In 1932 during winter a strange feeling of vagueness, emptiness and meaningless took over him and he named the mixture of those feelings nausea. Then he was involved in a sexual relationship with Francoise, owner of a café. Antoine wanted to finish his historic study about marquis de Rollebon, a man who lived in the 18 th century and used to travel a lot. He had no will or desire to travel so he decided to stick around in a city named Bouville. Then he met Anny and had a relationship with her but he hadn't seen her for a few years. He also took part in many archaeological expeditions in India. The novel became an inspiration for many other authors.Īntoine Roquetin has a diary and travels Asia, Africa, and Europe. The novel almost has no plot and revolves around the question of existence, life meaning, freedom, human will and the world's indifference towards an individual. His conscious is the main aspect of this novel filled with philosophic and essayistic paragraphs. The work "Nausea" is written like Antoine's diary. The main characters are Antoine Roquetin, Self-Taught Man (his real name is Ogier P.) and Anny. if I yield, they're going to come round in front of me, between my eyes, and I always yield, the thought grows and grows and there it is, immense, filling me completely and renewing my existence.The novel describes a few week in the empty life of Antoine Roqueting who is haunted by feeling of nausea and the fear of existence. Thoughts are born at the back of me, like sudden giddiness, I feel them being born behind my head.
I am the one who pulls myself from the nothingness to which I aspire: the hatred, the disgust of existing, there are as many ways to make myself exist, to thrust myself into existence. At this very moment, it's frightful, if I exist, it is because I am horrified at existing. My thought is me: that's why I can't stop. Because that's still a thought." Will there never be an end to it? I mustn't think that I don't want to think. If I could keep myself from thinking! I try, and succeed: my head seems to fill with smoke. How serpentine is this feeling of existing, I unwind it, slowly.
But though I am the one who continues it, unrolls it.
The body lives by itself once it has begun.
For example, this sort of painful rumination: I exist, I am the one who keeps it up. It's worse than the rest because I feel responsible and have complicity in it. Then there are words, inside the thoughts, unfinished words, a sketchy sentence which constantly returns: "I have to fi. They stretch out and there's no end to them and they leave a funny taste in the mouth. “I jump up: it would be much better if I could only stop thinking.
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