Top 30 Leila Slimani Quotes

I knew I wanted to write about a nanny, but it was difficult for me to find a narrative rhythm.

My two sisters and I had a very nice nanny at home in Morocco until I was 13. I remember my parents saying how she had insinuated herself into our family. They knew she would suffer when we broke away from her.

People are not born evil, although we all have evil within us.

I am not afraid of being a pariah.

Motherhood is not only something very pure and very full of love, it can be full of dark things, too.

The only way you can know someone is through their actions – you can never know what’s going on inside them.

My parents were lovers of books, and they raised us in a manner that viewed freedom and subversion as indispensable.

You have to fight against all the things that will keep you out of writing, because life doesn’t go with writing. You will always have something more important to do: you will have to take your children to school, you will have to cook something, you have to meet friends. But you have to fight if you want to write.

All fiction is based on truth – ‘Madame Bovary’ is based on a true story!

I love cooking shows! I’m not a bad cook myself, but I must say that I admire the creativity of those young chefs. It makes me jealous… and hungry.

I like anti-hero women. Negative female characters interest me.

One of the big mistakes of the Moroccan elite and the elite in the Muslim world was to be afraid of the conservatives. They are fighting for their ideas. Why shouldn’t we fight for our ideas?

I want to say that I can be Moroccan and speak about someone without speaking about his nationality. Because, you know, I have the feeling that when you come from Morocco, when you come from Afghanistan, when you come from Africa, Occidental people always wait for you to write a novel about identity.

As a mother, you’re only allowed to talk about the ‘good’ moments – not the ones when you’ve had enough and want to be on your own. Or just want to be a woman, not a mother.

You want your children to love the nanny, but at the same time, you want to stay the mother, and you want to be the most-loved. So there is a sort of jealousy between the mother and the nanny.

A nanny is a woman who lives in an apartment, but the apartment is not her own. She raises children, teaches them how to walk, how to speak; she gives them food – but these children are not her children. So she is in a very ambiguous place.

I remember that the first time I looked at my son, of course I felt love. But I think the first feeling was not love: it was fear. Someone is needing me. If something happens to him, what am I going to do? Maybe I won’t survive if something happens to him? The fear was as big as the love.

For me, it is freedom, freedom from everything: when I write, I’m not a woman. I’m not a Muslim. I’m not a Moroccan. I can reinvent myself, and I can reinvent the world.

I had a nanny growing up in Morocco, and my parents encouraged me to put myself in her shoes sometimes.

I remember, when I was a teenager, people telling me, ‘You know, when you are a mother, you will never feel lonely. You will feel so much love, and you will be fulfilled by this love.’ Then I became a mother. And I learnt that is absolutely wrong: you can feel very lonely with your children, even if you love them.

When I was a little girl, my first link to the world was as a reader. Sometimes, I feel a nostalgia for those times, for all the emotions I felt as a child – discovering novels, discovering Dickens, Balzac, or Dostoevsky. I wanted to be like those men.

Authors have a nationality; books do not.

Everyone asks me, ‘Why do you choose such subversive or shocking themes?’ but when I’m alone in my office, I’m not like, ‘OK I’m going to shock.’ I want to write about a character who fascinates me, someone who I don’t understand.

I like to describe my characters as though they were all trapped in a glass box.

I grew up in Morocco. I was born a Muslim, and, every year, I celebrated Christmas in a big white house in the country, halfway between Meknes and Fez.

‘Lullaby’ is about boundaries.

In Morocco, there is an insistence on authority. Children are not encouraged to speak up in front of their parents. My parents were not like this. I was the kind of girl who could tell her father, ‘No, what you are saying is totally untrue, and I don’t agree with you.’

It’s very important to say that French doesn’t belong to France and to French people. Now you have very wonderful poets and writers in French who are not French or Algerian – who are from Senegal, from Haiti, from Canada, a lot of parts of the world.

Human darkness fascinates me; I find it intriguing. And there are few female characters who are explored in this light.

I think maternal instinct is a male construct that has been used for centuries to keep women in their place, at home.