The narrator of I Who Have Never Known Men never knew her name, and other characters merely call her “the child.” When the narrative begins, she is in her sixties, documenting her life story. However, she first provides a glimpse into her surroundings and state of mind.

Rarely going outside anymore, the narrator spends most of her time rereading books written in a different world than the one she knows. The prefaces baffle her because authors seem compelled to justify sharing their knowledge, suggesting readers were not eager to learn. She thinks about the death of the woman who taught her the most, Anthea, and is overcome with sadness. Although the narrator thought of herself as incapable of such emotions, she now feels both love and grief.

The narrator questions whether she is forgetting her own story. At first, the possibility seems inconsequential because, she thinks, “nothing had happened to [her]” (10). She soon determines, however, that every human’s story has value and begins writing. The task takes her one month, which feels like the happiest time of her life. She finds this strange because her story is not joyous, but she thinks the act of recollection might have its own rewards.