Halo, gdzie są jakieś odpowiedzi?

This is a question that lingers in my mind as I finish reading. I find myself in a state of contemplation, trying to figure out the true nature of what I have just perused.

Wrócę do opinii, póki co muszę przemyśleć to, co właśnie przeczytałam. I czy było to tylko rewelacyjne czy już genialne. I will return to my opinion, for now, I must think about what I have just read. Was it just revelatory or truly genius?

The words seem to dance in my head, challenging me to make a judgment. I weigh the pros and cons, consider the different perspectives.

Maybe it was a combination of both, a rare gem that combines the power of revelation with the brilliance of genius. Or perhaps it was something more, something that defies easy categorization.

As I continue to reflect, I know that my opinion will evolve. But for now, I am content to let the words soak in and see where they lead me.

Let's be honest—this book is massively depressing, definitely not a light, airy beach read. However, the sorrowful journey it takes us on is filled with profound meaning.

I Who Have Never Known Men begins with 40 ladies trapped in a bunker. The youngest one, who doesn't remember anything about Before, is simply called The Child by the women. Until one fateful day, they manage to escape.

As an American living in a country largely centered on capitalistic greed, most stories we encounter are structured around the longing to achieve a goal, achieving that goal, and then everyone living "happily ever after." But that's not the case in this book.

Even after obtaining freedom, it isn't all rainbows and sunshine for the women. Their newfound freedom brings with it a host of challenges and questions.

This book would make an excellent book club book because there are several thought-provoking questions and topics that would be fascinating to explore. For example, why was The Child called that instead of something like The Legacy or The Future or The Truth or The Hope? How did her identity change over time? Also, when the women were "freed," they decided to construct a bathroom for privacy. Why did they choose this particular ritual from Before to resurrect? Are they recreating Before or intentionally creating a Now?

Another interesting question is what symbol the group of women should choose to represent their group. What symbol would you have chosen and why? And what symbol do you think a group of men would choose? Additionally, time is measured internally by heartbeats instead of planetary objects in this story. Should life be viewed in different units of time? How else did the women take on a sense of control even while in captivity?

Once "free," the ladies attribute their liberation to luck rather than their own cleverness. Even when The Child discovers a group of dead guards, she assumes it was due to bad luck. Is the concept of otherness something that is learned? Do you think The Child lets the guards off too easily? And who else thought that aliens were going to pop out at any minute?

The Green Light at the End of the Dock (How much I spent): Softcover Text – $9.54 on eBay. Audiobook – 1 Audible Credit (Audible Premium Plus Annual – 24 Credits Membership Plan $229.50 or roughly $9.56 per credit).

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I found myself in a rather dull situation.

I just kept waiting for something interesting to occur, but it seemed like it was never going to happen.

It was almost comical in a way, as I sat there, anticipation building up inside me, only to be met with disappointment time and time again.

There was no excitement, no drama, just plain old nothingness.

I couldn't help but let out a little laugh at the absurdity of it all.

Maybe this was just one of those days when fate decided to play a trick on me and keep all the interesting things out of my reach.

But still, I held onto a glimmer of hope that something would eventually come along and break the monotony.

Until then, I would just have to continue waiting, albeit with a slightly amused expression on my face.

Lmao, indeed.

For a very long time, the days went by, each one just like the day before. It was a monotonous routine that seemed to have no end.

Then I began to think, and everything changed. I found myself in a turmoil of emotions that I couldn't quite put into words. I kept writing and deleting, trying to find the right way to describe my feelings, but nothing seemed enough. There were so many unanswered questions, yet still, my heart ached.

I remember reading those words: 'There's no point rebelling. We must just wait until we die.' It made me feel so helpless and hopeless. And the thought that being beautiful was for the men, that to be loved by others, you had to be beautiful, it cut deep.

Another time, the keys had fallen within two metres of the bars. The image of seeing them but not being able to reach them was truly dreadful. That two meters had such a profound impact on me that I cried and stared at the wall for half an hour.

This is my roman empire, a place filled with pain and longing. But despite it all, I still have a glimmer of hope. I was forced to acknowledge too late that I too had loved, that I was capable of suffering, and that I was human after all.

~~~~

Wish I never knew men either. But anyways, I'm excited for what's to come.

I am not okay. Full RTC.

Pre-read

The title!! #needthat

Anyway, I'm aware that I have over 50 library books out right now and I should probably finish my other CR (not Middlemarch). Also, I have like 30 reviews to write lol.

BUT I bought this and it looked so sexily succinct while sitting on my shelf. I have to read it. I'm seduced. I already know this will be life changing. I'm in my existentialist era!!

Right now, I find myself in a bit of a pickle. I have a mountain of library books that I really should be getting through. There are those 50 plus books just waiting for my attention, and I know I should focus on finishing my other CR work. But then, there's this new book that I purchased. It sits there on my shelf, looking so alluring and concise. It's like it's calling out to me, seducing me with its presence. I can't resist. I just have to read it. I'm convinced that this book is going to be a game-changer, something that will have a profound impact on my life. After all, I'm currently in my existentialist era, and I'm eager to explore new ideas and perspectives. So, despite my other obligations, I'm going to give in to the temptation and dive into this new book.

I started and finished this book in an hour and a half.

“I cannot mourn for what I have not known.” This profound statement is just one of the many thought-provoking elements in the book.

My biggest takeaway from this book, which I want to emphasize (and there are numerous takeaways, meanings, and points that the author was attempting to convey), is the glimmer of hope that the narrator instills in you throughout the entire story, despite all the bleakness and desolation. I truly believe that this is the point that has had the most profound impact on me and will continue to stay with me.

There are countless ways to interpret "I Who Have Never Known Men." For example, the significance of how these 40 women, who became "free," simply traded one prison for another. What it means to be human. And the significance of the narrator's contentment, which she never achieves as she is constantly on the hunt for more information and answers. This sets the pace of the book in such a way that you can't help but feel as if you are experiencing the same emotions as the characters, always wanting more and never feeling satisfied.

This is a true masterpiece in fiction, with a plot that focuses on several different ideals such as the concept of loss, desolation, and understanding the psychology of women. The book was extremely well-written, holding my attention from start to finish. I truly believe that I will never forget the events that took place within these pages for the rest of my life.

“No, this country belongs to me. I will be its sole owner and everything here will be mine.” This powerful statement further emphasizes the themes and ideas presented in the book.

I was compelled to admit, far too late, much too late indeed, that I too had loved, that I was capable of enduring suffering, and that I was human after all.

Wow. I entered into this book with no prior knowledge and was completely astonished by it. "I Who Have Never Known Men" is a deeply haunting story that grapples with the profound questions, yet offers no solutions. It can be frustrating in certain parts, but its scope is truly epic. This is not an action-packed post-apocalyptic dystopia; rather, it is the profound treatise of one woman who is confined in a bunker with thirty-nine older women until, one day, their world undergoes a transformation.

Do not read anything further about it. Approach this book blindly. And make sure to read the new introduction at the end, once you have finished (it really should have been published as an afterword).

It is truly haunting.

It is of great significance to note that the majority of the themes delved into within this book pertain to sensitive subject matters. Consequently, my review also touches upon these topics. Many individuals might find the subject matters of the book, as well as those detailed in my review, to be overwhelming. If such is the case, I would suggest that you avoid both. Please be aware that from this point forward, I will be writing about matters that involve reflections on suicide, euthanasia, physical deterioration due to illness, and others.

The unnamed narrator writes to us on papers concealed within a bunker, presumably maintained there to house the invisible puppeteers who govern the world she traverses; obliviously cataloguing the bushes, water streams, and lifelessness that cross her path during her daily journey. However, at the end, when she has learned to read, write, and reflect upon everything that has occurred in her life—desolate, solicitous, hollow, and muted—the narrator harbours no ill will towards the questions that have exceeded the capacity of a human to carry things left unsaid.

In this book, the reader discovers a story from the perspective of a person without a name as she recalls the years of her life spent in a world that she cannot fathom nor are there any clues to explain it. This makes writing this review a challenging task for me. Where is there a solid starting point when critiquing a piece of work that has beautifully painted a landscape that the mind automatically fills with the normalcy we observe in our own, yet promptly and毫不留情地 reminds us that everything we cherish is no longer accessible to us in this realm? How does one put into words what Harpman has accomplished so exceedingly well with the human vernacular; communicating in such an outstanding manner the empathy one feels for familiarity in such extreme and unfathomable situations?

As always, I shall attempt to begin at the beginning, as there seems to be no other place to commence.

The narrator of this book is introduced to the reader as she approaches the conclusion of her memoir. Having found herself in what we come to recognize and know as a bunker of sorts, she sits within the rooms that have been known to her throughout the later years of her life as a home, and recollects the events that led her to where she is. Having been taken from an original place that she cannot recall, along with 39 other women, the narrator grows to approximately the age of 14 or 15 in a prison cell. Although it appears that Harpman has described a prison cell, the likes of which I cannot truly envision, she has provided the reader with sufficient details to understand that the place where all these women live is nothing but scarce and demeaning.

This is the first point of praise that I would like to offer to Harpman. Her unwavering and unfaltering ability to describe a world that seems—for all intents and purposes—desolate, while simultaneously enabling the reader to envision a world that is vast and overwhelming, is superb. The words utilised throughout this book and the prose designated to craft the story are exquisite. I have no doubt that Harpman recognised that one does not need to present eternally long and tongue-twisting words to describe the catatonic emotions and experiences of all the characters within this story. A true talent with words resides in the mind of the individual who can purposefully utilise vocabulary in such a way as to captivate every person with ease.

The women who inhabit this prison cell have lost most of their memories of the lives they led prior to their captivity. The reader gleans moments of small reflection upon which the characters seem to hold fond feelings; a marriage to a kind man, children that they loved, the hopes they held for career growth, and the social rules they adhered to. The impoverished recollections immediately lead the reader to feel a longing for further information and details, neither of which are ever granted to us. So much is conveyed with so little. Instantaneously, we are given the opportunity to feel nostalgia for all the darkened memories we hold within our own minds. Just as the women in the prison cell, we too hold things in the recesses of our minds that we cannot quite bring to the forefront. Suppose someone were to ask us what life was like prior to this very moment and ask us to describe in vivid details everything that transpired; how would we go about doing that?

Each of the women believes that their experiences or abilities to recall their past lives—the lives they led before being imprisoned—have been forcibly altered. They do not believe that they have simply forgotten what they experienced due to the passage of time, but rather that someone has been poisoning them; their memories forcefully shadowed into places their minds cannot reach. We are never given confirmation or a denial of these assumptions as it does not ultimately determine the weight of the plot for the reader to have everything explained in formulaic reasoning. It suffices for the reader to know that the happiness they felt within their bones has been stolen from them, replaced with the singular existence they share in the cell.

39 women reside in a prison cell and are prohibited from touching, crowding together, and simultaneously have no privacy when using the toilet. The use and threat of violence have kept them submissive to this way of life, one that is contrary to what has come to be known as the necessities of human existence. The narrator herself has grown into her teen years without being caressed or coddled; never truly developing a longing for human contact, she retains the inmate impulse to seek out the reciprocity of another person. When the cataclysmic event occurs, one for which we are never given an explanation, the women are freed from the cell yet are never free from the imprisonment that took them away from what they loved.

This particular aspect of the story is one that I contemplated very deeply. Being a person myself who does not feel the longing for closeness with another human being—not being drawn to touch or be held, rather not enjoying that practice—I wondered how long I would be able to sustain that if I were taken at this moment and made to live in a cell where I had no free will to choose whether or not I could hug someone else. The narrator saw her formative years pass by in an environment of prevention and control, and therefore she knew no different. The adult women, on the other hand, knew what it was like to share an embrace or hold someone's hand; closeness represents a variety of things that are intended to offer comfort and love to another. Would any of us be able to envision ourselves living solicitously within a group?

Many of us do that right now, in this life, where nothing is dictated to us or forced upon our lives as it is for the women in this book. Many authors have sought to explain the experience of a person who feels alone among many, and I have found it to be personally enjoyable when I come across authors who seek the opposite. I appreciate it when someone with the talent for words and the crafting of stories writes about people who are individualized; when a story explores the solitude of a person who is not lonely because they enjoy themselves and do not seek the necessities that others feel drawn to possess. I find these stories oddly comforting and rewarding to read. The human condition is vast in its experiences. I am glad that mine can be found within the pages of a book without the author attempting to elicit sympathy for something that does not cause me pain.

This is not to say that I can relate to everything that the narrator experiences, as I found myself feeling a longing to locate her bunker and a small hope that someone might suddenly come across her before her time was up. Why would I feel this way when logic tells me that she is undoubtedly alone in this life? What was it about a nameless person that drew me to feel such a connection? Does reading about a negative situation automatically lead one to sentiments of forlorn sorrow? Does one need to connect with a character in a story to feel empathy for them and their situation, or is it sufficient to recognize the depth of the human psyche's ability to understand?

Can the reader truly begin to imagine what these women must have felt upon encountering the other bunkers that housed the prison cells of 39 people each, all of whom were dead and decomposing? Can one truly understand, without living the experience, what it must be like to wander without purpose or knowledge of where one is meant to go? I have a hunch that this particular part of the story is something that many individual readers may be able to relate to. The narrator did not know her world, and the reader may feel sorrow for her, yet how much do we know and understand our own world? Some people have gone to the moon, and yet, for many people, the universe is confined within their property lines. Does this make either situation bad or good? I suppose that it depends on whom you ask and at what point in their lives you seek them out to ponder the question.

In reality, this book merits a comprehensive study; deconstructing each experience, the placement of every bush, the definition of every singular thought. However, I believe that every person should be drawn to this story if only to find a part of themselves within the plot. A nameless entity is not unknown, although we cannot put it into words. The narrator, though she does not have a given name—a government identifier, a religious nomenclature—is just as much an individual human being as Anthea, the person she loved. The love that is able to blossom within the relationships that the women share encourages the reader to reflect on their own experiences. Although the world may be bleak and although we cannot always recall the things that have brought us happiness, there are always unspoken words in the heart, in the mind, that can leave us settled and comforted.

When all is said and done, I find myself left in silence; a droning quiet that allows me the time to reflect on every instance that is shared between myself and the narrator. I hope to find myself reading this story again when the time is right, just as the narrator came across her home when she least expected it, and I too hope to remember the deliberation and contemplation that was elicited within me upon my first reading.

Philosophical works do not have to feel overwhelming, although they often leave one feeling debilitated. How can one possibly contemplate every single detail in a single sitting? There is so much to question and connect; too many instances of detail and depth. Without these stories, I would find myself very much resembling the narrator; alone with my thoughts that limit my awareness of the world, residing in the crevices of my mind.

Thank you to Edelweiss+, Transit Books, and Jacqueline Harpman for providing me with a free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review!

Special praise goes to Ros Schwartz for her superbly enthralling translation of the original French text into English.

After several days of staring off into the void, I think I’m finally ready to put my thoughts about this story into words.

Firstly, once I started reading this book, it was like I was under a spell. I simply couldn't put it down. I devoured it from cover to cover in less than 24 hours. The anticipation of what would happen next was overwhelming. I was desperate to know if my burning questions would get answered. It was around 12 am when I turned to the last page. I read it in the dark, by the faint glow of my phone's flashlight, with my husband sound asleep beside me. The last sentence hit me like a sledgehammer, leaving me in shambles, emotionally unable to come to terms with what I had just experienced vicariously. This is a story that will undoubtedly stay with me for the rest of my life.

The main character had one of the most unique voices I have ever had the pleasure of encountering in literature. Her one-of-a-kind perspective made me look at aspects of life that I had taken for granted. She made me question everything. She made me wonder why we do the things we do and why we live the way we do.

It was both thrilling and heartbreaking to witness the world that she inhabited, a world that was both eerily similar and strikingly different from our own. Is it our world? Is it the future of our world? Or is it another planet altogether? The questions just keep coming.

Ambiguity is truly a double-edged sword. As someone who loves to interpret things in a multitude of ways but also craves a definitive answer, I find myself torn. In all honesty, I have to admit that I prefer ambiguity. It allows the story to resonate more deeply within me. I'm glad that I get to think about this story for the rest of my life and continue to guess, ponder, and marvel at its simple complexity, which, although an oxymoron, is undeniably true.

*weeps, sobs, stares off into the void*

4 1/2 stars. This tiny, disquieting book is truly remarkable. It carries a sadness that is profound and unique, far beyond what the most popular tearjerkers could ever hope to achieve.

“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.”

It exists outside of genre, outside of time, and outside of the familiar reality we know. It introduces the reader to a world that is both unfamiliar to them and to the unnamed protagonist. The result is a palpable mix of wonder and loneliness that lingers long after the final page is turned.

I have decided to round up my rating because this book made me feel so deeply. There were things I had hoped for that I didn't receive, but upon reflection, I realize that I was never promised them. In fact, the past tense narration forewarned me that I wouldn't get what I expected. So, that's on me.

The story begins in an underground bunker where thirty-nine women and a young girl, our narrator, are imprisoned in a cage. They have no memory of how they got there or why they are there. The women recall a life before the cage with families, friends, and jobs, but the child remembers only their current existence. They are watched over and fed by male guards who remain silent. It seems as if they are condemned to live and die in this cage... until a combination of chance and ingenuity presents an opportunity for freedom.

It is part eerie pastoral dystopia and part a deeply introspective novel about hope, loneliness, and the things that give life meaning. The novel oscillates between the invigorating feeling of hope and the numbing despair of hopelessness.

At one point, I found myself wondering if it was meant to be a metaphor. The unwavering pursuit of answers and meaning in a world that ultimately defies comprehension. But perhaps I'm overthinking it.

Either way, this short novel sat like a ball of anxiety in my throat from start to finish. What a sad, yet evocative little story. It leaves a lasting impression and makes you question the very nature of our existence.

Congrats! You have managed to be a pick-me without even meeting any men. This is quite an accomplishment, isn't it? It seems that you have this inherent quality within you that makes you constantly seek validation and approval, perhaps even unconsciously. You might not realize it, but your actions and words are sending out signals that you are desperate to be chosen, to be the one that stands out. It's as if you are in a race to prove yourself, even when there are no competitors around. But here's the thing, being a pick-me doesn't necessarily lead to true happiness or fulfillment. You might get temporary attention or praise, but in the long run, it won't satisfy your deeper needs. Maybe it's time to take a step back and reflect on why you feel the need to be this way.

I truly wish that life could be filled with more joy and less sorrow.

I wish that every person could find their true purpose and passion, and pursue it with unwavering determination.

I wish for a world where kindness and compassion prevail, where people treat each other with respect and understanding.

I wish that all the problems and conflicts in the world could be resolved peacefully, through dialogue and cooperation.

I wish that children could grow up in a safe and nurturing environment, with access to quality education and opportunities for a bright future.

I wish that the natural world could be preserved and protected, so that future generations can also enjoy its beauty and wonder.

These are just some of the things that I wish for, and I believe that if we all work together, we can make these wishes come true.