O. E. Rølvaag, Preface by Colin Heston.

The struggle of the immigrant is often told through the lens of triumph—of cities built and fortunes made—but in O. E. Rølvaag’s Giants in the Earth, we are invited into a far more intimate and devastating arena: the psychological and spiritual cost of taming a wilderness. First published in Norwegian in 1924 as I de dage and later meticulously translated into English by Lincoln Colcord in collaboration with the author, this novel remains the definitive epic of the American prairie. It is not merely a story of farming; it is a saga of the human psyche stretched to its breaking point against an indifferent landscape.
At the heart of the narrative lies a profound dichotomy between the two protagonists, Per Hansa and Beret. Per Hansa embodies the archetype of the pioneer, fueled by a restless, creative energy that views the desolate plains of South Dakota not as a wasteland, but as a kingdom waiting to be claimed. To him, the "Giants" are physical obstacles to be conquered through grit and vision. Conversely, Beret represents the tragic reality of displacement. She is haunted by the Great Plain, a space so vast and empty that she feels God cannot find her there. For Beret, the "Giants" are the invisible, malevolent forces of the Earth itself, punishing those who dare to disturb its ancient, heavy silence.
The English version of Giants in the Earth is a rare literary achievement born of a unique partnership. Lincoln Colcord, a writer of the sea, found a common language with Rølvaag, a writer of the "sea of grass." Their collaboration ensured that the stark, rhythmic beauty of Rølvaag’s Norwegian—steeped in biblical cadence and Old World folklore—was preserved for an English-speaking audience. Colcord understood that the oceanic quality of the prairie was more than a metaphor; it was a physical reality where the winds howling across the Dakota territory carried the same weight and terror as a North Atlantic gale.
Rølvaag does not romanticize the pioneer experience. He documents the relentless succession of plagues—locusts, blizzards, and the suffocating loneliness of the sod house—forcing the reader to confront the sobering question of what is lost when a culture uproots itself. While Per Hansa builds the physical foundations of a new nation, Beret bears the burden of the cultural and emotional cost. Her descent into religious melancholy serves as a poignant reminder that while the land may be conquered, the soul is often the casualty of that conquest. She famously remarks that the Great Plain drinks the blood of Christian men and is never satisfied.
Nearly a century since its translation, Giants in the Earth stands as a pillar of American literature because it refuses to offer easy answers. It is a masterpiece of realism and a haunting work of the imagination that captures the birth of a modern identity forged in a crucible of isolation. As you turn these pages, you are witnessing a history that is as much about the internal landscape of the mind as it is about the external map of the frontier.

Read-Me.Org Inc. New York-Philadelphia-Australia. 2026. 373p.

By Ring W. Gardner (Author), Colin Heston (Preface) Format: Kindle Edition

Round Up gathers together the taut, muscular stories of Ring W. Lardner, a writer whose work bridges the divide between the mythologized West and its harsher, less forgiving realities. In these pages, Lardner is neither sentimental nor nostalgic. He strips the Western narrative to its barest elements, presenting us with a landscape that is both expansive and claustrophobic, and characters who are caught between the lure of freedom and the inevitability of fate.
Lardner’s contribution to the American short story lies in his ability to invest the familiar tropes of frontier life with psychological depth and moral ambiguity. His cowboys and ranchers are not mere archetypes; they are restless souls negotiating loyalty, isolation, and survival in a world where law and justice are provisional at best. The violence in these stories is never gratuitous—it is sudden, often senseless, and always carries a human cost. Lardner understands that the West was not only a place but also an idea, one that promised reinvention yet often delivered ruin.
What sets Lardner apart from many of his contemporaries is his prose: terse, unsentimental, yet charged with a quiet lyricism. His narratives move with the inevitability of a gathering storm, his dialogue as spare as the plains he describes. The result is a body of work that feels astonishingly modern in its refusal of easy resolutions.
In an era when the Western genre risks being dismissed as an artifact of popular culture, Round Up demands reconsideration. These are not mere adventure tales or moral fables. They are stories of a liminal world, where the boundaries between civilization and wilderness, justice and vengeance, myth and memory, blur and collapse. Lardner’s West is not simply the West that was; it is also the West as it continues to haunt the American imagination.

By Jason E. Pierce

In the early nineteenth century, critics like Zebulon Pike and Washington Irving viewed the West as a “dumping ground” for free blacks and Native Americans, a place where they could be segregated from the white communities east of the Mississippi River. But as immigrant populations and industrialization took hold in the East, white Americans began to view the West as a “refuge for real whites.” The West had the most diverse population in the nation with substantial numbers of American Indians, Hispanics, and Asians, but Anglo-Americans could control these mostly disenfranchised peoples and enjoy the privileges of power while celebrating their presence as providing a unique regional character. The first comprehensive study to examine the construction of white racial identity in the West, Making the White Man’s West shows how these two visions of the West shaped the history of the region and influenced a variety of contemporary social issues in the West today. 

Boulder: University Press of Colorado, 2016. 323p.