“Paul and Myriam are overjoyed. Paul tells her with a smile that she is like Mary Poppins.”
French-Moroccan novelist Leila Slimani’s 2016 French bestseller
‘Chanson Douce’, translated to English this year (by Sam Taylor), opens with a
line that deliberately shears sense of mystery and sentimentality out of its
shocking narrative. “The baby is dead. It only took a few seconds”, says the
first lines, which not only sets up a tone of relentless dread, but by
addressing outright the violent denouement, we only carry the question ‘why’
(sharp, concise words following the first lines answer the ‘how’ and ‘who’).
Even then the novel doesn’t try to bluntly psychologize a woman who had
committed an unspeakable act. Lullaby (in UK) or The Perfect Nanny (in US) is pretty
much about addressing the commodified and outsourced nature of child rearing,
the construct of maternal instinct, and goes on to peel off the layers related
to parental ideals of inviolable safety. The eeriness in the tale is derived
from the enigmatic portrayal of its central figure: Louise, a miracle-worker
turned deranged killer.
Chanson Douce won Prix Goncourt, France’s most prestigious
literary prize, and greatly reached across commercial readership as it has been
translated into eighteen languages. Author Leila Slimani was initially inspired to
write Lullaby after coming across a news item (in 2012) about a New York nanny
who killed two children under her care. To most readers of the news article, it
might have been a grim reminder of the horrors adult caregivers are capable of. However,
Leila Slimani scrabbles beneath the horror quotient of the story to deftly
examine the themes of gender identity, class and cultural divide. Most
particularly, Slimani tackles the complex subject of motherhood, juggling
between the emotional minefields related to it without passing easy judgment. Although
not a psychological thriller in the vein of Gillian Flynn’s novels, Slimani and
Flynn equate the simmering mundane pressures (of the neoliberal capitalist
setting) to the social construction of gender (which demands acquiescence and
calm facade from females).
Lullaby is fragmented, occasionally philosophical and
largely carries a cool, matter-of-fact tone. After the traumatic opening passages, the novel goes back in time to portray the manners of a modern
Parisian bourgeois family living at the 10th arrondissement. Myriam Masse, the
dedicated law student of Moroccan origin has opted to be stay-at-home mother
ever since the birth of her children, Mila and Adam. Caring for two children is
draining Myriam’s energy, making her interminably gloomy. Her husband Paul Masse
is a bohemian who works in music production. Desperate to hold on to her sense
of self, Myriam accosts Paul to hire a nanny. Both of them are naturally wary of
entrusting their little children (Adam a toddler and Mila a rambunctious little
girl) to a stranger. Paul dismisses the idea of hiring a woman from immigrant
background. Hence when they meet Louise, a doll-like white-woman in her 40s
with smooth features, Paul and Myriam instantly give her the job. Myriam terms
it as ‘Like love at first sight’.
Soon the couples hail Louise as a ‘miracle-worker’ because
she not only takes great care of the children, but also keeps the house in neat
shape and cooks mouth-watering dishes. Myriam's career at the law firm begins to
flourish, thanks to Louise handling the domestic pressures. Paul also warms up
to the nanny, even taking Louise to their family’s holiday trip to Greece. The
narrative also unfolds from Louise’s perspective, which hints at her damaged
relationship with her sick husband Jacques and unruly daughter Stephanie. Now
living alone at a studio flat in the putrid corners of Paris and mired in tax
debts, Louise’s slow rise of instability starts to adversely impact the Masse family.
Additionally, we get the perspective of minor characters like Louise’s daughter
Stephanie, Louise’s only friend Wafa (a Moroccan nanny) whose collective
reflections paints a painful and ominous portrait of Louise.
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| Leila Slimani |
Lullaby mainly intrigued me because Leila Slimani doesn’t
assign the culpability and victim hood status in a clear-cut manner. We constantly
contemplate Louise’s place in social hierarchy and her eerie activities with a
touch of empathy and an increasing sense of terror. At no point, Slimani offers
a distinct interpretation on why Louise did what she did. She lays out the
nanny’s anxiety, fears, and meager existence in concise details, but leaves it
to readers to wonder how the woman’s history of dysfunction (at societal &
familial levels) had pushed her to commit the cruel act. Louise remains an
enigma till the end, who in the hands of another author might have been
rendered into a perfect psychopath. The author achieves this effect by cleverly
jostling between the viewpoints of Myriam and Louise. When real-life media
coverage of a nanny’s ruthless killing comes to spotlight, some might implicate
the mother, scrutinizing the necessity of her career ambitions. Slimani curtly
denounces such blame-game by deeply addressing Myriam’s malaise and emotional
repression set off by the motherhood status. We also consistently get a picture
of how Myriam is wracked with guilt for pursuing her passion (on the contrary,
we never see Paul at work; his passion and commitment to work is naturally
devoid of such guilt trips).
Lullaby offers more sub-textual detailing, mostly related to
the clash between Louise’s penury and the Masse's privilege. Their difference in views about what’s
disposable and what’s indispensable tells something important about the chasm
lying in between the sophisticated (powerful) and marginalized (vulnerable). In
fact, if Slimani’s novel is adapted into a movie, Austrian auteur Michael
Haneke (Cache, The White Ribbon) would be the perfect choice. He can
effortlessly and tantalizingly bring out the different layers in the narrative,
while also delivering the full emotional impact. One Haneke-ian aspect that I
thought was present in Slimani’s novel is the non-idealized representation of
children. Mila is a very complex child who navigates the adults around her with
an unexplainable lucidity. This little girl understands the power she has over
the nanny and her mother, and uses it wisely. At one point Slimani addresses
Mila’s burgeoning self-awareness (“watches herself in the mirror when she
cries”), and later the girl’s unbelievably restrained behavior during her trip
with Louise to a trashy restaurant (Mila’s dispositions aren’t uniform as
children are generally showcased in many literary and cinematic portrayals). In Slimani’s
world, children seems to be as much on the edge as the adult characters, waiting
to spread their wings out of the ‘cocooned existence’. Finally, Lullaby acutely
delineates the paradoxical nature of being the perfect parent (to ensure
financial comfort, emotional well-being, and provide physical safety). For a
novel that starts with infanticide, Lullaby is an unsentimental and profound
examination of the miseries of modern child-reading and sociology of gender.
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