True North

Read Time: 3 Minutes

Life in mid-century rural America isn’t romanticized in True North by Gary Eller. It’s raw, bleak, unflinchingly honest and not in any rush. It lets decades spool out slowly, dropping in on small towns, farming families, and reservation life across the mid-1900s in rural North Dakota.

The setting is bleak more often than not, with hardship baked into the soil. Poor farmland handed down through false promises, whole crops destroyed by a single hailstorm, families scraping through lean years, and the quiet trauma that accumulates when alcohol, abuse, and neglect are treated as normal.

The story spans decades, tracing the lives of multiple families along with their troubles, their schemes, their attempts to get ahead or just survive. There’s poverty, abuse, alcoholism, racial tension, and more than a few moments where people do things they probably shouldn’t. That said, it’s not all bleak though it certainly doesn’t paint an altogether rosy picture of the time.

The bleakness is tempered by some understated humour in the way many of the characters try to outwit each other or concoct revenge scheme, or how kids get into trouble. For the most part, though, it’s a portrait of hard lives lived under harder circumstances. Crops ruined by hail, young women trying and mostly failing at fending off lecherous men, and a community that seems to grind people down as much as it holds them together.

The narrative spans multiple families and communities, weaving together stories of farmers struggling on poor land, the lingering weight of trauma, and the ever-present tension between settler and Native communities.

Alcoholism, abuse (both physical and sexual), and deep-rooted prejudice cast long shadows over much of the book. But while it often leans bleak, it feels honest. And that honesty hits hard and at times I found myself staring into space, ruminating on a particular part.

That tone carries through most of the book. It never sugarcoats the hard stuff, but it doesn’t outright wallow in it either. It’s a quiet sort of sadness, grounded in place and character, and it stays with you and honestly makes you thankful for what you have.

Kevin Perkins narrates and is easy to listen to, giving each character a distinctive voice without going over the top. He uses regional accents thoughtfully, which helps ground the story’s rural setting without becoming distracting or caricatured. That helps the audiobook keep a consistent feel across decades and scenes, which matters in a story that’s all about long arcs and slow turns. I didn’t notice any production issues or distracting edits, just clean work that lets the story speak for itself.

This isn’t a plot-heavy listen, and it’s not built for fast twists or big payoffs. It’s more character driven and getting to know the people and their lives and their struggles. It has a kind of stillness and gentleness that works. The cruelty and quiet hope of the rural Midwest and reservation communities come through clearly. If that sounds like your kind of story, it’s a well-told one and well worth a listen.

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