The subject is women who inherited buckets of money, how they were treated, and how they lived.
Though the structure begins with the seventeenth century in England, and moves up to the twentieth century, occasionally Thompson jumps around, sometimes for comparison, and sometimes because of connections across generations. After all, the world of the English upper classes is pret-ty insular, and a goodly number of the early heiresses especially were daughters of titled families.
I almost bailed early on when we get a highly fictionalized account of the life of Mary Davies, whose tragic life gets an arch, sarcastic summary by Thompson, full of innuendo without much academic backup. But once Thompson got that out of her system (and it might have been punched up to draw in the reader) there is a lot more reference to primary sources as she settles in to describe the jaw-droppingly awful state of women's rights during those centuries, and how heiress kidnapping and forced marriages was next thing to an established market. So very many of these heiresses were thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, too. Yuk. Not that certain super-rich widows faired much better.
Gradually she brings us up through the Victorian period when, at last, the beginnings of laws to protect women slowly began to trickle through Parliament. (Prodded by the cases of rich women--the plights of ordinary women are acknowledged, but lie outside the scope of this book.)
At the far end of the nineteenth century are the famous cases of the Buccaneers--wealthy American women who came over wanting titles. Thompson outlines the very well known ones, of course, including a look at Edith Wharton's world, but includes the not-famous, underscoring Wharton's theme that money and titles did not buy happiness: the women who lucked out were more often than not educated, with goals of their own besides being married.
Which sets us up for the Coco Chanel era--fin de siecle and early twentieth century, specifically rich women who lived for themselves, many of them outside wedlock, or not being married at all. A lot of these women became salonistes, or patrons of the arts, and lead the sorts of lives depicted in books and films, hobnobbing with artists and intellectuals, politicians and diplomats, or career adventurers of both sexes.
These women benefitted not only from a gradual push toward more equality before the law--and from being raised to be self-sufficient.
The book ends at the end of the twentieth century, with a grim look at Patty Hearst and Barbara Mackle, with a brief glance at the recent con artist who convinced New York she was an heiress, and bilked a lot of savvy business people of millions before she landed in jail (and with a boffo Netflix deal).
It's an engaging read, though with so broad a scope it's not surprising that it lacks depth.
Copy provided by NetGalley