“Aujourd’hui, M’ma est encore vivant” (Daoud 11). With this sentence, Kamel Daoud opens his novel Meursault, contre-enquête and at once establishes an intertextual relationship to Albert Camus’ L’étranger. Set in the liberated Algeria over half a century after Camus’ protagonist Meursault notoriously shot an Arab on the beach, the novel revisits the events from the perspective of the murder victim’s brother. Next to this preliminary reference, the latter novel is spiked with allusion, retellings but also commentary and criticism on Camus’ work.
As Daoud’s latter novel clearly takes up the earlier text by Camus, one could define their relationship as hypertextual, following Gérard Genette’s discussion of the term, and accordingly refer to the earlier text as the “hypotext” and the latter the “hypertext” (5). Further, Daoud’s novel is not merely a retelling, but it adopts and transforms elements and could therefore be classified as an appropriation, according to Julie Sander’s description that “the appropriation frequently affects a more decisive journey away from the informing source into a wholly new cultural product and domain” (26). Having established their unmistakable relationship, the question arises what insights might be gained for the understanding of either work when looking at them comparatively.
For my further discussion, I would therefore like to draw upon a concept that Per Linell describes as “recontextualization.” Simply put, recontextualization takes place when communicative elements are removed from their previous context and then inserted into a new context. Important to note is that recontextualization never entails a “pure transfer of fixed meaning,” but instead describes a “transformation of meanings” as elements are embedded in a new framework (Linell 155; emphasis added). Annjo K. Greenall and Eli Løfaldli expand on his concept and offer the term “cultural recontextualization,” which describes the transfer from one culture to another, through which “ranges of interpretative possibilities are activated according to dominant ideologies in various cultural contexts” (249). As Daoud’s work is both set in a different time and narrated from the perspective of a different culture, this theoretical concept provides a rich analytical tool.
By recontextualizing elements from Camus, Daoud therefore embeds them within a new cultural framework where they can unfold new meanings and meaning potentials. Based on this premise, the research question arises how and to what effect does Meursault, contre-enquête recontextualize some of the central elements of L’étranger in the liberated Algeria and from the perspective of the murder victim’s brother? Having examined the transformation of meaning that happens through recontextualization, I then hope to situate the notion of recontextualization in a larger framework of postcolonial scholarship.
To approach the extended research question, a three-part method seems apt: First, by means of a comparative analysis, I will shed some light on how Daoud recontextualizes ideas and passages from the hypotext. To accomplish this, I will both discuss general ideas that permeate the novels and juxtapose key passages by means of close reading. Thematically, I will focus on three main aspects: the mother-son relationship, the rejection of religion, and the murder scene. Second, I will try to situate the recontextualized elements within the hypertext and the new cultural framework. While it is impossible to exhaust all meaning potentials, the proposed interpretation should in an exemplary fashion show what possible meaning the transferred and transformed elements may unfold. At last, I will make some general reflections on how the novel may employ recontextualization to pursue a postcolonial agenda. As a theoretical lens for this part, I rely on Joanne P. Sharp’s discussion of Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak’s use of the ‘subaltern.
Being aware of Susan Friedman’s precaution that comparison invites to use something “to explain another instead of being seen as a thing itself” (754), in this analysis, I consciously instrumentalize Camus’ work to illuminate Meursault, contre-enquête. Further, it will be to no avail to merely point out similarities and differences, as these are already given by the undisputed hypertextual relationship. Instead, it is called for to situate the recontextualized elements in their own cultural frameworks. Thus, what Friedman would describe as a ‘juxtapositional comparison of collision’ seems a suitable tool. Through this method, she explains, the “distinctiveness of each is maintained, while the dialogue of voices that ensues brings commonalities into focus” (758). Further, by relying on Mary Layoun’s methodology, Friedman describes that this approach “sets in play different voices coming out of distinctive geohistorical and asymmetrical contexts” (759). When comparing the two works, it is therefore necessary to consider their communalities without losing sight of the situatedness of the recontextualized elements.
As the hypertextual relationship between the novels is undeniably strong, and the hypertext sometimes almost reads like a critical essay on the hypotext, it is questionable whether the latter work can be read entirely on its own terms. By further focusing on the already obvious aspect, one is in danger of dismissing the hypertext’s status as an independent work altogether. Elements that deviate from the hypotext might be given lesser importance or nuances and allusions are underplayed. Take as an example the mere two references to Robinson Crusoe that face 143 pages that all directly or indirectly converse with Camus. By nevertheless opting for a comparative approach, one is therefore ignoring the periphery of the text, that is, elements that do not stand in conversation with the hypotext. However, to approach the suggested research question and to better understand Meursault, contre-enquête as an appropriation, one is bound to accept this loss and instead focus on the central role that the connection to Camus constitutes. Only by looking at the works in conjunction is it possible to talk about how and to what effect Daoud’s novel employs recontextualization to create meaning.
Establishing the Hypertextual Relationship
To begin with, it might serve well to examine more closely how the two novels are connected and polish the theoretical lenses used. In her work Adaptation and Appropriation, Julie Sanders describes that an adaptation, despite a range of interpretative decisions, remains a specific version of the original text. An appropriation, on the other hand, is employing the source material more freely, and often “political or ethical commitment shapes a writer’s, director’s, or performer’s decision to re-interpret a source text” (2). Even though Daoud’s novel is heavily dependent on Camus, by no means does he simply retell the hypotext. Instead, it engages in a critical conversation with it, which becomes evident by, for example, this passage in the novel’s beginning:
Je veux dire que c’est une histoire qui remonte à plus d’un demi-siècle. Elle a eu lieu et on en a beaucoup parlé. Les gens en parlent encore, mais n’évoquent qu’un seul mort – sans honte vois-tu, alors qu’il y en avait deux, de morts. Oui, deux. La raison de cette omission ? (Daoud 11)
In light of the novel’s obvious connection to Camus, we can gather that its narrator, Harun, takes up the story of Meursault, acknowledges its canonical status, but at the same time criticizes its readership for ignoring his brother’s death. Ensuing, he insists on giving him a name – Moussa. For this to work, it seems that in Daoud’s fictional world both the murder had to take place and L’étranger was published; we must assume that Meursault is the murderer as well as the author.
By shifting the perspective from the French murderer to the brother of the Arab murder victim, and by revisiting the events over half a century later, Daoud makes the canonical text to his own and offers a new frame of reference. Returning to Per Linell, what the novel is doing could then be seen as an instance of recontextualization, as “selected parts of discourses and their meanings in the prior, ‘quoted’ discourse-in-context are used as resources in creating new meanings in the ‘quoting’ text and its communicative context” (155). To describe the transformation of the source material more accurately, Annjo K. Greenall and Eli Løfaldli expand on Linell’s notion of recontextualization and introduce the idea of different “levels of recontextualization” (240). For the study at hand, it can be particularly useful to work with the concept of “cultural recontextualization,” which describes the transformation of content from “one culture or set of cultural references to another” (249). In the case of Meursault, contre-enquête, Daoud shifts the events to the twenty-first century and to the perspective of an Arab. And even though it is impossible to make generalizing statements about a book’s readership, considering that L’étranger was published during the Nazi occupation of France, it is not too far a stretch to claim that also most readers today have different horizons and are therefore susceptible to different readings. By recontextualizing elements of Camus in a different time and from a different perspective, Daoud therefore opens them to new meanings and meaning potentials. As a next step, I will analyze three specific instances of elements that Daoud recontextualizes in his novel and show how they contribute to creating meaning.
Recontextualizing the Mother-Son Relationship
One central element in both novels that also leads to the estrangement of the protagonist is their relationship to their mother. Whereas for Meursault it seems to be her absence that shuns him from society, this seems to be the opposite for Harun, as her pervasive presence plays an important role in his alienation. However, upon close reading certain passages in Camus, there seem to be hints that Meursault’s mother has a more decisive influence on his identity than a superficial reading would reveal. These hints are then rendered explicit in Daoud. Recontextualizing the mother-son relationship allows making claims about how colonial rule might have contributed to Harun’s estrangement, and it can shed a new light on the hypotext.
Although the common reading of L’étranger posits Meursault’s indifference towards his mother, a closer analysis will reveal their mutual intertwinement. Admittedly, there are ample clues that point to his disinterest, like his failure to recall on which day she died, his behavior at the funeral, or the fact that he entered a sexual relationship a mere day later. However, one sentence in particular allows a somewhat more nuanced reading. Meursault claims: “Quand elle était a la maison, maman passait son temps à me suivre des yeux en silence” (Camus 44). Based on this quote, one could reason that he lived under his mother’s silent gaze and tried to free himself by sending her to the nursing home. Nonetheless, this does not liberate him, and, as Patrick McCarthy argues, he instead brings her furniture into his bedroom, which could indicate in a psychoanalytic reading that an “incestuous bond unites them” (30). Not having overcome this oedipal struggle, Meursault is therefore unable to separate his identity from his mother’s. Instead of being indifferent, McCarthy goes on, his “is an attitude of frozen defiance in the face of a mother whose death, like her life, menaces his identity and prevents him from going through a genuine mourning, that would liberate him from her” (30). With this reading, Meursault is even after her death still attached to his mother, and parts of his identity and motivations are defined against the backdrop of her presence, or the lack thereof.
After the murder of Moussa took place, these very subtle allusions in Camus are rendered explicit in Daoud’s novel and concede a much more active role to Harun’s mother. Harun explains that after the murder he was forbidden to wander away from his mother. This imposed attachment seems to pervade his whole narration, and there rarely seem to be moments where he acts without the influence of his mother, as even his murder of a Frenchman happens under her direction. Also the oedipal aspect, which required careful analysis in Camus, is expressed more directly when Harun says that when he was ill “elle veillait sur mon corps avec une attention frisant le péché, une sollicitude teintée d’un je-ne-sais-quoi d’incestueux” (Daoud 51). While these impulses technically originate from his mother, the effect remains same, and because of her vigilance, Harun explains, he was deprived of “des joies saines de mon âge, de l’éveil des sens et des érotismes clandestins de l’adolescence” (52), making it impossible for him to separate from his mother and establish his own identity. Harun carries this attachment to his mother throughout his life, and even after some encounters with women, he still claims that “[l]a vérité est que les femmes n’ont jamais pu ni me libérer de ma propre mère et de la sourde colère que j’éprouvais contre elle ni me protéger de son regard qui, longtemps, m’a suivi partout” (77). As seen, small allusions in Camus are reproduced much more obvious in Daoud, as Harun is unable to escape the watchful eyes of his mother. Consequently, he cannot emancipate himself and properly enter society, which makes him, corresponding to Meursault, an outsider.
This short analysis has shown that the distorted mother-son relationship of both protagonists can be seen as a starting point for their estrangement. To unfold the full meaning potential of this recontextualization, one should pay attention to how they are connected: in the hypertext, it is suggested that Harun’s mother only treats him so overprotectively because her first son was murdered. We know that the murderer was Meursault, or by extension, in a postcolonial reading, the French colonial rule. By recontextualizing their distorted mother-son relationship as a cause of the former, one can conclude that it is the colonial system that led to Harun’s estrangement from society and him eventually murdering a Frenchman. Further, by fleshing out subtle allusions that are present in Camus, one could say that Daoud offers his own take on the hypotext, and upon returning to it, a reader might discover new meaning possibilities.
Recontextualizing the Rejection of Religion
Another aspect both protagonists have in common is their rejection of God and religion to the general consternation of society. While Meursault is confronted by a priest in jail that tries to save him before his execution, an imam meets Harun in his old age. In both instances, God can stand for a higher meaning or the values of society, and their decided rejection cements their status as outsiders. By recontextualizing the question of God in the liberated Algeria, Daoud adds another layer of meaning possibilities, as Islam can be closely connected to the refusal of the French and the embrace of Algerian nationhood.
In Camus’ work, the encounter with the priest happens towards the very end of the novel when Meursault is sitting in jail and waiting for his death sentence. The priest enters his cell, but Meursault shows little interest in him:
[…] je me suis avancé vers lui et j’ai tenté du lui expliquer une dernière fois qu’il me restait peu de temps. Je ne voulais pas le perdre avec Dieu. Il a essayé de changer de sujet en me demandant pourquoi je l’appelais “monsieur” et non pas “mon père”. Cela m’a énervé et je lui ai répondu qu’il n’était pas mon père: il était avec les autres. “Non, mon fils, a-t-il dit en mettant la main sur mon épaule. Je suis avec vous. Mais vous ne pouvez pas le savoir parce que vous avez un cœur aveugle. Je prierai pour vous.” Alors, je ne sais pas pourquoi, il y a quelque chose qui a crevé en moi. Je me suis mis a crier à plein gosier et je l’ai insulté et je lui ai dit de ne pas prier. (Camus 97)
In the quoted passage, the priest tries to help Meursault finding some meaning in life or in salvation. However, Meursault dismisses this, as he does not want to waste his remaining time on God. Ensuing, the priest asks why he has not addressed him as father, which would acknowledge his role as the representant of the heavenly father. But again, Meursault answers that he is not his father, and thereby rejects any affiliation to religion or by extension society. At last, he expresses his anger at the priest, because the latter tries to establish his authority over him by integrating him into the community of believers against his will and thereby undermines his position as an outsider. With the psychoanalytic reading, his rejection of the father could also be seen as an affirmation of the mother and thus point towards to his inability of detaching from her.
When comparing this paragraph to Meursault, contre-enquête, the parallels are unmistakable, as Daoud retells the scene almost word for word but in the context of the liberated, Muslim Algeria. This almost verbatim transfer is further indicated by the cursive rendition of the text:
Un jour, l’imam a essayé de me parler de Dieu en me disant que j’étais vieux et que je devais au moins prier comme les autres, mais je me suis avancé vers lui et j’ai tenté de lui expliquer qu’il me restait si peu de temps que je ne voulais pas le perdre avec Dieu. Il a essayé de changer de sujet en me demandant pourquoi je l’appelais “Monsieur” et non pas “El-Cheikh”. Cela m’a énervé, je lui ai répondu qu’il n’était pas mon guide, qu’il était avec les autres. “Non, mon frère, a-t-il dit en mettant la main sur mon épaule, je suis avec toi. Mais tu ne peux pas le savoir parce que tu as un cœur aveugle. Je prierai pour toi. “Alors, je ne sais pas pourquoi, quelque chose a crevé en moi. Je me suis mis à crier à plein gosier et je l’ai insulté et je lui ai dit qu’il n’était pas question qu’il prie pour moi. (Daoud 150-151; emphasis in original)
In the same vein, society expects of Harun that he should try to seek salvation in something higher before his death. However, Harun also rejects the dualism between this world and the otherworld and prefers to drink wine in bars than wasting his remaining time on God. Similarly, the imam asks why he calls him “Monsieur” instead of “El-Sheikh,” which would recognize his position, but neither Harun accepts his religious authority and claims they are not even on the same side. The cultural recontextualization is further highlighted by the imam addressing him with “frère” instead of “fils,” which could indicate a different religious worldview. At last, the situation escalates as well when the imam wants to pray for him, but Harun does not want to be incorporated into the religious community.
Having analyzed how the hypertext very obviously relies on the hypotext, it is worth asking to what effect the recontextualization takes place. It seems that religion does not play such a vital role in the Algeria of Camus, as it does not seem to permeate society as openly, and any serious discussion only takes place at the novel’s end when Meursault is visited by the priest. In contrast, in the liberated Algeria of Daoud, Islam takes in a more fundamental position. In light of the Algerian War of Independence, Islam can be seen as a rallying point against the French and therefore constitutes an important element of national identity. By refuting Islam, Harun distances himself from the Algerian nation and not just the religious community. The recontextualization of the rejection of religion can therefore mark Harun’s lack of affiliation not only on metaphysical grounds, but it can also be seen as a criticism or dissociation from the newly independent state of Algeria.
Although the common reading of L’étranger posits Meursault’s indifference towards his mother, a closer analysis will reveal their mutual intertwinement. Admittedly, there are ample clues that point to his disinterest, like his failure to recall on which day she died, his behavior at the funeral, or the fact that he entered a sexual relationship a mere day later. However, one sentence in particular allows a somewhat more nuanced reading. Meursault claims: “Quand elle était a la maison, maman passait son temps à me suivre des yeux en silence” (Camus 44). Based on this quote, one could reason that he lived under his mother’s silent gaze and tried to free himself by sending her to the nursing home. Nonetheless, this does not liberate him, and, as Patrick McCarthy argues, he instead brings her furniture into his bedroom, which could indicate in a psychoanalytic reading that an “incestuous bond unites them” (30). Not having overcome this oedipal struggle, Meursault is therefore unable to separate his identity from his mother’s. Instead of being indifferent, McCarthy goes on, his “is an attitude of frozen defiance in the face of a mother whose death, like her life, menaces his identity and prevents him from going through a genuine mourning, that would liberate him from her” (30). With this reading, Meursault is even after her death still attached to his mother, and parts of his identity and motivations are defined against the backdrop of her presence, or the lack thereof.
After the murder of Moussa took place, these very subtle allusions in Camus are rendered explicit in Daoud’s novel and concede a much more active role to Harun’s mother. Harun explains that after the murder he was forbidden to wander away from his mother. This imposed attachment seems to pervade his whole narration, and there rarely seem to be moments where he acts without the influence of his mother, as even his murder of a Frenchman happens under her direction. Also the oedipal aspect, which required careful analysis in Camus, is expressed more directly when Harun says that when he was ill “elle veillait sur mon corps avec une attention frisant le péché, une sollicitude teintée d’un je-ne-sais-quoi d’incestueux” (Daoud 51). While these impulses technically originate from his mother, the effect remains same, and because of her vigilance, Harun explains, he was deprived of “des joies saines de mon âge, de l’éveil des sens et des érotismes clandestins de l’adolescence” (52), making it impossible for him to separate from his mother and establish his own identity. Harun carries this attachment to his mother throughout his life, and even after some encounters with women, he still claims that “[l]a vérité est que les femmes n’ont jamais pu ni me libérer de ma propre mère et de la sourde colère que j’éprouvais contre elle ni me protéger de son regard qui, longtemps, m’a suivi partout” (77). As seen, small allusions in Camus are reproduced much more obvious in Daoud, as Harun is unable to escape the watchful eyes of his mother. Consequently, he cannot emancipate himself and properly enter society, which makes him, corresponding to Meursault, an outsider.
This short analysis has shown that the distorted mother-son relationship of both protagonists can be seen as a starting point for their estrangement. To unfold the full meaning potential of this recontextualization, one should pay attention to how they are connected: in the hypertext, it is suggested that Harun’s mother only treats him so overprotectively because her first son was murdered. We know that the murderer was Meursault, or by extension, in a postcolonial reading, the French colonial rule. By recontextualizing their distorted mother-son relationship as a cause of the former, one can conclude that it is the colonial system that led to Harun’s estrangement from society and him eventually murdering a Frenchman. Further, by fleshing out subtle allusions that are present in Camus, one could say that Daoud offers his own take on the hypotext, and upon returning to it, a reader might discover new meaning possibilities.
Recontextualizing Murder
At last, both protagonists end up murdering another man that is either Arab of French. Upon juxtaposing and close reading the two murder scenes, it should become clear how Harun’s identity seems to merge with Meursault’s. Recontextualizing this scene can also point to the shift of power that happened in Algeria. However, by reversing the imagery, Daoud makes the material to his own and indicates the different position his protagonist is coming from.
In L’étranger, Meursault describes just before approaching the Arab: “J’ai pensé que je n’avais qu’un demi-tour à faire et ce serait fini” (Camus 69). Compare this to Harun’s inner monologue: “‘Je n’ai qu’à faire demi-tour et ce sera fini’, me dis-je sans y croire un seul instant” (Daoud 94). Then, returning to the hypotext, Meursault describes how he moved towards the Arab for no good reason:
A cause de cette brûlure que je ne pouvais plus supporter, j’ai fait un mouvement en avant. Je savais que c’était stupide, que je ne me débarrasserais pas du soleil en me déplaçant d’un pas. Mais j’ai fait un pas, un seul pas en avant. Et cette fois, sans se soulever, l’Arabe a tiré son couteau qu’il m’a présenté dans le soleil. La lumière a giclé sur l’acier et c’était comme une longue lame étincelante qui m’atteignait au front. Au même instant, la sueur amassée dans mes sourcils a coulé d’un coup sur les paupières et les a recouvertes d’un voile tiède et épais. Mes yeux étaient aveuglés derrière ce rideau de larmes et de sel. Je ne sentais plus que les cymbales du soleil sur mon front et, indistinctement, le glaive éclatant jailli du couteau toujours en face de moi. (Camus 69)
When Meursault moves towards the Arab, the latter seems to draw a knife. Dazzled by the reflection of the knife and the sweat in his eyeballs, Meursault is blinded and eventually shoots him. Interestingly enough, as Meursault is suffering from a stroke, it is never quite clear whether he is a reliable narrator and the Arab actually drew a knife. If we compare this scene to Daoud’s description, the parallels become striking, as he falls back on a very similar imagery, although inverted:
J’ai avancé de quelques pas, et j’ai ressenti mon corps se cabrer de refus. J’ai voulu forcer cette résistance, j’ai fait un pas de plus. C’est alors que le Français a bougé – ou peut-être ne l’a-t-il même pas fait –, il s’est replié dans l’ombre vers le coin le plus reculé du hangar. Devant moi, tout était ombre et chaque objet, chaque angle, toutes les courbes se dessinaient avec une confusion insultante pour la raison. Parce qu’il avait reculé, l’obscurité dévora ce qui restait de son humanité, je ne voyais plus que sa chemise qui me rappela son regard vide du matin – ou de la veille, je ne savais plus. (Daoud 94-95)
Instead of approaching the Frenchman by accident, as Meursault did with the Arab, Harun actively wants to approach him but has to fight an inner resistance. Instead of drawing a knife, the Frenchman retreats even further. And instead of being blinded by the light, Harun does not see anything because of the darkness. Furthermore, the sentence in italics is an inversion of a different passage in the hypotext, where Meursault describes his mother’s nursing home as “il n’y avait pas une ombre” (Camus 46). In Daoud’s passage, there is even a small allusion to the incertitude of the Arab having drawn his knife when Harun questions whether the Frenchman moved at all. However, just as happened to Meursault, Harun ends up pulling the trigger and shooting the other man. What this juxtaposition shows is that Daoud incorporates various elements of Camus but transforms them for his own use.
The recontextualization of this reversed key passage can point to the shift in power that has been going on since the Algerian War of Independence. Whereas before the colonial rulers could treat the Arab population as lesser citizen, now it is the Arabs that can kill the French with impunity. The only reason Harun is taken to jail afterwards is because he has not participated in the liberation and is thus seen as suspicious. His murder can also be read as the final crossing of the threshold that makes him to a stranger and connects his destiny to Meursault’s; a process which has been started by the murder of his brother.
Also, by inverting the source material, Harun is presented as a counterpart to Meursault. As a white Frenchman, the latter comes from a privileged social group and has shot an Arab without any good reason. The murder is committed in broad daylight, and Meursault seems to be blinded by too much light. Harun, on the other hand, was part of the marginalized group. When he pulls the trigger, it is a conscious decision, even though he feels an intuitive resistance. As the power hierarchy has been turned upside down, it seems that by murdering this random Frenchman, Harun settles a score. In contrast to Camus’ passage, the scene is described in shades of darkness. This could point to his former position in society, as the light –metaphorically speaking – did not reach the Arab population and made them invisible. The murder of the Frenchman can then be an indication that the marginalized group has risen and makes up for the inflicted injustices.
Reflections on Recontextualization and the Subaltern
Having outlined how and to what effect these recontextualizations take place, I will examine on a more general level how the notion of recontextualization can align with the possible postcolonial agenda of Daoud’s novel. It should then become clear that recontextualization constitutes an essential element for the self-representation of marginalized groups within the domains of the dominant society.
For the following discussion, the notion of the ‘subaltern’ may provide a suitable theoretical lens. I borrow the term from Joanne P. Sharp’s discussion of Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak’s seminal essay “Can the Subaltern Speak?” Sharp explains that colonial attitudes live on through the “dominance of western ways of knowing” (110). The subaltern are the ones that do not have access to this discourse of knowledge – Sharp uses discourse in the Foucauldian sense – as their ways of knowing do not correspond to Western models, and they are therefore unable to represent themselves within the dominant society. To be heard and to be taken seriously, Sharp explains, “others must also adopt western thought, reasoning and language.” However, because the subaltern’s thoughts first have to be rendered through this foreign language, they are in itself “always already interpreted” (111). From this discussion, it can be concluded that for the subaltern group to express itself, they must first adopt and appropriate the hegemonic forms of knowledge for their own use.
This process can be clearly observed in Daoud’s appropriation of L’étranger. As quoted earlier, Harun asks why it is that one dead man is repeatedly left out from the story. He answers the question himself by adding that the first “savait raconter,” whereas his brother was a “pauvre illettré” (Daoud 11). These characterizations point towards the latter’s inability to create any meaning within the dominant discourse of knowledge, because of which the former gains the absolute power to signify. Also Harun’s mother, it seems, is in a position of the subaltern, as her language is “riche, imagée, pleine de vitalité, de sursauts, d’improvisations à défaut de précision” (47), and therefore she cannot contribute to or even access the original story. Due to the subaltern’s position on the periphery of discourse, the original story has hitherto not been refuted and falsehoods or omissions remained unquestioned.
Because he wants to give his own rendition of what happened, Harun then explains, he needed to learn the oppressor’s language: “C’est d’ailleurs pour cette raison que j’ai appris à parler cette langue et à l’écrire ; pour parler à la place d’un mort, continuer un peu ses phrases” (11-12). Not only does he need to learn French to be understood, he also needs to learn how to speak and write it eloquently enough that he is taken seriously by the western standards of knowing. As the subaltern, Harun must therefore draw on the oppressor’s language and recontextualize it in this new context. This is beautifully described in the novel’s opening and can almost be read as a manifesto: “je vais faire ce qu’on a fait dans ce pays après son indépendance : prendre une à une les pierres des anciennes maisons des colons et en faire une maison à moi, une langue à moi. Les mots du meurtrier et ses expressions sont mon bien vacant” (12; emphasis in original). While this can certainly refer to the French language, the quote also opens another layer of meaning: the fact that the story is told through the framework of Camus’ novel can by itself be seen as an act of drawing on the colonizer’s language and rendering it understandable to him, as the work is a familiar frame of reference and an accepted, even canonized form of knowing. In quite practical terms, one can speculate whether Daoud’s novel would have reached such a wide readership and made it on the syllabus of university courses were it not for its reconsideration of one of the hallmarks of the Western literary canon. Through learning and applying both French and Camus’ work, the narrator in Meursault, contre-enquête is therefore able to recontextualize them and create new meanings that are accessible within the hegemonic discourse of knowledge.
Conclusion
Through a comparison of Kamel Daoud’s Meursault, contre-enquête and Albert Camus’ L’étranger, it has been possible to show how important elements have been recontextualized and transformed in the newer novel. The thematic focus has been on both novels’ treatment of the mother-son relationship, the rejection of religion and the murder scene. A close reading of both texts has allowed to demonstrate where the appropriation remains loyal to the hypotext and where it deviates. Further, with the theoretical framework of Greenall and Løfaldli, some explanatory approaches could be given to what new meaning possibilities the recontextualization of Camus’ opens. The ensuing discussion has mostly focused on themes around the repercussions of colonialism and the Algerian liberation. At last, through the lens of Spivak’s notion of the subaltern, it was possible to illustrate how the concept of recontextualization can give the oppressed a voice by appropriating elements of the dominant discourse. In Meursault, contre-enquête, this happens through the narrator’s declaration to learn the language of the oppressor, which can both be understood as the French language but also the canonized novel L’étranger. Words: 4’397
Works Cited
Camus, Albert. L’étranger. 1942. Routledge, 2005.
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