This is fiction, not history. Ridley found an intriguing couple of paragraphs about a woman who disguised herself as a man and voyaged around the world, and then, lacking any other primary source material--no word of Barets has survived--Ridley goes on to invent an entire book's worth of narrative, none of it grounded in primary sources.
The book is full of carefully painted scenes describing what Ridley imagines might have happened, down to which berry her subject picked on the shores of Tierra del Fuego, and what malady it was supposed to cure. A list of herbal remedies with no attribution, found bound into Baret's lover's papers, is interpreted based on its handwriting differing from Baret's lover's as a lover's gift from a young Baret. Scenes on shipboard are painted vividly, although there is no basis in fact for these scenes. The phrases, "must have felt" "must have thought" "must have wanted" appear on page after page. So do Baret's tumultuous emotions, which are described minutely in scene after scene, based on nothing but what the author assumes her subject should have felt.
Ridley's imagination so is heavily influenced by 21st century feminist academic theory that she cannot resist the temptation to turn Baret into a saintly icon, the Noble Peasant Herbal Woman, as real as the Noble Savage of the philosophes except much duller.
Ridley takes a few obscure sentences written in conflicting accounts published by gentlemen who sailed with Baret--and makes what she imagines they really mean the mainspring of the book, claiming that Baret was gang raped. From there Ridley imagines her becoming a pathetic victim of post-traumatic stress that dominates the rest of her life. This would be poignant if it were believable, but coming as it does after hundreds of pages of the author making up scene after scene from whole cloth, I could not find it believable. Especially not when once the subject of the putative gang rape is brought up Ridley leaves her hitherto proto-fictional prose style behind and erupts into paragraphs of smug, constipated, academic codespeak to describe the imagined rape.
I would have liked very much to learn about the first woman to circumnavigate the globe. But like so many women of her times Baret left no literary remains. The few paragraphs others wrote about her may have been deeply inspirational to Ridley, but the Baret she invents is a figment of her imagination, created to embody her own strongly held beliefs.
The objective historian puts down this book knowing only that a woman named Baret existed, and traveled the world dressed as a man and acting as the servant of a botanist. What she really did, felt, or experienced remains unknown.