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something has stuck with me from nausea, the ending, the strangely redemptive ending. why is roquentin who has berated art and the bourgeois self importance of the portrait subjects, has found the impossibility of history in his book on m. rollebon, and has above all else rejected one’s living in the past or satisfying their present selves on the achievements of the past suddenly decided to write a novel in affirmation of himself for posterity and the comfort of being able to look back and know he has done something significant? is it just a bad ending? it seems contradictory. i wish I could ask sartre what he meant by it. maybe it is not supposed to be so much a solution to roquentin’s problems as i am taking it to be, not a completion of sartre’s existentialist system, merely a whim, a choice, maybe we are meant to understand he may give up on this book exactly the same as the rollebon book because it is really no different. i’m not sure. i wish i could ask sartre what he meant.

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