The best books about ingenuity and innovation in the age of the American Revolution

Eighteenth-century innovators came in many forms. Some were artisans, the craftspeople who made utilitarian things. Some were what were sometimes called toy makers, not because they made toys, but because they made baubles and trinkets for adults. Some were natural philosophers, whose innovations came in the physical sciences. And some were artists—creators of high-priced, highly-prized, and beautiful things. In this latter category, John Singleton Copley was America’s most accomplished. Perhaps the finest portraitist ever to paint in America, on the eve of the War for Independence, the young Copley left for Britain, never to return to the country of his birth. Kamensky’s intimate and moving portrait shows Copley, the ex-pat and loyalist, ascending to the pinnacle of the British art world. But far more importantly, it shows the price Copley and his family paid for this ascent, reminding the reader that innovation does not happen in a political vacuum. 

Few figures better embody the intersection of innovation and revolutionary radicalism than the brilliant theologian, political theorist, and natural philosopher, Joseph Priestley, the subject of Johnson’s delightful and informative book. An ordained minister, Priestley abandoned the teachings of the Church of England for Unitarianism, a move that banished him to the theological sidelines. Priestley’s brilliance was not limited to the theological and, as he moved to the outer fringes of British religious life, he moved to the red-hot center of the nation’s scientific life, gaining election to the esteemed Royal Society. Among Priestley’s many contributions to the chemical sciences was to identify components parts of air, including the elemental oxygen. As he pursued far-reaching truths in the natural sciences, Priestley’s religious views remained controversial and by the time revolution erupted in France, they had elicited a reaction from British government officials, terrified by the contagion of revolution. Facing criminal prosecution for sedition, Priestley fled Britain for the young United States, where he would remain for the final decade of his life. 

Paine, Copley, and Priestley were all beneficiaries of formal institutional associations, mostly through the voluntary scientific and art associations, the American Philosophical Society in America and the Royal Society and Royal Academy in Britain. Martha Ballard, a midwife living during the early years of the American Republic in Maine (at the time a province of Massachusetts), had no formal associations but she did have deep and abiding affiliations. If not with elite academies, sanctioned by kings, and populated by periwigged gentlemen, then with family and community.

Laurel Thatcher Ulrich’s A Midwife’s Tale remains the finest study ever written about the generative power of family and community in the early history of the American republic. Ballard’s meticulous diary, nearly 10,000 entries, afforded Ulrich access to the full, grueling realities of this remarkable woman’s life—through her own family’s trials, which included the births of her nine children, and the more than eight hundred births Martha attended as midwife and medical practitioner. In an era when formal medicine largely ignored the health of mothers and babies, Martha became an expert medical practitioner, building on years of experience and becoming a trusted and essential citizen of her remote village of Hallowell, Maine.

No single American better embodies the ideals of ingenuity and innovation than the great polymath Benjamin Franklin. Practically everything a man could do in the eighteenth century Franklin did—and he did them with an aptitude matched by few and exceeded by even fewer. Franklin made a fortune in the printing trade—rare enough in the publishing and printing capitals of Europe, but all but unheard of in the colonies. His scientific discoveries were unparalleled and earned him the accolades of the greatest scientific minds of the age.

He was also responsible for countless inventions—including the lightning rod, bifocals, a smokeless stove, and the glass armonica, an instrument for which both Mozart and Beethoven composed music. He was a master of the byzantine politics of European royal courts—this despite being of ordinary birth and coming of age in a place with none of the pomp and majesty of Europe’s great imperial capitals. Of all the countless biographies of Franklin, none does more to illuminate the origins of Franklin’s genius than Nick Bunker’s The Birth of Ingenuity. Although it covers Franklin’s life long before the events of the Revolution, the book is fundamentally a story of the Revolution. It explains how an obscure printer's apprentice rose to become a founder of the United States. 

Next to Franklin, Thomas Jefferson is surely the most inventive, innovative member of the American Revolutionary pantheon. He is known for his powerful formulations of revolutionary ideas—in the Declaration of Independence, the Virginia Statute for Religious Freedom, and his inaugural address as third President of the United States. These contributions rested on deep and disciplined study in the human sciences, including history, geography, ethnography, political economy, as well as applied sciences such as horticulture, viticulture, and architecture. In their learned meditation on the life and thought of this most learned of American founders, Annette Gordon-Reed and Peter Onuf offer a fresh perspective on Jefferson.

In so many ways, he embodied the cutting-edge values of the American Revolution, but Jefferson also embodied the contradictions of the Revolution—particularly as they related to the institution of slavery. Rather than dismiss him as a hypocrite, Gordon-Reed and Onuf set out to explain Jefferson. For all his cosmopolitanism, they tell us, Jefferson was consumed with home, both as an idea and an actual place. He lavished endless attention on Monticello, his Virginia plantation house, with the intent of bringing his revolutionary ideas to the most intimate spaces of human life. But Jefferson’s difficult relations with his daughters, and his long-hidden relations with his enslaved mistress Sally Hemmings and her children, point to the limits of his idealism, particularly as applied in life’s most intimate settings.