Ever had that moment where you look at a random object—maybe a fork or a park bench—and suddenly it feels like it’s looking back? Not in a creepy, haunted-house way, but in a way that makes you realize it’s just there? It doesn't have a reason to be. It just exists. That’s basically the heart of Jean-Paul Sartre Nausea, a book that’s been scaring students and making hipsters look deep in cafes since 1938.
Honestly, the title is a bit of a bait-and-switch. When people hear "nausea," they think of food poisoning or a bad boat ride. But for Sartre’s protagonist, Antoine Roquentin, it’s a metaphysical stomach ache.
The Chestnut Tree Incident
Roquentin is a lonely historian living in a fictional, rainy French town called Bouville. He’s spent years researching an 18th-century aristocrat named the Marquis de Rollebon. But suddenly, he can't do it anymore. The past feels dead. The present feels too heavy.
The famous scene happens in a public park. He’s staring at the root of a chestnut tree. Normally, we see a "root" and think of its function—it sucks up water, it holds the tree down. That’s what Sartre calls essence. It’s the label we slap on things to make them make sense.
But Roquentin loses the label.
He sees the root in its raw, naked "hereness." It’s black, knotty, and "superfluous." It exists for no reason at all. This realization that the world is "contingent"—meaning it doesn't have to be the way it is—is what triggers the Nausea. It’s the dizzying feeling of realizing that the universe didn't come with an instruction manual.
Why Jean-Paul Sartre Nausea Isn't Just for Emo Kids
A lot of people think this book is just 200 pages of a guy complaining about being bored. Sorta. But there’s a massive point to it that actually feels pretty empowering once you get past the gloom.
If nothing has an inherent meaning, then you’re the one who has to create it. Sartre famously said, "existence precedes essence." This is the "big bang" of existentialism.
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Think about a letter opener. Someone designed it with a purpose (essence) before it was ever manufactured (existence). But humans? We just show up. We exist first, and then we have to define what we are through our choices. That’s a lot of pressure. It’s what Sartre calls being "condemned to be free."
- The Autodidact: Roquentin meets a guy in the library who is trying to read every book in alphabetical order. He’s trying to swallow the world's knowledge to find meaning. Sartre mocks him because you can't find your essence in a card catalog.
- Anny: Roquentin’s ex-lover. She tries to live her life as a series of "perfect moments." When she realizes life doesn't actually work like a movie script, she gives up.
- The Bourgeoisie: The people of Bouville who think they are "important" because of their jobs or titles. Roquentin calls them salauds (bastards) because they hide from the truth of their own emptiness behind their social status.
The Soundtrack to Your Existential Crisis
Toward the end of the book, Roquentin is sitting in a cafe, feeling like his own body is a "puddle of soft fat." Then, a jazz record starts playing. Specifically, "Some of These Days."
Suddenly, the Nausea vanishes.
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Why? Because music is "necessary." A melody has a beginning, a middle, and an end. It follows a logic. It’s a human creation that imposes order on the chaotic mess of existence. This is the "aha!" moment for Roquentin. He decides that if he can’t find meaning in the world, he’ll create it. He decides to write a novel. Not a history book about a dead guy, but something that exists in its own right, like that jazz song.
Dealing with Your Own "Nausea"
You don’t have to be a 1930s French intellectual to feel this. We feel it every time we scroll through social media and wonder what the point is. We feel it when we look at our jobs and realize the world would keep spinning even if we didn't show up tomorrow.
The takeaway from Jean-Paul Sartre Nausea isn't that life is bad. It’s that life is blank.
If you’re feeling that "superfluous" vibe, here is how to handle it Sartre-style:
- Stop looking for "signs": The universe isn't trying to tell you anything. There’s no destiny. That sounds scary, but it means you can't fail at a "plan" that doesn't exist.
- Own your choices: Since there’s no pre-set path, every choice you make is a statement of who you are. Don't blame your "nature" or your "circumstances." That's what Sartre called Bad Faith.
- Make something: Whether it’s a book, a garden, or a piece of code, creating something gives you a temporary "essence" that you chose for yourself.
Life is messy. It’s knotty and weird, like a chestnut tree root. But you're the one holding the pen.
To really grasp this, try an "existence check" today. Next time you're stuck in traffic or waiting for a bus, look at a mundane object—a fire hydrant or a street sign—and try to strip away its name. Look at it until it feels strange. That’s the threshold of freedom. From there, you get to decide what happens next.