49 pages • 1 hour read
I Who Have Never Known Men
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Themes
Curiosity Versus Expectations
Unlike her companions, the protagonist has no memories of life outside the bunker. The women often speak of the world they knew, but the child can barely create mental images of the things they describe, never having even seen a photograph. Upon their escape, therefore, the narrator’s and the women’s experiences of their new reality differ greatly, based on their degrees of curiosity about the new world versus their expectations based on their old lives.
When the protagonist first climbs her prison’s staircase, she describes it as “an intoxicating ascent towards the undreamed of, at that moment [she knows] not what, the outside” (70). Her mind is full of mysterious words awaiting corresponding images. Outside, she wants to let her mind linger on the sky but feels there is too much else to discover. She is overcome with curiosity.
Anthea’s first comment, however, is about her thwarted expectations that they would be near a city. She appears so anxious and confused that the narrator feels sympathy for her. Likewise, when the other women arrive, they all murmur about the strangeness of the land and appear terrified. Because they cannot recognize the location, they cannot recognize their liberation. This baffles the protagonist: In the vast plain fills the horizon, the women see a lack of civilization while the child sees limitless exploration and freedom.
The narrator watches an inertia overcome her companions when they do not find any towns. She notes, however, that she never expected to find anything other than what she had seen, cabins and wilderness. The women’s expectations transition from finding cities to finding an unlocked cage, evidence that other humans may be wandering the same plains. With time, however, they abandon those hopes as well and settle down, stopping their explorations.
When Anthea dies, the narrator reflects on how each abandoned expectation contributed to her companions’ deaths. Before dying, Laura tells the narrator that there is nothing to explore and that there are not even seasons in that world, which is untrue. The protagonist has never known any greater weather variation and appreciates small changes in elevation, foliage, and temperature. The narrator tells Laura they stopped exploring too soon. When the narrator is all alone, she notes, “I […] began the trek which I intended to continue as long as I lived, even if I did not know what I expected from it” (157).
The protagonist recognizes the danger of expectations and the death of curiosity. For example, when the road leads nowhere, she is disappointed but reminds herself she has only ever known absurdity and should not expect logic. Her energy wanes momentarily, but she recovers by designing a new path that expands her search area. The end of the novel leaves the question of whether anything remains to be discovered in the world open. It emphasizes the value of curiosity for its own sake because it enriches one’s life and experiences, not because it leads to answers.
Humanity and Interconnectedness
Denied affection in her formative years, the narrator is repelled by physical contact and intimate feelings. She feels detached from the women and often questions if she is missing part of what makes someone human, especially given the importance they place on relationships, sex, and motherhood. However, she exhibits an innate sense of a shared humanity that connects her, her companions, the other prisoners, and even their jailers.
When she begins thinking critically, she theorizes that “human beings need to speak, otherwise they lose their humanity” and that “[t]alking is existing” (29-33). Indeed, when she starts interacting with the women, she abandons her personal fantasies and seeks inclusion in the group, recognizing the value in those connections. Likewise, after their escape, she feels invited into their world and in return becomes a considerate companion.
Although she never feels warm or affectionate, she cares for the other women, helping the weak and ill. Being on the fringes of the group allows her to fulfill a unique role, as she helps the women transition from life to death through her mercy killings. Thus, her in-betweenness equips her to navigate the space between life and death that the other women cannot. Their strong group identity makes it impossible for them to consider killing even when they know it is necessary. Death is part of the human experience, and her role in honoring the dead further indicates the narrator’s connection with the women. Although she does not fully understand some rituals the women describe, she never questions the importance of ceremonies for the deceased. This applies not only to her companions and the corpses of the other prisoners but also to the busload of guards. She thinks, “I decided to bury the skeletons, for I wanted to show that whatever had happened to us, we belonged to the same kind, to those who honor the dead” (176). Honoring the dead, she learns, is a foundational aspect of humanity.
Living in a world where the narrator has encountered more corpses than living humans has oriented her toward death as a fundamental aspect of life. Just as the other women cannot comprehend their new surroundings, the narrator cannot understand a world in which she is not surrounded by death. This makes her reflect on the meaning of life and what it means to be remembered. Writing her story, she decides, will ensure that she and the other women live on.
At the end of her life, however, she feels she does not exist because no one has read her pages and she has no conversations. Grieving for Anthea, the narrator determines that she was in fact human and capable of love, despite her lack of experience with physical intimacy. However, given that humanity rests on interconnectedness, she questions if she can still consider herself human in her utter solitude.
The Intrinsic Value of Thinking and Knowledge
After escaping prison, the protagonist lives in a world where all her material needs are met. Food is plentiful and accessible. The climate is mild. There is neither an economy nor employment, and she does not fear enemy forces. Moreover, for nearly a third of her life, she is completely alone. Still, she has an innate appreciation for thinking and learning that is independent of any foreseeable application for her knowledge, and this quality sets her apart from her companions.
The narrator’s early childhood was spent in a cage where every day felt automated, but she says that everything changed when she started thinking. Her first memory is of being angry at the women for refusing to give her information that they did not think she would need. She repeatedly hears the phrase “What’s the use?” (116); when she asks about sex, for example, the women cannot understand why she wants to know about something that can never happen to her. Her inquisitiveness is one reason she feels different than the women, most of whom stop asking questions and only care about their immediate needs.
Even Anthea questions the point of discussing their imprisonment, saying it will not change anything. The narrator’s response indicates her association of thought with humanity: “No, but I’ll know what you think, you’ll know what I think, and perhaps that will spark off a new idea, and then we’ll feel as if we’re behaving like human beings rather than robots” (33). The fact that she knows to compare humans to robots means that the narrator has already learned about different kinds of existence and actively chooses a mindset that responds, adapts, and creates rather than reacts automatically, as if following preset programming. Unlike the other women, the narrator intrinsically values creativity, which leads her to write her life story.
The protagonist wants to learn everything, purely for the sake of knowing. For example, despite Anthea’s argument that there are no men, the narrator insists on learning about sex and reproduction. Likewise, when she finds the book on gardening, she enjoys reading it repeatedly despite knowing that she cannot apply its techniques in her barren surroundings. She considers the information “perfectly useless knowledge” that “embellishes” her brain, as if with jewels (177).
For the narrator, pure knowledge matters more than its application. For example, the time spent writing her life story is perhaps the happiest of her life, even though the story is not joyful and there may be no one to read it. When she finds the bus, she is grateful to have new discoveries, even if they only lead to more unanswered questions. Moreover, as a young girl, she has an internal debate over whether the art of storytelling is more pleasurable than the orgasms she wants her fantasies to produce. In the novel, like curiosity, knowledge is valuable for its potential to enrich one’s life even when it serves no practical purpose.
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