I Who Have Never Known Men by Jacqueline Harpman
Haunting and thought-provoking. A strange and sinister tale of isolation, survival, and resilience. I Who Have Never Known Men left me with more questions than answers, but perhaps that is precisely the point. This is not a story meant to offer clarity or comfort, but one that urges you to sit with uncertainty and reflect on what it truly means to be human.
What do you become when your existence is limited to imprisonment in an underground bunker? When your long-awaited escape only leads to endless, empty plains with no sign of life, a different kind of prison altogether? Freedom, in this story, feels just as isolating as captivity, and hope becomes something fragile, almost abstract.
"𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦'𝘴 𝘯𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘪𝘴 𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦. 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘤, 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘯'𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘯'𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴, 𝘦𝘹𝘤𝘦𝘱𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘐 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘨𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘐 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦. 𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘺 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘯, 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦. 𝙄 𝙖𝙢 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙡𝙚 𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙨𝙥𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙤𝙛 𝙖 𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙚 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝 𝙄 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙣 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙞𝙩 𝙝𝙖𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙚𝙭𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙩. 𝙋𝙚𝙧𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙨, 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚, 𝙝𝙪𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙞𝙩𝙮 𝙞𝙨 𝙛𝙡𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙞𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙨, 𝙪𝙣𝙖𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙖 𝙙𝙖𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙤𝙛 𝙞𝙩𝙨 𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙞𝙨 𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙙𝙖𝙮𝙨 𝙞𝙣 𝙨𝙞𝙡𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚. 𝙏𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙬𝙚 𝙘𝙖𝙣 𝙙𝙤 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙞𝙩."
I will think of this nameless woman who has never known men from time to time and hope that, in some strange way, she would be glad to know her story has been read by hundreds of thousands. That she exists in our thoughts, fictional as she may be, and that her story lives on.
As the burn of electric light merges day into night and numberless years pass, a young girl - the fortieth prisoner - sits alone and outcast in the corner. Soon she will show herself to be the key to the others' escape and survival in the strange world that awaits them above ground.