The Perfect Nanny

The book’s first eight chapters set the scene, introducing the main characters via the omniscient third-person narrator. Chapters 1 through 3 in particular set up the main players of the book, pitting them as two oppositional forces: There is the Massé couple, Paul and Myriam, representing the upper middle-class French, versus Louise, the “lower class” nanny. Their polarity is represented in part by their homes: Paul and Myriam live in the 10th arrondissement of Paris, in the city proper, while Louise lives in a suburb—presumably because she cannot afford to live in the city. Later, it’s revealed that Louise has financial troubles and can barely afford her rent, even in this area.

Although Myriam and Paul are distinct characters, they are often presented in combination as a symbolic juxtaposition opposite Louise. Myriam, in particular, serves to explore themes of sexism, motherhood, and the way society treats stereotypical “women’s tasks,” like childcare. A lawyer, Myriam considers her desire to leave her children and return to work a “secret shame”, as she knows that society will judge her as a working mother. But society already judges her for being a stay-at-home mother, and Myriam fears that form of judgment, too.

Paul’s reaction lends credibility to Myriam’s fear of societal disapproval. He reacts negatively to her voicing her wish to return to work and tries to pigeonhole her back to the role of mother and nothing more, immediately asking, “What are we going to do about the children?” (12). His words show both surprise—that Myriam would consider doing anything outside of caring for her children—and disdain—that Myriam dares to desire more than motherhood. Other characters, like Mila’s teacher, echo these sentiments.

Louise’s entry into the Massé household means significantly more for Myriam than it does for Paul, since it gives Myriam the freedom to return to work. This also means that Myriam has a more complex relationship with Louise, who fulfills many of the domestic roles that Myriam herself dislikes: housekeeping, cooking, and, sometimes, childcare. While Myriam appreciates Louise, she also experiences guilt about letting Louise perform these tasks. In this early point in the narrative, however, Myriam’s gratitude for Louise outweighs the guilt. Mila’s birthday party is the prime example; Myriam is grateful that she can retire to her bedroom and that she doesn’t have to deal with what she sees as “ridiculous” preparations for a child’s party (39). Myriam trusts Louise to handle such tedious points because “[s]he knows that, as always, she can depend on Louise” (41).

Myriam’s version of motherhood—a working woman who loves her children but also loves her career—has a counterpoint in Myriam’s friend Emma. Emma doesn’t work and regularly posts beautiful photos of herself with her children on social media. While Emma is also a mother, she doesn’t seem to share Myriam’s fierce need for something that is hers beyond the household and appears more satisfied by traditional domestic life. Myriam is thus unable to share certain thoughts on motherhood that she has with Emma, notably her desire to not be needed by her children: “We will, all of us, only be happy, she thinks, when we don’t need one another anymore. […] When we are free” (38).

Overall, these first chapters depict a harmonious relationship between Louise and the Massé household. At the same time, these chapters hint at the tensions to come. Mrs. Rouvier's words in Chapter 2 foreshadow a later plot point, in which Louise becomes obsessed with the idea of Myriam having another child so that she can continue working for the Massés. Myriam’s character directly alludes to the book’s climax, which the reader already knows through the Introduction—the murder of Adam and Mila. While Myriam awaits the nanny as a “Savior,” she’s also afraid of leaving her children in another person’s care. On top of that, Myriam’s greatest fear is that her children will die.

The “Hand of Fatima” referenced here is the first hint the reader gets that Myriam herself is not a stereotypical Frenchwoman. This is later confirmed when it’s revealed that Myriam is a native Arabic speaker and an immigrant—and that she does not want a nanny who shares her language. Myriam wants to maintain distance between herself and her chosen caregiver because “[s]he fears that a tacit complicity and familiarity would grow between her and the nanny” (18).

Myriam’s prejudice is unique from that of her husband Paul’s. Myriam fears an innate connection with an Arabic-speaking nanny—one that, in her mind, might make it difficult to maintain the distance of an employer/employee relationship. Paul’s worries are more overtly racist. He discriminates openly and severely, listing all the sorts of people he doesn’t want caring for his children, adding, “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” (5). Paul’s logic is completely self-serving, as he seems to think that “illegal immigrants” might not act rationally in an emergency for fear of deportation. His other standards likewise lack any reasonable basis; they are simply openly ageist and racist. His use of the verbiage “those people” is also problematic, as he actively creates an us/them dichotomy, forcing immigrants into the role of “The Other.”

Taking into account Paul and Myriam’s unique prejudices, Louise does indeed seem to be “the perfect nanny” at first glance. She’s clean and orderly, she’s punctual, and she’s white and French. Louise also proves to be a hard worker, going well beyond the duties of caring for Paul and Myriam’s children—for example, by cleaning and arranging their apartment and “[turning] this hasty sketch of an apartment into an ideal bourgeois interior” (26).

Since the reader already knows how this relationship will end, watching Louise enter the Massé household sets a chilling tone. The narrative structure eliminates any mystery—there is no question that Louise is the murderer—instead building tension as the reader gets closer and closer to the moment of violence. The fact that the initial relationship is so harmonious makes the final outcome all the more unnerving. Knowing the conclusion, the reader is also attuned to the foreshadowing of what’s to come. When Louise tells the children fanciful stories, most readers would assume her tales are age-appropriate and lighthearted, with good morals. But Louise tells the children “cruel tales where the heroes die at the end” (31), a significant indication that Louise’s thoughts are already violent.

There are also hints at Louise being less gentle than she first seems in the games she plays with the children. For instance, when she plays hide and seek with Adam and Mila, Louise stays hidden so long that the children get afraid. Instead of coming out to reassure them, Louise watches their distress from her hiding place without remorse. The use of simile to describe Louise watching the children like she’s watching a dying fish is a horrifying image—and a direct allusion to the climax, when Louise will literally watch the children fight for life in front of her.