Read My Ántonia by Willa Cather Gordon Tapper Online


&&LDIV&&R&&LDIV&&R&&LDIV&&R&&LI&&RMy Ántonia,&&L/I&&R by &&LB&&RWilla Cather&&L/B&&R, is part of the &&LI&&RBarnes & Noble Classics&&L/I&&R&&LI&&R &&L/I&&Rseries, which offers quality editions at&&LDIV&&R&&LDIV&&R&&LDIV&&R&&LI&&RMy Ántonia,&&L/I&&R by &&LB&&RWilla Cather&&L/B&&R, is part of the &&LI&&RBarnes & Noble Classics&&L/I&&R&&LI&&R &&L/I&&Rseries, which offers quality editions at affordable prices to the student and the general reader, including new scholarship, thoughtful design, and pages of carefully crafted extras. Here are some of the remarkable features of &&LI&&RBarnes & Noble Classics&&L/I&&R: &&LDIV&&RNew introductions commissioned from today's top writers and scholarsBiographies of the authorsChronologies of contemporary historical, biographical, and cultural eventsFootnotes and endnotesSelective discussions of imitations, parodies, poems, books, plays, paintings, operas, statuary, and films inspired by the workComments by other famous authorsStudy questions to challenge the reader's viewpoints and expectationsBibliographies for further readingIndices & Glossaries, when appropriateAll editions are beautifully designed and are printed to superior specifications; some include illustrations of historical interest. &&LI&&RBarnes & Noble Classics &&L/I&&Rpulls together a constellation of influences—biographical, historical, and literary—to enrich each reader's understanding of these enduring works.&&L/DIV&&R&&L/DIV&&R&&L/DIV&&R&&LDIV&&R &&L/DIV&&R&&LDIV&&R“No romantic novel ever written in America . . . is one half so beautiful as &&LI&&RMy Ántonia&&L/I&&R.” &&LI&&R—H. L. Mencken&&L/I&&R &&L/DIV&&R&&LP&&RWidely recognized as &&LB&&RWilla Cather&&L/B&&R’s greatest novel, &&LI&&RMy Ántonia&&L/I&&R is a soulful and rich portrait of a pioneer woman’s simple yet heroic life. The spirited daughter of Bohemian immigrants, Ántonia must adapt to a hard existence on the desolate prairies of the Midwest. Enduring childhood poverty, teenage seduction, and family tragedy, she eventually becomes a wife and mother on a Nebraska farm. A fictional record of how women helped forge the communities that formed a nation, &&LI&&RMy Ántonia&&L/I&&R is also a hauntingly eloquent celebration of the strength, courage, and spirit of America’s early pioneers.&&L/P&&R&&LP style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"&&R&&LSTRONG&&RGordon Tapper&&L/B&&R&&L/B&&R&&L/B&&R is Assistant Professor of English at DePauw University. He is the author of &&LI&&RThe Machine That Sings: Modernism, Hart Crane, and the Culture of the Body&&L/I&&R, from Routledge.&&L/P&&R&&L/DIV&&R...

Title : My Ántonia
Author :
Rating :
ISBN : 9781593082024
Format Type : Paperback
Number of Pages : 222 Pages
Status : Available For Download
Last checked : 21 Minutes ago!

My Ántonia Reviews

  • Michelle
    2019-06-12 05:34

    “I’d like to have you for a sweetheart, or a wife, or my mother or my sister-anything that a woman can be to a man. The idea of you is a part of my mind. You influence my likes and dislikes, all my tastes, hundreds of times when I don’t realize it. You really are a part of me.” --Willa Cather, “My Antonia”Oh, Jim! She really did a number on you! I guess it couldn’t be helped, because after knowing Antonia Shimerda, I can’t help being enamored with her myself. It is not even easy to say things so illuminating about a human being but somehow, seeing Antonia from the eyes of Jim Burden, I totally understand where he’s coming from. Antonia exudes strength, spirit and determination, and all the while remains gentle, trusting, and kind. What Jim feels for her goes beyond romantic love, though. She is the embodiment of the things he loves most: home, his childhood, and his aspirations. The way I see it, she is what makes him a better man. Nevertheless, “My Antonia” is not a love story, it hardly focuses on that aspect at all. With Antonia’s story, we get a glimpse on the lives and concerns of early settlers, which includes European immigrants, of the American West. It shows us what these people have to contend with, and struggle for, that goes to the very heart of their lives.Now most of the pioneer stories I have come across depict rugged and determined male characters out to tame the wilderness with know-how and grit, while their female halves are relegated to supporting or (I dare say) insignificant roles. “My Antonia” breaks from that convention and instead, focused more on the struggles of the women. It’s an invaluable reminder that life was hard for everyone on the frontier, and that the women who made a go of it were every bit as tough-minded and independent as the men were. Antonia faces hardships of scratching out a living on the prairie, while having to do so as a woman, and while dealing with the challenges of being an immigrant as well. As with the writing, Willa Cather masterfully tells a poignant and beautiful story that is striking in its simplicity. She makes you realize anew how much art is suggestion and not transcription, and her brevity is refreshing. I know of no novel that makes the remote folk of the Western prairies more real than “My Antonia” makes them, and I know of none that makes them seem better worth knowing. Beneath the layers of Mid-Western culture, she reveals human beings embattled against fate and circumstance -- and into her picture of their dull struggles, I was able to appreciate their heroism, and find their tribulations genuinely moving.

  • karen
    2019-06-12 04:36

    i read this book the same day i found out that sparkling ice had introduced two new flavors, pineapple coconut and lemonade.what does this have to do with anything, you ask??well, sparkling ice is sort of a religion with me, and this book was wonderful, so it was kind of a great day, is all. i don't have a lot of those.why have i never read willa cather before? i'm not sure. i think i just always associated her with old ladies, and i figured i would read her on my deathbed or something. maybe it was the unavoidable cather/catheter association.i don't know. all i know is that a certain little bird here on goodreads was always going "chirp chirp - willa cather!! chirp!! cather!!!"and when someone dumped a bunch of free books by the curb in front of my house, i decided it was a sign to finally give her a chance. i liked it so much, i will pay for my next book of hers! you're welcome, cather estate!this isn't a novel as much as a loosely gathered collection of stories in which the characters progress through time, grow up, lose their illusions, and make their way in the world; finding themselves in and defining themselves against the vast nothingness of the american prairie.jim and antonia are children who arrive in black hawk, nebraska on the same train, and the book is an account of their lives both apart and together,through to their adulthood, framed as a series of recollections by jim, as he remembers antonia to a mutual friend and examines what she symbolized for him.the descriptions of the landscape are phenomenal. the way the characters try to coax a living from the land and the harshness of nature is inspiring, antonia's irrepressible spirit is triumphant, even though she does come across as a headstrong pain in the ass at times. i just loved it. it reminded me, probably unjustly, of both huck finn and this whole series of books that i loved loved loved when i was little:i mean - it's willa cather - everything that needs to be said about her has probably already been said, so all i can contribute is that this book is like the kiwi-strawberry sparkling ice. it is not quite a black raspberry, but it is damn good.

  • Samadrita
    2019-06-20 07:31

    I would have called 'My Ántonia' an immigrant novel. But then I realized that dubious distinction is reserved only for the creations of writers of colour - Jhumpa Lahiri, Zadie Smith, Xiaolu Guo, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, Sunjeev Sahota, Yiyun Li, Lee Chang Rae and so on and so forth. Especially now when the word 'immigrant', hurled at us ad nauseam from the airwaves and the domains of heated social media discussions, invokes images of gaunt, exhausted but solemnly hopeful faces of Syrians knocking on the doors of Europe and America, having voyaged across perilous waters that have already claimed many of their loved ones as price of admission. Who are immigrants anyway? Those who had the foresight and temerity to circumnavigate the globe and assert their self-declared God-given right to rule over lands inhabited by 'savages' they could easily extirpate/subjugate by dint of military might? Or those who foolishly came afterwards, much much later, balancing their starry-eyed dreams of fulfillment or often mere survival, on the crutch of that primeval instinct that humanity will vanquish the fact of man-made demarcations, only to languish in exile for a lifetime pining away for a lost home they could never regain? Let's separate the chaff from the grain. 'Immigrants' are always sallow-skinned, tan-complexioned, sun-browned, needy Asians, Africans, Arabs, Latinos glibly umbrella-termed into convenient one-word identities. And yet narrator Jim's Ántonia epitomizes the immigrant's dream. The dream of making a home out of an alien place, of finding comfort, success, a modicum of acceptance among complete strangers and perhaps, coming to own a sweep of land to settle in and spread one's roots. Yes I know this is a eulogy offered to the prairies edged in gold in the dying light of dusk, an attempt to memorialize a way of life that the ill-informed city-dweller cannot begin to imagine, the author's wistful contemplation of a time and place frozen only in the amber of her memories. Her earnest effort to capture the nuances of the hardscrabble life with the land, teeming with its secret life in visible and hidden corners, as permanent fixture in the farmer's existence. But my reasons for 5-starring this are slightly different. In that singular light every little tree and shock of wheat, every sunflower stalk and clump of snow on the mountain, drew itself up high and pointed; the very clods and furrows in the fields seemed to stand up sharply. I felt the old pull of the earth, the solemn magic that comes of those fields at nightfall.As far as central themes go, the American Dream is a bête noire within the repertoire of notable American fiction. An ostensibly noxious concept deserving of indictment by authors who have found it commensurate with an obsession with the unattainable, a doctrine of mindless avarice that leads one down the path of self destruction. But Ántonia's version of the American Dream envisages a life of simple self-sufficiency, despite the hardships it may entail. It is worth protecting, worth immortalizing through the written word. The sky-rocketing desire for riches and social affluence is foreign to her Bohemian (Czech) sensibilities. In a way she is an extension of the Nebraskan wilderness itself - raw, rough and tender at the same time, inexplicably beautiful, cheerily resilient against the vicissitudes of fate and time, indomitable advocate of vitality and growth. The whole prairie was like the bush that burned with fire and was not consumed. That hour always had the exultation of victory, of triumphant ending, like a hero's death-heroes who died young and gloriously. It was a sudden transfiguration, a lifting-up of day.For Jim Burden, Ántonia is home, indelibly associated as she is with his boyhood days spent chasing rabbits and prairie dogs. She is a personification of those bygone days sucked into the spiral of time that can never be recovered, but the incontrovertible reality of which will remain etched on to the palate of Jim's consciousness in the brightest of letters till his dying day.Years afterward, when the open-grazing days were over, and the red grass had been ploughed under and under until it had almost disappeared from the prairie; when all the fields were under fence, and the roads no longer ran about like wild things, but followed the surveyed section-lines, Mr. Shimerda's grave was still there, with a sagging wire fence around it, and an unpainted wooden cross.Coming to the negatives, the casually racist comments directed at an African-American character ("He was always a negro prodigy who played barbarously and wonderfully.") and the exaltation of Antonia's womanhood could have curtailed my enjoyment somewhat but Cather did everything else so splendidly well that I'm choosing not to nitpick. Besides nowhere else within the wide realm of literature have I encountered such a believable depiction of friendship between a man and woman, each tied to the other through the bonds of shared childhood and a form of affection so wholesome that even a separation of two decades could not mellow it, each reduced to the status of a genderless individual, a blubbering emotional mess in the other's presence. (If I have, I cannot recall any such name at the moment.) About us it was growing darker and darker, and I had to look hard to see her face, which I meant always to carry with me; the closest, the realest face, under all the shadows of women's faces, at the very bottom of my memory.Brava, Ms Cather.

  • Meredith Holley (Sparrow)
    2019-06-22 05:27

    Maybe what I love about Willa Cather is all the kinds of love and belonging she writes. Her unhappy marriages and her comfortable ones; her volatile love and her unconsummated longing; and her lone, happy people, are all so different, but so how I see the world. I think the way she writes them is wise. Unreliable narrators are delightful to read because, in the sense that the author has shown me their unreliability, she has also shown me their uniqueness and humanity. I think Jim Burden, the narrator of My Antonia is a beautiful example of this and that most of the passion and mystery in this story comes from Jim’s failings as a human, within the story, and even as a character, from a critical perspective. I will explain.Cather presents the story My Antonia as a story within a story. The narrative introducing the book comes from a friend of Jim’s, who tells us that Jim has always had a romantic disposition, but that, as of the writing of the book, Jim is in a presumably loveless marriage with an awful woman who is “temperamentally incapable of enthusiasm.” Jim’s mind is consumed with memories of a Bohemian girl Jim and the author of the introduction both knew, and she represents to them both the country and the people of their childhoods. Throughout the book, Antonia Shimerda and her warmth belong to the land and the people who love her, and when someone calls her “my Antonia” it means something about that belonging.It is impossible to truly identify with Antonia because Cather writes her in this unreliable way, and so, even though she is a painfully real character, she is told with lovely mistakes – the mistakes we make in talking about people we love who we don’t understand, who are not like us. Anyway, I don’t remember making this connection the last time I read this book, but for most of my life, people have referred to me as “my Meredith.” I think maybe it is the alliteration that brings it on, but it has always baffled me. For a long time, I found it horrifying. The phrase had some kind of unsettling expectation to it. Now, though, I feel differently. I feel like it is lovely to belong to the people I care about, and the last time someone said it, it was just comfortable and true. I’m not saying that this makes me similar to Antonia Shimerda, but it made me think about how warm and human it is to belong to people like Antonia did.So, I’m telling you about how this book is written by a woman, but from the perspective of a boy and then a man. Writing across genders is suspicious to me, and so that unreliability piles on to the already suspect character of Jim. And, I don’t think Cather tells him fairly or realistically as a male character, or that this story is told as a man would tell it. It is told in the way a woman would tell about a man’s love, and I like that. It has the insight of a woman into the motivations of another woman, but it has the gentleness of how a woman sees the emotions of men. Cather always writes domestic stories, but there is also something epic about the tragedies, betrayals, and glory her characters encounter. I don’t think there is one in O Pioneers, but in most of her books she includes some story within the story (in this case also within the larger story) of a far-off land, and those stories are my favorite part of the adventure of reading Willa Cather. The story of the Russian wolves in My Antonia is my favorite.I am a very impressionable young thing, and so when someone explains to me why they love something, it often sticks and colors my interpretation of that thing in the future. I am staunchly against the prairies, and the pioneers are usually dullsville. In real life, when I am away from mountains for too long I freak out, and I have an aversion to reading about how to live in a dug out. But Cather’s wonderful descriptions of Nebraska change the whole idea for me. I know it’s just descriptions, but they are so vivid and beautiful. I love the mountains, and I maintain that they are more beautiful than the prairies, but I could never describe the essence of the places I love like Cather does her places. And her places are ick, so that makes her even more wonderful as a writer.Anyway, I love this book. I listened to it on audio this time, and the audio is really lovely. It is difficult to say whether this is my favorite Cather or O Pioneers is or The Professor’s House is. They are all wonderful. This one has a quality I like of being driven by character, not plot, but that is not always a draw. The people here are wonderful, timeless, and real. The things they say are things people should say, and they belong to each other the way people should. It is often brutal, in the way art should be brutal, with real feeling; but, it is not cruel. It tells how we should see each other and how we should be, but also how we do see each other and how we are. It is a sort of magical world that is also real life, but I think that is how we talk about people we love – suspiciously comfortable; unreliable, but belonging.

  • Fabian
    2019-06-02 02:36

    This Nebraskan prairie civilization is like the dogtown that lives below it. It is a web of families & favors. And that's the way of life. Antonia, the magnetic and emblematic figure in the middle of it all--in this narrative of remembrance, of singular impressions--is a strong rock, a hardworking beacon of goodness in a world that is simultaneously vast & asphyxiating, with its rattlesnakes, sicknesses, suicides and slight silver linings. Also a sight to behold: the kindness of strangers & how falling in love cannot possibly occur in the prairie, that ever-desolate place in our own American continent.

  • Rowena
    2019-05-30 04:13

    "There seemed to be nothing to see; no fences, no creeks or trees, no hills or fields. If there was a road, I could not make it out in the faint starlight. There was nothing but land: not a country at all, but the material out of which countries are made."- Willa Cather,My Ántonia For someone who grew up watching "Little House on the Prairie", this was an interesting and nostalgic look at my childhood fancies and romanticized images of frontier life. Making a new life, taming the land, and creating something out of very little all sounded so romantic and magical to me at the time but there was so much that I hadn't considered, couldn't have known, with my limited worldly experience. I guess that's one of the many reasons that literature is so powerful: giving a voice to experiences.This is a story of the early settlers in Nebraska; a story of hardships, successes, community, change... The story is narrated by an orphaned boy who goes to live with his grandparents after his parents pass away. The narration was very detailed and observant.The story focuses quite a bit on Ántonia Shimerda, and her Bohemian family.I thought the character of Ántonia was exceptionally well-written; I think she's one of those unforgettable literary characters, and that's definitely due to Cather's amazing writing and depiction of her. Cather manages to show the language development Ántonia goes through,and also the development of her character from being an ordinary little girl playing with her sister and friends, to working "like a mans" in order to support her family: "The older girls, who helped to break up the wild sod, learned so much from life, from poverty, from their mothers and grandmothers; they had all, like Antonia, been early awakened and made observant by coming at a tender age from an old country to a new."Having moved around a bit I really enjoyed the descriptions of the landscapes because at least to me, apart from food, that's what I miss the most about leaving a place: the familiarity in scenery, flora, and fauna. The small differences in landscape are an unavoidable sign that you are in a new place:"There was none of the signs of spring for which I used to watch in Virginia, no budding woods or blooming gardens. There was only--spring itself; the throb of it, the light restlessness, the vital essence of it everywhere: in the sky, in the swift clouds, in the pale sunshine, and in the warm, high wind---rising suddenly, sinking suddenly, impulsive and playful like a big puppy that pawed you and then lay down to be petted."There was interesting discussion about the European immigrants to the USA. What shouldn't have surprised me but did anyway, was the fact that even among the European immigrants there was plenty of discrimination and also an unofficial hierarchy. What was universal though was the sense of loss from all the characters who had migrated to that area, despite their origins and loss.I'm fully convinced of Cather's writing style. Cather brought the frontier to life for me, the Bohemians, Ántonia, everyone and everything. I loved that she brought to the fore the stories of the people of the New World, especially the women.

  • Dolors
    2019-06-09 00:30

    “Some memories are realities, and are better than anything that can ever happen to one again.” (p.259)More than a Wild West story about the adventurous frontier life in the Nebraska plains, I thought My Ántonia was a novel about red seas of prairie grass and hard blue skies and black ploughs outlined against crimson suns and adults chasing the casted shadows of their pasts. Prior to the comforting embrace of the Nebraskan landscape there was only the most profound homesickness. Homesickness for an abandoned country, for lost parents, for the wistfulness of bygone childhood days, for words never uttered and love never fully declared. Willa Cather’s evocative voice builds a new home for the reader in this strange yet welcoming land, which turns the mundane into gold, while mourning for the loss of a past that won’t ever come back. Cather opens the novel meeting her own character Jim Burden and inviting him to recount the story of Ántonia Shimmerda, a young Czech girl who grew up with him, and surprises the reader with an unexpected male voice and an unreliable narrator. Jim, now a middle aged lawyer living in New York, retells their story casting an aura of nostalgia over the late 19thC Nebraska farming frontier, its landscape, colorful people and small towns. Jim is barely ten years old when he loses his parents and is sent to live with his grandparents in an unfamiliar territory. Ántonia’s longing for her original home in Bohemia is made unbearably real through her awareness of her father’s misery in failing to adjust to a new hard working life in an foreign country, whose people and culture seem alien and rough to the cultivated Mr.Shimmerda. This doubled feeling of homesickness is what so powerfully fastens Jim and Ántonia together and what urges them to turn to the Nebraskan landscape in search of protection, developing an intense attachment to the natural world which captures their changing moods and eases their sense of estrangement, always in tune with the changing of the seasons.When the Burdens move to the small town of Black Hawk and Ántonia is recruited as a “hired girl” at the Harlings, a household with good reputation in town, Jim realizes that along with the missing plains, his closeness to Ántonia also starts to dissolve. Cather’s nuanced stories and picturesque tales disguise the impending collision between the hard reality of young immigrant women at the time, who were treated as outcasts in a rigid social caste system and not only exploited but also sexually abused by their masters, and the wide range of opportunities for young men like Jim, whose main aspiration is to attend college. Life and years intervene and Jim and Ántonia’s paths diverge but their spiritual bond remains locked in the lengthening shadows of a common past embedded in the fleecy grass dancing with the gentle morning breeze that caresses the wine-stained prairies.Cather’s writing style taught me a valuable lesson. Genuineness and diction thrive in simplicity. Never had my heartstrings been pulled this intensely until I heard Blind d’Arnault’s melancholic negro voice and his virtuous fingers running up and down the keys of his piano while rocking back and forth to the rhythm of his improvized bluesy spirit. Never had I felt the stillness of a slanting sun sinking behind the fields playing with magnified shadows as I did when I was sitting with Jim and Ántonia in perfect communion with the countryside. Never had I understood the true meaning of the kinship between hard work and fertility until I met its embodiment in a woman browned by the sun, with calloused hands and flat chest, an Earth Goddess who made a home out of a dusty land and a sheltering sky. My Ántonia made also a home for me in the Nebraska plains of the late 1800s and then made me grieve for its loss. I might never see those plains but at least I can walk down the path of Jim’s memories of red blades of grass and his Ántonia’s electric blue sky, where their souls remain eternally married in a past that becomes the prevailing reality and their one and only Destiny, and feel that I am home.

  • Jason Koivu
    2019-06-02 02:21

    Here lie glorious character sketches. Be sure to pay your respects. I dragged my feet. I came late to the party. I regret it.This is one of those books I've known about for ages, but was ignorant and flat out mistaken about its subject matter. A friend in college wrote a poem based off of it and my impression from that experience was that My Antonia was about a man describing a woman for the length of an entire novel. That would be a gross oversimplification of the book. It's so much more than that.It's one of the stories that America is founded upon: Immigrants who've left their homeland on the promise of a better life in the new world. The "new world" America in this case meant the far midwest, those lonely plains at the foot of the Rockies. The immigrants this time around are Czechs, referred to as Bohemians in the novel. Some of them didn't start out in this country with much and lived a hardscrabble life. I cherish books like this and The Jungle or The Grapes of Wrath, where immigrants or earlier Americans gave it their all for the dream and often died trying. Whether it's victory or defeat it doesn't matter, it's the struggle that counts. Fiction this may be, but the story is a real one. My own family came to America from Finland about the same time this book is set. They farmed the land and found hard times, but they survived. Hearing those stories is a true marvel to behold. Willa Cather tells her own, truly marvelous tales in My Antonia. Her people are born from precision craftsmanship that refrains from the ponderous "grocery list" descriptions of physical traits and habits of characters that other writers indulge in. Instead Cather cuts to the essence of the person with excellent word choice time and again, planting in the reader's mind fruitful, full-color images of exactly who she's talking about. As alluded to at the start of this review, this novel is all about the character sketches. They move the story, much the same way as Sherwood Anderson's Winesburg, Ohio. However, since the characters come alive and are so very lively, the lack of a hard-driven, singular plot is no hinderance to one's enjoyment of My Antonia.

  • Ted
    2019-06-06 05:32

    … more than anything else I felt motion in the landscape; in the fresh, easy-blowing morning wind, and in the earth itself, as if the shaggy grass were a sort of loose hide, and underneath it herds of wild buffalo were galloping, galloping …High Plains mixed-grass prairie during springtime. Near Harrison, Nebraska.From Flickr, by CatherWilla Cather – born 1873 near Winchester Virginia. Her family moved to Nebraska in 1883 when she was nine, joining her father’s parents out there. After trying farming for eighteen months, they moved into the town of Red Cloud where her dad developed real estate and insurance businesses, and Willa went to school for the first time. “Cather's time in the western state, still on the frontier, was a deeply formative experience for her. She was intensely moved by the dramatic environment and weather, the vastness of the Nebraska prairie, and the various cultures of the families in the area.” (See for more details on Cather’s early life.)Will Cather, ca. 1912Prior to 1918, when My Antonia appeared, Cather, then in her mid-40s, had published six books: - April Twilights (1903, poetry collection)- The Troll Garden (1905, short stories)- the study (co-authored with Georgine Milmine) The Life of Mary Baker G. Eddy and the History of Christian Science (1909) and the novels- Alexander's Bridge (1912)- O Pioneers! (1913)- The Song of the Lark (1915)My Antonia and the previous two novels are known as Cather’s “prairie trilogy”. These novels, which became both popular and critical successes, are set in a time and locale which Cather knew from her own experience and memories, and established her reputation as a significant American writer.Cather won the Pulitzer Prize in 1923 for her next novel, One of Ours, published in 1922. Throughout the 1920s she was praised by other writers such as H. L. Mencken and Sinclair Lewis.She continued to publish novels and other fiction into the 1940s. Willa Cather died in 1947.My AntoniaMy Antonia is narrated in the first person, by a character named Jim Burden. Cather employs a rather modernist, to me, conceit by introducing the book, in her own voice, as a manuscript produced by an “old friend” of hers, who had grown up with her in the same small town in Nebraska. Having met “last summer” on a train crossing Iowa, they talked for many hours, and their conversation “kept returning to a central figure, a Bohemian girl whom we had both known long ago.” More than any other person we remembered, this girl seemed to mean to us the country, the conditions, the whole adventure of our childhood. I had lost sight of her altogether, but Jim had found her again after long years, and had renewed a friendship that meant a great deal to him. His mind was full of her that day. He made me see her again, feel her presence, revived all my old affection for her.Jim had been writing down memories of her, and several months afterwards shows up at Cather’s Manhattan apartment with the manuscript. Which is ostensibly the novel we are about to read.The manuscript, on which he scrawls “My Antonia” as he hands it to Cather, is “Jim Burden’s” memoir of the years he spent in this small Nebraska town prior to leaving it for the east around the age of twenty, including his memories of an immigrant girl just older than he, who arrived with her Bohemian family on the same train as he did – Antonia Shimerda. It is, as well, memories of the pioneer farmers who first came to Nebraska (some “American Europeans”, others recent immigrants like the Shimerdas); of the immense treeless prairie and climate they found, of the small town around which these farms ranged, of the ways of life on the farms and in the town.Willa Cather and her narrator Jim Burden, the character introduced as the writer by the real writer, have a lot in common. Both were born in Virginia, Cather in 1873. Both moved to Nebraska around the age of ten (Cather in 1883), and in both cases the move was directed towards (or to, in Jim’s case) a grandparent. Both lived on a farm for the early part of their Nebraska years, then both moved into a small nearby town (Black Hawk in the novel, Red Cloud in Cather’s case) around the time they were ready to start high school. These similarities cause me to conclude that, if one wants Jim Burden’s year of birth, one may as well assume it’s the same as Willa Cather’s, 1873. I further believe that Jim Burden may as well be Will Cather herself. Not, of course, that the details of Jim’s life correspond to details of Cather’s life. Rather that the things that deeply affect Jim Burden are the same things that deeply affected Cather, as she grew up in a small town just like Black Hawk, knowing and knowing of the immigrant families that had come to America and thence to Nebraska to farm the prairie.Cather’s book is filled with achingly beautiful passages about all of these things. I could quote them until I ran out of review room here, but after trying to write this review for hours and thousands of words I realize I can’t say everything I want about the novel, and in trying to say everything I say little or nothing.And in searching for a single passage to quote, I realize that what I think beautiful will only be so because of my own personal memories of related things, and will strike others as “nice” or “banal” or whatever. So I give up on that.So I’ll simply assure you, reader, that your own memories and experiences will find their counterparts in Cather’s / Burden’s memories – if you have memories of a prairie, or of seasons, or of such things as your wonder at discovering the love of learning at university, or of seeing or discovering a work of art (a painting, a symphony, an opera) at that exact moment in your life when you were simply overwhelmed by it; or memories of feelings you had when you were young, of another young person; or memories of the admiration you felt for perhaps a grandparent - or perhaps a pioneer girl, a bit older than you, who showed a fire for life totally different from all the others you knew.To summarize: Jim Burden’s fictional memories are, I believe, Willa Cather’s real memories – and again, not the details, but the general colors and outline of the painting which is suggested by the novel, a painting which might as well be this.If you think this beautiful, you will probably think My Antonia beautiful too.

  • Himanshu
    2019-06-03 01:25

    An'-ton-ee-ahThat's how her name is pronounced, and not like An'-tow-niya which is how I always thought it was. I found this clarification, at the very start of the book, remarkable(for me) because it changed the way I read about her, till the very last page. At every mention of her name, my mind tried to pronounce it the Bohemian way, thus, never letting me forget the eccentricity and congeniality of this unforgettable character.I have somehow spent almost a month reading this little book and in that course a lot of people around me asked what sort of a book this was? What's it about? And, I never had the same answer for any two of them. Sometimes, it was about the Bohemian migrant family; Sometimes about the flat, windy, golden, snow-clad, rather indelible prairie; Sometimes about the narrator Jim Burden; Sometimes about me; Sometimes about nostalgia; Sometimes about romanticism; And sometimes about struggles that one goes through and what they come out of them to become.A young ten year old Jim, after losing his parents in Virginia, comes to stay with his grandparents in a country farm in Nebraska. He sees the landscape and is taken so deeply by it that it no longer is just the backdrop of his new life, but the very foundation of it. His undirected strolls in the prairie made him feel at home and at peace.The light air about me told me that the world ended here: only the ground and sun and sky were left, and if one went a little farther, there would be only sun and sky, and one would float off into them, like the tawny hawks which sailed over our heads making slow shadows on the grass.I recently made a short trip to a place long from home, but with a prodigious landscape that I felt spoke to me directly and was like a new-found friend. I found this very strange and I wondered how could I feel such a strong connection with a boundless space? Then I met Jim sitting idly against a haystack on a field wondering:I was something that lay under the sun and felt it, like the pumpkins, and I did not want to be anything more. I was entirely happy. Perhaps we feel like that when we die and become a part of something entire, whether it is sun and air, or goodness and knowledge. At any rate, that is happiness; to be dissolved into something complete and great. When it comes to one, it comes as naturally as sleep.The farms, the fields, the burrows, the cattle, the seasons and his Ántonia. When he first met her, she was a little girl with eyes which seemed big and warm and full of light, like the sun shining on brown pools in the wood. This brown skinned, wild curly haired chirrup, coaxingly took his hand and ran with him to a steep drawside to show him a nondescript view. And this did not change even when they both get old and Jim visits her after a long time of hardship and tooth fall. She shows it all to him, her children and her life. Oh Ántonia, how I wished that you got the best in the world, and how you never cared and made the best of what came along.What more detail can I give here to do justice to this meta-biographical gem by Cather. All of the nitty gritties seem pointless. The more I dig deep, the more I see her(Cather's) feats of drawing out characters with such prudence that not one of them can now be faded with the sleight of time. Ántonia's father, Lena, the two Russians and their guilt, Jack and Otto, the Cutters, and everyone else.In the end what remains with me is one more thing other than those images of prairies and a strong feeling of nostalgia. Jim, at the University of Nebraska, while studying Virgil's Georgics, was informed that when Virgil was near death, Aeneid unfinished, he would have found consolation with having written that perfect Georgics and would have thought, with the thankfulness of a good man, "I was first to bring the Muse into my country". Just like Cather would have, when she moved to Nebraska and wrote this beauty about a place which was like a blank spot on the map of America.[I should thank Stephanie Vaughn for directing me towards that last bit through her brilliant introduction to this book]

  • Hugh
    2019-06-07 06:09

    It is a daunting task to find anything fresh to say about a book that is justifiably regarded as a classic, so I will keep this one fairly short. Willa Cather moved with her family from New England to rural Nebraska as a child, at a time when new farmland there was still being pioneered, so this tale of the state's development and specifically the experiences of the first generation immigrant farming families from Eastern Europe and Scandinavia that settled it, is inevitably coloured by her own experiences. She distances herself cleverly by making her narrator Jim Burden a man of her own age who for quite a large part of the book retains some distance from its heroine Ántonia, but who was also her childhood friend and neighbour.The story is beautifully paced and contains nothing superfluous. Cather's Nebraska is vividly realised and her attitudes to her characters and particularly those who fall foul of conventional moral judgments seem very modern for a book first published in 1918. For the most part she avoids sentimentality too, except perhaps a little in the final chapter, which seems forgiveable. It was also interesting to read a story that is so positive about immigration at a time when there is so much paranoia about it in popular political culture.

  • Cheryl
    2019-06-08 07:24

    She makes me revel in the beauty of four seasons: burning summers when the world lies green and billowy beneath a brilliant sky...the color and smell of strong weeds and heavy harvests; blustery winters with little snow, when the whole country is stripped bare and gray as sheet-iron. I read her and I forsake all others, for she tells me that no one can give the sensation of place through narrative, and also deliver such soul-stirring and wistful storytelling quite like she can.She gives me quiet country in the form of a first person narrative mode that keeps me so invested that for a week, I live in the head of Jim, a man looking back at his boyhood in a prairie town, and suddenly, there I am, next to him, in scenic reverie, I had the feeling that the world was left behind, that we had got over the edge of it, and were outside man's jurisdiction...This was the complete doom of heaven, all there was of it. As I read through each chapter, she gives me nostalgia for the quiet country I've had the honor of experiencing, when I lived in the belly of the Appalachian mountains (which at some point was considered a part of the American frontier that Cather writes about). She gives me Ántonia, always to carry with me; the closest, realest face, under all the shadows of women's faces, at the very bottom of my memory, for through Ántonia, she gives me women's issues; unassuming, yet audacious. Through Lena, Ántonia's friend and Jim's lover, she gives me feminism; subtle and sure. Her [Cather's] thoughts on feminism are also mine:"she was more interested in asserting her right to participate in a male literary tradition than in promoting an alternative female canon." When she uses a male narrator who is a bit of a recluse because she wants to "imagine a man's feelings for Antonia," I'm exhilarated by the creative choice. And when she creates a narrative to compare the lives of these women, she gives me two of my favorite books on women: Night and Day and So Long a Letter.When she gives me Bohemia and Scandinavia, and the portrait of an unassimilated immigrant household, she showcases cultural dubiousness, and brings back memories of my own immigrant struggles of years ago:If I told my schoolmates that Lena Lingard's father was a clergyman, and much respected in Norway, they looked at me blankly. What did it matter? All foreigners were ignorant people who couldn't speak English. There was not a man in Black Hawk who had the intelligence or cultivation, much less the personal distinction, of Antonia's father. Yet people saw no difference between her and the three Marys; they were all Boheminans, all hired girls.At the end, when she shows me the unpredictability of life and I am tempted to pity Ántonia, she assures me that Ántonia is not broken, but still there, in the full vigor of her personality, battered but not diminished, rather, she has found in America, what she wanted in Bohemia. She gives me pastoral literature in its simple, subtle, and structured form, leaving me much to ponder about life and love and happiness:I was something that lay under the sun and felt it, like the pumpkins, and I did not want to be anything more. I was entirely happy. Perhaps we feel like that when we die and become a part of something entire, whether it is sun and air, or goodness and knowledge. At any rate, that is happiness; to be dissolved into something complete and great. When it comes to one, it comes as naturally as sleep.

  • Henry Avila
    2019-06-14 01:12

    James Quayle Burden, loses both his parents, at the tender age of ten in Virginia, by the Blue Ridge Mountains, sent by relatives to his grandparents (Josiah and Emmaline Burden), by train, in the custody of a trusted employee, that worked for his late father , teenager Jake Marpole, reaching the farm, safely, in the still wild prairie state of Nebraska, newly settled, by Americans, the Indians have been scattered, and are no longer a threat , but the harsh frontier land remains untamed. Colorful Otto Fuchs, an immigrant from Austria, former cowboy, ( Wild West stories he recites, reluctantly , of his experiences there) , and amiable Jake Marpole, who remains to help Jim's old relatives , are very capable farm hands, that keep everything running smoothly, needed by Jim's grandparents, he becomes their good friend ... Many of the these new settlers are from Europe, lured by the American government's promise and law, that anyone who lives a certain amount of years on a property, it becomes theirs. But many poor Europeans arriving, are from the cities, not knowing how to farm, unable to build a log cabin, raise crops, take care of animals that are essential to survive the unforgiving climate, hot, excruciating summers and cold, snowy, freezing winters. The neighbors feels quite sorry for these incompetents, get them out of their holes in the ground, and make a proper home of wood, log cabins, give them animals, which are vital to maintain a successful farm, show how to raise a crop, corn, even their old clothes to wear... A family from Bohemia, (Czech Republic), are one of these people, not speaking a word of English , the Shimerdas, living in a cave, starving, no proper clothes, dirt poor, city folks , the closest to Jim's grandparent's home. He meets pretty, lively, Antonia (Tony) Shimerda, four years older, teaches her English at the urging of her unhappy father, the mother is always complaining about her lack of things ( and will never be grateful). They become pals, exploring the nearby , untouched lands, the endless, constantly moving red grass, caused by the gentle winds, and blue skies, seeing the fascinating sights , swimming in the local river's pristine water, picnics in the wilderness, Jim falls in love with Antonia, even trying to kiss her on the lips, she laughs at him, treating the young boy like a child, puts her arms around his shoulders. They grow older, climbing a chicken house once, to the roof, seeing an exhilarating electric storm, in the night sky, lightning flashing near, but not scared, they're together, become almost adults and remain friends. The aging grandparents move to Black Hawk (Red Cloud) , a small town, which Jim likes, a short distance from their farm, it is rented to a widow and her brother. Jim can never stop loving, My Antonia, her solid character, working like a man in the fields, to help her large family, never quitting, treated badly by her stern brother, Ambrosch, but in good humor, when she comes home dead tired , soiled, ragged clothes, face and body turned brown by the unceasing Sun, an optimist forever, as young, clever, Burden leaves for college , first in Lincoln, at the new University of Nebraska and then Harvard , becomes a rich railroad lawyer, like Abraham Lincoln. He will come back and visit Antonia. A novel that tells what it was really like, to live and struggle in the lonely prairie, during the nineteenth century, in the American Midwest, not romantic, but plenty of misery, and a little happiness....

  • Margitte
    2019-06-06 02:28

    Two old friends meet on a train. They grew up together in the same town, and lived in the same city, New York, although they hardly ever saw each other there. They decided to do an unusual thing. They would write down their memories of one particular girl. In a community filled with the good, the bad and the unbelievable, she unknowingly became the primary color in many people's pictures of their lives on the remote prairies of Nebraska. She simply refused to fade away in anyone's memories. Middle-aged James Quayle Burden (Jim Burden), a successful lawyer for one of the big Western railways, delivered his memoir in an envelope on which he first wrote 'Antonia', but then changed it to 'My Antonia' to reflect his own memories of a girl who had the fire of life in her eyes. She was like the wind dancing in waves over the prairie grass, leaving the impression that the world was constantly running. She was pretty, vivacious, generous. She was Mother Earth personified with a positive, energetic ambiance all around her, like lost warm rays of the sun spreading over the cold snowy landscape. She was laughter, and kindness, and the epitome of joie de vivre, while the harsh treatment of her neurotic, cruel mother and her jealous brother who made her work in the fields on neighboring farms like a man, never seemed to stop her from being who she was. In her heart she kept the memory of her educated father alive. He was a respected violinist and philosopher in his own country. He was her muse. Who would not want to remember a childhood friend like Antonia Shimerda? The memoir that Jim left on his friend's table, began when he was a ten-year-old orphan from Virginia. He was on his way by train to live with his grandparents, Josiah and Emmeline Burden, in the remote outskirts of Nebraska. At the train station in Black Hawk, he encountered the Shimerdas, a Bohemian immigrant family, who were heading into the same unknown dark night. They would become his grandparents' neighbors.The cold journey by wagon through the nocturnal landscape becomes the metaphor for what lay ahead for himself in life. "I do not remember crossing the Missouri River, or anything about the long day’s journey through Nebraska. Probably by that time I had crossed so many rivers that I was dull to them. The only thing very noticeable about Nebraska was that it was still, all day long, Nebraska" ..."The immigrants rumbled off into the empty darkness, and we followed them...""I tried to go to sleep, but the jolting made me bite my tongue, and I soon began to ache all over. When the straw settled down I had a hard bed. Cautiously I slipped from under the buffalo hide, got up on my knees and peered over the side of the wagon. There seemed to be nothing to see; no fences, no creeks or trees, no hills or fields. If there was a road, I could not make it out in the faint starlight. There was nothing but land: not a country at all, but the material out of which countries are made. No, there was nothing but land—slightly undulating, I knew, because often our wheels ground against the brake as we went down into a hollow and lurched up again on the other side.I had the feeling that the world was left behind, that we had got over the edge of it, and were outside man’s jurisdiction. I had never before looked up at the sky when there was not a familiar mountain ridge against it. But this was the complete dome of heaven, all there was of it. I did not believe that my dead father and mother were watching me from up there; they would still be looking for me at the sheep-fold down by the creek, or along the white road that led to the mountain pastures. I had left even their spirits behind me. The wagon jolted on, carrying me I knew not whither. I don’t think I was homesick. If we never arrived anywhere, it did not matter. Between that earth and that sky I felt erased, blotted out. I did not say my prayers that night: here, I felt, what would be would be."Jim was a peripheral onlooker into the lives of the people around him. He had a keen eye for detail. The warmth and color, splashed out over the gray landscape of his life with his eldery grandparents, came from the unique characters he would meet during his three years on the farm, and then a short stay in town where his grandparents retired before he left for college. "In the morning, when I was fighting my way to school against the wind, I couldn’t see anything but the road in front of me; but in the late afternoon, when I was coming home, the town looked bleak and desolate to me. The pale, cold light of the winter sunset did not beautify—it was like the light of truth itself. When the smoky clouds hung low in the west and the red sun went down behind them, leaving a pink flush on the snowy roofs and the blue drifts, then the wind sprang up afresh, with a kind of bitter song, as if it said: “This is reality, whether you like it or not. All those frivolities of summer, the light and shadow, the living mask of green that trembled over everything, they were lies, and this is what was underneath. This is the truth.” It was as if we were being punished for loving the loveliness of summer. [pg 198] Where the natural landscape around him turned gray and stale in winter, another source of color would come from the church's stained-glass windows, the lights bursting from the homes at night, and the warm merry sounds of music lingering everywhere in the hearts of the inhabitants.Their neighbor in town, Mrs. Harling and her five children, all played the piano. Mrs. Harling herself played the old operas, such as “Martha,” “Norma,” and “Rigoletto”. Sally, the tomboy in the family, drummed out the plantation melodies of the negro minstrel troupes who visited town. Nina loved the Swedish wedding Marches.Mr. Samson D’Arnault from the Far South, a Blind former slave and pianist, spread himself out over the piano down at Kirkpatrick's hotel. The Boys’ Home was the best hotel on Jimmy's branch of the Burlington. D’Arnault crashed out waltzes and dance music and old plantation songs, while the boys gathered around him and sang along.Anson Kirkpatrick, the dapper, homely as a monkey Irishman, played airs from musical comedies. All would change when the dancing pavillion of the cheerful-looking Italian couple, Mr. and Mrs. Vanni, came into town during a long hot summer season. "First the deep purring of Mr. Vanni’s harp came in silvery ripples through the blackness of the dusty-smelling night; then the violins fell in—one of them was almost like a flute. They called so archly, so seductively, that our feet hurried toward the tent of themselves. Why hadn’t we had a tent before? [pg 224]It would become the great equalizer in town, where the white-handed, high-collared clerks and bookkeepers allowed themselves to dance with the 'hired girls', who were generally regarded as dangerous as high explosives by the townsfolk. Those dangerous girls included the Bohemian Marys, Lena Lingard and Tiny Soderball. They were all Jimmy's childhood friends out on the farms, and enjoyed pivotal roles in his decisions.Life played itself out on the prairies, where the soil was tilled and planted, the winds raged over the fields, and girls worked as hard as their families to celebrate prosperity when it finally came. They were the color blotches against a monotonous, dreary background. They were always singing. And they made time to dance. The music, always the music, turned their tales into real-life operettas, or even a musical, depending on the music scores playing out in their minds.It probably was more like a Black Hawk operetta, with elements of a happy musical added, for not everything was doom and gloom, but it did harbor a sense of tragedy here and there. Jim Burden could have been the music conductor of the orchestra, the 'hired girls' the chorus, and Antonia the star of the performance, according to his memoir. There was lots to share with the audience, such as the immigrant families finding themselves huddled into dug-outs and mud houses while the cruel winter winds were blowing viciously over the plains of Nebraska. Melancholic larghettos could represent their longing for their homelands such as Bohemia (now the Czech Republic), Germany, Russia, Sweden, Norway, Denmark and Finland. A selection of allegros could symbolize their hope and dreams for a new life in America, where opportunities were bountiful and greater marriage proposals awaited their beautiful daughters. Instead, they were greeted by a language barrier in the first place, and a small town zeitgeist which danced ferocious rhythms on their naivety. Members of the ruling upper class seduced them into fast-moving loan-waltzes that could not be paid back in any which way whatsoever. A jubilant foxtrot of social class distinction lured their precious, healthy looking, physically strong daughters into maid services where they were exploited in unimaginable ways. The grand finale turns out to be a boisterous polka, confirming their low-class status as their dreams lay trampled and destroyed on the streets of Black Hawk. As the curtain draw close, some players lay spread out on the floor - suicide; others gave up and flee back to their countries. In the aftermath though, there were highly successful survivors, living happily on their financially successful farms. Their hard work paid off, while the American families who looked down on them, were still poor and cottoned-up in their deluded sense of superiority and their respect for respectability. Jim Burden was furious with 'these snobs'! Oh how he despised them for what they did to his friends! And what their actions did to his Antonia, the prettiest, the most hard-working and most beautiful soul of them farm girls ...Antonia was bright as a new dollar, and her friends not very much behind. Life would change for all of them. Alaska's gold, San Francisco's decadence and New York's opulence were waiting and Jimmy had to tell their stories in his memoir, because everything evolved around Antonia. And he wanted to write her story down. He had to explain his role in the outcome of their lives.How ironic it was that he once believed that his grandfather's farm on the vast prairies of Nebraska, was the actual end of the world. Twenty years later Jim returned on the same railway track, following the same old road. It was now hardly visible. He reached the end of the world ... where it all began. Two new roads intersected at the crossroads where old Mr. Shimerda lay buried at the far corner of his land. He lay beneath a sturdy, strong wooden cross, which were blessed by all travelers on their way to new destinations. He metaphorically stood at the crossroads, finally realizing that everything made sense when and where it was expected the least. Antonia was there, with the fire in her eyes, alive and well. However, it is not what you think!A magnificent read!

  • Glenn Sumi
    2019-05-28 02:28

    My rating for My Ántonia? 5 stars shining brightly in the cloudless Nebraska sky, so vividly and lovingly evoked by Willa Cather in this elegiac novel about farmers and immigrant settlers making lives for themselves in the harsh, beautiful, bountiful prairies.(Sorry about that graceless run-on incomplete sentence. Cather, with her clear, descriptive, unpretentious prose, would never commit such a sin.)Some people and places are forever etched in our memories. Can you recall the landscapes of your childhood? The fields or sidewalks where you'd play? Do you have friends who – even if you see them decades later – you still remember as young? Have you ever seen a sparkle in a child’s eye that reminds you of his or her parent?Cather makes you think of all that. And much more.On the surface, it’s the tale of Jim Burden’s friendship/quasi-obsession with Ántonia (pronounced Anton-ee-ah) Schimerda, the oldest child of a Bohemian (Czech) immigrant family that moves to a neighbouring farm that’s really a hole in the ground.Through Jim’s eyes, in a series of episodes, we follow Ántonia, from scrappy farm helper to hard-working “hired girl” in town (there was a tradition for immigrant girls to work in town to send money to their families) to restless charismatic young woman with a talent for dance to… well, I don’t want to spoil the plot, such as it is.The book provides a fascinating look at various European immigrant communities in that era. Sometimes a scene will consist of a character simply telling a story to entertain others (remember, this was a time before TV and radio). Cather, a lesbian who never married, also offers up a glimpse into the lives of strong, determined women in a hardscrabble world dominated by men.A gentle, nostalgic feeling suffuses the book, and it’s full of love and affection for the industry and ethos of a bygone era. It’s not all pleasant, however. There’s suicide, cheating, death by wild animals, attempted rape, and lots and lots of mournful longing – as symbolized by the lonesome chugging of a train.Here's a passage, from early on in the book: I wanted to walk straight on through the red grass and over the edge of the world, which could not be very far away. The light air about me told me that the world ended here: only the ground and sun and sky were left, and if one went a little farther there would be only sun and sky, and one would float off into them, like the tawny hawks which sailed over our heads making slow shadows on the grass.Simple, unfussy, evocative. I’ve never been to Nebraska. But Cather’s powers of description are so strong, I now feel like I have. And I look forward to a repeat visit in her other prairie books, O Pioneers! and The Song Of The Lark.

  • Nidhi Singh
    2019-06-16 23:26

    To speak her name was to call up pictures of peoples and places, to set a quiet drama going in one’s brain.‘My Antonia’ is a story of home and homesickness. Of the memories of a lost home that persist in the mindscape as the warm gusts of wind and the singing of the larks. The home of that golden sunshine and yellow leaves, red shaggy grass and blue skies. The images which make me think of home as the quietest, friendliest corner of a crowded and uncaring street, of that kind touch in midst of the falling walls of life, of the bittersweet pain that persists in the heart as long as one lives. The place one always wants to go back to but holds over thinking how it must have changed and how we must have changed with the passing of the years. Or a look of longing evoked as the eyes meet the face of the beloved. Antonia, the beloved, who could never be yours, who you want to look at just for a moment longer, want to make her stay but have to let go. Because what she is, is everything that is earthy and beautiful, and essential and heart-felt, and primitive and pristine, and childhood and innocence, and life and love, and its harshness and tenderness, and its hard earned lessons. Everything that is lost and never recovered and never forgotten. And everything of what the home and the past is made of.Between the earth and the sky I felt erased blotted out. I did not say my prayers that night: here, I felt, what would be would be.This subsequent feeling of obliteration in the immensity of the prairies, the rustling of the red and gold autumn leaves in the high wind, the blazing force of winter wiping out the loveliness of summer, the stinging and delighting power of nature, the rejuvenation that comes with the changing seasons is a perfect ode to a transcendent vision and to everything that was put together by the pioneers for survival and persistence. It is something that is gripping as terror, which trembles the soul with its strangeness and yet makes the heart leap with ecstasy by permitting that space for humanity. There was nothing but land: not a country at all, but the material out of which countries are made. It is the unforgiving elemental force of nature that belittles the feeling of spatial and cultural estrangement however strong that might be. Because now, everything has to be built and rebuilt, and scrounged and hunted for. The past becomes a slate of memories of beautiful drawings. Something to be looked at with adoring, piercing nostalgia, but never to be turned back to. Her warm, sweet face, her kind arms, and the true heart in her; she was, oh, she was still my Antonia!Maybe it is true that Jim is too much of a romantic. He declares his inability to lose himself among impersonal things, with his memory always crowded with people and places of his own past, strengthened and simplified like the unchanging blue of a clear summer sky. And his story is formed by rivulets of episodes, storytelling, impressions that are mostly his own and those that are gathered. His narrative is flawed, imperfect, tinged with too much emotion, inhibited with inaction, with less beginnings and greater musings over closed chapters. He never gives away everything about himself. He gives away his dreams but also his felt inability to understand them. There is so much we don’t understand of ourselves and our lives and of those we love. Of our hurts, and bitterness and disappointments with them. It is one of the things that grant authenticity to our own experiences and feelings. There is something in it that gives the same strength and pulse to loving and remembering, like the force that beckons Blind d’ Arnault to the piano. The necessity of loving and remembering. Loving them for what they are, what they have meant to us, and what we have shared together; the un-sharable and the incommunicable. Now I understood that the same road was to bring us together again. Whatever we had missed, we possessed together the precious, the incommunicable past.

  • Madeline
    2019-06-04 03:28

    Like The Great Gatsby, I somehow avoided having to read this in high school, although I remember a lot of my friends reading Cather's book for Honors English while I was suffering through Summer of My German Soldier in regular people English. (Turns out, even if you're a voracious teenage reader, they still don't let you take honors classes if you spend your entire high school career constantly being one bad quiz away from straight-up flunking whatever math class you're in at the time) I don't remember my friends having much to say about My Antonia specifically, but I remember that they...didn't love it. Which isn't surprising, honestly. Cather's book is, based just on the plot description, a deeply dull story with barely any actual plot: Jim Burton looks back on his childhood in frontier America, and specifically his lifelong friendship with a Czech immigrant named Antonia. There are little bits of drama here and there, like when two Russian immigrants share the truly horrifying reason they had to leave their home country, and Antonia lives a life of quiet, constant struggle and suffering that Jim either doesn't feel the need to point out, or just doesn't notice. It's the writing that saves the book, and is the reason this is considered such a classic. Cather's prose gives us perfect descriptions of the prairie setting, and she's able to expertly use just a handful of well-chosen words to fully illustrate her characters. Antonia will stay with you long after you finish the book. So it's a real shame that the subject of the book doesn't get to tell her own story in her own words. I'm sure there's a very good reason that Cather makes Jim her narrator, and has him show the reader Antonia through his eyes (did Cather suspect that it would be hard for a woman to sell a book where a woman tells us about her own life? Ugh, probably), but this also means that Antonia can only ever exist to us as Jim saw her. At least Jim's not a bad narrator, overall. For the majority of the book I was enjoying myself, if only for the nice Little House on the Prairie nostalgia, but the story starts to nosedive around the time that Jim becomes an adolescent. Suddenly his complete inability to notice the abuse that Antonia suffers is more of a problem, as he's now old enough to be aware of these things. (Haha Jim, remember that time you found out that Antonia's employer had been planning to sneak into her room and rape her? Probably not, because no one ever talked about it after that scene) Jim starts behaving like a self-centered little shit - ie, a teenager - and it's not fun to watch Antonia's life through his eyes anymore. There's a lot of talk about the dances that are happening in town, and Jim starts going around with girls while internally griping about Antonia hanging out with the wrong boy. The worst part comes towards the end, when Jim has been away at college (and fucking around with Lena Lingard, who is both awesome and way too good for Jim), and then comes home and tells Antonia that he loves her. And then he leaves again, and doesn't come back for twenty years. Our hero really goes the extra mile to explain this to his readers, using a whopping two words to justify why he confessed his feelings to this poor girl and then didn't see her for two decades: "Life intervened." It is at this point that My Antonia turns into Lamentations of a Fuckboy by Jim Burton. He eventually learns that while he was away, Antonia got engaged to some dude who then abandoned her, leaving her pregnant and unmarried. Jim is "disappointed" in Antonia. Because Jim sucks. But she gets her life together, because Antonia is awesome, and when Jim finally comes back for a visit (he puts it off for a long time, because "I did not want to find her aged and broken"), she has a loving husband, a successful farm, and a ton of kids who adore her. All we know about adult Jim is that he's married, and the original narrator of the book doesn't like his wife. I really wish I'd gotten to read this book from Antonia's point of view. This is the story of a woman who immigrated to the United States as a child, speaking barely any English, and had to figure out how to survive with her family on the unforgiving frontier. Her father killed himself when she was young (or was maybe murdered? There's a little bit of suspicion surrounded the neighbor, and then it's dropped entirely), and she suffers abuse at the hands of her brother, her employer, and then her fiance. She has a child out of wedlock, but never tries to hide it, and bravely continues to live in her hometown with her child, ignoring the judgement and the rumors. Eventually she meets and marries a good man, who doesn't care that she already has a child, and she finally gets her farm and her family, and her happy ending. I wanted Antonia to tell me her story, not have it filtered through the perspective of her friend.And frankly, y'all, it pisses me off that this is called My Antonia. It reminds me, of all things, of an exchange from one of the Bond movies. Bond is bantering with Moneypenny and says, "Ah, Moneypenny, what would I do without you?" To which she replies, "Oh James. You've never had me."Honestly. It's like if Drake wrote a song called "My Rihanna." (no I will not apologize for that metaphor. Suck it, Honors English!)

  • The Book Maven
    2019-06-06 01:13

    When I first arrived in Indiana in August 2004, I didn't know what I was expecting. My ancestors had first arrived in that Midwestern state in 1820, when it was still comparatively wild and unsettled. They were the true pioneers, but nonetheless, as I got out of my little Corolla to stretch my legs, I felt like I was a trailblazer, too.We had stopped at a little gas station and truck stop just beyond the Indiana state line. I took a moment to call the relatives, let them know I was two hours away...and then I took a good look around. On all sides, we were surrounded by late summer grass, burnt yellow by a typical lack of rain, undulating in an afternoon wind. I thought it was beautiful. Later that evening, I would sit on a porch and watch fireflies and the lightning from a late-night storm light up the night sky, and know the meaning of the words, "My cup runneth over."Such was my first exposure to Indiana. I never stopped thinking it was beautiful, and even now, after I have lived in California for almost a year, I feel lonely and heartsick when I contemplate my Midwest, now left in the past, in so many ways.I read My Antonia soon after moving here, when I was in denial of how homesick I was, and the words of Willa Cather destroyed all denial:"The old pastureland was now being broken up into wheatfields and cornfields, the red grass was disappearing, and the whole face of the country was changing. There were wood houses where the old sod dwellings used to be, and little orchards, and big red barns; all this meant happy children, contented women, and men who saw their lives coming to a fortunate issue. The windy springs and the blazing summers, one after another, had enriched and mellowed that flat tableland; all the human effort that had gone into it was coming back in long, sweeping lines of fertility."Yes, Cather's words are of the great plains of Nebraska, and my memories are of the lands of the Midwest, but both are Middle America, both are the same in my mind, in my heart, in my love of the land there.My Antonia is a story of people, and love, and land, and love of the land, and it is a story of the pioneer stock who came to North America and formed the backbone of those whom I still call "farmer stock." It's a romance, but not in the sentimental, lovey-dovey sense; it's a romance in a sensual, timeless manner, evoking eternal beauty through lyrical narrative.

  • John
    2019-05-27 01:24

    My latest encounter with a masterwork -- a novel I just completed in order to teach, and one that seduced me wonderfully and quite unexpectedly. Cather's Nebraska story goes over ground that's never much mattered to me, Midwestern farm country. Yet she made made the experience ache and thrill marvelously, via her poetic command of landscape and season, her exactitude when it comes to tools and foods and skin texture, and above all her penetrating sympathy for every figure, from the venal to the saintly, in these pages. MY ANTONIA is an essential contribution to the immigrant project for our culture and country, uplifting and yet entirely clear-eyed about our sins and foibles, and ultimately among the finest depictions I know for how a community is forged out of those who drop down into our heartland speaking broken English and barely scraping by.

  • Terence
    2019-06-12 07:23

    Perhaps an example of the danger of reading something before being intellectually or critically able to handle it. I wasn't "forced" to read this in high school but it was on a list of books an English teacher asked us to choose from and report on.The experience was so awful that I've never cracked another Cather novel since.Added 12/29/08: Apparently I was not the only young man "traumatized" by an early experience with Cather. In a completely serendipitous convergence I came across this paragraph in Michael Dirda's Classics for Pleasure in the Willa Cather essay:Willa Cather hated to see her fiction anthologized or used as a school text. She feared that instead of discovering her stories and novels on their own, children would grow up with unpleasant memories of being forced to read her work. Unfortunately, this has happened. My Antonia is a staple of high-school English classes, but seldom a favorite with students, especially teenage boys. (p. 254)

  • Trish
    2019-05-28 07:25

    If there were no girls like them in the world, there would be no poetry.Frankly, I don't quite trust myself to put into words just how beautiful and hypnotizing Willa Cather's writing and story-telling ability is. This is one of those books you just have to read for yourself. The prose in this novel is outstanding and the characters and setting come to life as easily as breathing. Trust me, this is a hidden gem in a sea of classics.

  • Matt
    2019-06-23 01:30

    Like many kids, the first “real” books I loved were Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Little House on the Prairie series. Their great and continuing popularity makes perfect sense. Kids crave security and a sense of protection; Little House on the Prairie hammered on that theme repeatedly, while only giving the reader a frisson of the actual dangers and hardships of frontier life. There was never any explicit threat in any of the books, with the exception of the near fatal cold in The Long Winter (the one book in the series that slightly traumatized me). Sure, little Laura and Mary might hear the sounds of a panther in the trees, or an Indian’s drum in the distance, but that is always kept off-page and beyond the thick walls of the Ingalls’ snug little cabin. What action exists in Little House on the Prairie consists of meeting one’s basic human needs: the construction of shelter; the stitching of clothes; and the cooking of meals. To say that Laura Ingalls Wilder’s remembrance of her past is tinged with nostalgia is putting it mildly. The whole series has been submerged in a vat of sepia. In her telling, the family’s dwelling (even if it’s a cave) is always warm and snug, tidy and cozy; every meal is delicious (especially the snow-and-molasses candy!); and every obstacle can be overcome with a little elbow grease. Little House on the Prairie is undeniably fantastic. Not only is it great storytelling (I mean, you’re always interested, even though nothing happens!), but it provides an invaluable link to the past. I bet you could construct a door without nails, simply by following Laura’s painstaking instructions. Still, the reality of pioneer life must have been a little rougher than she remembered. I’m sure the Ingalls dugout got a little dirty, despite Ma’s best efforts, because it was, in fact, made of dirt. However cozy things might have been, it must also have been stinky, what with the unwashed bodies, lack of toilet paper, and absence of any Old Spice products. And there’s never any mention of the inevitable lack of privacy, and all that entails (Pa? Ma? Mr. Edwards? What are you doing!?)I mention this only because I thought about Little House on the Prairie while reading Willa Cather’s My Ántonia (the same thoughts snuck into my head during O Pioneers!, but to a lesser extent). It is, in many ways, an adult version of the perennial children’s favorite. It shares that same connection to the land, the same telling details of prairie life, and it does so through the voice of an adult looking back at his own childhood. There is that same tendency to see the past as halcyon days; indeed, Cather’s novel quotes Virgil’s Georgics as its epigraph: “The best days are the first to flee.” The difference between Ingalls Wilder and Cather, between the children’s classic and the adult classic, is that Cather also adds a degree of violence and repressed sexuality to the mix. The result is bound to please anyone who ever finished Little House on the Prairie and said to him or herself: “Perfect! Except it needed a little more sex and violence.” My Ántonia begins with an unnamed, first-person narrator telling about a train ride across Iowa with her friend, a successful lawyer named Jim Burden. Both Jim and the unnamed narrator are obsessed with a Bohemian girl named Ántonia, whom they both knew from their childhood in Black Hawk, Nebraska. (In this context, Bohemia refers to a part of Europe now occupied by the Czech Republic; it does not refer to a commune-dwelling hippy artist who only eats grass and drinks rainwater). Both the unnamed narrator and Jim decide to write down their memories of Ántonia. By the end of this short introduction, the narrator admits to never writing anything. Jim, however, turns in a “manuscript” that comprises the rest of the novel. From then on, Jim Burden becomes the first-person narrator. Thankfully for the reader, Jim’s voice is identical to that of Willa Cather. (This nested narrative is a light conceit. I don’t think Cather intended us to take it too seriously. If we did, we’d have to conclude Jim Burden is the ultimate unreliable narrator, since he tells us things – the thoughts and feeling of other people, for instance – that he couldn’t know). Jim’s story is divided into five parts. The first, longest, and best part (and the section that really had me thinking Little House on the Prairie) details the newly-orphaned Jim’s arrival at the Nebraska farm of his grandparents. Jim’s grandparents are prosperous, and have two loyal hired hands, named Jake and Otto.Also new to the neighborhood is the Shimerda family, which includes young Ántonia. The Shimerdas are the proverbial fish out of water (or more accurately, the Bohemians in Nebraska). They are inept farmers and are constantly being cheated. While the appropriately-named Burdens give them what assistance they can, Jim and Ántonia become friends. Among their adventures together is a scene in which Ántonia and Jim are alone on the prairie, and Jim kills a big old rattlesnake. Just in case you missed the Biblical allusion to Adam and Eve and the serpent and the Garden of Eden – well, I just told you. The great joy in the early going is the incredibly beautiful evocation of the land, and its effect on ten year-old Jim. I sat down in the middle of the garden, where the snakes could scarcely approach unseen, and leaned m back against a warm yellow pumpkin. There were some ground-cherry bushes growing along the furrows, full of fruit. I turned back the papery triangular sheaths that protected the berries and ate a few. All about me giant grasshoppers, twice as big as any I had ever seen, were doing acrobatic feats among the dried vines. The gophers scurried up and down the ploughed ground. There in the sheltered draw-bottom the wind did not blow very hard, but I could hear it singing its humming tune up on the level, and I could see the tall grasses wave. The earth was warm under me, and warm as I crumbled it through my fingers…I kept as still as I could. Nothing happened. I did not expect anything to happen. I was something that lay under the sun and felt it, like the pumpkins, and I did not want to be anything more. I was entirely happy. Perhaps we feel like that when we die and become part of something entire, whether it is sun and air, or goodness and knowledge. At any rate, that is happiness; to be dissolved into something complete and great. When it comes to one, it comes naturally as sleep.As the novel progresses, the Burdens leave their farm and move into Black Hawk. Jim grows up, begins attending town dances, and eventually goes away to school, first to Lincoln, Nebraska, and later to Harvard. Throughout, there is a delicate, dramatic tension in the relationship between Ántonia and Jim. It is clear that Jim loves her. Indeed, from the moment we meet him, he can’t stop talking about her, and how she was the most amazing person he’d ever met. For her part, Ántonia seems to love Jim just as much. But something always keeps them apart. At this point, I suppose, it is necessary to segue into a mention of Cather herself, and her tendency to meld autobiography into her fiction. Cather was, by all accounts, a lesbian, though it seems she never consummated any homosexual relationships. If that was true, you can begin to understand the pathology underlying Jim’s discomfort with and peculiar stance towards sexuality. He seems to know what he wants, but he is maddeningly ambivalent about attaining it. (And I do mean maddening. There is a point in the novel where Ántonia desperately needs Jim; and though he has made her into the sun and stars, he turns and walks away, without a tinge of remorse). Similarly to O Pioneers!, My Ántonia pivots around a strong, iconoclastic female character. Yet there is something frustratingly vague about Ántonia. Everyone who comes into contact with her is changed, and haunted, by the experience. But we never get an inkling why. Partially this is due to Cather’s interesting choice to tell the story of a woman through the eyes of a man. We never get any insight into Ántonia’s inner life, her hopes and dreams, her likes and dislikes. We don’t know what makes her tick (for that matter, Jim doesn’t give us much insight into himself, either). Ántonia becomes less a person than a lodestar, a constant against which Jim can measure his life. (In the introduction, Jim admits as much, saying: “It’s through myself that I knew and felt her”). Any understanding of Ántonia must come from her physical description. While Cather is stingy with psychological motivations, she is generous in listing Ántonia’s corporeal attributes: the beauty of her eyes (“like the sun shining on brown pools in the wood”); the way she looks leading a work-team or tending the fields; and the way she dances (hint: erotically). Interestingly, Ántonia’s physical qualities are portrayed – favorably – as manlike. She is tireless, hardworking, and sun-burnt. Even the diminutive of her name, Tony, which Jim often uses, tends towards a certain androgyny. A smarter or dumber person than I might be tempted to read Cather’s own sexuality into this depiction, but I’ll just leave it be. As a Minnesotan living in Nebraska (I’ll be damned if I’ll ever claim to be Nebraskan), I was pleasantly surprised at Cather’s depiction of her onetime home. O Pioneers! painted a less than flattering picture of the Nebraska prairie, so I was prepared for the worst. In My Ántonia, though, the land’s beauty is constantly underscored. This is in fitting with the novel’s romantic, elegiac tone. Though there are moments of macabre violence, including a darkly-comic murder-suicide, there are very few rough edges to My Ántonia, at least on the surface (you can find all sorts of stuff if you look beneath the surface). This is, after all, a chronicle of a child’s memories, and like all our memories, especially those from childhood, events are magnified and emotions compounded. There is no beauty that compares to the beauty of the things we saw as children; there is no love like first love. Once upon a time, I was something of a romantic. I was eager to have my heartstrings manipulated. That was a long time ago. I am already starting to teeter on the edge of Ed Asner-levels of curmudgeon-ness. And when I get there, it’s going to take more than a Boy Scout and a bunch of balloons to pull me back. This was the road over which Ántonia and I came on that night when we got off the train at Black Hawk and were bedded down in the straw, wondering children, being taken we knew not whither. I had only to close my eyes to hear the rumbling of the wagons in the dark, and to be again overcome by that obliterating strangeness. The feelings of that night were so near that I could reach out and touch them with my hand. I had the sense of coming home to myself, and of having found out what a little circle man’s experience is…It’s a testament to Cather’s literary skills that My Ántonia managed to pierce my student loan-burdened, work-battered, Nebraska-residing little heart.

  • Ahmad Sharabiani
    2019-06-22 03:30

    My Ántonia (Great Plains Trilogy #3), Willa Cather My Ántonia is a novel published in 1918 by American writer Willa Cather, considered one of her best works. It is the final book of her "Great Plains trilogy" of novels, preceded by O Pioneers! and The Song of the Lark. The novel tells the stories of an orphaned boy from Virginia, Jim Burden, and the elder daughter in a family of Bohemian immigrants, Ántonia Shimerda, who are each brought as children to be pioneers in Nebraska towards the end of the 19th century. Both the pioneers who first break the prairie sod for farming, as well as of the harsh but fertile land itself, feature in this American novel. The first year in the very new place leaves strong impressions in both children, affecting them lifelong.تاریخ نخستین خوانش: ماه جولای سال 1976 میلادیعنوان: آنتونیای من - کتاب سوم از سه گانه چمنزار؛ نویسنده: ویلا سیلبرت کاذر (کاتر)؛ مترجم: پرویز داریوش؛ تهران، امیرکبیر، 1335، در 327 ص؛سه گانه چمنزار: کتاب نخست: اوه!، پیشگامان! (1913)؛ کتاب دوم: آهنگ لارک (1915)؛ کتاب سوم: آنتونیای من (1918)؛داستان رمان «آنتونیای من» درباره مهاجرانی از بوهمیا و کشورهای اسکاندیناوی است که راهی نبراسکا می‌شوند تا شاید بتوانند از خاک و خاک و هیچ ... آینده‌ ای برای خود بسازند.؛ ا. شربیانی

  • Perry
    2019-06-22 07:26

    A Cornhusk3.5er (a worthy trip to the Great Plains, but not especially compelling)This 1918 novel is a nice portrait of a slice of American frontier life as experienced by immigrants and women in the late 1800s.With a fascinated child's keen eye, Cather's narrator Jim Burden recalls Antonia Shimerda, his childhood friend and crush who moved to the Nebraska prairie frontier with her stout and sturdy Bohemian immigrant parents as they searched for better living. The portrayal of the austerity of frontier life shows how the hard winters and harsh life strips souls down to their bare essence. Burden (Cather) paints his Antonia as the epitome of a pioneer woman in her toil and tenacity, her generosity and gusto. The novel brings the reader to the adversity of Antonia's life on her family's farm and the difficulty she had in the local town in conforming to her role of hired girl. The final time Burden finds Antonia, she's a "rich mine of life" with sons and sufficient happiness in her marriage to another immigrant farmer. This tugged my heartstrings in empathy for Jim Burden.

  • Libros Prestados
    2019-06-04 01:26

    La puntuación alta se debe en parte a la nostalgia: este libro me recordaba a mi abuela. Describe la vida de mujeres que de niñas/adolescentes dejaron sus granjas para ir a trabajar como sirvientas y así ayudar a la economía familiar. Sí, puede que se trate de mujeres inmigrantes, y mi abuela no lo era, pero hay parte de la misma adversidad y los mismos prejuicios de las chicas de ciudad a su origen rural que mi abuela solía relatar.Eso no quiere decir que las cinco estrellas se deban solo a mis sentimientos. Me ha parecido una gran novela, escrita magistralmente, con ese amor de Willa Cather por los paisajes de su infancia y perspicacia a la hora de detallar a ese grupo de mujeres, a ese grupo de personas de una comunidad, todos emigrantes de distinto origen, que se encontraron en América.Sí, una vez más Willa Cather está hablando de inmigrantes europeos blancos. Hay una mención de pasada a un afroamericano, pero Cather lo que escribe es el "Mito Americano" blanco, el que olvida que esa tierra fue robada, el que ignora la labor y el sufrimiento de los esclavos africanos o los trabajadores asiáticos. Aún así, Willa Cather es lo suficientemente honesta para describir lo duro que era, y cómo ninguno de esos granjeros pudo sobrevivir sin recibir ayuda de otros. Las comunidades prosperaron, no las explotaciones agrarias en solitario. También describe la situación (dura e injusta) de la mujer, siendo el desarrollo del personaje de Lena Lindgard francamente interesante.El libro es como una versión ampliada y menos melodramática de "Pioneros". Los personajes tienen más tiempo para desarrollarse, la historia tiene partes dramáticas, pero no sentí en ningún momento esa sensación de estar viendo un telefilme de sobremesa de fin de semana que sí tuve con "Pioneros" (a ver, Cather es una gran escritora y "Pioneros" no es un telefilme, pero ya me entendéis). Cather busca más la verosimilitud que el shock.A la gente que le gustó "Pioneros" le debería gustar, y a los que tuvieron problemas con el final de ese libro también debería gustarles más "Mi Ántonia", porque tal vez tenga menos giros y saltos dramáticos, pero lo suple con unos personajes carismáticos a los que acabas conociendo y, en algunos casos (no todos), queriendo.

  • Ben Winch
    2019-06-19 04:19

    I'm not sure I can tell you what's so great about My Antonia, except that you can't read it without loving its subject, or at least I couldn't. And that it's transparent - miraculously so - as without flash or ego as anything I've read in a long time. But ironically, this rare attribute may help conceal Cather's artistry. In her earlier O Pioneers!, from the first line her virtuosity was evident, but perhaps if I hadn't been so impressed by it there I wouldn't so instinctively have grasped it here. Certainly the absurd and implausible introduction (positing My Antonia as the hastily-scribbled autobiographical work of a lawyer who has, so far as we know, never written before) would not have helped, and it's unfortunate that my edition (Broadview, 2003) kept the longer early version of this introduction intact, only printing Cather's preferred, much-shortened redraft as an appendix, because these pages are her only serious misstep. But from page one of the actual text Cather's flow carries us effortlessly - not a word wasted, not a flat passage, nothing wooden or hollow or false. And when virtuosity rises calmly like a ripple from the depths and subsides we hardly notice it has passed. Here she describes a young, blind, black boy's first encounter with the piano, with which he would earn his living later in life:Through the dark he found his way to the Thing, to its mouth. He touched it softly, and it answered softly, kindly. He shivered and stood still. Then he began to feel it all over, ran his finger tips along the slippery sides, embraced the carved legs, tried to get some conception of its shape and size, of the space it occupied in the primeval night. It was cold and hard, and like nothing else in his black universe. He went back to its mouth, began at one end of the keyboard and felt his way down into the mellow thunder, as far as he could go. He seemed to know that it must be done with the fingers, not with the fists or the feet. He approached this highly artificial instrument through a mere instinct, and coupled himself to it, as if he knew it was to piece him out and make a whole creature of him. Taken alone, this could just as easily be the 'fabulist' Felisberto Hernandez as the 'realist' Willa Cather, yet somehow it does not seem out of place in this, in many ways, traditional-seeming book. I would say it's because Cather's writing always serves the needs of the story, but the truth is I'm not sure what are the needs of a story like this one, the flow of which is far less the rapid rush down the mountain than the wide, meandering yet powerful drift across the plain. Cather describes it:There was material in that book for a lurid melodrama. But I decided in writing it I would dwell very lightly upon those things that a novelist would ordinarily emphasize and make up my story of the little, everyday happenings and occurrences that form the greatest parts of everyone's life and happiness.She has succeeded. When I finished O Pioneers! I felt I would have gladly done without the melodrama just to inhabit the perfectly-realised setting of Cather's Nebraska, to watch the seasons pass and the characters grow, and this is exactly what I experienced in My Antonia. Though I always look forward to reading, there are few books that can calm me as this one did. My trust in Cather, after the nasty shock of the introduction had worn off, was near-complete: nothing cruel would happen to her characters, nothing cloying or fake, nothing for the sake of drama or plot. Often I am wowed by innovation or mindbending concepts or all-consuming atmosphere, but this was a simpler pleasure. I wouldn't call it thought-provoking - in fact I don't think its function is to provoke at all. But I do feel it has seeped into me and will remain there, like a part of my own memory, so direct and sensuous and glowing with life was my experience of it.

  • Pink
    2019-06-17 07:07

    I should probably start off by mentioning this isn't my favourite sort of story to read about. I don't particularly care about prairie life or this era of America, so I'd probably never love this book. That being said, I'd heard enough good things about it to give it a try. In the end I had mixed feelings, there were parts of the story that really drew me in and I liked the writing, but at other times I lost interest in the characters and the setting. Glad to have read it, but I probably won't read the previous books in her Great Plains trilogy. On the other hand, let me know if you've preferred her earlier novels and think I'm missing out.

  • Jenny (Reading Envy)
    2019-06-19 04:23

    "The only thing very noticeable about Nebraska was that it was still, all day long, Nebraska."I have my own charming story about the endless rolling hills of Nebraska. When my husband and I first moved across the country from Oregon to Indiana, we spent a long day driving across Nebraska after spending a night there. As staunch Oregonians we were dying for some real coffee but whenever we asked, from Utah to Wyoming, people would shrug and say "we have coffee" and point to the gas station offerings. It got more and more dire the farther east we went, culminating in us deciding that Nebraska meant, in its native language, "No Espresso." But then we turned a corner in a dusty parking lot, the backside where all the semi trucks and tractor trailers parked and got gas, and there was a tiny espresso hut with the nicest woman in the universe.So I'm familiar with this feeling that Nebraska is only endless and dusty and drab on the outside, that with just a little effort you can really see something special. And Willa Cather brought me back to that moment. I read this book (or possibly just the first section) when I was in 8th grade. That feels too young now, rereading it because a class I am the librarian for is reading it as their introduction to American disaster literature. How could I ever have understood it? How could I have appreciated the writing? I didn't. But I did this time. I need to seek out more from Cather after a positive experience reading The Professor's House earlier this year.

  • Teresa
    2019-05-27 02:07

    Cather's beloved work is an nostalgic paean to her past, the prose even more assured than in her previous two novels. But whether it's because this one lacks the straightforwardness of O Pioneers! or the character arc in The Song of the Lark, its episodic structure failed to pull me in.The most important element for me is the historical one that Cather has left us, the focus on the hard-working immigrant women who made a life for their families on the prairie despite extreme hardships, including the danger of sexual predators who preyed on those who went to "work out" in the towns.In the fifth and final section, Cather achieves (finally?) an immediacy that gets to her point, though in many ways this section is the most idealized and romanticized of them all.

  • Sue
    2019-06-02 23:25

    "The trouble with you, Jim, is that you're romantic." (p 138) And for me this may have been the crux of my problem with this novel in spite of Cather's usual wonderful writing. Having read the books of The Great Plains Trilogy in the order they were written, My Antonia has to compete for attention in my mind with O Pioneers! and The Song of the Lark, neither of which has a narrator who would be termed a romantic in their view of life. Jim's memoir of life on the prairie begins when he is a child, arriving at his grandparents' farm in Nebraska after his parents have both died. Cather arrived in Nebraska at a similar age and aspects of My Antonia reflect aspects of her life, both on the farm and in the city as she made her way as an independent adult. Here is the young Jim's impression of this new land he has come to, riding in a wagon at night.Cautiously I slipped from under the buffalo hide, gotup on my knees and peered over the side of the wagon. There seemed to be nothing to see; no fences, no creeks or trees, no hills or fields. If there was a road, I could not make it out in the faint starlight. There was nothing but land: not a country at all, but the material out of which countries are made. No, there was nothing but land---slightly undulating, I knew, because often our wheels ground against the brake as we went down into a hollow and lurched up again on the other side. I had the feeling that the world was left behind, that we had gone over the edge of it... (p 11)Unlike the women who grow up on the plains in the other books, Jim has a deep-seated nostalgia that seems to rule him. When he does see Antonia during a break in his Eastern education, hefelt the old pull of the earth, the solemn magic thatcomes out of those fields at nightfall. I wished I could be a little boy again, and that my way could end there. (p 193)Perhaps it is this yearning to go back in time, to pull others back with him, that bothered me. Jim seems dissatisfied with decisions he has made, but is only able to express this obliquely through his thoughts about Antonia and the family and friends he left behind on the prairie.3.5 stars