overrated (at least in European societies), but ultimately advocates a balance between them.
I originally just wanted to move a few large stones around my yard but ended up on a enlightening journey through the valley of existentialism that border the high cliffs where philosophical suicide reside beside the open sky's of facticity purgatory. Next time maybe I will mow the lawn or just read Walt Whitman's 'Leaves of Grass'.
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