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    O Pioneers!
    O Pioneers!
    O Pioneers!
    Ebook202 pages3 hours

    O Pioneers!

    By Willa Cather

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    The first of her renowned prairie novels--a story that expresses Cather's conviction that "the history of every country begins in the heart of a man or a woman." When Alexandra Bergson takes over the family farm after her father's death, she falls under the spell of the rich, forbidding Nebraska prairie.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherFlip
    Release dateApr 10, 2018
    ISBN9782291012115
    Author

    Willa Cather

    Born in 1873, Willa Cather was raised in Virginia and Nebraska. After graduating from the University of Nebraska she established herself as a theatre critic, journalist and teacher in Pittsburgh whilst also writing short stories and poems. She then moved to New York where she took a job as an investigative journalist before becoming a full-time writer. Cather enjoyed great literary success and won the Pulitzer Prize for her novel One of Ours. She’s now best known for her Prairie trilogy: O Pioneers!, The Song of the Lark and My Ántonia. She travelled extensively and died in New York in 1947.

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    Reviews for O Pioneers!

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    1,310 ratings31 reviews

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    • 4/5
      Uncharacteristically, I managed to read more than half of this novel without reading the back of book blurb. When I did and saw the word "murder" I laughed. How could such a quiet, deliberate book lead to such a harsh, unforgiving word? Masterfully, it turns out.

      Cather's strength is description. Her descriptions of nature are especially detailed and evocative. But, she's at her best when she is underplaying events, using a few well chosen words to pinpoint emotions. Beautiful and surprising, O Pioneers! will stay with me for a while.
    • 5/5
      This book has two of my favorite things - beautiful writing and a strong female protagonist. Alexandra Bergson is put in charge of her family's farm after her father dies, despite the fact that she has two older brothers. She has a head for business, and she loves the land. Life is not always easy for Alexandra. She focuses on her farm and has few close friends. When describing her memory of a duck on a pond, Cather notes, "Most of Alexandra's happy memories were as impersonal as this one; yet to her they were very personal. Her mind was a white book, with clear writing about weather and beasts and growing things." In telling Alexandra's story, Cather is able to let her love for Nebraska shine through as well. Her descriptions of the land and the seasons are vivid. I captured several of these, but perhaps because I'm reading this in the midst of a cold snap, this one stood out:"Winter has settled down over the Divide again; the season in which Nature recuperates, in which she sinks to sleep between the fruitfulness of autumn and the passion of spring. . . One could easily believe that in the dead landscape the germs of life and fruitfulness were extinct forever."
    • 4/5
      Sally Apollon Review 5/30/12 ofO Pioneers! By Willa Catha7 out of 10Setting: I very much enjoyed the descriptions of the time & place of the Pioneers in this book. It is a period I know little of and I do take great interest in the ground-breaking time, both literally and figuratively speaking. These people had to learn to get along in a strange environment with a different climate, resources and surprisingly multicultural neighbors; I have a huge amount of respect for the settlers of this time and the struggles they faced.Language: This was very descriptive and evocative, sympathetic to the land and the animals & birds. I found it to be breathtaking on occasion and really the greatest strength of the book. The story was well-wrought, by turns triumphant and tragic, reflecting the harshness and renewal of nature.Characterization: Alexandra is a tour de force; her character provides constancy and stability for all the other characters. She is sensitive, yet has more strength than any of the others. It is as if she is in harmony with the land and draws her strength from it.The distinction between her two older brothers & Emil is sharp and their lack of relationship is a product of their differences. Emil: educated, dapper, articulate, well-travelled & intelligent—he is the Brave New World, compared to his brothers who are ignorant, uneducated and bigoted, even though they work like carthorses. They are the Protestant Work Ethic and a relic of the Old World, at once, come to life. Marie—since her first appearance as a child did not quite appear to fit in this world. She transitions from a precocious child to sensual woman with a passionate disposition, ready to enfold anyone she encounters in her aura. She and Emil do seem to belong together, there is evidently a magnetism that pulls them closer—meanwhile her surly husband, Frank pushes her away. I did find the description of the gradual breakdown of their marriage to be very poignant and realistic. So sad to see love grow cold and turn to resentment and even worse. Ammadee, Emil’s French childhood friend was such a delight; I barely saw that coming—when the tragedy occurred, (appendicitis! How utterly preventable, in this day and age!) it seemed all the more apt that he was this “Golden Boy” who had a beautiful life. Ironically, his prank in the church to kill the lights brought Emil and Marie together and his death drove them closer still.Frank—why was he so utterly tragic, so completely pathetic and how could Alexandra have such pity on him to go visit him at the end? I was not sympathetic to him up to a point—his own morose nature helped to bring the adulterous situation about and he had a choice about the way he behaved and treated his wife. Having said that, I do think he sincerely lost his mind when he saw them and hardly knew what he was doing, jail was really too good for him, he will be trapped in his own mind for the rest of his life. Regardless, I don’t think Alexandra helped him, or herself by visiting—even if it does speak volumes about her character that she would do so. I suppose she just had to do that to let him know that SHE didn’t blame him.Carl Lindstrom: it was interesting to me that he didn’t return for Alexandra sooner or try harder to make her his own—but then we wouldn’t have had a story. These days, the grand old age of forty seems so young, but at that time to consider marriage then was considered by most to make oneself “ridiculous”. He also had the drive to “make something of himself” before truly offering himself to a woman such as Alexandra. I was happy when they were finally together.One thing I found interesting was that the relationships were very succinctly described; the conversations few, the pivotal moments well circumscribed. It was a short but very neat and tidy novel, well-styled and with an acute sense of realism, right down to the quick & drawn out deaths of Emil and Marie, respectively—perfectly, compellingly descriptive.As an overall sense, I enjoyed this book more than I thought I would and even more on retrospect, probably would even consider reading another by this author, but not in too much of a hurry.Finally, as a footnote, I had to go & look up Bohemia to see exactly what it referred to, as I had only previously encountered it’s usage as a word to describe a “free-spirited or artistic” character and in this book it evidently refers to a race—even a country of origin. It does, indeed, it refers to the area that roughly corresponds to the Czech Republic today. I did find it interesting that in this novel we encounter Swedish, Norwegian, Germans, French and of course the Czech; but I don’t recall any English—maybe that’s because they went North to New England..?
    • 4/5
      Last year I read My Antonia and absolutely loved it and vowed to read more Willa Cather, her writing is so straight forward and real she is such a true talent. There is nothing flashy in this book it is just the story of a family, how they get through the day, and the hardships they go through. I liked that the head of the family was the daughter and not the sons that the father was forward thinking enough that he left the farm to his daughter and left her in charge. Then when the brothers decide they don’t like this arraignment oh they made me mad! Poor Marie and Emil, and the aftermath for Alexandra and the life not lived. One thing about Willa Cather not everyone gets a happy ending and I like that because it is true to life not everyone gets a happy ending!I will end here there are plenty of reviews for this book so I will just say if you like a simple story of life told beautifully try Willa Cather.4 Stars
    • 3/5
      1074 O Pioneers! by Willa Cather (read 7 Sep 1970) This is like other Cather novels, and only obliquely is about pioneers. It is laid in Nebraska and tells of Alexandra Bergson, a Swedish-born farmer, her brother Emil, Bohemians, French, etc. It certainly was not what I expected.
    • 4/5
      While I found this to be well written, it seemed a bit simple in terms of plot. The character development was good and there were some great descriptive passages of the land at the turn of the century as pioneers settled the west, and in this case Nebraska. Taken in historical perspective, I can understand the staying power of this writing.
    • 3/5
      A realist tale of Swedish immigrants living on the Nebraskan plains, their lives, and their hardships, Cather expertly paints a vivid, natural picture of pioneer life, not one embellished, but one fully developed. Truly captures the spirit of pioneer life.
    • 4/5
      I loved Alexandra and the way she could see the true beauty of the land even as she struggled to harness it. Sad, beautiful, luminous.
    • 2/5
      I feel obligated to say that it wasn't by any means due to the writing, references, or classic applicability of this book that it got a two star rating (I'm calling it a 2.5). It is simply because, although interesting, it was hard pressed to keep my attention for long periods of time. I would still recommend it if you are interested in early colonial mid-west historical fiction!
    • 4/5
      Beautifully written and elegantly paced. Willa Cather's talent for description and dialogue make it clear why her fans adore her. Personally, I liked Death Comes for the Archbishop more, though I haven't yet read My Antonia.
    • 4/5
      Alexandra Bergson tames the prairie and gets no respect. Her oldest brothers are idiots. She sends the youngest to college and he turns out well, but then he falls in love with their neighbor Marie. Trouble ensues. I'm not sure why Alexandra needed Carl, but she likes him and he likes her. It was nice that they could be together.
    • 4/5
      Worth a trip to Nebraska.
    • 1/5
      Had to read it for an American Lit class in college. So boring.
    • 4/5
      An engrossing story to lose yourself in, well read.
    • 4/5
      Some of the most beautiful nature writing I've ever come across. She can make you feel the land. Story is also interesting, but the ending is a bit offensive to modern sensibilities. How exactly does Marie "deserve" to be killed by her loutish husband. Why would Alexandra feel sympathy for the man who killed . . . killed! . . . her brother. Has me scratching my head.
    • 5/5
      Alexandra Bergson, a strong, brave, intelligent woman with a love of the land, born for management, kind to others, not kind enough to herself. It takes a tragedy for her own feelings to come through. I very much liked this novel which brings together people from different origins at the end of the 19th century and shows how the American nation was forged. This westvaco edition is simply beautiful.
    • 5/5
      I can't begin to tell you how appropriate Willa Cather's work is to my life. This requires a blog, and I may or may not include Willa's My Antonia altogether in one blog. To be continued.
    • 4/5
      Somehow, I managed to make it through 64 years of life and an MA in American Literature without ever having read any of Willa Cather's novels. So I picked up O PIONEERS and found it to be very good. Cather shows the same passion for the American landscape that John Steinbeck does, but in a less flowery manner.
    • 2/5
      Best summed up by the word "Eh." This books starts flat and ends flat, with nothing special happening in between. I'm shocked that so many people gave this high ratings. Personally, I think this one should be avoided. Nothing was gained from reading it.
    • 4/5
      classic Cather--probably a good one to start out with--not sure if it's my favorite one but still it is very good
    • 4/5
      Cather is a wonderful writer, painting a hard-edged world in beautiful strokes. I didn't enjoy this one as much as others by her because I don't handle depressing stories especially well.
    • 3/5
      Willa Cather gives us a memorable set of archetypal characters who revolve around Mother Earth, Alexandra Bergson. Much of what happens tastes fairly bitterly of fate, and the characters are pushed into situations which force them to act at cross-purposes with happiness.What lasts is the hard-won triumph of the titular characters, the visionary and inexhaustible Alexandra most of all.
    • 5/5
      The story of a strong female pioneer. It must have really hurt to have her brothers dismiss her contribution because she was a women.
    • 3/5
      During Cather's time, the story of a woman who succeeded on her own was probably an original one. These days, a determined woman who can run her own farm is a story you've read before. This is a work of literature that doesn't really stand the test of time.
    • 5/5
      A wonderful example of historical literature in regards to the pioneer life on the plains at the end of the 19th century into the 20th century. The plot, characters, and language are so full and engaging that I was swept up in the story and characters. The ending is fitting in many ways with all of the threads coming together in a beautiful but sad quilt.I am so glad that I finally picked up Cather's books. I liked this better than My Antonia (which was very good also).
    • 4/5
      I loved this book . The landscape is such a feature, a thing of beauty and threat and the promise of hard work. The way of life is portrayed brilliantly, a unique subgroup of Swedish immigrants to the US , their language, culture, habits of dress and food, all fascinating . The role of women is shown through their work, family and personal relationship ships.a very powerful, moving novel.
    • 4/5
      Hmmm....being a chemist in college I never had to read this book as part of a scholastically driven forced march. That being said, I picked this up in St. Charles on a whim and when I finished it I was pleasantly surprised. I'd expected a celebration of mother earth (which was in there) or a hymn to nature (which is there too), but I got a dark tale of late requited illicit love between Marie Shabata and Emil, adultery and murder. Touché Willa!
    • 5/5
      Willa Cather never disappoints me - this may be my favorite yet! What a strong, woman protagonist, as well as another vivid account of Nebraskan pioneers. I enjoyed the way the story spanned two decades, which showed how both the landscape and characters progressed (or didn't).

      I learned from this book that women CAN get married at 40, even if their family finds it peculiar.
    • 4/5
      The book is the story of a time (late 1800's) and a place (Nebraska) as much as it is of the characters.The land is vividly portrayed along with those who love it. Agatha, her brothers, and her neighbors seem believable and real. I found the book compelling and touching.
    • 4/5
      This book was a pleasant surprise -- I didn't expect to enjoy it as much as I did. Written 100 years ago, its observations of human foibles are still apt.

    Book preview

    O Pioneers! - Willa Cather

    O Pioneers!

    O Pioneers!

    Willa Cather

     Copyright © 2018 by OPU

    All rights reserved.

    No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

    Part 1

    The Wild Land

    Chapter 1

    One January day, thirty years ago, the little town of Hanover, anchored on a windy Nebraska tableland, was trying not to be blown away. A mist of fine snowflakes was curling and eddying about the cluster of low drab buildings huddled on the gray prairie, under a gray sky. The dwelling-houses were set about haphazard on the tough prairie sod; some of them looked as if they had been moved in overnight, and others as if they were straying off by themselves, headed straight for the open plain. None of them had any appearance of permanence, and the howling wind blew under them as well as over them. The main street was a deeply rutted road, now frozen hard, which ran from the squat red railway station and the grain elevator at the north end of the town to the lumber yard and the horse pond at the south end. On either side of this road straggled two uneven rows of wooden buildings; the general merchandise stores, the two banks, the drug store, the feed store, the saloon, the post-office. The board sidewalks were gray with trampled snow, but at two o'clock in the afternoon the shopkeepers, having come back from dinner, were keeping well behind their frosty windows. The children were all in school, and there was nobody abroad in the streets but a few rough-looking countrymen in coarse overcoats, with their long caps pulled down to their noses. Some of them had brought their wives to town, and now and then a red or a plaid shawl flashed out of one store into the shelter of another. At the hitch-bars along the street a few heavy work-horses, harnessed to farm wagons, shivered under their blankets. About the station everything was quiet, for there would not be another train in until night.

    On the sidewalk in front of one of the stores sat a little Swede boy, crying bitterly. He was about five years old. His black cloth coat was much too big for him and made him look like a little old man. His shrunken brown flannel dress had been washed many times and left a long stretch of stocking between the hem of his skirt and the tops of his clumsy, copper-toed shoes. His cap was pulled down over his ears; his nose and his chubby cheeks were chapped and red with cold. He cried quietly, and the few people who hurried by did not notice him. He was afraid to stop any one, afraid to go into the store and ask for help, so he sat wringing his long sleeves and looking up a telegraph pole beside him, whimpering, My kitten, oh, my kitten! Her will fweeze! At the top of the pole crouched a shivering gray kitten, mewing faintly and clinging desperately to the wood with her claws. The boy had been left at the store while his sister went to the doctor's office, and in her absence a dog had chased his kitten up the pole. The little creature had never been so high before, and she was too frightened to move. Her master was sunk in despair. He was a little country boy, and this village was to him a very strange and perplexing place, where people wore fine clothes and had hard hearts. He always felt shy and awkward here, and wanted to hide behind things for fear some one might laugh at him. Just now, he was too unhappy to care who laughed. At last he seemed to see a ray of hope: his sister was coming, and he got up and ran toward her in his heavy shoes.

    His sister was a tall, strong girl, and she walked rapidly and resolutely, as if she knew exactly where she was going and what she was going to do next. She wore a man's long ulster (not as if it were an affliction, but as if it were very comfortable and belonged to her; carried it like a young soldier), and a round plush cap, tied down with a thick veil. She had a serious, thoughtful face, and her clear, deep blue eyes were fixed intently on the distance, without seeming to see anything, as if she were in trouble. She did not notice the little boy until he pulled her by the coat. Then she stopped short and stooped down to wipe his wet face.

    Why, Emil! I told you to stay in the store and not to come out. What is the matter with you?

    My kitten, sister, my kitten! A man put her out, and a dog chased her up there. His forefinger, projecting from the sleeve of his coat, pointed up to the wretched little creature on the pole.

    Oh, Emil! Didn't I tell you she'd get us into trouble of some kind, if you brought her? What made you tease me so? But there, I ought to have known better myself. She went to the foot of the pole and held out her arms, crying, Kitty, kitty, kitty, but the kitten only mewed and faintly waved its tail. Alexandra turned away decidedly. No, she won't come down. Somebody will have to go up after her. I saw the Linstrums' wagon in town. I'll go and see if I can find Carl. Maybe he can do something. Only you must stop crying, or I won't go a step. Where's your comforter? Did you leave it in the store? Never mind. Hold still, till I put this on you.

    She unwound the brown veil from her head and tied it about his throat. A shabby little traveling man, who was just then coming out of the store on his way to the saloon, stopped and gazed stupidly at the shining mass of hair she bared when she took off her veil; two thick braids, pinned about her head in the German way, with a fringe of reddish-yellow curls blowing out from under her cap. He took his cigar out of his mouth and held the wet end between the fingers of his woolen glove. My God, girl, what a head of hair! he exclaimed, quite innocently and foolishly. She stabbed him with a glance of Amazonian fierceness and drew in her lower lip—most unnecessary severity. It gave the little clothing drummer such a start that he actually let his cigar fall to the sidewalk and went off weakly in the teeth of the wind to the saloon. His hand was still unsteady when he took his glass from the bartender. His feeble flirtatious instincts had been crushed before, but never so mercilessly. He felt cheap and ill-used, as if some one had taken advantage of him. When a drummer had been knocking about in little drab towns and crawling across the wintry country in dirty smokingcars, was he to be blamed if, when he chanced upon a fine human creature, he suddenly wished himself more of a man?

    While the little drummer was drinking to recover his nerve, Alexandra hurried to the drug store as the most likely place to find Carl Linstrum. There he was, turning over a portfolio of chromo studies which the druggist sold to the Hanover women who did chinapainting. Alexandra explained her predicament, and the boy followed her to the corner, where Emil still sat by the pole.

    I'll have to go up after her, Alexandra. I think at the depot they have some spikes I can strap on my feet. Wait a minute. Carl thrust his hands into his pockets, lowered his head, and darted up the street against the north wind. He was a tall boy of fifteen, slight and narrow-chested. When he came back with the spikes, Alexandra asked him what he had done with his overcoat.

    I left it in the drug store. I couldn't climb in it, anyhow. Catch me if I fall, Emil, he called back as he began his ascent. Alexandra watched him anxiously; the cold was bitter enough on the ground. The kitten would not budge an inch. Carl had to go to the very top of the pole, and then had some difficulty in tearing her from her hold. When he reached the ground, he handed the cat to her tearful little master. Now go into the store with her, Emil, and get warm. He opened the door for the child. Wait a minute, Alexandra. Why can't I drive for you as far as our place? It's getting colder every minute. Have you seen the doctor?

    Yes. He is coming over to-morrow. But he says father can't get better; can't get well. The girl's lip trembled. She looked fixedly up the bleak street as if she were gathering her strength to face something, as if she were trying with all her might to grasp a situation which, no matter how painful, must be met and dealt with somehow. The wind flapped the skirts of her heavy coat about her.

    Carl did not say anything, but she felt his sympathy. He, too, was lonely. He was a thin, frail boy, with brooding dark eyes, very quiet in all his movements. There was a delicate pallor in his thin face, and his mouth was too sensitive for a boy's. The lips had already a little curl of bitterness and skepticism. The two friends stood for a few moments on the windy street corner, not speaking a word, as two travelers, who have lost their way, sometimes stand and admit their perplexity in silence. When Carl turned away he said, I'll see to your team. Alexandra went into the store to have her purchases packed in the egg-boxes, and to get warm before she set out on her long cold drive.

    When she looked for Emil, she found him sitting on a step of the staircase that led up to the clothing and carpet department. He was playing with a little Bohemian girl, Marie Tovesky, who was tying her handkerchief over the kitten's head for a bonnet. Marie was a stranger in the country, having come from Omaha with her mother to visit her uncle, Joe Tovesky. She was a dark child, with brown curly hair, like a brunette doll's, a coaxing little red mouth, and round, yellow-brown eyes. Every one noticed her eyes; the brown iris had golden glints that made them look like gold-stone, or, in softer lights, like that Colorado mineral called tiger-eye.

    The country children thereabouts wore their dresses to their shoe-tops, but this city child was dressed in what was then called the Kate Greenaway manner, and her red cashmere frock, gathered full from the yoke, came almost to the floor. This, with her poke bonnet, gave her the look of a quaint little woman. She had a white fur tippet about her neck and made no fussy objections when Emil fingered it admiringly. Alexandra had not the heart to take him away from so pretty a playfellow, and she let them tease the kitten together until Joe Tovesky came in noisily and picked up his little niece, setting her on his shoulder for every one to see. His children were all boys, and he adored this little creature. His cronies formed a circle about him, admiring and teasing the little girl, who took their jokes with great good nature. They were all delighted with her, for they seldom saw so pretty and carefully nurtured a child. They told her that she must choose one of them for a sweetheart, and each began pressing his suit and offering her bribes; candy, and little pigs, and spotted calves. She looked archly into the big, brown, mustached faces, smelling of spirits and tobacco, then she ran her tiny forefinger delicately over Joe's bristly chin and said, Here is my sweetheart.

    The Bohemians roared with laughter, and Marie's uncle hugged her until she cried, Please don't, Uncle Joe! You hurt me. Each of Joe's friends gave her a bag of candy, and she kissed them all around, though she did not like country candy very well. Perhaps that was why she bethought herself of Emil. Let me down, Uncle Joe, she said, I want to give some of my candy to that nice little boy I found. She walked graciously over to Emil, followed by her lusty admirers, who formed a new circle and teased the little boy until he hid his face in his sister's skirts, and she had to scold him for being such a baby.

    The farm people were making preparations to start for home. The women were checking over their groceries and pinning their big red shawls about their heads. The men were buying tobacco and candy with what money they had left, were showing each other new boots and gloves and blue flannel shirts. Three big Bohemians were drinking raw alcohol, tinctured with oil of cinnamon. This was said to fortify one effectually against the cold, and they smacked their lips after each pull at the flask. Their volubility drowned every other noise in the place, and the overheated store sounded of their spirited language as it reeked of pipe smoke, damp woolens, and kerosene.

    Carl came in, wearing his overcoat and carrying a wooden box with a brass handle. Come, he said, I've fed and watered your team, and the wagon is ready. He carried Emil out and tucked him down in the straw in the wagonbox. The heat had made the little boy sleepy, but he still clung to his kitten.

    You were awful good to climb so high and get my kitten, Carl. When I get big I'll climb and get little boys' kittens for them, he murmured drowsily. Before the horses were over the first hill, Emil and his cat were both fast asleep.

    Although it was only four o'clock, the winter day was fading. The road led southwest, toward the streak of pale, watery light that glimmered in the leaden sky. The light fell upon the two sad young faces that were turned mutely toward it: upon the eyes of the girl, who seemed to be looking with such anguished perplexity into the future; upon the sombre eyes of the boy, who seemed already to be looking into the past. The little town behind them had vanished as if it had never been, had fallen behind the swell of the prairie, and the stern frozen country received them into its bosom. The homesteads were few and far apart; here and there a windmill gaunt against the sky, a sod house crouching in a hollow. But the great fact was the land itself, which seemed to overwhelm the little beginnings of human society that struggled in its sombre wastes. It was from facing this vast hardness that the boy's mouth had become so bitter; because he felt that men were too weak to make any mark here, that the land wanted to be let alone, to preserve its own fierce strength, its peculiar, savage kind of beauty, its uninterrupted mournfulness.

    The wagon jolted along over the frozen road. The two friends had less to say to each other than usual, as if the cold had somehow penetrated to their hearts.

    Did Lou and Oscar go to the Blue to cut wood to-day? Carl asked.

    Yes. I'm almost sorry I let them go, it's turned so cold. But mother frets if the wood gets low. She stopped and put her hand to her forehead, brushing back her hair. I don't know what is to become of us, Carl, if father has to die. I don't dare to think about it. I wish we could all go with him and let the grass grow back over everything.

    Carl made no reply. Just ahead of them was the Norwegian graveyard, where the grass had, indeed, grown back over everything, shaggy and red, hiding even the wire fence. Carl realized that he was not a very helpful companion, but there was nothing he could say.

    Of course, Alexandra went on, steadying her voice a little, "the boys are strong and work hard, but we've always depended so on father that I don't see how we can go ahead. I almost feel as

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