In The Woman Who Smashed Codes, Jason Fagone shows how the historical record reflects choices made by people in power. This, he suggests, is a pattern shaped by patriarchal bias. Elizebeth Smith Friedman’s biography exposes how influential men and major institutions minimized or absorbed her work. By tracing the gap between what she achieved and what she was credited with, the book shows how publicity and institutional reach often outweigh merit. This pattern began early in her career, persisted through her government work, and ended with J. Edgar Hoover seeking public acclaim for her most celebrated accomplishment.

This pattern began at Riverbank Laboratories and can be found from the earliest days of Elizebeth’s partnership with William Friedman. Their series of cryptology papers, the Riverbank Publications, built the base of the modern field, yet these papers “are commonly attributed to William alone” (77). Elizebeth’s contributions were not erased; they were never even considered worthy of inclusion. She sometimes accepted this imbalance to help William secure copyright from their controlling patron, George Fabyan, but the outcome stayed the same. Her role faded from view, creating an imbalanced historical record that erased Elizebeth. Public accounts and later histories centered William, letting her contributions slip under her husband’s growing reputation, ignoring Elizebeth’s significant contributions to the emerging field.

Her marginalization continued after she built her own career. During World War II, when the Coast Guard that unit she had created and led for a decade shifted to Navy control, officials demoted her because she was a woman. Despite her unmatched experience, she lost the title of “Cryptanalyst-in-Charge,” and a male lieutenant whom she had trained became her new chief. This decision captures how institutional habits sidelined Elizebeth , even as she was still expected to perform the same work, allowing her new superior to take the credit. The Navy favored someone with rank instead of the person with skill, echoing a wider pattern that discounted female leadership in military and intelligence settings.

Hoover carried out the most sweeping erasure of her work. Elizebeth and her Coast Guard team identified and broke the Nazi spy rings in South America during WWII, but their oath of secrecy prevented them from speaking. Hoover, who faced no such restrictions and benefited from longstanding relationships in the media world, seized the moment. He launched a broad publicity campaign and framed the FBI as the protagonist in the operation, a deliberate and calculated move made out of a fear that Elizebeth’s true role would “siphon publicity from the bureau” (294). Hoover expanded his public standing until he became an untouchable national figure, while Elizebeth was allowed to languish in relative obscurity. By shaping the public story while Elizebeth’s work stayed locked in government files, Hoover removed her from a major counterespionage success. He embodies this institutional patriarchal bias, acting as a chief instigator in a concerted effort to remove Elizebeth from history in favor of less capable men. In this sense, the book asks how many women suffered from a fate similar to Elizebeth and if their stories are now ready to be told in full.