The New Old-School American Revolution Francis Russo (bio) Woody Holton, Liberty Is Sweet: The Hidden History of the American Revolution. New York: Simon & Schuster, 2021. 800 pp. Illustrations, maps, tables, notes, bibliography, and index. $37.50. When it came to self-immolations, Richard Wagner could stomach exactly one: the heroine Brünnhilde, who rides her loyal horse to flames in the fifteenth and final hour of Wagner's epic opera cycle, Der Ring des Nibelungen, Historian John Murrin, by contrast, identified three in the saga of American Revolution historiography. Independence origin stories by schools Imperial, Progressive, and Whig had each, "in a pattern of self-immolation," swelled over time into tangled morasses of "accumulated inconsistencies."1 The tale goes that since the late nineteenth century, professional historical writing on the American Revolution had been dominated by roughly three major interpretive schools, each associated with contrasting approaches to the past. These were not just academic arguments but implicit convictions about how history and contemporary politics conjoined. Whigs looked to ideology and stressed consensus among elite actors, Progressives looked to social history and economics and stressed a polity riven by class conflict, and Imperial historians looked to institutions and stressed that the entire British Empire had to substitute a parochial view of the thirteen colonies if the Revolution's causes were to be understood. In 2007, Murrin—a famed fixture at Princeton for three decades and a dean essayist of early American history—had traced the history of these schools and argued that whatever insights they had originally claimed, they had grown so capacious and complex that their interpretive luster had faded. Murrin supposed these immolations unique to historical writing on the American Revolution. In fact, he put his finger on a repetitive historiographical asymmetry: empirical proliferation, explanatory contraction.2 Yet by the time Murrin's essay reappeared in an edited collection in 2018, his perspective was eclipsed by a new way of viewing early American history that placed a premium on expanding the field's boundaries rather than continuing to play within the confines of antique schools. Mark Peterson recently predicted "imaginative failure" if historians obsessed over fitting together Murrin's a priori schools rather than approaching archives with "questions [End Page 264] generated by our current predicament," like climate change, information technology, or global authoritarianism.3 Meanwhile the Oxford Handbook of the American Revolution (2012) had declared the end of school-based Revolution history altogether. Editors Jane Kamensky and Edward Gray lamented a previous generation's alienating battles between intellectual (neo-Whig) and social (neo-Progressive) historians whose "irreconcilable interpretations" amounted to "ever more Manichean and absolute postures."4 The Handbook set out instead to capture what many historians now refer to as "vast early America": plural views west (from London and Bengal), north (from the West Indies), east (from Indian country), and inward (from port cities of thirteen rebel colonies), all in longue durée perspective and with bricolage interpretation "methodologically pluralist, even promiscuous."5 The sun never set on the new bounds of the American Revolution, except on its old historiographical schools. Here was a summa that recalled not the immolation flames of Wagner's last Ring opera, but its more portentous title: Götterdämmerung—"Twilight of the Gods"—a complete washing away of the old wars in favor of a fresh start. But were Murrin's hoary gods really gone? David Waldstreicher rejected the Handbook's "declaration of historiographical independence" and claimed that deep continuities with the traditional schools persisted in the new.6 Despite real losses for the Whig camp, Waldstreicher argued, the Handbook displayed a "neo-Imperial" stance (billed "Atlantic"), which paired well with a Progressive inclination for social conflict. The best essays were those whose authors acknowledged their lineage without becoming shills for calcified camps. Waldstreicher likened an old school to a jazz standard that could "get you out on the dance floor if it's played a bit differently and doesn't nod too sagely to your grandparents."7 And the "trophies," Waldstreicher suggested, "will go to those who know the old steps as well as the new ones."8 Woody Holton knows both the old and the new steps and...