The first time I read Chanson douce (2016), Leïla Slimani’s Prix Goncourt winning novel, was in the summer of 2020, when France was in lockdown (‘confinement’) and reading became my way to ‘leave’ the apartment. I read a Dutch translation with – like the English version – the hideous title The Perfect Nanny. (I guess it sells better?) This year I added [b:Le pays des autres|57999007|Le pays des autres|Leïla Slimani|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1620638303l/57999007.SY75.jpg|75775877] to my list and figured it was time to reread Chanson douce in the original language.

In the style of – but not quite like – Albert Camus’ [b:L'Étranger|15688|L'Étranger|Albert Camus|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1332596551l/15688.SY75.jpg|3324344] Slimani starts off with a bang: Le bébé est mort. From there on, she unfolds the story of a bobo couple with two young children in the rue d’Hauteville (10th arrondissement) that steadily comes to depend on its nanny Louise, a woman from the banlieue.

By describing her characters and their daily lives, Slimani underlines the differences between the couple and Louise. Without a single word of judgment she puts forward the couple’s lifestyle in a way it is hard not to dislike them. Louise on the other hand earns some sympathy, until the tide starts to turn, after which Slimani creates the image of a somewhat backward and fragile woman who gets obsessed with her portrayal of the family.

In my opinion, Chanson douce is a socially engaged novel rather than a suspenseful whydunnit. It is disruptive and raw at times and does not seem to spare any of the characters. My main criticism is that Louise occasionally is too much of a stereotype, which pushes the story towards the edge. But hey, it’s fiction and it’s beautiful.