Launching a Gender B(l)acklash: E.D.E.N. Southworth's The Hidden Hand and the Emergence of (Racialized) White Tomboyism

The antebellum period was one of the most dynamic times in U.S. history. During these years American society witnessed an array of social, cultural, political, and economic innovations. From the rise of industrialization and the growth of cities to the birth of commercialization and the rapid influx of immigrants, the United States underwent profound change. When historians or literary critics discuss new developments in antebellum America, however, they rarely include tomboyism. These men and women may mention that the nation went from one of producers to one of consumers and from one of rural farmers to one of city dwellers, but they seldom discuss how it simultaneously transitioned from one of True Womanhood to one of tomboyhood for adolescent girls and young women.¹

Although strong, active, and independent female figures have been part of the United States since its inception,² it was during the mid-nineteenth century that the concept of tomboyism made its appearance in the nation's literature and culture. In the 1840s and 1850s a constellation of social, economic, and political forces combined to bring about its emergence in the United States. While tomboyism is one of the most consistently overlooked elements in American culture, it is also one of the most important. After its debut the nation's childrearing practices, the gender expression of its young girls, and the lived experiences of many grown women would never be the same.

This article addresses the causes, characteristics, and consequences of antebellum American tomboyism by focusing on the adolescent character who can be credited with launching this concept: Capitola Black from the 1859 novel The Hidden Hand, by Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte Southworth, or E. D. E. N. Southworth, as she was commonly known. A spunky female figure who uses slang, spurns patriarchal authority, and even cross-dresses, Cap is the once wildly popular central character of Southworth's novel. The tomboyish actions of this thirteen-year-old figure made The Hidden Hand a bestseller and, by extension, helped make tomboyism a national phenomenon. From the first serial publication of the novel, public interest in and enthusiasm for it was immense. Praised by critics and adored by readers, the narrative was reprinted in Robert Bonner's New York Ledger from 1868 to 1869, and again in 1883, before being released in book form in 1888. In spite of these frequent reprints, public demand for the narrative was never satiated. As Susan Coultrap-McQuinn notes, requests to republish the narrative or make back issues that contained the story more widely available continued to stream into Bonner's office (52). At various points the popularity of The Hidden Hand was so great that the publisher was unable to keep up with it. After Southworth's story had repeatedly exhausted the press runs of both serialized and book formats, the Ledger touted it as the "best story the author had ever written" and heralded it as the most popular—and certainly the most lucrative—one that it had ever serialized (Boyle 66).

The Hidden Hand was a cultural phenomenon as well as a literary one. Like Harriet Beecher Stowe's Uncle Tom's Cabin, Southworth's novel was both adapted for the stage and incorporated into the nation's material culture. As Alfred Habegger notes, at least forty dramatic adaptations of the novel were made during Southworth's lifetime ("A Well Hidden Hand" 198). While nearly all of these productions enjoyed extended runs in major cities throughout the United States and Great Britain, one of the most (in)famous featured seasoned actor (and future presidential assassin) John Wilkes Booth in the role of the novel's most notorious villain, Black Donald. For the duration of its engagement, this dramatic version of the novel played not simply to a crowded theatrical house but to one that was standing-room only. Adolescent white girls as well as adult women from the middle and upper classes flocked to the production, willingly and often eagerly accompanied by their male companions. Like contemporaneous narratives...