William Hutton (1723–1804) is usually remembered for writing the first history of Birmingham (1781) or for his account of that city's 1791 “Priestly Riots” in his posthumously published autobiography (1816). In this micro-history, Susan E. Whyman provides a more complete account of Hutton's life, wherein his work as a provincial chronicler becomes one among a number of activities she reconstructs and analyzes in order to offer readers a “glimpse of what it was like to live at the dawn of the industrial revolution” (2). In doing so, Whyman makes a strong argument for the importance of local culture and individual agency in facilitating British industrialization, contending that it was people like Hutton and towns like Birmingham that made industrialization possible.

Whyman's study is unique in drawing upon a number of newly discovered manuscripts written by, or concerning, Hutton. These include early drafts of his publications, family, and business correspondence, and a commonplace book indexing the contents of Hutton's “voracious reading” (12). Among these neglected materials is a document Hutton composed in 1796: “Memorandums from Memory all Trifles and, of Ancient Date” (2). Hutton's “Memos” represented his first attempt at life writing. This document is particularly important because only a small portion (Whyman estimates roughly 30 percent) of the “Memos” ultimately made their way into Hutton's published autobiography (15). The “Memos” dwelled at much greater length, for example, on events from Hutton's childhood and also detailed personal failures and resentments that Hutton chose to keep out of the public eye. Whyman's use of the “Memos,” therefore, allows her to place his public and private histories in dialogue, creating a richer and more nuanced portrait of Hutton than he painted in his autobiography.

Through her examination of Hutton's ideas and activities, Whyman seeks to contribute a new category—“the rough diamond”—to the historical taxonomy of eighteenth-century Britain (3). “Rough diamonds,” Whyman argues, were “self-taught, ambitious people” of forceful personality, willing to work hard and take risks, who favored practicality over politeness but also desperately craved wealth and respect (3). “Through personal effort,” she contends, these individuals “surpassed the educational levels and cultural achievements that were expected from men of their background,” thereby becoming “driving forces of economic growth” (35). Whyman emphasizes that “rough diamonds” represented an “exceptional” minority within the population of eighteenth-century Britain (13). Indeed, she argues that they ought to be studied for this very reason, noting that her underlying goal is to learn how persons like Hutton “were distinctive, not typical” (13, Whyman's emphasis). Thus, her work effectively reverses the assumptions guiding many social and micro-histories that focus on identifying representative past ideas, values, and experiences.

In Hutton, Whyman finds an excellent model for her social category. Born to impoverished parents in Derby, Hutton was sent to work in a silk mill at the age of seven. He was later apprenticed to his uncle as a stockinger, then fled to Nottingham to live with his sister. It was there that Hutton began to read copiously and made his earliest attempts at bookselling. In 1750 he received 200 pounds of old books from his sister's employer, loaded them on a wagon, and moved to Birmingham. The choice proved to be fortuitous, as Hutton would make his fortune in the town, first as a bookseller and later as a paper merchant. By the 1790s, he owned multiple warehouses and two residences, and he had begun to speculate in land. He also became a published author and powerful member of the community, serving as a street commissioner, a Poor Law guardian, and a commissioner of the Court of Requests for almost two decades.

Hutton's move to Birmingham, Whyman argues, was particularly instrumental to his success. Birmingham's rapid growth and “lack of formal and informal power structures” created an ideal venue for the success of “rough diamonds” like Hutton (150). In fact, she argues that the growing wealth of the town and the meteoric success of men like Hutton existed in a mutually constitutive relationship, noting that such individuals “may have been Birmingham's most important product” (55). Hutton, in turn, “understood the needs of a manufacturing town” and conducted his businesses accordingly, whether this involved stocking the copybooks essential for business records or the kinds of reading materials the town's nascent industrialists coveted (70). The latter represented the same types of books Hutton valued—practical works of “utility” and “useful knowledge,” like almanacs and periodicals, rather than the “polite” literature associated with London (3, 76).

In Hutton, Whyman seems to have found the human embodiment of two prominent historians’ explanations for British industrialization: Joel Mokyr's thesis regarding the “practical” character of the British Enlightenment and Jan de Vries's claims regarding the importance of “industriousness”—a willingness to work hard and take risks—in contributing to rapid economic development. Hutton was a risk taker, speculating in land and almost losing his fortune by attempting to open his own paper mill. He also cultivated a persona of industriousness, regularly criticizing the “supine” quality of his forebears (16) and claiming in his autobiography, “they had rather been the poor than overseers of the poor” (99, Hutton's emphasis). As this quotation suggests, Hutton's pride in his accomplishments sometimes induced callousness toward his impoverished neighbors, and this informed his actions as a commissioner of requests and a Poor Law guardian. This lack of sympathy, when coupled with his “constant bragging,” made him a “reviled” figure among many of the town's poorer workers, and Whyman argues that this helps to explain why Hutton's properties became early targets of the rioters in 1791 (142).

Writing any history focused around an individual inevitably involves decisions regarding when to view one's subject with empathy or suspicion. Though Whyman carefully notes Hutton's flaws and foibles (above all, his “provoking” personality), at times she treats his writings with a degree of trust that may be unwarranted, recording as fact, for example, his unsubstantiated claim that he was forced to buy 329 gallons of ale for rioters in 1791 (114, 134). I also wish that Whyman had explored the connection between Hutton's writing of history and his other activities at greater length. One leaves her account with a sense that Hutton wrote histories simply because he saw a ready market for them. Yet, surely, there was more to this interest than market savvy? Whyman notes that, “since the day of his arrival, he had educated himself about Birmingham's past,” suggesting that history held a peculiarly prominent place in Hutton's sense of what constituted “useful knowledge” (117). Today, when politicians and the general public too often dismiss the study of history as a “useless” pursuit, it would be valuable to understand why Hutton chose to include history alongside the other sources of “useful knowledge” he consumed and produced, and that Whyman deftly links to the larger story of Britain's industrial revolution.