We never met, but we both spent a lot time, albeit in different eras and contexts, thinking about the same historical figures, reading the same dusty tomes, looking for the same forgotten papers and letters, and pondering the roots of liberal education and the humanities, both in higher education and beyond. Continue reading
[Note to readers: following up on a discussion at the USIH Facebook page, Patrick S. O’Donnell compiled the following bibliography to share with our readers here.]
Women as Intellectuals in the European Enlightenment:
A Select Bibliography of the Secondary Literature
by Patrick S. O’Donnell
Department of Philosophy
Santa Barbara City College (2015)
“Enlightenment” denotes here a time frame inclusive of what others, strictly speaking, would define as “pre-” and “post-Enlightenment” periods of European history. I hope the term “intellectual” is used in a sufficiently capacious sense. As with most of my bibliographies, this one is marked by two constraints: books, in English. And in this case, the language constraint rules out quite a number of important titles, especially (hence, not only) those in French. A further constraint is rather arbitrary: I wanted to keep the compilation to roughly one hundred titles. Continue reading
Karen L. Kilcup Fallen Forests: Emotion, Embodiment, and Ethics in American Women’s Environmental Writing, 1781-1924 Athens: University of Georgia Press, 2013, 504 pages.
Review by Nicolette Gable
The idea of a book on nineteenth century environmental writing conjures images of Walden Pond and white men of leisure rhapsodizing over sublime scenery. It is pleasantly surprising to read a book that subverts such expectations. In Fallen Forests Karen Kilcup takes on several large projects. First, she seeks to enlarge the scope of what we consider environmental writing and activism. Next, she attempts to shift the discussion of nineteenth century women’s writing from analysis of sentimentalism to the rhetorical use of emotional intelligence. Finally, she seeks to reclaim the discussion of women and nature from essentialism and idealism, by examining material conditions and directly confronting the limitations, contradictions, and failings of these women’s work.
Jill Lepore: The Secret History of Wonder Woman (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2014), 448 pages.
By Bryn Upton
The first female superhero arrived at the beginning of US involvement in World War II and stood astride the intersection of first wave feminism, Greek mythology, popular psychology, and kink. An Amazon who left paradise to save one man, Wonder Woman instead saved America from the bonds of patriarchy in a red bustier, blue shorts, a gold tiara, metal bracelets, and knee-high red boots. She had extraordinary powers, with telling limitations: her bracelets stopped bullets, her lasso forced people to tell the truth, but if a man bound her at her bracelets, she lost her powers. For more than seventy years she has captured imaginations—appearing in 4,756 comic book issues, an eponymous television show, and a slate of novels, animated cartoons, and video games—but what do we really know about Wonder Woman? In The Secret history of Wonder Woman, Jill Lepore, Professor of American History at Harvard University, contends that we cannot understand Wonder Woman without understanding the man—and women—behind her. Lepore states that the key to Wonder Woman lies in understanding the unique set of feminist influences upon her creation. “Feminism made Wonder Woman,” she writes. “And then Wonder Woman remade feminism…”*
Lilian Calles Barger, Ph.D. (University of Texas at Dallas), is an independent scholar working in Taos, NM and serves on the book review committee of the Society. Her current research focuses on 19th and 20th century social, religious, and feminist thought. She is currently working on a book manuscript entitled The World Come of Age: Religion, Intellectuals and the Challenge of Human Liberation.
Post Updated: I inadvertently left off the final two paragraphs of this post when I put it up on the blog. My apologies to both Andrew and our readers. They’ve been added back as of 3:30 pm EST, 15 Feb 2014. — Ben Alpers
[Editor’s Note: What follows is the first in a six-week series of guest blogs from Andrew Seal. Andrew is a Ph.D. candidate in American Studies at Yale University. He is currently writing his dissertation, tentatively titled “Exporting the Common Man: Midwestern Intellectuals and U.S. Power, 1910-1960,” which critically examines the emergence and decline of an ideal of American character and civilization parallel to the American Century but derived from the Midwestern middle class. Hailing from Indiana, schooled in the East, and now living in Utah, he is on his way to a regional bingo. He hopes to use his posts to confront both texts that have inspired him and sources that have perplexed him in pursuing his studies and research. I’m delighted to have him blogging for us! — Ben Alpers]
When L. D. recently wrote about the strange condition of Mary McCarthy in intellectual history—L. D. argued that McCarthy is present but under-utilized in histories of the New York intellectuals—it intersected with some difficulties I, too, have been encountering in both the archive and the historiographical record. For I, too, have often—but not always—found myself on cold trails when trying to connect the women in my dissertation to the larger themes I find in the monographs I admire and the conversations, debates, and narratives they represent. Like McCarthy, they are there, but not there, not obscured, but hidden in plain sight.
When novelists and biographers depict the conjoining of women to grand literary or intellectual narratives, they often do so as an unveiling. In A. S. Byatt’s novel Possession, the crucial evidence that links the major poet Randolph Henry Ash and the relatively minor poet Christabel LaMotte is a letter that has been concealed in Ash’s papers, undetected by the scholarship of generations. A great deal of the novel’s plot proceeds through the figures and facts of letters concealed and revealed, secrets exposed and unearthed, but one way to read this archival drama is as the full canonization of the female poet by virtue of her connection to the male. By this link, she is shuffled into the mainstream of a Great Tradition and out of the marginalized countercurrents of feminist and queer scholarship. Continue reading
That the personal sphere of sexuality, of housework, of child care and family life is political because the underpinning of most feminist thought. We have strong and persistently challenged the long-standing underlying assumption of almost all political theories: that the sphere of family and personal life is so separate and distinct from the rest of social life that such theories can justifiably assume but ignore it.
Susan Moller Okin, Justice, Gender, and the Family,1987
In 1987, political theorist Susan Moller Okin, known for challenging giants of the Western philosophical tradition such as Aristotle and Rousseau for their unenlightened views on women, published a provocative book in which she argued that women in America have foolishly fought for equality in the public sphere– suffrage, equal pay, the Equal Rights Amendment– while keeping the private sphere– the home– free from public evaluations of justice. According to Okin, “’How political is the personal?’ and ‘In what ways is the personal political and the political personal?’ are important questions within the feminist argument.”1 They are also important questions for the historian examining past claims about justice, gender, and the ideal society. Continue reading
In Black Feminist Thought, Patricia Hill Collins argues that all African American women’s “intellectual work has aimed to foster Black activism.” When I first read that, I had the instant reaction of–that’s not the case. Black women think about many things, among them relationships like motherhood and beauty (the first two things that came to mind). Collins goes on to argue that when black women teach their children how to deal with racism, they are engaging in activism–so motherhood as a form of activism.
I was pondering beauty because Juliette Derricotte writes about it frequently in her letters (as I’ve written about before on this blog). Then I read this title passage from The Color Purple by Alice Walker:
“Us sing and dance, make faces and give flower bouquets, trying to be loved. You ever notice that trees do everything to get attention we do, except walk?
“I never truly notice nothing God make. Not a blade of corn (how it do that?) not the color purple (where it come from?). Not the little wildflowers. Nothing.”
Shug was teaching Celie to rejoice in nature’s beauty as a way of overcoming the abuse she was suffering at the hands of her husband. Natural beauty as a form of activism.
I don’t have time today to write more about this, but I am now looking for how Black women’s thought is connected to activism rather than trying to prove it is not. Or perhaps, I am still somewhere in the middle, where things do not need to be forced to be activism that are not, but neither am I neglecting things that are.
At the Fourth Annual Conference of the Society for U.S. Intellectual History, the first plenary on the evening of November 17, 2011 was on U.S. Women’s Intellectual Traditions; a panel instigated by conference chair Mike O’Connor and organized by Louise (Lucy) Knight of Northwestern University.
As it turns out, and as some of you know, women and intellectual history has been a hot topic on the USIH blog recently. Lauren Kientz Anderson started the conversation by asking how we should interpret the fact, as she observed it, that relatively few women had posted or commented on the blog. She also raised questions about the place of women scholars in the field. As so often happens in blogs, topics began to ramify. Some asked, and even answered, that perennially thorny question – do women in the field, or even in general, argue or think or analyze differently than men do? Others wondered if the question itself was a red herring left over from antediluvian times, to mix my metaphors.
The concerns probed by the blog about women and the field remind us that the issues and ideas dealt with in women’s intellectual history are far from passé. They inform our lives as professionals and shape the directions that our field takes. As for the role that this brand new society will play in all of this, there are some great signs that it will break new ground. The lively debate in the blog is one sign. Another is the fact that the society’s leadership proposed this plenary. Whatever the past has been, the present is our chance to do things differently.
We also will take up the conference theme and consider how our particular figure used narratives in her work or what narratives about that figure we are revising in our own work.
narrative. Maybe we’ll consider in our discussion tonight whether it is a particularly useful practice for women, in a patriarchal intellectual climate, to turn to narrative, first-person testimony, as a means of establishing authority when no credentials can be had, and of conveying ideas from a vantage point of relative powerlessness.
Review of Christine Stansell’s The Feminist Promise: 1792 to the Present (New York: The Modern Library, 2010). ISBN: 978-0-679-64314-2. 503 pages. Extensive notes; no bibliography.
Reviewed by Louise Knight, Visiting Scholar
Gender Studies Program, Northwestern University
This is a bold book. Just the idea of writing a history of American feminism is bold. Yes, Mary Beard wrote Woman as Force in History in 1946, which was the first book on the history of women’s activism in the United States. Yes, Eleanor Flexner wrote Century of Struggle in 1959, which was the first book on the history of women’s suffrage (revised and expanded by Ellen Fitzpatrick in 1996). There has also been Nancy Cott’s The Grounding of Modern Feminism (1987), which is a history of women’s movements in the United States between 1910 and 1930, and innumerable histories of the 1960s resurgence of the women’s movement, popularly known as the “Second Wave,” and some about the third wave too. The most comprehensive, thoroughly footnoted book I know of is Estelle B. Freedman’s excellent No Turning Back: The History of Feminism (Random House, 2002), but it is thematically organized and dense with facts. Christine Stansell, a professor of history at the University of Chicago, has had the vision, stamina, and sheer chutzpah to tackle the big subject chronologically, with an emphasis on its contentious intellectual complexity. The Feminist Promise is an important first.
What exactly is it about? At its core the book is a history of a set of ideas that revolutionized American society by restructuring not just gender relations and women’s place in the world but, first and foremost, women’s expectations for themselves. It is about the conceivers of those ideas but also about the people and organizations who pushed for and resisted them, as well as the on-the-ground social change that resulted, or did not. And it is about the arguments within feminism, of which there have been many. As Stansell writes in the Introduction, “Feminism is an argument, not received truth” (xix). The observation is one of the first clues that this is a book that keeps ideas in focus, and does not consider them as a sidelight to social action.
To write such a groundbreaking book, Stansell had to sort through a set of key decisions. The first was about its temporal scope. Stansell and her publisher, The Modern Library, wanted a definitive work, and so they embraced the whole enchilada: from “1792 to the present,” as the subtitle of the book states. However, this grand ambition could not be fully executed in the 400 pages of text that the publisher was willing to provide. Therefore, the book gives short shrift to the traditional “hole” in the history of feminism (though scholars have been filling it for years), 1920 to 1945. And by short I mean very short, like a few pages.
Another decision was to emphasize recent history. Thus the period 1968 to the present takes up half of the book. There are good arguments to support that decision, given the wider interest among scholars and students in the late twentieth century than in the nineteenth but it does make the book lopsided. At the same time, feminists under 50 will want to challenge the book’s claim to cover feminism up to the present, since the only story it tells about the years after 1980 is the rise of global feminism. (One suspects the publisher deserves credit for the subtitle’s claim.)
The inclusion of a whole chapter on global feminism, however, does not change the fact that Stansell’s story is really about the United States. Elsewhere in the book she blurs the parameters a bit by reaching across the ocean to Europe to connect with developments there. This international awareness enriches the book, but does not change the fact that it is a history of American feminism.
Another decision was to focus on the women’s intellectual traditions and deal only in passing with the intellectual traditions launched by men. Liberalism, utilitarianism, Marxism, socialism, and the ideas of the New Left. These all make appearances, reflecting the work of many scholars, but Stansell does not frame her story around them. This seems reasonable, given the complexity of her topic and the originality of her effort, not to mention her larger feminist point – that feminism, in seeking to break with the patriarchal mindframe, often reacted against aspects of these traditions even as it was also shaped by them.
Another interesting choice was to avoid framing this history of feminism as a series of “waves.” Stansell joins Jo Freeman and Linda Nicholson, among others, in finding the wave metaphor un-useful. She does not engage the arguments directly but she makes it clear that the history of feminism is continuous from the 1790s, that feminists have embraced different arguments and reform tasks at different points in their history, and that at no period have all feminists agreed on everything.
Finally there is the sticky question of whether the word “feminist” should be applied, as Nancy Cott has argued, only to those who embrace a specific set of ideas. Her definition has three components: a belief in sex equality, a belief that women’s condition is socially constructed, and a belief that women should work together to achieve equality on the basis of sex solidarity. Cott argues that this feminism emerged around 1900 and is distinctly different than the ideas of the nineteenth-century woman’s movement. Obviously Stansell rejects that argument and adopts the term “feminism” as a transhistorical concept. This makes sense to me. Would we argue that African Americans were not fighting racism until the term was invented and a certain set of specific ideas coalesced around it? Do we identify democracy as rising only when a group of historical actors began using the term in a modern way? Just as democracy has been, and is much, a contested set of ideas, the same is true of feminism. Cott’s definition is about one side of a lively, more than two-hundred-year debate. Taking this broader view, Stansell frames feminism as the whole argument across time.
Stansell works hard to keep women in all their diversity – of race, ethnicity, gender orientation and class – in focus, and does fairly well at this challenging task. Inevitably others would have made different choices. She is especially strong on the ideas and experiences of black women engaged in social justice efforts and the place of gay rights movement in feminist history and vice versa. In my opinion, the labor movement’s contributions to feminism merited more attention. Others might say the same of her treatment of socialist feminism and Latina American and Asian American feminism.
Another key decision for Stansell was about the authorial voice. Would she stand outside feminism and look at it as if she was not herself a feminist? Or would she inhabit the ideas she was writing about? She chose to write it as a feminist. This was not only a more honest choice but also an inspired one. Her pen teaches the reader about feminism by the way it frames the insights of the book. And her honesty is important too because societal truth marches on. No one today would think it right for a scholar, black or otherwise, to write a history of the struggle for racial equality in which he or she treated racism as a respectable idea, or for an historian of gay rights to treat homophobia as just one more viewpoint. Stansell apparently also believes it is time for scholars to stop being afraid of owning feminism. And she succeeds brilliantly in showing how it is done. I have never read a history that inhabits feminism so well. For example, she writes of the 1950s, “To look squarely at the landscape was to confront frank expressions of male dominance, outcroppings of patriarchy supposedly abolished by post-Nineteenth Amendment modernity” (191).
Perhaps one of the most difficult, complicated ideas in the history of feminist thought is that of motherhood. It is at once a biological reality that has enriched women’s lives, and a powerful ideology that has been deployed by men since the dawn of consciousness to elevate and restrict women. At the same time, women have used the idea for their own purposes, including self-aggrandizement within the home, but also to liberate themselves from it. For these reasons, feminist historians have found the idea endlessly perplexing and have sometimes resolved the problem by treating it too simplistically, either as something inherently good or inherently dangerous. Stansell, who is often finely nuanced in her interpretations, treats motherhood with insight and sensitivity in her discussion of the 1960s. “It was not that women’s liberation was anti-mother, or that there were no actual mothers involved, but rather that motherhood seemed a state that was irrelevant, perhaps inimical, to sisterhood” (262).
Stansell is also brilliant in her incisive discussions of the leading intellectuals of feminism. She credits Mary Wollstonecraft’s A Vindication of the Rights of Woman (1792) with laying “the intellectual basis for modern feminism” by announcing that “power, not nature, determined the relations of women and men,” and that expectations about how women should think and act “were in truth born of a system of male privilege and tyranny as corrupt as any monarchy” (25-26). Stansell goes on to point out that the intellectual tradition of liberalism was born of that same system. “Feminist theorists,” she notes, “have stressed that liberalism was always premised on women’s subjection, that the female sex was the exception to equality that made equality imaginable….Liberal rights-bearing citizens remained paradigmatically male for more than a century.” As for today, Stansell asserts: “Liberal democracy’s abstract promises … remain… resistant to extending their benefits across the sex line” (26).
Stansell gives generous space and analysis to the major American feminist intellectuals of the nineteenth century: Sarah and Angelina Grimké and Margaret Fuller. She credits the abolitionist-feminist Grimké sisters as being the first to argue for women’s equality based the religious idea of “the absolute moral equality of all human beings”(42). As Sarah Grimké crisply wrote, “Whatsoever it is morally right for a man to do, it is morally right for a woman to do” (46). Stansell credits Margaret Fuller with being “one of the first feminists to grasp the importance of expressiveness, reflection, and subjective exploration of women’s emancipation.” Stansell’s next observation sparkles: “This Romantic current would, in future years, nourish American feminism’s ventures into personal transformation that outstripped the liberal paradigm of women’s rights”( 64-65).
Strangely, Stansell does not write much about the two leading feminist intellectuals of the early twentieth century: Charlotte Perkins Gilman and Jane Addams. To be sure, Addams did not write a book about her feminist views, although she did write a chapter about the women’s movement in Second Twenty Years at Hull-House (1930), but Gilman wrote two feminist books: The Home, which Stansell discusses briefly, and Women and Economics (1898), which she does not. Stansell grasps the spirit of the feminists of that time. “Theirs was a feminism that was part of a broad democratic push,” she writes (151). But like many before her, she keeps the focus on the suffrage movement and only touches lightly on these feminists’ impressive efforts on issues affecting working women and working children and on the ideas that infused their cross-class feminism.
As noted earlier, the book’s two halves are lopsided in their treatment of historical time. The second half, which begins in 1968, also lacks the intellectual continuity that fuels the first half. With only 42 years left to cover and with 200 pages available, Stansell no longer sweeps grandly along but instead dives deeper into the details of events, organizations, and personalities. For this reason, or perhaps some other, the book is more fragmented in this half, especially in the three chapters that cover that very fragmented period of 1920-1975. But there are plenty of lively, pointed insights. Writing about the radical feminists of the 1960s, Stansell notes:
Women’s liberation retained the male left’s habits of sweeping indictment, the heavy-handed Marxist-Leninist theorizing, the scorn for compromise, the insistence that life was lived in blacks and whites and not in grays, the penchant for histrionic displays of outrage and suffering, the faith that sheer will power could bring about a perfect- or near-perfect society purged of wrongs (230).
Though Stansell is tough at times on the radical feminists, as she is here, she is not one-sided in her views. She rightly credits the women’s liberation wing of the movement for its important stress on the psychological dimensions of sexism and therefore the need for “consciousness-raising” as the key feminist reform (244).
One of the strongest later chapters is that on abortion, birth control, and rape. Titled, “The Politics of the Body,” it covers the huge amount of thought and activism these issues generated from 1965 to 1980, and brings coherence to a period that many of us remember as chaotic. Stansell is at her best unpacking the ideas behind these issues, and narrating some of the most successful grassroots organizing and legal activism in the history of the feminism — and some of the most effective opposition too. Stansell’s observations about the core idea that fueled the abortion movement is worth quoting at length:
The maxim of a woman’s right to choose lit a fire under a great pile of misogynist and patriarchal assumptions and laws. As it spread, it became one of the most attractive ideas that second-wave feminism bequeathed – not only to the country but to the world. It brought to light an age-old assumption buried in women’s cultures: that it was up to the pregnant woman to decide whether to continue her pregnancy. For another, it moved body politics formally into the regime of rights and pressed the question of self-ownership, raised in the nineteenth century by [Elizabeth Cady] Stanton and [John Stuart] Mill as one of legal and economic standing, into the realm of corporeal dignity. Body politics turned into a political principle with wings, poised to fly across borders and oceans in widening feminist discussions in the 1970s and 1980s (326).
What is interesting, of course, is that we do not know the name of the woman who first argued in a public forum that women had a right to choose whether or not to have an abortion. It appears this intellectual revolution was entirely democratic, that it arose among the people as a conviction rooted in the liberal tradition of American individualism and made manifest in social action, including, eventually, court cases. (This is one example of how liberalism has served feminism, even as it also remains true that, our liberal democracy has yet to extend its benefits to all women. Liberalism is a constellation of possibilities useful to diverse political positions.)
To be sure, there were thinkers who shaped the recent history of feminism and Stansell attends to them. Simone de Beauvoir’s The Second Sex (1953) and Kate Millett’s Sexual Politics (1970), are discussed, the former at length. She credits Susan Brownmiller’s Against Our Will (1975), a book about the place of rape in American culture, with having “presented a comprehensive view of male power in its most violent manifestations” (344). As for Betty Friedan’s The Feminine Mystique, Stansell acknowledges that it transformed white suburban housewives’ self-awareness and emboldened them to challenge sexist assumptions about the rules of domesticity. “Not since Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s The Home had anyone spoken so baldly of the claustrophobia of domestic life, the tedium of full-time child care, and the housewife’s ennui.” But she also gives the book a fabulously insightful and deserved push off the top shelf of intellectual history, and concludes by dismissing it as a “period piece” full of “heavy-handed rhetoric.” (205).
The last chapter tells the story of how the feminism – American or otherwise – has transformed the lives of women around the world since 1980. The focus is on the work of women’s nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) and international agreements and conferences, like the Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination Against Women (CEDAW) and the four United Nations World Conferences on Women. The chapter makes fascinating reading. Once again, Stansell has shaped events from newspaper headlines and magazine articles into a strong narrative about what is truly an historic development: the way that, in her words, “feminist questions [have] moved to the center of international deliberations” (393).
My main complaint about the chapter is that it is written as if the story began in the last part of the twentieth century. Stansell has traced the origins of the term, “global feminism” to a 1983 Rotterdam conference on international “sexual slavery” (357), but the actual history begins much earlier, as Bonnie Anderson has thoroughly documented in her book Joyous Greetings: the First International Women’s Movement, 1830-1860 (New York: Oxford University Press, 2000). And global feminism continued to thrive, reaching an impressive organizational peak between 1900 and 1914, when there were many international conferences, not only on suffrage but also on other issues, like sex trafficking, and again in the 1920s and 1930s, most notably through the work of the Women’s International League for Peace and Freedom, whose reform agenda included women’s rights and whose sections stretched around the world. Stansell might have at least nodded in the direction of this history as a way to frame her chapter.
My main complaint about this important book is that, as noted earlier, The Feminist Promise tells the story of American feminism — aside from its role in global feminism – only through 1980. This leaves unanswered the question, “What is the domestic American feminist history of the last 30 years?” It is not an easy question for an historian like Stansell to answer, an historian who, as she notes, became a feminist in 1969 (395). Those who came along later had some criticisms to make of older feminists, as Stansell acknowledges (357), and often disagreed with their ideas as they understood them. Perhaps it is understandable that, the subtitle notwithstanding, she chose not to tackle that complicated story. Happily, others have. The best book I know, written in a spirit of true cross-generational sisterhood, is Deborah Siegel’s insightful Sisterhood Interrupted: From Radical Women to Grrls Gone Wild (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2007).
American women have made enormous progress since 1792, as Stansell notes in her conclusion, but it is also true, as she points out, that “women are still handicapped and excluded in innumerable ways” (396). She lists some of these: women are still underpaid at work; women still do more housework and take care of children more than their male partners do even when they are working just as much outside the home; divorce is still an economic and social calamity for women and children; and men still talk a lot and therefore disproportionately dominate public conversations. Younger feminists would add more issues to the list: girls and women are still denied reproductive rights, including sex education, still forced into sexual slavery, and still suffer disproportionately from domestic violence and sexual abuse.
It is striking that the solutions to all these problems (at least apparently) lie less in the realm of ideas and more in the realm of grassroots organizing, institutional reforms, and legal action. As Gloria Steinem recently noted, “Consciousness goes like the wind, but reforming the power structures takes a long time.” Stansell seems to acknowledge that at the end when she explains her hope for the book: “that it may transport the riches and assurances of the past, along with its sobering lessons, to the women and men who now take up the task of making good on feminism’s democratic promise.”
Alternatively, or in addition, it may be in the twenty-first century, as was the case for abortion rights and global feminism in the twentieth, that the important intellectual achievements — the breakthrough ideas that transform the impossible into the achievable — will come from the ground up, from the conversations people have every day. Such a trend suits our intensely democratic times. On the other hand, one cannot help but wonder if somewhere a brilliant feminist mind is cogitating and if we will all benefit from its insights soon. Meanwhile, intellectual historians and historians generally are in Christine Stansell’s debt for reminding us how far, and by what means, we have come.
Postscript—A word about the index of Feminist Promise: Unfortunately the index is typical of what publishers these days consider adequate: nearly all the entries are proper names. For any book, this is a huge loss, but for a book of intellectual history, this is a travesty. Authors seem to have no choice but to hire someone to do a better index or to do the index themselves. I found it challenging to write this review until I remembered that I could search for key words in the Google Books snippets edition of The Feminist Promise. But even that useful technology cannot replace a good index.
 Freeman and Nicholson agree about the uselessness of the wave metaphor, but for somewhat different reasons. See “Waves of Feminism,” at Jo Freeman.com and Linda Nicholson, “Feminism in ‘Waves’: Useful Metaphor or Not?,” New Politics vol. XII, no. 4 (winter 2010), Whole no. 48.
 Cott, The Grounding of Modern Feminism (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1987), 6-7. Cott does not use the label “individualist” here, but she speaks of feminists’ embrace of “individuality” as one of their principles. In a later short piece, she sharpens this part of her argument. See Nancy Cott, “Comment on Karen Offen’s ‘Defining Feminism: A Comparative Historical Approach,’” Signs 15, No. 1 (Autumn 1989): 203-205.
 Furthermore, by Cott’s own definition, feminism existed in the nineteenth century, as the feminist writings of Lucy Stone or Angelina and Sarah Grimké make clear.
 See also Siegel’s excellent essay on third wave feminist theory, “The Legacy of the Personal: Generating Theory in Feminism’s Third Wave,” Hypatia 12, no. 3: Third Wave Feminisms (Summer 1997): 46-75.
 Gloria Steinem interview, “Need to Know” Show, PBS video, July 15, 2011.