Historian Vanessa M. Holden’s Surviving Southampton: African American Women and Resistance in Nat Turner’s Community argues that the August 1831 slave uprising in Virginia commonly known as Nat Turner’s Rebellion was in fact a community-wide rebellion involving black women, both free and unfree.^[1] Holden writes that the event should be called the “Southampton Rebellion,” indicative of the county, for it “was far bigger than one man’s inspired bid for freedom.”^[2] A community “produced [Turner]” and “the success of the Southampton Rebellion was the success of a community of African Americans.”^[3] The scholar charts not only women’s everyday resistance prior to the revolt, participation in the uprising, and endurance of its aftermath, but also that of children. Sources are diverse, including early nineteenth-century books and Works Progress Administration interviews, and much material from archives at the Library of Virginia, the Virginia Historical Society, and the Virginia Museum of History and Culture.^[4] Holden is an associate professor of history and African American studies at the University of Kentucky; her work has appeared in several journals, but Surviving Southampton appears to be her first book.^[5] Overall, it is one of mixed success, for while community involvement in the revolt is established, some of Holden’s major points suffer from limited evidence and unrefined rhetoric.

This is a work of — not contradictions, but oddities. Not fatal flaws, but sizable question marks. For a first point of critique, we can examine Holden’s second chapter, “Enslaved Women and Strategies of Evasion and Resistance.” While it considers enslaved women’s important “everyday resistance” such as “work stoppages, sabotage, feigned illness, and truancy,” plus the use of code and secret meetings, that occurred before the revolt, it offers limited examples of women’s direct participation in the Southampton Rebellion.^[6] There are two powerful incidents. A slave named Charlotte attempted to stab a white owner to death, while Lucy held down a mistress at another farm to prevent her escape.^[7] After the revolt was quelled, both were executed.^[8] The chapter also details more minor happenings: Cynthia cooked for Nat Turner and the other men, Venus passed along information, and Ester, while also taking over a liberated household, stopped Charlotte from killing that owner, which one might describe as counterrevolutionary.^[9] This is all the meaningful evidence that comprises a core chapter of the text. (It is telling that this chapter has the fewest citations.^[10]) It is true that Holden seeks to show women’s participation in resistance before and after the Southampton Rebellion, not just during its three days. Looking at the entire book, this is accomplished. But to have so few incidents revealing women’s involvement in the central event creates the feeling that this work is a “good start,” rather than a finished product. And it stands in uncomfortable contrast to the language of the introduction.

Holden notes in the first few pages of Surviving Southampton that historians have begun adopting wider perspectives on slave revolts.^[11] As with her work, there is increasing focus on slave communities, not just the men after whom the revolts are named. “However,” Holden writes, “even though new critiques have challenged the centrality of individual male enslaved leaders and argued for the inclusion of women in a broader definition of enslaved people’s resistance, violent rebellion remains the prerogative of enslaved men in the historiography.”^[12] To scholars, Holden declares, “enslaved men rebel while enslaved women resist.”^[13] She is of course right to challenge this gendered division. But a chapter 2 that is light on evidence does not suffice to fully address the problem. The rest of the book does not help much — chapter 3, on free blacks’ involvement in the revolt, features just one free woman of color, who testified, possibly under coercion, in defense of an accused rebel, stating that she had urged him not to join Turner.^[14] Not exactly a revolutionary urging, though she was saving a man’s life in court, a resistive act. Charlotte and Lucy were certainly rebels, and one might describe those who provided nourishment, information, or legal defense to the men using the same phrasing, but more evidence is needed to strengthen the case. Holden’s women-as-rebels argument is not wrong, it just needs more support than two to five historical events.

The position would be further aided by excising or editing bizarre, undermining elements, such as a passage at the end of the second chapter. There is a mention of the “divergent actions of Ester and Charlotte,” followed by a declaration that “instead of labeling enslaved women as either for or against the rebellion, it is more useful to understand enslaved women as embedded in its path and its planning.”^[15] It is fair to say that we cannot fully know Ester’s stance on the revolution — she could have been against it and saved that enslaver, or she could have been for it and taken the same action. We do not actually know if she was counterrevolutionary. But Charlotte’s violent action surely reveals an embrace of the revolt. It is at least a safe assumption. Is Holden’s statement not stripping female slaves of their agency? Not for nor against rebellion, just in its path, swept up in the events of men? How can women be rebels if they are not for the rebellion? Here we do have a contradiction, and not just of the introduction, for nine pages earlier in chapter 2 the author wrote: “Past histories of the Southampton Rebellion regard Ester and Charlotte’s story as anomalous and their actions as spontaneous. However, their motives were not different from those of male rebels.”^[16] Here the women have agency, their revolutionary motives purportedly known. The attempted stabbing was “as much a part of the Southampton Rebellion” as anything else.^[17] It is a strange shift from empowering Ester and enslaved women as freedom fighters to downplaying Charlotte and advising one not to mark women as for the rebellion.

Language is a consistent problem in the book, and this is intertwined with organization and focus issues. This is apparent from the beginning. First one reads the aforementioned pages of the introduction, where it is clear Holden wants to erase a gendered division in scholarship and lift the black woman to one who “rebels,” not simply “resists.” The reader may then sit up, turn the book over, and wonder about the subtitle: African American Women and Resistance in Nat Turner’s Community. True, as we have seen, much of the text concerns everyday resistance before and after the uprising, but the fact that “rebellion” is not in the title instead is just slightly inconsistent with what Holden is rightly trying to do.

Similarly, look to an entire chapter that stands out as odd in a book allegedly focused on African American Women. Chapter 4 concerns children’s place in the Southampton Rebellion, and focuses almost exclusively on boys. In a short text — only 125 pages — an entire chapter is a significant portion. Why has Holden shifted away from women? Recall, returning to the introduction, that the University of Kentucky scholar aims to show that the revolt was a community-wide event. It was not solely defined by the deeds of men, nor women, nor slaves, nor freepersons — it also involved children, four of whom stood trial and were expelled from Virginia.^[18] Here Surviving Southampton has a bit of an identity crisis. It cannot fully decide if it wants to focus on women or on the community as a whole. The title centers black women, as does Holden’s rebuke of the historiography for never framing women “as co-conspirators in violent rebellion…[only] as perpetrators of everyday resistance.”^[19] Chapter 2 covers women to correct this. But the thesis has to do with the idea that “whole neighborhoods and communities” were involved.^[20] Thus, the book has a chapter on children (boys), free black men alongside women, and so on. The subtitle of this work should have centered the entire community, not just women, and the introduction should have brought children as deeply into the historiographical review as women.

Finally, we turn to the author’s use of the phrases “geographies of evasion and resistance” and “geographies of surveillance and control.”^[21] What this means is the how and where of oppressive tactics and resistive action. Geographies of resistance could include a slave woman’s bed, as when Jennie Patterson let a fugitive stay the night.^[22] There existed a place (bed, cabin) and method (hiding, sheltering) of disobedience — this was a “geography.” Likewise, slave patrols operated at certain locations and committed certain actions, to keep slaves under the boot — a geography.^[23] At times, Holden writes, these where-hows, these sites of power, would overlap.^[24] The kitchen was a place of oppression and revolt for Charlotte.^[25] Just as Patterson’s cabin was a geography of resistance, it was also one of control, as slave patrols would “visit all the negro quarters, and other places of suspected assemblies of unlawful assemblies of slaves…”^[26] Thus, the scholar posits, blacks in Southampton County had to navigate these overlaps and use their knowledge of oppressive geographies “when deciding when and how to resist,” when creating liberatory geographies.^[27]

As an initial, more minor point of critique, use of this language involves much repetition and redundancy. Repetitive phrasing spans the entire work, but can also be far more concentrated: “Enslaved women and free women of color were embedded in networks of evasion and resistance. They navigated layered geographies of surveillance and control. They built geographies of evasion and resistance. These women demonstrate how those geographies become visible in Southampton County through women’s actions.”^[28] Rarely are synonyms considered. As an example of redundancy, observe: “These geographies of surveillance and control were present on individual landholdings, in the neighborhood where the rebellion took place, and throughout the country.”^[29] Geographies were present? In other words, oppressive systems Holden bases on place were at places. There are many other examples of such things.^[30]

The “geography of evasion and resistance” is not only raised ad nauseam, it seems to be a dalliance with false profundity.^[31] It has the veneer of theory, but in reality little explanatory value. Of course oppressive systems and acts of rebellion operated in the same spaces; of course experience with and knowledge of the former informed the latter (and vice versa). This is far too trite to deserve such attention; it can be noted where appropriate, without fanfare. “Layered geographies of surveillance and survival” sounds profound, and its heavy use implies the same (note also that theory abhors a synonym), but it is largely mere description. Does the concept really help us answer questions? Does it actually deepen our understanding of what occurred in Patterson’s cabin or Charlotte’s kitchen? Of causes and effects? Does it mean anything more than that past experience (knowledge, actions, place) influences future experience, which is important to show in a work of history but is nevertheless a mere truism?

Granted, Holden never explicitly frames her “geography” as theory. But the historian consistently stresses its importance (“mapping” a resistive geography appears in the introduction and in the last sentence of the last chapter) and ascribes power to it.^[32] After charting the ways enslaved women resisted before the rebellion, Holden writes: “Understanding the layered social and physical geography of slavery in Southampton and Virginia is important for understanding Black women’s roles in the Southampton Rebellion more broadly. Most remained firmly rooted to the farms where they labored as men visited rebellion on farm after farm late in the summer of 1831.”^[33] Well, of course patterns — places, actions — of everyday resistance might foreshadow and inform women’s wheres and hows once Turner began his campaign. Elsewhere Holden notes that small farms and the nature of women’s work allowed female slaves greater mobility and proximity to white owners, a boon to resistance.^[34] Women were “uniquely placed to learn, move through, and act within the layered physical and social geographies of each farm.”^[35] Again, this is fancy language that merely suggests certain realities had advantages and could be helpful to future events. It goes no deeper, and it is truly puzzling that it is so emphasized. Such facts could have been briefly mentioned without venturing into the realm of theme and pseudo-theory.

Overall, Surviving Southampton deserves credit for bringing the participation of women, children, and free blacks in the 1831 uprising into the conversation. Our field’s understanding of this event is indeed broadened. But this would have been a much stronger work with further evidence and editing. Quality writing and sufficient proof are subjective notions, but that in no way diminishes their importance to scholarship. As it stands, this text feels like an early draft. Both general readers and history students should understand its limitations.

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^[1] Vanessa Holden, Surviving Southampton: African American Women and Resistance in Nat Turner’s Community (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2021), 5-10. 

^[2] Ibid., 7.

^[3] Ibid., 2, 6.

^[4] Ibid., x, 132-134 for example.

^[5] “Vanessa M. Holden,” The University of Kentucky, accessed March 2, 2023, ​​https://history.as.uky.edu/users/vnho222.

^[6] Holden, Surviving Southampton, 23, 35.

^[7] Ibid., 28, 36.

^[8] Ibid., 37, 81.

^[9] Ibid., 28, 36.

^[10] Ibid., 132-134.

^[11] Ibid., 5.

^[12] Ibid.

^[13] Ibid., 6.

^[14] Ibid., 52.

^[15] Ibid., 37.

^[16] Ibid., 28.

^[17] Ibid.

^[18] Ibid., 79.

^[19] Ibid., 6.

^[20] Ibid.

^[21] Ibid., chapter 1 for instance.

^[22] Ibid., 24.

^[23] Ibid., 12-22.

^[24] Ibid., 12.

^[25] Ibid., 28.

^[26] Ibid., 20.

^[27] Ibid., 12.

^[28] Ibid., 37.

^[29] Ibid., 8.

^[30] See ibid., 9: “The generational position of Black children as the community of the future was culturally significant and a pointed concern for African American adults, whose strategies for resistance and survival necessarily accounted for these children. Free and enslaved Black children and youths were a significant part of their community’s strategies for resistance and survival.”

^[31] The near-irony of this paper’s phrasing is not lost.

^[32] Holden, Surviving Southampton, 8, 120.

^[33] Ibid., 25.

^[34] Ibid., 34-35.

^[35] Ibid., 34.

Historian Rosemarie Zagarri’s Revolutionary Backlash: Women and Politics in the Early American Republic reads like a sequel to historian Mary Beth Norton’s Liberty’s Daughters, the 1980 text that charted women’s leap into political activity in the 1760s and ’70s.^[1] During the American Revolution, women debated politics, published editorials, and engaged in boycotts, protests, and other forms of disruptive action, which undermined gender norms but was nonetheless applauded by men as important to the cause.^[2] Zagarri explores what came after: from the 1780s to the 1820s, a subset of women, called “female politicians,” continued their involvement in political activity, supporting newly formed parties and attempting to influence elections.^[3] A wider debate arose over women’s role in society, with the ideals of the revolution such as natural rights and equality feeding a new ideology of “women’s rights,” which clashed with the traditional order of absolute male power.^[4] With desperate times, the great battle for independence, in the past, there was less enthusiasm for an expanding feminine sphere. Those on this side of the debate pushed for women to return to the home and serve as “republican wives” and “republican mothers,” positive influences on husbands and sons, the helmsmen of the new nation, especially as partisanship threatened to tear the United States apart.^[5] Women were considered more moral beings, who could restore rationality, civility, and peace among men.^[6] By the 1830s, the “backlash” to women’s entrance into informal politics (or formal, in the case of female-enfranchised New Jersey) came to dominate American attitudes, and soon women “vehemently denied the political nature” of their words and deeds, and “distanced themselves from party politics and electoral affairs,” to avoid being attacked and “vilified.”^[7] In positing that a significant feminine advance and evolving attitudes were swiftly hammered back, and rooting her explanation in changing societal realities (bitter partisanship, universal suffrage for white men, strengthening parties, scientific claims of women’s inferiority), Zagarri has made a substantial contribution to the field of early American history.^[8]

Zagarri has also set the standard for bountiful evidence entwined with brevity of text. Indeed, Revolutionary Backlash is not even 190 pages. The George Mason professor of early American history has produced three prior texts on the era, all of them roughly the same length. The brevity, and clarity of writing, make Backlash accessible for a general audience. But the evidence is voluminous, and notably includes what one might call explicit “missing links.” For example, it is important that Zagarri demonstrates that men (and other women) pushed women to stay home and guide husbands and sons to be of wise character at the expense of engaging in the political arena themselves. Finding mutual exclusion in the historical record helps dismiss the possibility that women were asked to be republican mothers but were also tolerated in a new sphere, as they were during the revolution. True, the historian can track change by examining the available documents and noting the prevalence of an idea in one era (for instance, celebration of women’s political participation) and another idea in the next era (condemnation of the same), but it must be stressed that finding historical actors discussing — and creating — the shift itself can be exceedingly difficult. They would make any argument far more powerful. Here Zagarri has succeeded, unearthing explicit sources that connect old philosophies with new, musing over both, rejecting one, advocating the other. One speaker insisted that wives and mothers ought to guide and mold males to be “future Citizens, future Legislators, Magistrates, Judges and Generals” but would be ridiculed if they attempted to engage in political battles themselves.^[9] A newspaper article declared, prescriptively, that party affiliations like “Fed. and Rep. and Demo. ingrate to woman’s ear,” rejecting the activities of female politicians, but stated women should work “behind the scene” to cool off feuds among men and raise children who cared more about brotherhood and freedom than party ideology.^[10] These finds are triumphs, and the fact that there are very few of them cited, compared to a wealth of “unlinked” documents (discussing a woman’s domestic guiding role or the impropriety of political women, but not both), speaks to how difficult they can be to find and the depth of Zagarri’s research.

Zagarri largely uses primary sources throughout her work — newspapers, letters, memoirs, books, pamphlets, plays, and so on, many found in archives at the Library of Congress, Harvard University, and several state historical societies.^[11] Included artwork is particularly interesting, including a circa 1815 illustration of a woman, holding an infant, trying to prevent male partisans from coming to blows, a visualization of women’s pacifying role.^[12] Or a painting from that year, depicting a relatively diverse political gathering, compared to an 1852 painting of the same that featured only white males — politics, no matter how informal, was no longer an activity for women.^[13] Zagarri uses secondary sources from historians, and others, such as political scientists and literary critics,^[14] to supplement her eighteenth- and nineteenth-century works, but they are largely mined for their primary citations and rarely mentioned by name in-text.

Together, her evidence convincingly demonstrates that women were involved in informal and formal politics after the American Revolution (chapters 1-3), and that reactionary developments pushed them out (chapters 4 and 5), solidifying and codifying notions of male privilege and superiority. This restored a gender order that many men and women were afraid was collapsing. “As women are now to take a part in the jurisprudence of our state,” a New Jersey paper wrote concerning women voters, “we may shortly expect to see them take the helm — of government.”^[15] When Elizabeth Bartlett was nominated for register of deeds in Middlesex County, Massachusetts, a pseudonymous woman wrote in a Boston magazine whether women would soon be “Governor, Senator, Representative[?]… I have some curiosity to know where we are to stop.”^[16] The major factors the George Mason historian outlines put such fears to rest, eroding women’s progress and shoring up the gender hierarchy. Locating documents that explicitly demonstrated intentionality — showing that suffrage for white men and its laws that excluded female voters, that the entrenchment of the parties and end of “street” politics involving non-voters, or that essentialist science that questioned women’s mental capacities were consciously intended to drive women from the political sphere — would have bolstered Zagarri’s causal argument, but such sources are as difficult to find as “missing links,” if not more so.^[17] The sources that show a push for women to avoid political disputes and instead quietly better the characters of males at home, to save a divided nation, come tantalizingly close, but never delivering the killing blow of stepping beyond happy, “circumstantial” developments for power to a place of explicit plans to take advantage of a polarization crisis and cast women out of politics. Still, the reader is left with little doubt that animosity toward female politicians fed the calls for women to terminate attempts at direct influence and shift to indirect, domestic efforts, and shaped the other oppressive developments as well.

In conclusion, Zagarri thoroughly accomplishes her aims. The reader will not soon forget the bold advocacy of early republic women, the debate over women’s rights, and the (other) dramatic societal developments that hardened attitudes against women activists and wrought stricter subjugation. Equally interesting is how female politicians continued working. Successfully driven away from the parties and any form of governance such as voting or elected office, the core of politics, women operated on the periphery, creating their own social reform organizations to advocate against slavery, prostitution, and alcohol.^[18] They spoke, wrote, rallied, organized, boycotted, petitioned or lobbied public officials, and even tried to get the right candidates elected, all while fiercely denying their involvement in politics or interest in rejecting male authority over them.^[19] They framed their activities as moral, not political, work. They were moral beings pushing for moral reform, which fell into the feminine sphere, not the male sphere of government.^[20] They used the very ideology, moral purity, that precipitated their expulsion from the center of politics, a blow to women’s rights, to protect their continued advocacy, a bitingly clever and largely effective reframing, given how Americans understood politics in that age.^[21] Revolutionary Backlash is must reading for anyone seeking to understand American women’s history, the political history of the early republic, creative resistance, or the fickle nature of progress.

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^[1] Mary Beth Norton, Liberty’s Daughters: The Revolutionary Experience of American Women, 1750-1800 (Ithaca, New York: Cornell University Press, 1996). Rosemarie Zagarri, Revolutionary Backlash: Women and Politics in the Early American Republic (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2007), 2.

^[2] Ibid.

^[3] Zagarri, Revolutionary Backlash, 5.

^[4] Ibid., 4-5.

^[5] Ibid., 5-6.

^[6] Ibid., 124-134.

^[7] Ibid., 4, 9.

^[8] Ibid., 6-7, 180.

^[9] Ibid., 132.

^[10] Ibid.

^[11] Ibid., 231.

^[12] Ibid., 131.

^[13] Ibid., 162, 164.

^[14] Ibid., 110, 180.

^[15] Ibid., 78.

^[16] Ibid., 79.

^[17] These are similar concepts, but not precisely the same. A missing link shows how one idea replaced another. A finding of intentionality shows why someone did something. You might find the true motive of a historical actor but not see the bridge between old and new ideas; conversely, you might see a bridge but not a motive. Some sources, however, could be both a missing link and a finding of intentionality. A term for this is forthcoming.

^[18] Ibid., 142.

^[19] Ibid., 142-145.

^[20] Ibid.

^[21] Ibid., 146 suggests women saw a hard divide between their moral crusades and legitimate political activity. Though this may be difficult to grasp today, Zagarri seeks to “analyze politics in the terms in which people at the time understood the concept” (page 8).

What conditions must be present to declare that capitalism has finally come to dominate one’s society? American historians have varying views on this, as the meaning of capitalism is varied. Further complicating matters, the new paradigm in scholarship is to worry less about precise definitions of capitalism, as Seth Rockman points out in “What Makes the History of Capitalism Newsworthy?” — an acceptance of the “varieties of capitalism” would seem to make a determination of hegemonic conditions more challenging. Our question has become harder to answer as research has progressed, not easier. Still, historians’ answers and interpretations are interesting. As Paul Gilje writes in “The Rise of Capitalism in the Early Republic,” some of course simply point to capitalist ownership of the means of production — businesses, the factories, the tools and equipment, the resources, and so on — but others disavow domination until capitalists also control the political system. The level of industrialization is another suggestion, but historians such as Jonathan Prude and William Stott urge a step away from centering mechanization and new technology, instead focusing on the division of labor, which brings artisans of the early American republic, a key period of transition, deeper into the story of capitalism’s rise. In other words, for our purposes, hegemonic capitalism would not be reached until the division of labor (the creation of goods being broken down into small steps that low-skilled wage workers could accomplish, replacing the full-task, high-skilled creator, increasing production) had come to define society, regardless of the state of industrialization and even, perhaps, who owned the means of production and the State. 

Further, wage labor, Rockman notes, has long been considered the “sine qua non of capitalism,” its essential element. Before capitalism came to dominate, for instance in eighteenth-century America, most people were involved in their own familial agricultural production — most workers, including artisans and merchants, did not work for someone else, receiving a wage from an employer. The shift to wage labor was a massive change. However, Rockman writes, New Capitalist Studies have drifted away from wage work as the essential characteristic of the capitalist system. Millions of American slaves certainly worked for someone else, and while they received no wages this was a form of exploitation that could not be ignored in the story of economic development. In other words, some historians, those who see slavery as integral to capitalism rather than oppositional or anomalous (see Gilje), may look beyond widespread wage labor for the key characteristic of hegemonic capitalism. They may look instead, for example, to the ubiquity of a new ideology. Michael Zakim and Gary Kornblith’s Capitalism Takes Command phrased it as “capital’s transformation into an ism.” The wider culture adopted principles beneficial to business, though this took some time. As John Larson writes in “The Genie and the Troll: Capitalism in the Early American Republic,” despite some historians positing that capitalism arrived in America with the first European ships, others have demonstrated that the yeoman farmers of the early republic still held cultural values detached from the capitalistic ethos, disinterested in profit. But eventually values like individualism and competition did replace community reciprocity, respected hierarchy, and other norms (see Gilje and Larson). Could one claim that capitalism had reached predominance without the new self-interested belief system doing so as well?

Let’s consider how a few other historians addressed this question of what constitutes capitalism and how American society transitioned to it in the early republic period. In “The Enemy is Us: Democratic Capitalism in the Early Republic,” Gordon Wood addresses the debate between “moral economy” and “market economy” historians of the early American republic. The former posit that period farmers lacked a capitalistic, profit-driven mindset, focusing only on family and community needs. The latter argue that farmers engaged in market exchange to a high enough degree to evidence that capitalism’s grip on society occurred before moral economy historians would like to admit. Wood argues that moral economy proponents have strained reason in their attempts to portray farmers without any capitalistic ethos. Farmers are portrayed as merely providing for their families no matter how intensely they engage in the market. They cannot be capitalistic because, for the caricature-crafting moral economist historians, by definition capitalists have greedy, evil intentions. Wood critiques such thinkers for a lack of nuance and for attempting to fit the early republic into a Marxian framework that strictly requires a checklist of elements for the existence of capitalism; for instance, if there was no class exploitation of American farmers, there was no capitalism, despite the existing free market and other characteristics. Among the evidence Wood uses are the writings of a period laborer to show the true nature of economic activities and social relations. The cartoonish capitalists, Wood writes, did not bring about capitalism, but rather ordinary people with moral and market sensibilities; indeed, the essay breaks down some barriers between the sides of the historical debate.

Jean-Christophe Agnew helms the afterword of Capitalism Takes Command, delivering a short essay entitled “Anonymous History.” The piece concerns the financial instruments of capitalism and their effect on ordinary Americans, such as farmers, in the early republic period. Agnew argues that the “paperwork” of capitalism, the new financial, commercial, and legal devices — the mortgages, debts, securities, bonds, investments, lines of credit, and so forth — powered the shift from a society of family-centered production to industrial capitalism. Farmers became caught up in these instruments, pulling them from their private worlds and communities and into a truly national economic system. Agnew draws on the essays featured in Capitalism Takes Command for evidence, touching on several of their themes and theses, pulling them together. He cites, for instance, nineteenth-century farmers who felt their world had been turned upside down as they were sucked into the developing commercial system, worrying they would “die of mortgage” and complaining the mortgage “watched us every minute, and it ruled us right and left,” to quote a poem. The historian’s title, “Anonymous History,” refers to a focus on the economic practices, such as use of these financial instruments, that impacted ordinary people, rather than a focus on big names like Rockefeller and Carnegie, who do not appear in the book.

Wood argues that farmers had more of an entrepreneurial spirit and sought profit in the market, touching on the ideology and free market elements necessary for capitalism’s ascendance and moving the timeline up a bit, to the chagrin of moral economist historians. Agnew also finds earlier, more advanced capitalist development among farmers, though it is more against their will and to their detriment; he focuses on the financialization characteristics of the new economic system. These historians are not alone in their conclusions. Robert E. Wright, in “Capitalism and the Rise of the Corporate Nation,” also centers financial instruments in the story of capitalism’s ascendance. Investment, credit, and loans allowed corporations to hugely expand production and profits; corporations then came to dominate the U.S. economy. Agnew and Wright would concur that modern capitalism entails widespread financialization, which became a true force in the early republic period. Jeanne Boydston, who penned “The Woman Who Wasn’t There: Women’s Labor Market and the Transition to Capitalism in the United States,” might better relate to Gordon Wood. Wood wrote about ordinary Americans engaging in market exchange and rejected the false dichotomy of capitalist mindset vs. family-focused provider. Boydston looks at women’s economic roles in the antebellum era. Women’s work helped farms maintain their self-sufficiency and at the same time fed the market and grew the economy — for instance, women undertook outwork for textile mills, receiving compensation. What served the family served capitalism, and vice versa.

While these are not the only elements of hegemonic capitalism, they are major ones that offer a glimpse at a lively historiographical discussion. Given the nuance of the debate and the myriad definitions (or definitional apathy) inherent, it seems sensible to posit that a healthy (or unhealthy) mix of societal realities — a preeminent ideology, capitalist ownership of the means of production and governmental functions, wage labor, industrialization, financialization, a free market, the division of production tasks, and more (such as consumption levels or competition; see Larson) — are necessary to stamp capitalism as hegemonic, a thesis that should please both everyone and no one.

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