That flaming sun!
It’s been a long time since I read The Outsider. If you’re not familiar with it, it’s a French book (L’Étranger) by Albert Camus; popular on school reading lists as an example of an existentialist novel. I don’t remember a lot about it, but one scene sticks with me. My memory of the scene – which may diverge significantly from the actual novel – goes something like this:
The main character, Mersault, is walking on the beach. The sun is in his eyes. He is hot. The sun is in his eyes. He does not like the heat or the sun in his eyes. Someone on the beach holds a knife and the reflection from the sun off the knife gets in his eyes. Mersault is irritated by the sun in his eyes and also happens to be carrying a gun, so he shoots the knife-holder dead.
I bet I’ve convinced you to read it now.
Anyhow, that scene comes to mind on an almost daily basis, when I’m walking to the supermarket, and the sun is in my eyes. The sun is always in my eyes. At this latitude (Helsinki is at 60°), the sun finds that ideal height – just above the skyline, but low enough to shine directly into eyes – and hangs out there for the entire day. Even if I wear sunglasses, the sun finds the little gap between my face and the darkened glass, and beams straight into my eyes. What’s more, Nick and I both have Autosomal Dominant Compelling Helio-Ophthalmic Outburst (ACHOO) Syndrome (we sneeze when we see the sun) so we meet the day with a rally of sneezes every time we head into the sunny outdoors.
I’ve been spending summer in a perpetually sneezy, squinty, eye-watery and irritated state.
It’s a good thing I don’t happen to carry a gun.
