Reading often brings us closer to an author’s thoughts, yet there’s always this gap between us and their emotional landscape—shaped by their time, place, and personal struggles. Sometimes, I wonder if my connection to certain works is just a form of imagined empathy. Am I truly understanding, or is my resonance just a projection?
For example, in Albert Camus’ The Stranger, Meursault’s indifference to life and death—his emotional detachment from events that most people would find deeply affecting—strikes a strange chord. His lack of remorse, especially after the murder, makes me question how I would even begin to empathize with someone so different. It’s a stark reminder of how our personal experiences often separate us from the feelings of others, even when we think we “understand.”
If you could sit down with a deceased author, which one would you choose? What would you want to ask them about the emotions, themes, or personal struggles that shaped their work? And how do you think that conversation might change your understanding of their writing?
by zihuizz_