I Who Have Never Known Men

The novel’s opening pages introduce the theme of The Intrinsic Value of Thinking and Knowledge through the protagonist’s confusion over why the authors of the books she reads justify their scholarship. She indicates her desire to learn, describing herself as “ignorant” and saying she feels like she is made of only unanswered questions. These statements foreshadow a major conflict in the narrative that follows: her frustrating quest for explanations.

The narrator’s rhetorical questions demonstrate her sense of ignorance but also her inquisitiveness. For example, she does not merely state (and accept) that she does not know something; questions indicate her continued contemplation, as when she says, “Is that what they mean by memories?” (10). Her delight in mental challenges also manifests in the unexpected joy of writing her life story, as she calls writing a difficult “obstacle.”

The flashback begins when the narrator starts to think critically, and her character development in this section centers on learning. Early, she is incurious and uninquisitive, thinking every day is the same. Exploring her own mind, however, fascinates her. She takes pride in the complex stories she invents, her theories of power, and her calculations of time. Here, rhetorical questions illustrate the inner workings of a curious child’s mind. Her mental processes make her “ambitious,” and the child’s transition feeds the theme of Curiosity Versus Expectations.

At multiple points, the child’s satisfaction from mental exercises parallels erotic pleasure. For example, she has an internal dispute over whether to elongate her elaborate storytelling or rush to the intended bodily sensations. Likewise, her first educational conversation with Anthea produces a lightheadedness that she associates with her eruptions.

This section reveals the protagonist’s earliest contemplations of sexual relationships, questions that continue throughout the novel. Here, the diction highlights the child’s naivete:

I went over everything I knew: kisses, which were given on the mouth, embraces, making eyes at someone, playing footsie, which I did not understand at all, then came seventh heaven—my goodness! as I had never seen any sky at all, I had no idea what the first heaven or any of the others in between were, I did not dwell on it (13).

Likewise, the narrator’s lifelong interest in Humanity and Its Interconnectedness is introduced through the childlike simplicity of her observations early in the novel. She never experienced privacy and is confused by the women’s abhorrence of public defecation: “If the only thing that differentiates us from animals is the fact that we hide to defecate, then being human rests on very little, I thought” (24). The philosophical implications of this observation resonate throughout the novel, as the narrator and the women try to piece together what has happened to their world. As an older woman, the narrator concludes that her ability to love and grieve indicate that she is human, suggesting that the essence of humanity is its interconnectedness rather than an intellectual abstraction. Concluding that every human life matters inspires her to write her life story and thereby share the stories of the women with whom she spent her life.

The narrator’s concept of a shared humanity also fuels her character development. Early in the flashback, the child is distant from the women and furious that they will not teach her. Anthea’s explanations not only satisfy the narrator’s requests but also provide insight into the women’s withholding of both information and care. This subverts a common trope of women as compassionate, maternal caregivers. Here, their attempts at compassion are punished, and this leaves them traumatized and withdrawn. After gaining perspective from Anthea, the child learns to empathize with the women, and this empathy later enables her to kill, a development that again subverts conventional expressions of female caregiving.

Physical touch is another element of human companionship that the women’s imprisonment denies them. Reflecting, the narrator laments that she could not hold Anthea warmly, and the flashback’s exposition includes the prison’s prohibition of interpersonal contact. The child senses the importance of human touch early in her imprisonment, such as when her fantasies of the guard’s embrace produce erotic pleasures. Likewise, she sees despair nearly throw one woman into another’s arms, and the narrator herself instinctively hugs someone during a moment of sadness. The cracking of the whip at that moment is an important plot point, as it causes the narrator’s later aversion to human touch and reinforces the women’s separation from the narrator.

Because the narrator remains an outsider in the group of women, she gains a unique, inquisitive point of view. When the narrator sparks rebelliousness through timekeeping, she enjoys inclusion in the group and even worries it will end. Still, she notes her sense of being different, as she can only listen to the stories of life outside the bunker, having no experience of it herself. Her body acts as a bridge between herself and the women. Part of the motif of timekeeping, the women gauge the child’s physical maturation to estimate the passage of time. Likewise, not having a mirror, the protagonist plans to track the young guard’s signs of aging to understand her own growth. This proves that even when care and physical contact are limited, humans still gauge their experience collectively. By counting her heartbeats, the narrator develops an internal clock that gives the women their own schedule, independent of the prison’s lighting cycles and mealtimes. This establishes the narrator’s body as a space of rebellion that neither the guards’ punishments nor the women’s rejection can destroy.