« Meurt seul, meurt sot » ? Expression and power in Kamel Daoud’s “The Meursault Investigation”

Throughout Kamel Daoub’s “The Mersault Investigation,” the abilities to express oneself and to be understood are critical ingredients in formulating and maintaining an identity. In this narrative so inextricably tied to the atrocities of the Algerian War, language becomes the very root of the central conflict, as the unnamed narrator attempts to create a unique legacy for their murdered brother, Musa.

For the narrator, this short story represents a chance to wholly ensure his brother’s continued remembrance as a unique individual, martyred in the Algerian War. He throws shade on Albert Camus, who so often treated the locals in his story as nameless pieces of decoration. In Camus’ “The Guest,” for example, Daru’s companion is exclusively labeled “the Arab,” without much of an identity at all. However, in Daoud’s piece, the narrator actively strives to differentiate Musa from the rest of “the Arabs” of Algeria, in order to prove his existence (2). Daoud’s work also jabs at Camus, referencing The Stranger, by beginning with the phrase, “Maman’s still alive today” (1). The similarity here is that, while the narrator’s mother is certainly alive, she no longer speaks. Even though she remains alive, she is powerless, unable to even prove that her son was murdered in public. The narrator laments, “How can you tell the world about that when you don’t know how to write books?” (13). This demonstrates the cruel contexts of Camus’ compositions: Camus scribed his novels with the undeniable privilege that people would read, understand, and respect his work, and for so many Algerian natives, that is just not the case.



It’s striking that the narrator’s mother’s goal is so tangible—she hopes for monetary compensation, and she attempts to extract it through the French bureaucracy (13-4). Whereas this goal is so concrete and logistical, it is symptomatic of the broader, intangible question that the narrator attempts to reconcile: What does it take to actually exist? The answer here appears to be formulated with twisted, colonialist, pseudo-Cartesian logic: To be able to fully express oneself as an individual implies that one has the capability to think—and only the proof of thought is enough to prove one’s very existence (In Descartes’ words, Cogito, ergo sum.). For Camus, this comes easy. He is trained in the language of his people, of the colonizers. Thus, he may both express himself and be understood without much of a problem. In contrast, by invalidating every other language, the French colonizers invalidated so much of the expression, and therefore, the very identities, of the Algerian native people. This is the plight of the narrator’s mother, and the reason why the narrator insists on learning French—to “speak in the place of a dead man” (1)—and to actually be understood.

Like many of the other texts we’ve read, Daoud’s work centers itself on expression, understanding, and the identity formation that follows. While there is much more work to be done in understanding the ultimate significance of language in maintaining a unique identity, specifically for oppressed, colonized people—What does it mean, after all, that we didn’t read this story in its original language?—I hope that this serves as a helpful continuation of such a long and important conversation.