Exilic Struggles for Selfhood in Assia Djebar’s Le Corps de Félicie, by Christa Jones

But in practice, this concept does not work, at least not for Ourdia/Louise who comes to understand that for her, this means choosing between the two and she opts for her Algerian self and sheds her French identity by scratching her French name. Still secretely outraged at a name choice she considers an arbitrary and deliberate act on her parents’ part. Ourdia/Louise asks herself why is it that her two first names cause a split within her personality. In her inward journey towards lucidity and self-understanding she comes to realize that those two names place her as well as her seven brothers and sisters in a “no man’s land” (Oran 292). Sitting at her mother’s bedside she recalls the day when, as an adolescent, she confronted her mother on this subject, asking her why her parents had opted for two names instead of simply calling her Louisa, a “hybrid” name that is both French and Arabic, a name choice that would have spared her her classmates’ jokes. At the time, Félicie played down the importance of her two first names, arguing “First names, they are just words, what does it matter?” (Oran 294). Evidently, the name choice is of capital importance to her youngest daughter, giving her “two faces and two visages” (Oran 295). She demands clarity and unity, refusing to be “cut into little pieces” (Oran 295) –again the female body is at stake as suggested by the image of the severed female body. This is why she finally erases her French name completely even though it is the first name on her identity card, exclaiming that her name is Ourdia: “I will be Ourdia! Ourdia only.” (Oran 295). Ourdia displays a very nationalistic attitude, nationalism being an “assertion of belonging in and to a place, a people, a heritage” (Said Reflections 176), an attitude which fends off exile. An adolescent growing up in Algeria, Ourdia does not choose exile but opts for her Arabic heritage, claiming her Algerian nationhood solely, even though her mother chooses to ignore her youngest daughter’s choice and avoids using her first name, calling her “sweetie” and “my darling” (Oran 295) instead. It is only after the death of the head of the family that Félicie addresses her youngest daughter by her Arabic name: “Ourdia, my darling” (Oran 295). Thus Mohammed’s death, the demise of the head of family, the patriarch and only true Algerian was necessary to convince Félicie to call her daughter by her Arabic name. To a certain extent, Ourdia, the young girl who lovingly and scrupulously looked after her dying father fills the void left by his death.

Territorial choice also becomes an issue linked to their binary identity for the couple’s offspring who inevitably must make a geographical choice. Thus, four among the eight children decide to settle in Algeria while the remaining four move to France. This goes for Armand/Karim who opts for a voluntary exile in Paris, as well as for Yvon/Khellil who settles in Bordeaux. Among those who remain in Algeria, Kader/Jean and Ourdia/Louise are listed. Finally, there are those who change shores, in particular the eldest daughter, Marie/Khadidja, nicknamed “Kaki” (Oran 264) who, as Karim/Arman points out, “has definitely barred her Muslim first name” (Oran 239). In Marie’s case, it is divorce following her husband’s decision to wed a second, younger co-wife that brings about the final break with Algeria and all of its cultural bagage, including her Arabic name : “My name is Marie and I won’t call myself, thank God, Khadidja …” (Oran 306). She then starts a new life in Paris with her two sons, Nourredine and Halim. Within a year, she marries a Frenchman with whom she has another son called Alain. At the age of twenty-four, Armand/Karim decides to leave his natitve Algeria, eventually opening an antique shop in a ritzy Paris area. It is symbolically at his father’s funeral in the village of Béni-Rached that he says “Oran, as all of Algeria, is over for me” (Oran 243) proclaiming never to set foot again in Algeria. But when strolling through the streets of Paris, the antiques dealer becomes “an absent-minded stranger” (Oran 245). Armand/Karim fits the profile of an exile, involving dislocation, disorientation, self-

division and sporting the “qualities of experience that exile demands—uncertainty, displacement, the fragmented identity.” (Hoffman Transit 44). A “solitary man” (Oran 275), Armand chooses to have “no ties” (Oran 274) in the “Paris of [his] exile” (Oran 290) where he enjoys a freedom making up for all of his losses, including the progressive loss of the oranais Arabic he spoke with his father, which slowly “dissolves” (275). Unable to make a serious commitment, he plans to break up with his French girlfriend after five years of concubinage. A sense of exile accompanies him throughout his life, suddenly erupting at his mother’s passing when he cries out, “How [can I] avoid shouting at the top of my voice: “It is over!” in the Paris of my exile?” (Oran 290).

How to Dispose of Félicie’s Corpse

The main issue at stake in this story—apart from Félicie’s imminent death and her children’s identity problems—revolves around the question whether or not to inhume her corpse in France or in Algeria, a question that causes a heated debate among her children. Marie alias Kaki, the eldest daughter, selfishly wishes that her mother be interred in France so she can visit her and look after her grave. Those [siblings who have stayed] in Algeria, she argues, “already have father’s tomb ! At least we should have a little bit of our mother’s presence here, don’t you agree ?” (Oran, 303). Finally, Armand/Karim alias Titi makes the final decision arguing that if she had been asked for her opinion, she would have wished to be put to rest in Algerian soil, next to her husband. After Mohammed’s death, he recalled suggesting she leave Algeria and move into his Paris appartment, a thought that causes Félicie to cry out in protest: “But Titie, I can only live over there, in Oran … at home!” (Oran 277). Given that the eldest son gets to make the final decision on the matter, it is not surprising that it is also he who recites the chahadda, a prayer uttered by Muslims when death becomes imminent. Gathered around their deceased mother’s bedside, the children decide to split the cost to repatriate the corpse, ensuring Félicie gets a proper Algerian funeral. The transfer of the corpse certainly represents a financial and logistical challenge but more importantly, it is a very touchy subject on a personal, emotional, cultural and religious level. Apart from considerable red tape and bribing the consular to obtain the permission to inhume Félicie’s corpse in Algeria; again, it is the eldest son Armand/Karim who takes care of all this; the children are anxious to respect their mother’s wishes. They can only assume that she would have wished to become Muslim in order to be laid to rest in the matrimonial tomb. Hence, the corpse of the Christian Félicie Marie Germaine is declared Muslim and rebaptized Yasmina, a name chosed by her youngest daughter Ourdia/Louise. Washed according to the Muslim sunnite malékite rite in a small Parisian Mosque at La Goutte d’Or before embarkment, Félicie’s remains leave France as a French person. The identity change occurs when the ferrryman changes the sticker on the coffin, identifying the corpse as Yasmina Miloudi. Back in Oran, Yasmina alias Félicie has a traditional Muslim funeral, organized by Si Salem, the eldest brother of Mohammed Miloudi and close friend of Félicie. The funeral spans several days filled with vigils, prayers, meals, dances, trances and singing. In death Félicie not only joins her husband in his faith and grave but comes close to adopting the same ambiguous identity statute her children have had since birth, as remarks Nourredine, Marie’s son who was brought up by his grandmother:

Eh bien, intervient posément le jeune Nourredine, ma grand-mère va enfin faire comme tous ses enfants: elle a maintenant un prénom musulman, un autre chrétien, et elle peut choisir entre les deux, selon son humeur ! (310)

In a remarkable reversal of the situation, the woman who gave birth and imposed an ambiguous identitary statute on her eight children by agreeing to giving them an Arabic and a French first name is now subjected to the same treatment. But instead of receiving a dual identity, Félicie’s corpse is reduced to an Arabic identity—Yasmina Miloudi, wife of Mohammed Miloudi. Careful to respect the memory of the deceased, her children erase Félicie Marie Germaine’s name and past—in short her whole identity becomes linked to her adult life in Oran. However, this is a symbolic act, given that Félicie is dead and that it is only her dead body that crosses frontiers.

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1 Oran, langue morte carries a very personal note for the author to whom it represents a “chronicle of attacks, fears and warnings of some my relatives, friends lost or found again” (“Discours” 245). All of the stories describe the endless cycle of violence and the rise of terrorism in post-independent Algeria. More specifically, they refer to the killings carried out by activists of the O.A.S., murders which were directed at the Algerian society as a whole, targeting artists, intellectuals, politicians and writers alike. The book is split into two parts entitled “Algeria between desire and death” and “Between France and Algeria,” featuring seven short stories, a tale, a story [récit] as well as a postscript entitled “Blood does not dry in language”. Inscribed in the second part right before the postface, “Le Corps de Félicie” comprises five sections entitled “Armand/Karim”, “Ourdia/Louise”, “Palabres”, “Armand/Karim” and “The laughter of the buried”.

2 The name Félicie evokes Gustave Flaubert’s character Félicité from “Un Cœur simple” in Trois Contes (1877). Like Flaubert’s Félicité, Djebar’s Félicie is a servant somewhat out of place in her masters’ bourgeois household. Both characters have simple but good souls and are very religious, Félicitie more so than Félicie. This is how Flaubert describes his main character: “The story of “Un Coeur simple” is simply the story of an obscure life, [the story of] a poor girl from the country, a devout but mystic girl, devoted without exaltation and soft like fresh bread. She subsequently loves a man, her mistress’s children, a nephew, an old man she looks after and, finally, her parrot; when the parrot dies, she has him stuffed and when it is her turn to die, she mixes up the parrot with the Holy Ghost. This is in no way ironic as you might assume, but quite the opposite, very serious and sad. I want to make sensitive souls, counting myself among these, feel pity and cry.” (Trois Contes 16)

3 Consult Mireille Rosello’s article “Moh et Titi : “parler tout contre” dans Oran, langue morte” for an analysis of successful relationships between French and Algerians or mixed couples like Félicie and Mohammed.

4 In fact, the story mentions only seven children, unless Nourredine, Félicies’ daughter Marie’s eldest son, is included. Nourredine was brought up by Félicie and can thus be considered not just her grandson but also her son.

5 Armand/Karim’s reflections are a dialogue since he says “tu” (in contrast to his sister Ourdia/Louise, the narrator of the second chapter who says “je”) and monologue, given that Félicie, the narrataire, does not answer him.

6 We do not fully agree with Marie-Claire Chatelard’s somewhat over-optimistic assessment that Félicie’s and Mohammed children “tirent presque tous leur équilibre de leur double appartenance—sauf Marie qui a rejeté l’héritage algérien et même le prénom arabe lors de son divorce. Les autres restent conscients de leur frontière intérieure et l’assument, même si c’est douloureusement” (234). Louise/Ourdia in particular struggles with her dual heritage.

7 “The very idea of another side of the Mediterranean as the legitimate locus for literary culture raises explicit doubts about the assumptions underlying the traditional junction between narrative, language, territory. The competing issues do not take place between either a center (Maghreb) or the margins (France/Europe), but rather within the subject him-/herself. Regardless of the focus of the discourses, on ethnicity (Arab/Berber), on religion (Islam/atheism), on gender, on ideologies, or on social classes, Francophone writers are not in a ‘minor’ position. On the contrary, Magrebi literary works seek to demonstrate that it is not possible to essentialize one particular site of expression, or one value-laden struggle. ” (“Maghreb” 84)

8 Founded in 1961 by Pierre Lagaillarde, the OAS fought for a new and fraternel French Algeria. For further details see Benjamin Stora’s La Guerre d’Algérie, p. 60-1.

For a historical account read Benjamin Stora’s Histoire de la Guerre d’Algérie, p. 85-6.