Rachel: Okay, Justine. "Hamilton: The Revolution." Review it in exactly five words. Justine: Hmm. Hip-hop history... makes you cry. Rachel: Nice. Mine is: "Genius is not-so-quiet uptown." Justine: I see what you did there. And it's true, the book is as much about the genius of creation as it is about the story itself. Rachel: Exactly. And today we're diving into Hamilton: The Revolution by Lin-Manuel Miranda and Jeremy McCarter. What's incredible is that this book, which won the Goodreads award for Best Non-Fiction, isn't just the script. McCarter, a cultural critic, was there from the very beginning, chronicling this seven-year journey from a wild idea to a global phenomenon. Justine: A seven-year journey that started with a rap at the White House, of all places. It's like the ultimate "hold my beer" moment in musical theater history. Rachel: It really is. He gets up in front of the President and says, "I'm working on a hip-hop concept album about the life of Treasury Secretary Alexander Hamilton." The room laughs, thinking it's a joke. But he wasn't kidding. Justine: And that audacity is what we're really exploring today. How that one wild idea became a revolution in storytelling.

Rachel: That's our first big idea: this wasn't just a musical, it was a revolution in how we tell our own history. The book's subtitle is "A Story of the Revolution," and it's talking about two revolutions: the American one, and the one that happened on stage. The core concept was simple but radical: "America then, told by America now." Justine: What does that actually mean in practice, though? Because it sounds great, but how do you execute it? Rachel: It starts with the people. Lin-Manuel Miranda brought in Ron Chernow, the historian who wrote the massive biography on Hamilton that inspired the whole thing. Chernow became the show's historical consultant. And when he first came to a reading, he saw this cast of Black and Latino actors playing the Founding Fathers, and he admitted he was initially taken aback. Justine: I can imagine. It's a huge departure from every powdered-wig-and-breeches historical drama we've ever seen. Rachel: Right. But Chernow said that within minutes, he forgot about it. He saw the actors embodying the spirit of these revolutionaries—their ambition, their intelligence, their fire. He said he saw them as "the new incarnation of the Founders." The show wasn't trying to be a literal, visual reenactment. It was about reclaiming the narrative. Justine: That's a powerful idea, reclaiming the narrative. But it also brings up some of the controversy around the show, doesn't it? Critics have pointed out that by casting people of color in these roles, it makes it easier to forget that the real Jefferson, Washington, and even the Schuyler family were slaveholders. Does the book address that tension? Rachel: It does, and it's a crucial point. The book doesn't shy away from the fact that this is an artistic interpretation, not a documentary. McCarter and Miranda frame it as an act of storytelling. The point isn't to erase the sins of the past, but to assert that the story of America's founding belongs to everyone, especially the descendants of those who were excluded from the original promise of "We the People." It's about who gets to stand on that stage and claim that history as their own. Justine: So the casting itself is a political and artistic statement. It's not just about finding talented people; it's about the message their presence sends. Rachel: Precisely. And that revolutionary spirit extends to the music itself. This wasn't just sprinkling some rap into a traditional musical. The book details how hip-hop is the fundamental language of the show. It's the music of ambition, of defiance, of people writing their way out of their circumstances. Justine: Like in "My Shot." That song feels like the thesis statement for Hamilton's entire character. The book mentions it took Lin a full year to write. Why was that one so difficult? Rachel: Because it had to do so much work. In musical theater, there's something called an "I want" song, where the hero lays out their deepest desire. "My Shot" is Hamilton's "I want" song on steroids. Lin knew he had to establish Hamilton's genius, his ambition, and his relentless drive, all while making the wordplay so intricate that you believe, without a doubt, that this guy is a once-in-a-generation mind. Justine: And he does it by sampling the greats of hip-hop, right? I read that there are nods to Mobb Deep and The Notorious B.I.G. in there. Rachel: Yes! This is one of the most fascinating parts of the book. For "My Shot," the music director, Alex Lacamoire, recreated the iconic siren sound from Mobb Deep's "Shook Ones, Pt. II" using just the string section. It’s a subtle nod that hip-hop fans would catch, an invitation that says, "This show is for you, too." Justine: And "Ten Duel Commandments" is a direct homage to Biggie's "Ten Crack Commandments." Rachel: Exactly. Lin needed to explain the arcane rules of dueling to the audience so the climax in Act Two would land with full force. Instead of a boring explanation, he used the structure of a legendary hip-hop track to make it a lesson in honor, street code, and fatal consequences. He's taking the language of the streets and showing how it maps perfectly onto the high-stakes "gentlemanly" disputes of the 18th century. Justine: Wow. So the DNA of the show is literally woven from the DNA of hip-hop. It's not just a style choice; it's a structural one. He's using the form to amplify the content. Rachel: That's the revolution. It's not just a story with rap in it. It's a story told through the logic, the swagger, and the ambition of hip-hop. It’s saying that Alexander Hamilton, the immigrant upstart, the "bastard, orphan, son of a whore," embodies the spirit of hip-hop. Justine: He's young, scrappy, and hungry. Rachel: And he is not throwing away his shot. That relentless drive is the engine of the whole story, but as the book shows, it's also the source of his greatest tragedy.

Justine: That's a perfect transition, because the show is just as obsessed with the consequences of that ambition as it is with the ambition itself. It all comes back to that one haunting question. Rachel: "Who lives, who dies, who tells your story?" That question hangs over the entire second act. And it's where the story moves from a historical epic to a deeply personal tragedy. The book really dives into this through the character of Aaron Burr. Justine: Burr is such a fascinating character. He’s the villain, but he’s also the narrator. We see this whole epic story through the eyes of the man who ended it. Rachel: And the book reveals that the creative team, especially Lin and the director Tommy Kail, saw Burr not as a villain, but as a mirror to Hamilton. They are two sides of the same coin. Both are brilliant, ambitious orphans, but they have fundamentally different philosophies. Hamilton is all action, "I'm not throwing away my shot." Burr's mantra is "Wait for It." He's cautious, strategic, and ultimately, that caution is his undoing. Justine: The song "The Room Where It Happens" is the turning point for him, isn't it? That's when his patience finally breaks. Rachel: Absolutely. He sees Hamilton, Jefferson, and Madison make a backroom deal that shapes the future of the country—moving the capital to D.C. in exchange for passing Hamilton's financial plan. And Burr is on the outside, looking in. That's the moment he decides he can't "wait for it" anymore. He needs to be in the room. Justine: And that decision puts him on a direct collision course with Hamilton. But Hamilton's downfall isn't just caused by Burr. He does a pretty good job of sabotaging himself. Rachel: That's the core tragedy, and the book dedicates a lot of space to it. The prime example is the Reynolds Pamphlet. This is where Hamilton's greatest strength—his writing—becomes his greatest weapon against himself. Justine: Remind us of the story. It's so wild it's hard to believe it's true. Rachel: So, Hamilton has an affair with a woman named Maria Reynolds. Her husband, James Reynolds, finds out and blackmails him. Hamilton pays him to keep quiet. Years later, his political enemies—Jefferson, Madison, and Burr—accuse him of financial corruption, of using Treasury funds for speculation with James Reynolds. They have the check stubs to prove it. Justine: But they have the right evidence for the wrong crime. Rachel: Exactly. And Hamilton, being Hamilton, is so obsessed with protecting his public legacy as an incorruptible public servant that he makes a catastrophic decision. He decides to "write his way out" of the problem. He publishes a 95-page pamphlet detailing every sordid detail of his affair with Maria Reynolds to prove that the money he paid was for blackmail, not embezzlement. Justine: It's the ultimate act of a man who believes he can control his own narrative, and it backfires spectacularly. He saves his professional reputation by utterly destroying his personal one. Rachel: He destroys his marriage, his social standing, and any hope he ever had of becoming president. The book quotes him: "I may have mortally wounded my prospects but my papers are orderly!" It's the most Hamilton line ever. He's so focused on the logic and the facts that he completely misses the human cost. Justine: And the person who pays the highest price is his wife, Eliza. The song "Burn" is just devastating. Rachel: It is. And this is where the theme of legacy gets really interesting. Hamilton is obsessed with the story they'll write about him someday. But in "Burn," Eliza takes control of her own narrative. She burns his letters, erasing herself from his story. She sings, "Let future historians wonder how Eliza reacted when you broke her heart. You have lost all rights to my heart." She denies him the power to tell her story. Justine: Which is so powerful. But the incredible irony is that, in the end, she's the one who tells his. Rachel: That's the beautiful, full-circle moment of the whole project. After Hamilton is killed in the duel with Burr, Eliza lives for another 50 years. And she dedicates her life to preserving his legacy. She interviews soldiers who fought with him, she organizes his thousands of pages of writing, she speaks out against slavery, and she founds the first private orphanage in New York City. She puts herself back in the narrative. Justine: So in the end, the person who was erased from the narrative by Hamilton's pamphlet is the one who gets to write the final chapter. That's incredible. Rachel: It is. And Lin-Manuel Miranda talks in the book about having this epiphany on the opening night of the show on Broadway. He was reading from Chernow's biography about Eliza's work, and he started to cry because he realized his musical wasn't just about Hamilton's legacy; it was Eliza's legacy. Her 50 years of work ensured her husband's story would be told, and this musical is the ultimate fulfillment of that promise.

Justine: That gives me chills. It reframes the whole thing. It’s not just a story about the Founding Fathers. It's a story about who gets to be a founder, who gets to tell the story, and how that story continues to be written, even now. Rachel: It's a living history. The book makes it clear that the show's goal was never to be a perfect historical document. It's a story about America, and as the show says, "America is a great unfinished symphony." The musical itself is part of that symphony. It's a conversation with the past that's happening right now. Justine: And it's a conversation that has had a real-world impact. The book talks about the educational programs, the "Hamilton" curriculum that got thousands of kids from under-resourced schools to see the show. You see videos of these kids performing their own raps about historical events, and you realize the show didn't just entertain them; it empowered them. It gave them a way into a history that might have felt closed off to them before. Rachel: That's the power of telling the story of "America then, by America now." It opens the door for more people to see themselves in the nation's founding. It's not about deifying the founders, but about humanizing them and recognizing that their struggles—with ambition, love, loss, and legacy—are our struggles too. Justine: The musical ends with that profound line from Hamilton: "Legacy. What is a legacy? It's planting seeds in a garden you never get to see." Rachel: And Eliza's work, and in a way, this musical, is the garden that grew from those seeds. It really makes you think about your own life. What seeds are you planting in a garden you'll never get to see? Justine: A powerful question to end on. We'd love to hear your thoughts. What does legacy mean to you after hearing this? Find us on our socials and let us know. Rachel: This is Aibrary, signing off.