Rarely, a good book puts me in the reader’s bind: it’s so good I want to savor every page, so I end up reading it very slowly, over several weeks. The Bones of Plenty by Lois Phillips Hudson, published in 1963, was one of those rare reads.

A few weeks ago, a friend who grew up in North Dakota sent me some book recommendations after he learned I moved to the region. The Bones of Plenty made the list, and I’m so glad.

The story chronicles the plight of a family of farmers near Jamestown in the 1930s. My depression era history is pretty weak, so the novel gave me some significant historical awareness. What I enjoyed most, however, was the depth of Hudson’s main character: George Custer, a farmer trying to get by despite drought and disease, his father-in-law’s close watch, and a less-than-kind landlord. Custer’s personality — both overly optimistic and antagonistic — only makes his character more believable and pitiful.  The way Custer treats his wife Rachel also tags a so sad but so true hyper-masculinity.  Furthermore, his disdain for his daughter being a girl (and not being able to take over the farm) is utterly heartbreaking.

The same thought had crossed my mind, so I wasn’t surprised that several online reviews compared Bones of Plenty to Grapes of Wrath. Hudson isn’t quite Steinbeck, but Bones has that same grasping unrelenting quality, the same humanity vs. the powers that makes Grapes of Wrath so amazing.

So, if you’re up for a novel to savor, pick up the Dakotan Grapes of Wrath: The Bones of Plenty.