Review: 'I Who Have Never Known Men' by Jacqueline Harpman

5/5 stars ⭐

Great title, right? That was definitely what first drew me to Harpman’s 1995 dystopian novel, along with the thought: a world without men? I wish. Needless to say, I stand corrected. This book is less of a traditional sci-fi and more a meandering meditation on all the absurdities of being a human on a random planet in the middle of an infinite universe, with no idea why or how we got here. Harpman may tackle this through the image of a women-only prison and said women’s subsequent freedom, but at its core, these are the questions she poses. And then, spoiler alert, does not answer.

You might be reading this and then looking bemusedly at my five star rating. Cait, if Harpman’s setting up all these pretentious philosophical questions and then answering precisely none of them, then what’s the point? How can the book be enjoyable? Well, obviously when we’re first introduced to this world – forty women in a giant cage, patrolled by silent male guards – we’re blissfully unaware that none of this will ever be explained. I was immediately taken in by the beautiful prose, expertly translated from Harpman’s native French, and spurred on by my desire to figure this whole thing out. It’s only as the book continues, and the women age, and they find no-one and no-one and no-one, that a creeping feeling of dread began to rise in me. Are we ever going to find out? What if we never do? But I carried on in denial. Surely, even if it was just a few lines on the final page, the mystery would be unravelled? Perhaps not all the way, but hell, right now I’d settle for just a fraction of the truth! At least for me, it was this inner battle that stopped me from being able to put this book down. And when I did get to the end, and I was left with the heartbreaking final image, I was struck by not only our main character’s dire circumstances, but how my own reading experience reflected hers. The loneliness, the search for meaning, the absurdity of her situation that demanded explanation yet was never given: I realised I am her, too, living in a world that’s so absolutely mental it’s absurd to think there’s no answer (hello, blobfishes and platypuses?? Hello, 300 foot redwood trees and snails that can change their sex?? Hello, race of super-intelligent hairless monkeys on a spinning rock???). And yet, we go on searching for explanations even when it seems we’ll never get them, and we can’t cope with the idea that perhaps there’s no answer at all. 

This is the crux of I Who Have Never Known Men. It’s a book that leaves you feeling sad, strange, but most of all yearning – yearning to understand the world Harpman has created, and by extension our own. I understand that this kind of novel may not appeal to everyone, since it’s slow-paced and devoid of any real action, but it sits right in my favourite niche, which is ‘books where a very talented writer crafts a gorgeously told story where not much actually happens’. I have read other reviews criticising it for ‘surface-level feminism’, but I consider that a misreading of Harpman’s intentions. It’s not a book about womenkind specifically, but about humankind. The fact it centres on a group of women to convey this is a feminist decision in itself, and I appreciate it for that. Overall, I’d highly recommend this if you’re into slower-paced thoughtful novels and don’t mind feeling a bit empty inside after reading.