A long time ahead, in a world perhaps not that far away, lies the realm of dystopian literature — a genre notorious for ending up on the “banned books” list. Dystopian societies have long served as playgrounds for authors to experiment with the faults of man. From the totalitarianism of “1984” to the censorship of “Fahrenheit 451,” authors manifest these weaknesses in an exaggerated manner, allowing them to make bold statements about the world. Yet, this dystopian genre has historically focused on the stories of men, while the female perspective has been pushed to the side. So, in recent times, female authors have picked up where Orwell and Bradbury left off: They have begun to explore what it means to be a woman when the world is falling apart.
One of the most fascinating parts of a dystopian book is observing how it ages. Will its messages and imagined world hold up, or will it appear dated when the future arrives? To age well, these books must tell an indisputable truth about humanity, one that shines a direct light on not only the future, but also the present. Today, the themes of books by Orwell or Huxley still resonate with readers, but these novels, written more than around six decades ago, have benefitted from time. The decades since have provided the opportunity for humanity to change and, at times, prove these books right. Meanwhile, a large wave of dystopian feminist books from the ’80s and ’90s have only just started to receive the same kind of retrospective analysis. “The Handmaid’s Tale” has made its way into school curricula, and “Parable of the Sower” has gained immense popularity among Gen Z. However, the book I find most impressive is Jacqueline Harpman’s “I Who Have Never Known Men,” a dystopian feminist book that has not only stood the test of time, but has also set a standard for future novels.
The premise of “I Who Have Never Known Men” is undeniably intriguing. It follows 39 women and a young girl who are confined underground in a cage. The adult women remember their life above ground but have no memory of how they ended up in the cage. However, the girl was raised in the cage and has no experience of life above. Nobody knows why she was placed with these older women, but their age gap secludes her, as she feels like an outsider within their shared cage. Additionally, silent male guards monitor them and seldom interact with the women apart from providing basic needs such as food and clothes.
All of these women’s lives change one day when the guards suddenly leave, and a stroke of luck allows them to break free from their cage. Above ground, they are greeted by a world as vacant as the one below — with no humans, no society and no help. The young girl, who is never given a name, is forced to confront her own existence in light of the differences between herself and the others. While the others know what it is like to live in a different world, one with men, books and purpose, she has nothing to compare this empty world to.
So, what makes “I Who Have Never Known Men” a feminist story? Well, while the 39 grown women now lead void, monotonous lives, they were once subjects of a world much like our own, meaning their preconceptions of men likely come from a patriarchal society. The narrator (young girl) is the only character who has no past memories influencing her. However, the feminist message of the story ultimately does not come from the differences between the women and the narrator. Instead, it comes from the narrator’s realization that she is just as much a woman and a human as her companions. She has never known a different world, so she spends time discrediting and isolating herself from the others. Her environment has conditioned her to feel and experience as little as possible, desensitizing her from feeling normal, fluid emotions and the impending doom of her cage. But when she pushes past those barriers and gains autonomy, she recognizes herself among the other women, realizing that none of them are defined by who they once were, but by what makes them human.
While the premise seems disheartening, there is a great victory hidden at the crux of this story: a young girl gaining the freedom to exist. Seeking knowledge, having interactions and developing relationships seems useless, yet an innate human tendency ultimately leads the young girl to experience all three. Most importantly, she learns how to feel. To feel anger at her situation and the hopeless despair that lingers over her existence, but also to feel the inevitable grief that comes with loving:
“ … I was forced to acknowledge too late, much too late, that I too had loved, that I was capable of suffering, and that I was human after all.”
All of these emotions symbolize taking back control — not just over her life, but her mind — a message that will always feel powerful. She also explores concepts foreign to her that are natural parts of maturing, such as her developing sexuality, which she cannot fully conceptualize. Through subjects like these, Harpman boils down the core of every topic she explores, examining what brings joy and intrigue in a life that is so empty.
What makes a dystopia like this one so powerful is how accurate Harpman’s analysis of the mind feels. Many dystopias praised by modern culture tend to show intricate worlds, imitating exaggerated versions of our own. But Harpman’s book has no set time frame, location or context. And ultimately, the ending is ambiguous, forcing audiences to make do with the few plot changes they are given. But embarking on the narrator’s journey and exploring the thought process of this young girl makes the story stand out from competitors. Harpman has peeled back the layers of the brain and examined everything within. This approach is exactly the kind of feminist book readers need. It does not seek to understand the world around the young girl, but instead, the world of her own mind. Its feminism does not come as a result of societal inequality, but from exploring the female characters’ identities amid the absence of all external factors. This content is what makes “I Who Have Never Known Men” a prime example of a dystopian fiction that will never grow old, earning its claim to timeless vintage.
Daily Arts Writer Abigail Weinberg can be reached at weinab@umich.edu.
