The Perfect Nanny

“No illegal immigrants, agreed? For a cleaning lady or a decorator, it doesn’t bother me. Those people have to work, after all. But to look after the little ones, it’s too dangerous. I don’t want someone who’d be afraid to call the police or go to the hospital if there was a problem. Apart from that… not to old, no veils, and no smokers.”

Following the introduction, these are the first words of the book’s “proper” narrative. Paul says them to Myriam when they are discussing what they want from a nanny. These words immediately introduce many of the book’s ongoing themes, including racism, sexism, and discrimination against immigrants.

“If she has children, it’d be better if they’re back in her homeland.”

This is the advice that Myriam’s friend Emma gives her when Myriam and Paul are searching for a nanny. The tidbit highlights the troubling treatment of nannies by their employers—a central theme to the work—namely, that the nanny should prioritize the children she cares for above all else, even over her own personal life. This quote shows the troubling demands for all-encompassing devotion despite the disposable nature of the nanny’s role.

“More than anything, she feared strangers. The ones who innocently asked what she did for a living and who looked away when she said she was a stay-at-home mother.”

These words speak to Myriam’s shame surrounding being a stay-at-home-mom. Her worries about how she will be perceived without her career show the societal judgment surrounding “motherhood” and stereotypically “female tasks” like childcare in society. This judgment is rooted in sexist beliefs: Paul never shares Myriam’s shame and fear because there was never any expectation that he would stay at home with the children.

“Her mind fills with horrible scenarios and she shakes her head to get rid of them, recites prayers, touches wood and the Hand of Fatima that she inherited from her mother.”

With these lines, Myriam biggest fear is revealed—that her children will die. This fear provides foreshadowing for the murders to come. These lines also hint at the fact that Myriam is an immigrant herself, though the book only reveals that she speaks Arabic and does not specify her country of origin. The Hand of Fatima refers to the hand of the daughter of the Islamic prophet Muhammad, another indication of Myriam’s cultural background.

“She fears that a tacit complicity and familiarity would grow between her and the nanny. That the woman would start speaking to her in Arabic […] She has always been wary of what she calls immigrant solidarity.”

Along with the reference to the Hand of Fatima, these lines are one of the few other hints in the book that reveal Myriam is not a native Frenchwoman. Myriam’s fears of “immigrant solidarity” point to a unique brand of prejudice: one directed at people like her. Ironically, this intentional distancing is part of what draws her to Louise and, ultimately, causes her worst fears to come true.

“But in what black lake, in what deep forest has she found these cruel tales where the heroes die at the end, after first saving the world?”

This description of Louise hints at the nanny’s troubled nature and foreshadows the brutality she will prove herself capable of. Louise begins emotionally harming the children early on, telling them twisted stories unsuitable for their young age. Descriptions like “black lake” and “deep forest” create ominous, sinister imagery.

“If you only knew! It’s the modern malaise. All these poor children are left to their own devices while both parents are obsessed by their careers.”

These words are spoken by Mila’s teacher to Myriam, when Myriam apologizes for sending Louise to a parent-teacher conference in her place. The teacher’s words again highlight the theme of motherhood, and the harsh judgments (informed by sexism) made about mothers who dare to pursue careers instead of being stay-at-home moms. This comment also puts the entirety of the blame on Myriam, and mothers like her, for the behavior of their children.

“They always ended up asking her to do them a favor—‘Stéphanie, be a sweetie, go and fetch my glasses from the entrance hall’—or telling her that her mother was expecting her in the kitchen.”

These words describe the Rouviers’ treatment of Louise’s daughter, Stéphanie, when Louise and Stéphanie join the Rouviers on holiday (so Louise can care for their children). They demonstrate the unshakeable classist power hierarchy between employer/employee. The Rouviers can’t even stand having the daughter of “the help” sit and watch TV with the other kids, so they come up with little tasks for her to do, so that she’s also put in a servile role.

“Paul starts talking about her—‘our nanny’—the way people talk about children and old people in their presence.”

Throughout the book, Louise is often objectified by her employers. Paul’s use of the term “our nanny” here dehumanizes and objectifies Louise. It also shows Paul’s view of those he doesn’t consider “people”: nannies, children, and the elderly. This aligns with his requirements for a nanny earlier in the book.

“Myriam isn’t good at telling stories.”

This line highlights one of the (many) traditional tasks of motherhood that Louise is better at than Myriam. Louise tells great stories; Myriam doesn’t. Louise is an amazing cook; Myriam isn’t. Louise throws fantastic children’s birthday parties; Myriam finds them tedious. Although Myriam is grateful that Louise’s presence allows her to return to work, these moments of “superiority” on Louise’s part undoubtedly grate on Myriam, highlighting her “lack” in terms of traditional, motherly, female roles.

“Paul is embarrassed, and that makes him angry. He blames Louise for having brought her poverty, her frailties all the way here. For having poisoned their day with her martyr’s face. He takes the children swimming.”

Paul’s irritation here highlights his discomfort when confronted with the class disparity between himself and Louise. Paul’s character is symbolic of a broader discomfort many people and society at large feel when facing these class issues. It’s easier to ignore them.

“Louise has a body that trembles under Paul’s palms and fingers. A body he had not seen or even suspected before, having considered Louise as part of the world of children or the world of employees. Probably he didn’t see her at all.”

Throughout the book, Louise is treated as an object and dehumanized by her employers. This line speaks to the “invisibility” of Louise—Paul fails to recognize her as a real, sentient, human being, with thoughts and feelings and a body. It takes the intimacy of the swimming lesson for him to grasp this. Myriam has a similar instance later in the book (Chapter 40) when she sees Myriam walking on the street on her own, in “her” world, not as part of the Massés’ world.

“The lawyer had portrayed Myriam as an ‘absent mother,’ an ‘abusive employer.’ She’d described her as a woman blinded by ambition, selfish and indifferent to the point where she pushed poor Louise too far.”

Louise’s defense lawyer’s argumentation exemplifies the way society judges mothers. Myriam is lampooned for being selfish and an “absent mother” while Paul is not even mentioned. Even Louise, the culprit of a horrific crime, is painted as a victim in comparison to Myriam. The defense lawyer's argument heavily implies that Myriam is to blame for the loss of her children, all because she wanted to go back to work.

“Louise really hates weekends.”

These brief words speak to how unhappy Louise is in her own personal life—or lack thereof. She has a terrible apartment and no close family or personal friends. Her need for an escape leads to her immersing herself fully in the Massé household, a dangerous mindset when the role of a nanny is so temporary.

“Now Louise and Mila each have a grievance against the other. This secret unites them as never before.”

These lines come after the moment where Louise and Mila have a physical altercation in the park. The secrecy creates a sense of foreboding, placing Louise at odds with Mila even though Mila is a young child and Louise is a grown adult (and her caregiver). Later, Louise breaks this unspoken agreement and tells Myriam about the incident. It’s heavily implied that she does so to shift the blame for her own violence onto Mila.

“I’m not a doormat, a slave content to clean up the shit and puke of little brats. Only black women do work like that now.”

Jacques speaks these words to Louise, providing an obvious example of the sexism that informs society’s views on “women’s work” like childcare and cleaning. Jacques’s disdain is all the more ludicrous given that he himself is unemployed and largely in debt. Even though Louise has a stable job, Jacques ridicules her as though she is beneath him.

“Louise, women like you—single women who hardly earn enough money to live—do not have children. To be perfectly honest with you, I think you’re completely irresponsible.”

Mr. Franck says these words to Louise before essentially pressuring her into getting an abortion. These lines exemplify the way he objectifies his nanny, taking her decisions away from her; they also show his condescending view of lower-class women, as if they exist solely to serve, not to have lives and families of their own.

“Something was dead and it wasn’t only youth or the feeling of being carefree. He wasn’t useless anymore. They [the children] needed him and he was going to have to deal with that. By becoming a father, he had acquired principles and certainties, things he had sworn never to have. His generosity had become relative. His passions had grown tepid. His world had shrunk.”

These words speak to Paul’s views on fatherhood. He expresses a similar sentiment to Myriam, specifically the complex feelings that come with being needed by children who depend entirely on them to survive. That kind of need creates a great deal of pressure.

“For the first time in her life, Louise sits on the sofa and watches someone make her a meal.”

These lines occur when Wafa, Louise’s only friend and confidante, cooks for Louise. They highlight the difficult life that Louise has had, with nobody to care for her. This moment also gives Louise a glimpse of the “other side”: the upper-class lifestyle of having someone else do a service for her.

“I’m well aware this is humiliating for you, but it’s not very pleasant for us either, you know.”

Paul says these words to Louise after he and Myriam receive a letter from the tax office, telling them they should garnish Louise’s wages to help pay their back taxes. His lack of empathy showcases a complete disregard for Louise as a person. He shows no concern for her, no desire to help her or treat her in a friendly way. Instead, he focuses entirely on the imposition: the fact that he and Myriam must acknowledge that Louise exists outside of their home, and that they must go through a hassle because of her actions.

“[Hector feels] an immense and painful relief. A feeling of jubilation, even. As if he’d always known that some menace had hung over him, a pale, sulfurous, unspeakable menace. A menace that he alone, with his child’s eyes and heart, was capable of perceiving.”

Hector Rouvier’s feeling that he barely escaped being one of Louise’s victims adds to the book’s sinister and foreboding tone. Here, the suggestion is that Louise could have “snapped” at any time. That kind of unpredictability is scary.

“It’s like the script of a bad horror film, he laughs.”

Paul says this to Myriam after the incident with the chicken carcass on the countertop. By this point, the narrative is in fact taking on the mood of a horror story. The reader already knows the murder is going to happen and is watching Louise unravel mentally, getting closer and closer to the terrible moment. Paul's flippant dismissal of Louise's alarming actions and Myriam's fear shows that he doesn't take the women in his life seriously. He thinks Myriam is overreacting because the idea of Louise as a true threat is ludicrous to him.

“Around the slide and the sandpit, she hears snatches of Baoulé, Dyula, Arabic and Hindi, sweet nothings whispered in Filipino or Russian. Languages from all over the world contaminate the babbling of the children, who learn odd words and repeat them to their enchanted parents. ‘He speaks Arabic, I swear! Listen to him. Then, with the passing years, the children forget. And as the face and the voice of the now-vanished nanny face from memory, nobody in the house recalls how to say ‘Mama’ in Lingala or the name of the exotic dishes that the nice nanny used to make.”

These lines speak to the temporary nature of the nanny’s role, offering a subtle critique. Parents entrust their children to, essentially, a stranger, who then becomes part of the family, but only in a superficial and ultimately forgettable way. That intimate “family member” is always temporary and almost never remembered after they—usually “she”—leave the household.