The Age of Reason: A Novel
Jean-Paul Sartre
Language: English
Pages: 416
ISBN: 0679738959
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
The first novel of Sartre's monumental Roads to Freedom series, The Age of Reason is set in 1938 and tells of Mathieu, a French professor of philosophy who is obsessed with the idea of freedom. As the shadows of the Second World War draw closer -- even as his personal life is complicated by his mistress's pregnancy -- his search for a way to remain free becomes more and more intense.
hate him. But Daniel was as disarming as ever. Mathieu said to him abruptly: ‘Daniel, why did she do it?’ ‘Well, I told you,’ replied Daniel. ‘Because I asked her to. And then it must have entertained her to have a secret.’ Mathieu shook his head. ‘No. There’s something else. She knew quite well what she was doing. Why did she do it?’ ‘But...’ said Daniel. ‘I imagine it can’t always be very comfortable to live within your orbit. She wanted to find a shady corner.’ ‘She finds me too
too direct to influence Jacques. Mathieu merely said: ‘Abortion is not infanticide.’ Jacques picked up a cigarette and lit it. ‘True,’ he observed, with detachment. ‘I agree, abortion is not infanticide, it is “metaphysical” murder.’ And he added gravely: ‘My dear Mathieu, I have no objections to metaphysical murder, any more than to any perfect crime. But that you should commit a metaphysical murder — you, being what you are...’ He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. ‘No, that would be quite out
had not the slightest wish to refrain from doing so. The morning with the cats, Mathieu’s visit, then four hours’ pestilential work, and, this evening — Marcelle: it was intolerable — I can very well allow myself a little distraction. Marcelle was a morass. She listened for hours to what she was told, she said Yes, yes, nothing but yes — and ideas disappeared into her head, she existed solely in appearance. It is all very well to play for a while with fools — slacken the cord and they rise into
wafers: you needn’t show off like a girl at her first Communion, there he was, as solemn and sedate as a donkey loaded with relics. Oh, I understand, I wasn’t going to lay a hand on you, I am not worthy: and the look he flung at me when I told him I didn’t understand philosophy, he wasn’t even taking the trouble to be polite towards the end. I am sure — I suspected as much at the time of Hourteguère — I am sure he puts them on their guard against me. ‘Well, well,’ said Daniel, with a complacent
time.’ ‘In two hours then,’ said Ivich. She had resumed her airs of elder sister. She was stroking her brother’s hair with an expression of pity and of exultation. Boris appeared to respond to her caresses and then suddenly exclaimed: ‘God blast my eyes!’ Ivich started. Boris often used slang, but he never swore. ‘What have you done?’ she asked, apprehensively. ‘My letters,’ said Boris. ‘What?’ ‘All my letters — what a ghastly fool I am, I’ve left them in her room.’ Mathieu did not