On the other hand, Cather remembers that when she was first driven to her grandparents’ farm at the age of nine, she felt as if she “had come to the end of everything—it was a kind of erasure of personality” (The Kingdom of Art, p. 448). As we have seen, this feeling of oblivion reappears in fictional form in Jim’s initial encounter with the Divide. Like Cather, he remembers feeling as if he had been “blotted out” beneath an alien sky. “I did not believe,” he says, “that my dead father and mother were watching me from up there” (p. 11). Cather does not dwell on Jim’s orphaned condition, but this fictional premise serves as a metaphor for the profound sense of loss that Cather herself experienced upon first encountering the “parish” that would become such an important source for her writing.

In one of Jewett’s most important letters to Cather, she addresses the relationship between fiction and its autobiographical sources in words that would resonate deeply with the narrative design of My Ántonia. Jewett was concerned that Cather had not yet learned to see her “backgrounds ... from the outside,—you stand right in the middle of each of them when you write, without having the standpoint of the looker-on” (quoted in Lee, p. 22). In My Ántonia, Cather makes just this kind of effort to see her experience “from the outside” by inventing Jim Burden, the transformed version of herself who serves as the first-person narrator. In addition to giving Jim many of her own experiences, Cather sets him on a journey into his past that echoes the imaginative reconstruction of her own childhood. In the introduction that establishes the narrative framework for My Ántonia, we learn that Jim is a very successful middle-aged man—“legal counsel for one of the great Western railways” (p. 3)—living in New York. Like Cather, who also lived most of her adult life in Manhattan, he is therefore geographically and culturally remote from his small-town origins. As Jewett suggested, Cather’s appreciation for her provincial “parish” would be made possible by her knowledge of the wider world, and Cather places Jim in a similar position. But if Jim represents a fictional alter ego who allows Cather to observe her own return to the past from the “standpoint of the looker-on,” Cather begins the novel by very explicitly distinguishing herself from her narrator.

Cather revisits her Nebraska childhood in several of her early novels, but it is only in My Ántonia that she creates an intriguing dialogue between herself and one of her characters, which occurs in a brief introductory section of the novel. Instead of writing from the point of view of Jim, as she does everywhere else in the novel, Cather adopts the voice of a first-person narrator who meets Jim by chance aboard a train. Although she never names this speaker, Cather suggests that it is yet another version of herself, since she very unobtrusively reveals that the narrator is both a woman and an experienced writer. (In order to distinguish Cather the author from this female narrator, who never reappears in the novel proper, many critics refer to the narrator as “Cather.”) The narrator and Jim are old friends who grew up together in a small Nebraska town, and during their reminiscences they talk fondly of Antonia, who “seemed to mean to us the country, the conditions, the whole adventure of our childhood” (p. 5).

Although Jim and the narrator agree that Antonia somehow embodies the essence of their childhood, their individual relationships to her differ in several critical ways. Unlike the narrator, who has lost touch with her, Jim has reestablished a close friendship with Antonia. When Jim expresses his surprise that the narrator has “never written anything about Ántonia,” the narrator confesses that she had never known Ántonia as well as he had. The two then agree that they will both try recording their memories of this “central figure” of their past. Jim cautions, however, that he is not a practiced writer (implying that “Cather” is) and will therefore have to write about Antonia “in a direct way, and say a great deal about myself. It’s through myself that I knew and felt her” (p. 5). In response, the narrator draws attention to the distinction between their male and female perspectives:

I told him that how he knew her and felt her was exactly what I most wanted to know about Antonia. He had had opportunities that I, as a little girl who watched her come and go, had not (p. 5).

On one level, the narrator is simply trying to reassure Jim that there is nothing wrong with writing about himself in the process of remembering Antonia, but Cather also seems to be offering an indirect justification for adopting a male persona in her novel. Behind the essentially transparent mask of “Cather” the narrator, Cather the author is asserting that the female perspective of “a little girl” will not do Antonia justice, because it does not allow her to understand Antonia as the object of someone’s desire.