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A review by richardbakare
I Who Have Never Known Men by Jacqueline Harpman
5.0
Jacqueline Harpman’s now 30-year-old “I Who Have Never Known Men,” is a genre-bending masterpiece of a novel. It reads like a horror story rooted in patriarchal megalomania with a sci-fi backdrop. A quarter of the way in, you will not be able to put it down. It is profoundly imaginative and fluid in plot, dialogue, and pace. It reminds me of Plato’s allegory of the cave along with contemporary dystopian stories like “Silo” and “Severance.” Which all makes sense because the questions that Harpman raises in this book are deeply philosophical and universal.
The questions are made even more compelling by framing them from the perspective of a protagonist with a uniquely nascent worldview. The unnamed protagonist’s experiences ask us to grapple with concepts like how to frame a concept like freedom when we are so bizarrely constrained? We are made to look unflinchingly at a clinical-level of dehumanization that is not without historical precedence. A fact that the author’s Jewish heritage points to.
Building on top of that, we look at the broader list of characters and grapple with how one finds purpose, community, and belonging when you are turned into a grotesque museum exhibit? What is life without the social constructs, mores, interactions, and arts? For me, Harpman suggests that there is an innate inner spark that can be nurtured into a drive to exist. A position which reminds me of Descartes’ “I think, therefore I am.” In that, deconstructing existence to a simple kernel of the self could be a pathway to knowing your world. Even if only as far as the empirical evidence in front of you allows.
All this contemplation gets blown open by a miraculous event that opens up the world within the novel and introduces new forms of pain, isolation, and existential crisis. The second half felt like some new realm of Dante’s Inferno. It is shocking to me that this paradigm-shifting sci-fi and horror combination of a book has not occupied the cultural zeitgeist more. It is spell-blindingly gripping and challenges everything you know about what it means to be human. A must-read and a new favorite of mine.
The questions are made even more compelling by framing them from the perspective of a protagonist with a uniquely nascent worldview. The unnamed protagonist’s experiences ask us to grapple with concepts like how to frame a concept like freedom when we are so bizarrely constrained? We are made to look unflinchingly at a clinical-level of dehumanization that is not without historical precedence. A fact that the author’s Jewish heritage points to.
Building on top of that, we look at the broader list of characters and grapple with how one finds purpose, community, and belonging when you are turned into a grotesque museum exhibit? What is life without the social constructs, mores, interactions, and arts? For me, Harpman suggests that there is an innate inner spark that can be nurtured into a drive to exist. A position which reminds me of Descartes’ “I think, therefore I am.” In that, deconstructing existence to a simple kernel of the self could be a pathway to knowing your world. Even if only as far as the empirical evidence in front of you allows.
All this contemplation gets blown open by a miraculous event that opens up the world within the novel and introduces new forms of pain, isolation, and existential crisis. The second half felt like some new realm of Dante’s Inferno. It is shocking to me that this paradigm-shifting sci-fi and horror combination of a book has not occupied the cultural zeitgeist more. It is spell-blindingly gripping and challenges everything you know about what it means to be human. A must-read and a new favorite of mine.