L'Etranger is variously translated as The Outsider or The Stranger. The French word covers both. If you haven't read it, do so. It's short, every word in it counts, and you can make of it what you will. I was sixteen months old when my father died in a car crash. He was 'slumped over the wheel' and drove head on into a bus near Nuneham Courtenay. I have no conscious memories of him. As a child I had two fantasies, as well as the usual ones about being invisible and being able to fly. One was that everybody was lying to me and he wasn't really dead. In fact he had been captured by the KGB - this was during the Cold War and the Russkies were the baddies - and was being held as a prisoner inside the Soviet Union. He would be released in a spy-swap and come and rescue me from boarding school, swinging me onto his broad shoulders and bringing joy and laughter. The other was that everybody, meaning all the grown-ups, were lying to me about everything and had create...
You never know what's around the corner...