In 2021, Oxford University published an important book by Benjamin Hoy, A Line of Blood and Dirt: Creating the Canada-United States Borders Across Indigenous Lands. More than a typical academic study of borderlands, this book presents a compelling history of the origins of the border between the United States and Canada. The strength of Hoy’s work lies in its far-reaching examination that stretches from the mid-nineteenth century up to the mid-twentieth century. A Line of Blood and Dirt invites readers to confront the enduring debates about Indigenous sovereignty, the balance of power within colonial and national states, and the real-world experiences of those inhabiting and traversing these borders. As a scholar specialized in North American border history, my attention has been mostly dedicated to the lively and often contested US-Mexico border. Recently, my curiosity led me to delve into the lesser-studied “peaceful” border between the United States and Canada. I sought to broaden my knowledge and challenge established views about the more southern border. Hoy’s work provided the new insight I was looking for. His research is comprehensive, exploring selected, largely uncharted academic landscapes concerning the Canada-US border. Contrary to the US-Mexico border, which took shape as a result of a wave of American imperialism, including conflicts, military aggression, and annexation, the Canada-US border has a different origin story. It emerged progressively through a series of diplomatic dialogues, geographical surveys, and administrative actions. Hoy presents the development of the Canada-US border as a complex and non-linear process that required significant manpower and resources. Beginning its formation in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries around the Atlantic Coast and the Great Lakes, the Canada-US border progressively spread westward, incorporating the Pacific Coast, Prairie regions, and Arctic regions into its domain. In examining Hoy’s work, I found myself captivated by the parallels between the events unfolding at the Canada-US border and those at the US-Mexico boundary. His book covertly nudges us towards familiar phrases frequently used in borderlands studies, including transnationalism, transimperialism, diaspora, and migration. Although these terms might seem sparsely sprinkled or used conservatively throughout his work, it does not diminish their significance. The deeper I dove into Hoy’s work, the more it became evident that he was deftly applying these fundamental borderlands concepts, all while ensuring they did not overshadow the everyday struggles of borderlands communities resisting state power. Hoy made a conscious choice of prioritizing narrative over theoretical frameworks, a clear shift towards aesthetics, thus placing the emphasis on the personal stories that compose the history rather than the conceptual frameworks that seek to contain it. Hoy’s narrative approach has an inherent pull, effectively breathing life into the wide-ranging historical characters featured in his book. Whether I was engrossed in the physical text or listening to the Audible version, Hoy’s compelling storytelling had a consistent grip on me. He succeeds in animating a diverse array of historical figures, from Indigenous people in communities such as the Mohawk, Ojibwe, and Dakota to colonial administrators, immigration officials, and an array of individuals crossing the border. As historians, we are often urged to narrate stories, but the real challenge lies in understanding and appreciating how these stories profoundly influence our readers. In A Line of Blood and Dirt, Hoy’s craft as a writer plays a key role, skillfully deploying irony to highlight contrasts and juxtapositions. Hoy’s artful use of irony keeps us readers on our toes, keenly aware of simmering tensions, the threat of conflict, cultural displacement, and forced assimilation. Through his stylistic choices, Hoy ensures that we remain engaged, amplifying the complex undertones and implications of the events and figures …