I have to say that my final response to Sara Wheeler's writing is much like her response to Harriet Martineau's.
Wheeler travels the routes of six nineteenth-century British women into and across the U.S. in search of herself at midlife. At the end we leave her in the little mountain town of Mineral in the shadow of California's Mount Lassen, a volcano last active in 1917. So she shares some spirit with one of her "subjects," Isabella Bird, who in Colorado discovered something within herself almost exactly like the discovery John Muir made in California's mountains. Isabella found "the divine in nature."
The stories of the six intrepid women are fascinating. Wheeler did much solid research before hitting the trail. She shares with readers much new information about her six visitors and the state of things in mid-nineteenth-century America. For one example, she helps us picture the situation when Cincinnati was among the largest cities in the nation and Fanny Trollope built a pleasure house there.
But Ms Wheeler could well have left some of her baggage at home. Here she is responding to Fanny Trollope, the first of her six, comparing her to Alexis de Toqueville: "The difference between Toqueville and Fanny Trollope turns on this point. His was the more flexible mind; he was an intellectual, and in America experience informed his intellect. She was an empiricist, content to base broad judgements on a short spell of personal experience colored by her own shortcomings and prejudice" (p. 56). So Trollope's was the lesser mind, I suppose she's telling us, for what reason I cannot imagine. Trollope slogged through swamps, ate disgusting things at mealtimes and spent sleepless nights getting a firsthand look at this new place called The United States, and we're to think less of her because she hadn't the kind of mind Toqueville had? Once again, I suppose, dancing backwards in high heels isn't enough.
I have to admit a bias of my own: I bought the book primarily for Chapter 3, the travels of Harriet Martineau. Harriet was not only an abolitionist and woman's rights advocate, she was also an atheist, technically a Unitarian, daughter and sister of prominent Unitarian men. I thought she was way ahead of her time, and she offended American hosts by coming out against slavery in public while she was here.
Wheeler earlier told us that "An ill-favored spinster, Harriet was industrious, progressive and high-minded" (p. 78). Now, in Kentucky's Mammoth Cave, she seems to admire Harriet's spunk: "Harriet left her ear trumpet in her valise, tucked up her gown, tied a hanky over her head ('like the witches in Macbeth') and spent the day scrambling over loose limestone. The guides' candle cast monstrous shadows. 'Everything appears alive,' she wrote: 'the slowly growing stalactites, the water ever-dropping into the plashing pool, the whispering airs—all seem conscious'" (p. 138). But when it comes to Harriet's mind? "Many of Harriet's aphorisms are meaningless. She just couldn't stop herself coming out with them, like a sausage machine jammed to ON" (p. 144). Taken altogether, "Harriet's work no longer has much significance; she is worth remembering for her achievements in a man's world and for her personal commitment to winning through" (p. 144). Wheeler ranks Martineau as second-rate.
So of course I tend to rank Wheeler as second-rate because she couldn't get past Martineau's plainness, her deafness, her eccentricity, her atheism, her being cured of a chronic ailment by mesmerism, her taking up science and other liberal causes.
Wheeler returns home ready to tackle the second half of her life, but don't look for her out in public leading any charges. Her book reads well in many places — and it has some informative photos — but it ends up pretty flat and uninspiring.