I Who Have Never Known Men

In the narrative’s first conversation between Anthea and the child, Anthea says, “Don’t always talk about us as a group” (32), setting herself apart from the other women in the prison. Indeed, she is the most educated, having qualified as a nurse. She also admits that she wants to remember her medical training for the sake of knowing it despite its uselessness in the wilderness. This comment further aligns her with the curious narrator, as the other women do not bother to learn things that aren’t immediately important. After their escape, Anthea is among the small group of leaders who make decisions and guide the others.

Anthea is an archetypal mentor. In the cage, she is the only person to answer the child’s questions, which range in topic from imprisonment to menstruation. Outside, Anthea relays practical advice, such as how to clean oneself with leaves after using the bathroom. She then grants the narrator’s request to learn everything possible. Anthea teaches her not only about grammar and division but also about anatomy, sexuality, and human reproduction.

The narrator’s description of Anthea’s voice and smile indicate her kindness. In the cage, when the child is upset, Anthea speaks to her in such a gentle, musical way that the narrator feels almost caressed. Likewise, when the child asks if she is beautiful, she considers Anthea’s smile “heart-rending,” indicating that Anthea wants to give her a positive reply even if it is difficult. Anthea’s kindness is also depicted in her actions toward other characters, such as when she holds Dorothy’s hand as Dorothy dies.

Anthea is also a mother figure, motivated by a drive to care for the narrator. When Anthea sees the child shiver in the empty bunker, she tells her to rest and makes a warm drink. Likewise, she repeatedly wraps the sleeping narrator in a blanket when they camp outdoors. Just before dying, Anthea laments that she is abandoning the protagonist, saying, “I looked after you as best I could” (139). Anthea is the only person with whom the narrator develops a sustained relationship, and Anthea arms the narrator with the knowledge she needs to make it in the world after Anthea is gone.

Dorothy is one of the narrator’s fellow prisoners. She is over 70 years old and has a bad heart. Once the women are free, she moves slowly, stops frequently to rest, loses her breath easily, and often needs to be supported by a companion. Her physical description contrasts sharply with her activeness and leadership, underscoring both her mental strength and stubbornness. She, Anthea, and the narrator are always the first to explore the unknown, such as when they climb out of their prison or descend into the first new bunker they find. She not only leads physically in this way but also is the chief decision maker.

Dorothy’s leadership is based on her wisdom. Unlike most of her companions, Dorothy exhibits great forethought and organization. She repeatedly steers the women’s conversations when they become chaotic and unfocused. She also plans the group’s initial journey, designing the rucksacks and setting the schedule. When she announces her decision, the scene’s imagery highlights the women’s respect for her. She alone is seated in a chair, and the others gather around her to listen.

Other than the narrator, Dorothy is the only one determined to continue exploring until they get answers. She says, “If you stop, I’ll say to myself that maybe half an hour later we would have found something, and I’ll die angry. I want to keep going until my last breath” (109). This mirrors the narrator’s statement, following Laura’s death, that she plans to trek for the rest of her life. Dorothy’s death isolates the protagonist on the issue, and indeed, the group settles into a village soon after. This is significant because it shows that leadership is necessary for civilization to evolve. Without the leadership of someone who looks to the future, society falls into patterns of complacency.

Anthea and Dorothy have characteristics that set them apart from their contemporaries and align them with the narrator. However, as a group, the other women are the protagonist’s foils. The contrast between the narrator’s fundamental qualities and those of her companions enriches the narrative’s themes.

The women are not well educated. Before imprisonment, their lives centered around their households or service jobs. The narrator believes “they had never developed skills they had not needed” (90). The women cannot understand the child’s thirst for information she will never use, a debate that furthers the theme of The Intrinsic Value of Thinking and Knowledge.

When the world outside of their cage bears no resemblance to the one they knew, the women stop searching. They instead settle into villages, form couples, and approximate the civilization they hoped to encounter when they escaped. They easily become routine bound, unlike the narrator who finds excuses to build things or go on excursions. In time, the women are sluggish and passionless, and their bodies are stooped over because they rarely look up. They eat and sleep but are merely forestalling death, not living. By contrast, when she is alone, the protagonist coordinates her diet and rest to optimize her body for her explorations. These disparities feed the theme of Curiosity Versus Expectation.