Robert Baldick

Jean-Paul Sartre

In this novel, Antoine Roquentin, an introspective historian, records the disturbing shifts in his perceptions and his struggle to restore meaning to life in a continuing present and without lies. This is Sartre's first published novel and his first extended essay on existential philosophy.

Nausea

sarah

You know, it's quite a job starting to love somebody. You have to have energy, generosity, blindness. There is even a moment, in the very beginning, when you have to jump across a precipice: if you think about it you don't do it: I know Il never jump again.

The past did not exist. Not at all. Not in things, not even in my thoughts. It is true that I had realize a long time ago that mine had escaped me. But until then I believed that it had simply gone out of my range. 

The trees floated. Gushing towards the sky? Or rather a collapse; at any instant I expected to see the tree-trunks shrivel like weary wands, crumple up, fall on the ground in a soft, folded, black heap. They did not want to exist, only they could not help themselves. 

This is what I thought: for the most banal even to become an adventure, you must (and this is enough) begin to recount it. This is what fools people: a man is always a teller of tales, he lives surrounded by his stories and the stories of others, he sees everything that happens to him through them; and he tries to live his own life as if he were telling a story. But you have to choose : live or tell. 

I cling to each instant with all my heart… All of a sudden something breaks off sharply. The adventure is over, time resumes its daily routine. I turn; behind me, this beautiful melodious form sinks entirely into the past. It grows smaller, contracts as it declines, and now the end makes one with the beginning. Following this gold spot with my eyes think I would accept-even if I had to risk death, lose a fortune, a friend-to live it all over again, in the same circumstances, from end to end. But an adventure never returns nor is prolonged.

maia

"Suffering is the origin of consciousness," Dostoevski wrote. But suffering is anywhere in the presence of thought and sensitivity. Sartre for his part has written, and with equal simplicity: 

"Life begins on the other side of despair."

Sartre's greatest novel — and existentialism's key text — now introduced by James Wood. Nausea is the story of Antoine Roquentin, a French writer who is horrified at his own existence. In impressionistic, diary form he ruthlessly catalogs his every feeling and sensation. His thoughts culminate in a pervasive, overpowering feeling of nausea which “spreads at the bottom of the viscous puddle, at the bottom of our time — the time of purple suspenders and broken chair seats; it is made of wide, soft instants, spreading at the edge, like an oil stain.” Winner of the 1964 Nobel Prize in Literature (though he declined to accept it), Jean-Paul Sartre — philosopher, critic, novelist, and dramatist — holds a position of singular eminence in the world of French letters. La Nausée, his first and best novel, is a landmark in Existential fiction and a key work of the twentieth century.

Dinah De Vries

The diary of Antoine Roquentin follows his thoughts as he gradually sinks into a metaphysical crisis of despair, in this the first novel by the leader of French Existentialism

Ghee

Chris Dailey

A staple in the philosophical universe and a foundation of Existentialism, Sarte's classic on alienation has many works standing on its shoulders, though its a challenge to read in 2023. We're centered on the "hero" Roquetin, who spends his days writing a biography of a little known figure from the 18th century, but the novel is not narrative driven and instead focuses on the waves of "nausea" Roquetin experiences (in varying degrees) from daily interactions. The novel is a vehicle for Sartre's philosophy (look elsewhere for information on that) and certainly delivers a bevvy of colossal concepts, though in terms of the novel's merits, it's not a titan.

Louisa

Ren 

Nausea is far from lengthy and yet I needed more than 2 months to finish it. I'm glad I picked this book up, but I really don't think I will re-read this again. This book is too pervasive in nothingness, yet so engaging in its detail. At some point I am Roquentin— ambushed by the feeling of nausea, horrified by my own being, finding no relief in justifying my existence, befriending the constant loneliness and despondency. Not a fun read if you're experiencing existential crisis, but then again, maybe the nausea is a crucial turning point in life.

Mary Marshall

désirée

rhea 

jess

You wont want to know how many fuck yes i have uttered from this single book. I have a relentless monologue for every few pages, I both agree and disagree on some parts. The eloquence semantics made the self-depersonalization felt so real, that one might dwell on it forever (initially I might've). However, I do think the knowledge of everything’s meaninglessness shouldn’t trap one in fear resultant from awareness of ones smallness, it should instead free the mind and allow it to realize that it doesn’t matter what you do – be that bad or good. Your actions, honourable or terrible, hold no greater significance than how they impact directly and absolutely on your own life. 

"When one sees life as truly random, one can, as Roquentin fears, 'do anything'. But it would be a mistake to imagine that this is then freedom, while those who do not see life's randomness are still stupidly unfree. He is 'free' only in the sense that he is really unfree; he is 'alive' only in the sense that he is really dead."

This book covers Sartre’s first novel and an exploration of his early thoughts on existentialism through the meandering existence of one man. In a sense, expressing existential ideas through fiction does, however, give them an immediacy that non-fiction cannot provide, as well as a sense of how theoretical ideas relate to the reality of everyday life. As Roquentin writes: 
“The true nature of the present revealed itself: it was that which exists, and all that was not present did not exist. The past did not exist.” 
In this form of temporal negation, Roquentin finds life to be a series of present moments without a past, and his memories do little to console him from his current nausea. Roquentin finds himself to be both, melting away from reality, and plunged back into the thick heavy abundance of existence. Everything was superfluous, including himself. And in the end, Roquentin’s purpose in writing the novel which presents the narrative is to understand and document the nausea that he suffers, detailing his small perceptions so as to ruminate on their deeper meanings, how he exists in relation to the world, and also, how he, and Sartre would want us to 'solve' the dilemma of the realization that 'existence is futile'. In the Afterword section, the writer further discuss the way Camus disagreed with this book, but congruently holding the same nuance of ways to 'escape from the meaningless of existence.' 

All in all, life is pointless, but that is a liberating notion. And reading a book from post-war mid-20th century might haunt you of its whiteness and superiority of men (again, it sure did to me). Life is empty, but listening to bop/shitty music or obsessing over books in my cart is about to give me days of divine pleasure. And that doesn’t matter to the world, but it will make me happy and hurt no one else. I guess there will always be takeaways of anything, in everything.

What an absolutely disgusting book. It's absolutely awful. They way it's written so it can gaslight you into hating life, gaslighting you into doubting your existance, it's terrible. 

Which is why it deserver the 3.5 stars. I feel that Jean Paul has managed to add so much substance to this book, in like 200 pages, which is the biggest wow factor. 

But I just found myself bored. Found myself waiting for the next Nausea episode to hit. It really picks up towords the end. But really, the first half maybe even three quarters of the book was just boring, or not boring but not exactly captivating. 

But the area's when Roquentin issharing his philosiphical idea and debates really made this book

surtified™

What an absolutely disgusting book. It's absolutely awful. They way it's written so it can gaslight you into hating life, gaslighting you into doubting your existance, it's terrible. 

Which is why it deserver the 3.5 stars. I feel that Jean Paul has managed to add so much substance to this book, in like 200 pages, which is the biggest wow factor. 

But I just found myself bored. Found myself waiting for the next Nausea episode to hit. It really picks up towords the end. But really, the first half maybe even three quarters of the book was just boring, or not boring but not exactly captivating. 

But the area's when Roquentin issharing his philosiphical idea and debates really made this book

I like this book. It isn't life-changing for me, but it does resonate with me pretty well. The only reason I give it 3 stars is because it's more "meh" than others I've recently read, including Dostoevsky's Notes from Underground (which is a great book to read in the quintessential existentialist set along with Nausea). I highlighted a lot of passages and will transfer them here another time; I really just wish I had read this when I was younger. I certainly have felt (and still feel on occasion) the selfsame anguish poor Antoine Roquentin does, especially when he thinks and behaves in contradictory, mercurial ways. This book is one that gains momentum under its own weight and becomes more engaging towards the end. In fact, most of the action happens in the last 40-odd pages, so if you've found it boring at the outset, give it a chance and finish the thing before you judge unfairly. It's not even 200 pages so even if you hate it, the investment is minimal. 

Next up in the same vein is Camus's The Myth of Sisyphus, and sometime soon I'll grab a copy of Sartre's Being and Nothingness.

Ashlyn

I like this book. It isn't life-changing for me, but it does resonate with me pretty well. The only reason I give it 3 stars is because it's more "meh" than others I've recently read, including Dostoevsky's Notes from Underground (which is a great book to read in the quintessential existentialist set along with Nausea). I highlighted a lot of passages and will transfer them here another time; I really just wish I had read this when I was younger. I certainly have felt (and still feel on occasion) the selfsame anguish poor Antoine Roquentin does, especially when he thinks and behaves in contradictory, mercurial ways. This book is one that gains momentum under its own weight and becomes more engaging towards the end. In fact, most of the action happens in the last 40-odd pages, so if you've found it boring at the outset, give it a chance and finish the thing before you judge unfairly. It's not even 200 pages so even if you hate it, the investment is minimal. 

Next up in the same vein is Camus's The Myth of Sisyphus, and sometime soon I'll grab a copy of Sartre's Being and Nothingness.

Varol Aksoy

bu kitap bana anlamsızca tavanı izleyerek daldığım düşünceleri anımsatacak..

Bouke van der Bijl

This book is awful and you shouldn't read it, unless you want to have an existential crisis. Sartre sketches mundane daily life in such intricate detail that you start to realize the arbitrariness and meaninglessness of everything around you. From the way people talk and interact with each other, to your own wants and needs. The protagonist in this book is a lonely and miserable character that 'wakes up' (or 'gets woke' as the kids would say these days) and becomes hyper aware of his own existence and that of others around him. The book is written as a diary from him as he goes through a life crisis while trying to process this.

A must read if you have any interest in philosophy I think.

Nelson Zagalo

Devo começar por reconhecer que devia ter lido "A Náusea" há 20 anos, pois acredito que por essa altura teria sabido apreciar emocionalmente o seu fundamento. Hoje foi tarde demais, o que aqui se defende está já longe dos meus ideais, das minhas buscas. Compreendendo melhor hoje os seus fundamentos racionais, mas por isso mesmo tenho ainda mais objecções aos seus argumentos.
Por outro lado os problemas estéticos de um romance não advêm para mim das ideias ou conjecturas defendidas sobre a condição humana. A primeira metade da "A Náusea" é passada a descrever o universo do narrador (alter-ego de Sartre), e as suas perplexidades sobre o mesmo, de uma forma dita modernista Contudo essa descrição alonga-se e prolonga-se sem necessidade. O miolo está todo na segunda parte, e diria mesmo no último terço. É verdade que não poderíamos chegar lá sem passar pela leitura introdutória, mas falta a Sartre capacidades romancistas para nos envolver e conduzir. Se comparado com Albert Camus, as distâncias em termos de competências narrativas são por demais evidentes.

The wall and other stories: "In these stories ... Sartre's characters and situations mirror the conflicts, complexities, neuroses and sensuality of the twentieth century. His intellectual underworld includes a modern Erostratus who is compelled to murder, a psychotic who communicates his hallucinations to his formerly-sane spouse, an unfaithful wife still bound to her impotent husband, a boy's metamorphosis into an anti-semitic fascist, and the astonishing tale of a political prisoner."--Publisher description.

The Wall and Other Stories : Two Volumes in One

Meriem💫

Antoine delves into what it means to exist very very deep in this book it is sometimes too hard to read.

Very relatable for anyone who has ever had an existential crisis. The main character who experiences this 'nausea' is in that way relatable, although it isn't by any means a particularly cheerful read. Worth it though!

La nausea

Sara

La cosa migliore, secondo Antoine Roquentin, sarebbe scrivere gli avvenimenti giorno per giorno per capirci qualcosa. Non enfatizzare, non esagerare ma trascrivere semplicemente e accuratamente tutto ciò che succede, rimanere sobri mentre le cose cambiano in continuazione. Antoine fin da subito è onesto con se stesso dicendo che non vuole perdersi in questo movimento assurdo, e vederci chiaro prima che sia troppo tardi.

Antoine ha i capelli rossi, il corpo asciutto, le braccia costantemente penzolanti e spesso ha la Nausea. Di questo — e di altro — ci parla nei suoi quaderni. Tra le varie cose, infatti, ci racconta anche che gli oggetti non sono vivi, quindi non dovrebbero commuoverci — la gente se ne serve semplicemente, li consuma, ci vive in mezzo, mentre a lui, ad Antoine, gli oggetti commuovono e questo lo irrita moltissimo.

"Ho paura di venire in contatto con essi proprio come se fossero bestie vive."

Mentre Antoine trascorre le giornate alla ricerca di qualcosa da scrivere, come ad esempio le persone sedute ai tavoli del bar che frequenta abitualmente, o comunque all’insegna di un dettaglio da analizzare maniacalmente, insomma in questa attesa fatta di silenzio e parole scritte la solitudine gli rode l’animo. La gente conosce se stessa guardandosi agli specchi, scrive Antoine, esattamente come appare ai suoi amici. Ma Antoine non ha amici e anche quando di fronte al viso enigmatico e invecchiato di Anny, l’unica persona a cui lui tiene davvero, e un piccolo lume di speranza balugina, tutto viene stravolto.

"Ho un’orribile paura di tornare alla mia solitudine."

La desolazione delle vie rispecchia l’animo di Antoine e in quest’arida assenza di vita ogni cosa — paradossalmente — lo urta, lo tocca: il fumo delle sigarette, i denti malridotti di un tizio, i dialoghi febbrili di due persone agitate, un tonfo al piano di sopra che nessuno, eccetto lui, sembra aver udito, le guance colorate di Anny, gli sguardi illuminati di due amanti, il vento che sibila sopra i tetti. E la scura radice di un castagno, quella radice che si insinua improvvisamente nella vita di Antoine e gli grida: esisti, tu esisti! Il mondo esiste!

L’esistenza delle cose preme di colpo sull’epidermide di Antoine, pesa un quintale o forse di più, e preme tanto da togliergli il respiro, fino a fargli sentire che lui è di troppo. Eccola, ecco la Nausea che arriva con tutta la sua prepotenza. Inesorabile.

"Niente pareva reale; mi sentivo circondato da uno scenario di cartone che poteva essere smontato da un momento all’altro. Il mondo aspettava, trattenendo il respiro, facendosi piccolo, aspettava la sua crisi, la sua Nausea."

Lo sguardo di Antoine è come una cinepresa: raccoglie ogni fotogramma, ogni dettaglio apparentemente irrilevante, inclinando l’obiettivo e spostandolo prima su un particolare poi su un altro e, alla fine, trova l’angolo di campo perfetto per raccogliere l’intero ambiente. La realtà così ritratta è, in ultima istanza, statica e pietrificata, totalmente atemporale — nonostante Antoine annoti sempre giorno e orario. Quello che leggiamo, però, non è soltanto una descrizione fenomenologica di quello che Antoine vede e percepisce. La realtà, ostinatamente oggettivata dalle sue descrizioni pittoresche, d’un tratto si attiva, si anima, prende le sembianze di quella radice scura e inverte i ruoli: ora è lei a oggettivare Antoine, che si ritrova schiacciato dall’insopportabile peso dell’esistenza e da essa è invaso bruscamente. L’esistenza si installa in lui e gli grava sullo stomaco.

"Tutto è gratuito, questo giardino, questa città, io stesso. E quando vi capita di rendervene conto, vi si rivolta lo stomaco e tutto si mette a fluttuare."

L’esistenza perde così il suo aspetto di categoria astratta perché, ora Antoine lo sa, è la materia stessa di cui sono fatte le cose, è quella radice, quella panchina, quella cancellata, quel parco. Cos’è dunque la diversità, l’individualità? Solo un’apparenza, un involucro da scartare. E quando questa apparenza svanisce, non rimangono che masse mostruose e molli in disordine e nude. Esistere è essere lì, esserci. Esserci senza un motivo, senza una causa… essere gratuiti. E così, attraverso il pensiero di Sartre che scandaglia con tanta premura il senso della realtà, e in compagnia di Antoine, ci sentiamo improvvisamente nudi e disperatamente stupiti di questa vita che ci è stata data per niente.

Come un’onda pericolosa, l’esistenza sommerge Antoine. È esasperato, angosciato, frustrato dalla responsabilità, dalla libertà. Lui è libero, è condannato a essere libero, come lo siamo tutti. Nasciamo senza motivo e viviamo sotto il peso della responsabilità di quello che facciamo, diciamo, pensiamo, ignoriamo. E prima di morire, guardiamo all’essenza delle cose per dar loro un senso. In fondo è questo il gioco a cui ha partecipato Antoine: cacciare fuori di sé l’esistenza, togliersi di dosso tutti i futili orpelli, purificarsi, decontaminarsi da tutto quello che distrae e distorce.

La Nausea è una favola che potrebbe anche iniziare con una citazione che si trova a fine romanzo: c’era un povero diavolo che s’era sbagliato di mondo; è un viaggio nei meandri del pensiero umano e, ovviamente, dell’esistenza umana. Leggere La nausea non è facile, nel senso che esorta a incontrare se stessi, a dialogare con sé, a mettere tra parentesi tutto quello che c’è di fallace e apparente nell'esistenza umana, e a ridurre tutto al minimo, soltanto per poter sondare il senso reale delle cose, della vita.

Accompagnata da una bizzarra sensazione di nausea, ho letto questo libro immenso e debilitante e fin da subito mi sono sentita sconvolta, o meglio Jean-Paul Sartre mi ha sconvolta. Ora che sono paralizzata nella consapevolezza che la vita è gratuita, sento di voler rimanere sconvolta per il resto della mia vita, proprio come Antoine. 

"Mi sono alzato, sono uscito. Arrivato alla cancellata mi son voltato. Allora il giardino m’ha sorriso. Mi sono appoggiato alla cancellata ed ho guardato a lungo. Il sorriso degli alberi, del gruppo di allori, ciò voleva dire qualche cosa; era questo il vero segreto dell’esistenza."

Originariamente scritto sul mio blog personale: http://www.yatesinthespace.it/il-giar...

Sonia Flores

«Nada ha cambiado y sin embargo todo existe de otra manera»

Este es un libro terrible y hermoso, oscuro y enfermizo que puede adueñarse de ti si lo dejas, sobre todo si no eres estable emocionalmente, eres propenso a ceder ante la afirmación de que no haces nada más que existir. Sartre escribe bellísimo y describe con un detalle tan único su entorno que cautiva al lector de tal manera que no le permite parar. Me sucedió que, además, me dieron unas ganas impresionantes de ponerme a escribir.
Es un libro para leer con mucho cuidado. Para contemplar la preciosa manera de escribir de Sartre y entender un poco su filosofía, pero no para hacerlo parte de uno, porque es verdaderamente deprimente. Es una obra maestra, claro, pero aun así, deprimente. Intenso y hermoso y terrible. Sartre no es un autor con el cual pasar el rato y distraerse nada más, but this work is so breathtaking.

Juan Sebastián Escobar

Mi libro favorito. Es un libro de los que en realidad crean una atmósfera donde el lector es absorbido. Tal atmósfera en este libro es muy oscura, es un libro muy pesado y no se lo recomiendo a alguien que esté débil sentimentalmente. La primera vez que lo leí no estaba muy estable emocionalmente y este libro me golpeó un poco.

Nausea

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