This book isn't horrible, but the slim volume isn't really a book so much as it's a booklet. It could have used another round of editing to catch typos, and the writing style (and certain uses of language) are problematic. It's fine as a palate cleanser (which is how I used it) between heftier books, but this wasn't at all what I was expecting.
The book, itself, is only 108 pages, of which about 40 pages are lists of historical matrimonial ads, illustrations, or photographs. Most of the rest of the book is divided into ten chapters as case studies of real women who entered into matrimony (or, in the end, didn't) in the depicted era; some are as short as two pages, and the longest are only about 7 or eight pages.
There are also two chapters about people (one man, one woman) leading efforts to help make marriages between frontiersmen and women back East or European women, while trying to find matches for themselves, as well.
With the exception of a chapter with a sort of Twilight Zone/O. Henry twist, the women's stories were the same: good, earnest woman with a tough background (poverty, famine, widowhood, abuse) wants more, engages someone (or uses the matrimonial ads) to make an introduction. Once they meet, either the couple goes through years of hardships and things turn out OK (or they really don't) or the guy is a jerk (or a criminal) and the marriage doesn't (quite) happen.
The best I can say about the book is that most of the stories feel like the same cautionary tales you'd hear on TikTok when women report their dating app experiences. At least when these mail-order brides exchanged photos (who knew so many people exchanged photos in the late 1800s?), the men weren't sending dick-pics.
The problem is that the chapters felt like history books written for fourth graders. They're seemingly factual, but lacking in any depth of narrative or academic rigor. Lack of one or the other might be forgiven, but these lacked both.
Most of the stories were told with the same formatting — a fly-on-the-wall view of a woman on the day she makes the decision to engage in the endeavor or the day the couple will meet, a flashback to her backstory (and often the difficulties of travel across the ocean or the continent), and then a denouement without having reached much of a peak to begin with.
Yes, there are some scant twists. A nice guy turns into a jerk. A groom turns out to have been a criminal. One girl kills herself because her parents won't let her marry the older guy with whom she'd been secretly corresponding, and he actually turns out to be a good guy and heartbroken. But there's nothing meatier than what I've just listed; the stories aren't fleshed out. Everyone is two-dimensional.
If you've seen the popular Hallmark movies like Love Comes Softly with Katherine Heigl (or even The Magic of Ordinary Days with Keri Russell and Skeet Ulrich, taking place decades later than the frontier era, but thematically the same), then you know that such stories can be moving and compelling. But these are such short drive-by stories that each is popcorn rather than a meal.
It's not that the writing is bad, per se. But it's predictable and formulaic. And it's not that Enss did no research; the author includes her sources, but in most cases the stories feel like elementary or middle school book reports where she's rewritten first-person journal entries in the third person. Each person's story reflects two to four resources: a journal, a newspaper article, a dated archive record, etc. This is barely history, and so much is just speculation.
Had these been blog posts, or even short articles, then the anemic biographies would have just about sufficed, but the lack of depth took a lot of the joy and intrigue out of reading these brave women's life stories. Can you imagine trading brief correspondence and then moving a continent away from everyone you've ever known to make your life with a stranger? A hardscrabble life, at that. What could compel that bravery? Enss doesn't hazard a guess.
This book could have — and should have — been so much better and more inclusive. Every mail-order bride discussed is white, and with the exception of one Jewish bride from Russia, they all appear to be Protestant. (You might want to read Anna Soloman's Tablet Magazine piece about Jewish mail-order brides on the frontier, including the same Rachel Bella Calof Enss writes about.)
Enss could have written about the religious component of these kinds of marriages, but outside of the first story, about a woman who wanted to be a missionary, references to religion are left to the marriage ads — the woman who says Catholics need not reply and the various ads referring to their faith as "Golden Rule religion.")
But why did Enss limit the scope so narrowly? There were many Black brides in the post-Civil War era and past the turn of the century who met through matrimonial ads and similar correspondences, and frontiersmen of all faiths were "seeking similar" as they said. Had the author explored this topic with depth and breadth, cross-culturally and in terms of the economic and social effects of these kinds of marriages on American history, it could have been much more profound. But perhaps cross-cultural blinders are to be expected from an author who refers to "Indians" (not Native Americans or Indigenous Americans) disparagingly — and not ironically or in quoted material.
If you like history, and especially if you are interested in the concept of mail-order brides from the Gold Rush through the pre-WWI era, Buying a Bride: An Engaging History of Mail-Order Matches by Marcia A. Zug might be a better choice. However, if you'd just like to casually flip through mini-biographies and pages of 19th-century matrimonial ads, the equivalent of our 21st-century dating profiles, this will suffice.