Willa Cather has become one of my favorite American writers. After thoroughly enjoying her novel Death Comes for the Archbishop—the story of brave Catholic priests who journeyed from France to the American West—I picked up My Antonia with high hopes. It turned out to be an excellent decision.
A Portrait of the Prairie
My Antonia tells the story of its namesake character, the daughter of a Czech pioneer family making their home on the Nebraska plains. Like so many immigrant families, they’ve come to America seeking the chance to build something great. While Antonia’s mother struggles with instability and her father never stops pining for their old life, Antonia herself radiates abundance and potential. She captures the heart of the narrator, Jim Burden, who is four years her junior.
Jim arrives in Nebraska as a young boy to live with his grandparents at exactly the same time Antonia’s family settles nearby. They become neighbors in the wild prairie, where the expansive landscape dominates young Jim’s imagination.
Cather beautifully captures this sense of place and movement:
“I can remember exactly how the country looked to me as I walked beside my grandmother along the faint wagon-tracks on that early September morning. Perhaps the glide of long railway travel was still with me, for 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…”
Through Antonia’s immigrant eyes, we see a romance with the landscape and farmland that Cather suggests had been lost to many Americans. Even Jim, despite recognizing the land’s power, observes with typical American restlessness that “the only thing very noticeable about Nebraska was that it was still, all day long, Nebraska.”
The Immigrant Advantage
As Jim and Antonia grow up, they develop a close friendship built on mutual respect. But Jim recognizes the harsh realities Antonia’s family faces—living in a barely functional sod house while his grandparents enjoy a proper home, struggling with language and cultural barriers that require constant navigation by their more established neighbors.
Yet Cather observes something remarkable: over time, the immigrant families develop distinct advantages on the prairie. The Czechs, Norwegians, and Swedes possess a dogged determination to escape debt and educate their children. The older daughters move to town and send money home, helping their farm families thrive.
Initially, “The daughters of Black Hawk merchants had a confident, unenquiring belief that they were ‘refined,’ and that the country girls, who ‘worked out,’ were not.” This mindset sounds strikingly familiar today, echoing the way many urban dwellers continue to view those in “flyover” states.
But once these immigrant farm girls establish themselves in the city, they begin captivating the young city men with their unique advantages: fitness from field work, resilience born of struggle, and deep commitment to family. Their families ascend the social ladder:
“foreign farmers in our county were the first to become prosperous. After the fathers were out of debt, the daughters married the sons of neighbours—usually of like nationality—and the girls who once worked in Black Hawk kitchens are to-day managing big farms and fine families of their own; their children are better off than the children of the town women they used to serve.”
Two Paths, One Past
Jim grows up to become a lawyer, his path taking him from Lincoln to Harvard and back east. Antonia stays in Nebraska, marrying a solid Czech man whom she transforms into a successful farmer. While Jim struggles to maintain his connection to the land and his people, visiting old friends scattered across the country, years pass and he misses Antonia raising her large family.
When they reconnect twenty years later, their different relationships with the past become starkly apparent. For Antonia, the past remains an ever-present part of life, illuminating the future. For Jim, the past becomes something he must work to recover amid the distractions of his successful city career.
Two quotes illuminate this contrast beautifully. As Jim prepares to leave after Antonia’s first child is born, she tells him:
“Of course it means you are going away from us for good. But that don’t mean I’ll lose you. Look at my papa here; he’s been dead all these years, and yet he is more real to me than almost anybody else. He never goes out of my life. I talk to him and consult him all the time. The older I grow, the better I know him and the more I understand him.”
Later, during an extended visit, Jim takes a reflective walk and finds himself in the unchanged landscape: “I took a long walk north of the town, out into the pastures where the land was so rough that it had never been ploughed up, and the long red grass of early times still grew shaggy over the draws and hillocks. Out there I felt at home again.”
The Wisdom of Staying Rooted
Jim concludes by recognizing that despite their vastly different life trajectories, he and Antonia still share their past together. The difference lies in how they inhabit that shared history: Antonia lives and breathes within it, while Jim must fight to overcome life’s distractions to reconnect with it.
This is what I most appreciate about Cather’s writing—her recognition that the past forms the foundation of what we’re building, and that distraction from it can cause us to lose our way. Jim, like all of us should, recognizes that despite the wear and tear of Antonia’s hard life on the soil, she retains a level of greatness that his successful but rootless existence cannot match.
My Antonia reminds us that sometimes the greatest achievements aren’t measured in professional success or geographic mobility, but in the depth of our connections to place, people, and the continuous thread of memory that weaves our lives together.
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