Honestly, most people think they know what "investigative journalism" looks like because they watch Dateline or scroll through long-form Twitter threads. But they don't. Not really. To understand where the real grit of the genre started, you have to go back to 1887. You have to look at a twenty-three-year-old woman named Elizabeth Cochrane, though the world knows her as Nellie Bly. She didn't just interview people. She didn't just "research."
She checked herself into an insane asylum.
The result was the 10 days in a madhouse book, a collection of articles that originally ran in the New York World. It wasn't just a hit; it changed American law. It changed how we treat the mentally ill. And if you pick it up today, it still feels like a punch to the gut. It’s raw. It’s messy. It’s incredibly brave.
Bly’s assignment from Joseph Pulitzer was simple: get inside the Women’s Lunatic Asylum on Blackwell’s Island and report on the conditions. But "simple" is a relative term when you’re talking about faking insanity to get locked up in a place people rarely left alive.
The Performance of a Lifetime
How do you even begin to act "crazy" enough to get committed in the 19th century? Bly practiced in front of a mirror. She stayed up all night to get that wide-eyed, haggard look. She checked into a boarding house under the name "Nellie Brown" and started acting paranoid, claiming she was looking for her lost trunks and that everyone looked "crazy" to her.
It worked.
Actually, it worked too well. Within a few days, she was hauled before judges and examined by doctors. This is the part of the 10 days in a madhouse book that really gets to me—the sheer incompetence of the medical "experts." Most of the doctors who poked and prodded her spent barely any time actually talking to her. One doctor even declared her "positively demented" because her pupils were dilated. He didn't consider the fact that she was terrified.
She was shipped off to Blackwell’s Island via a ferry. Once she crossed that water, she was effectively dead to the world. No one knew where she was except for a few editors at the newspaper.
The Reality of Blackwell’s Island
If you think the book is just a dry historical account, you're wrong. It’s a horror story. Once Bly got inside the asylum, she stopped acting. She spoke normally. She behaved perfectly rationally.
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The terrifying part? The more sane she acted, the more the doctors thought she was delusional.
The conditions she describes are visceral. We aren't talking about "bad hospital food." We are talking about rancid butter, bread that was little more than dried dough, and "tea" that tasted like dirty copper. She describes women being forced to sit on hard benches from 6:00 AM until 8:00 PM. They weren't allowed to talk. They weren't allowed to read. They weren't allowed to move.
If you moved, the nurses—who Bly describes as brutal and often physically abusive—would choke you or beat you.
The Bathing Ritual
One of the most famous (and horrific) scenes in the 10 days in a madhouse book involves the baths. Bly was stripped naked in a room full of other women. She was then scrubbed with a stiff brush until her skin was raw. Then came the buckets of ice-cold water.
She describes the sensation of the freezing water hitting her as feeling like she was being drowned. She was then dried with a towel that had already been used by dozens of other women, some of whom had open sores or contagious skin diseases.
It was a factory for misery.
Bly points out something incredibly important that many readers miss: many of the women in there weren't even "mad." Some were just poor. Others were immigrants who didn't speak English and were committed because the doctors couldn't understand them. Imagine being an Italian woman, terrified and lost, and being locked in a room where you are beaten for crying in a language the nurses don't like. That was the reality.
Why the 10 days in a madhouse book Still Matters in 2026
You might wonder why we’re still talking about a book written over 130 years ago. It’s because the themes of systemic neglect and the "othering" of the vulnerable haven't gone away.
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Bly wasn't just a writer; she was a disruptor.
When the articles were first published, they caused a sensation. The public was outraged. But more importantly, the government was embarrassed. A grand jury was called. Bly herself accompanied the jurors to the asylum to show them exactly what was happening.
Of course, the asylum tried to clean up before the jurors arrived. They painted the walls. They gave the inmates better food for one day. They even got rid of the ice-cold baths. But Bly was there to point out the lies. She showed the jurors exactly where the abuses happened.
The result? An extra $1,000,000 was added to the budget for the care of the insane in New York. That was a massive amount of money in the 1880s. It led to better screenings, better food, and the firing of the most abusive staff members.
The Ethical Dilemma of Undercover Work
The 10 days in a madhouse book also raises massive questions about journalism ethics that we still debate today. Is it okay to lie to get the truth? Bly’s work paved the way for "stunt journalism," but it also set a high bar. She didn't do it for clicks (well, she did it for circulation, which was the 1880s version of clicks). She did it to expose a rot at the heart of society.
Critics today sometimes argue that Bly’s work was sensationalist. Maybe. But would a dry, academic report on asylum funding have changed anything? Probably not. People needed to feel the cold water. They needed to taste the rancid butter.
A Voice for the Voiceless
Bly’s writing style is fascinating. It’s not overly flowery like a lot of Victorian prose. It’s direct. It’s "kinda" blunt, actually. She focuses on the women she met.
There was Louise Schanz, a German woman who was committed simply because she couldn't speak English well enough to explain she wasn't crazy.
There was Tillie Mayard, who was sane but suffered from a "nervous debility."
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Bly makes you care about them as people, not just as statistics or "patients." This is the core strength of the 10 days in a madhouse book. It’s a humanizing document in a dehumanizing environment.
The Legacy of Nellie Bly
After the Blackwell’s Island expose, Bly didn't stop. She went on to travel around the world in 72 days, beating the fictional record of Phileas Fogg. She reported on the front lines of World War I. She was a powerhouse.
But the "Madhouse" reports remain her most significant legacy. They proved that a single person with a pen (and a lot of guts) could take on a massive, broken system and actually win.
If you’re looking to understand the history of mental health advocacy or just want to see what real courage looks like, you have to read it. It’s a quick read—it’s basically a collection of her newspaper dispatches—but it stays with you.
How to Apply the Lessons of Nellie Bly Today
Reading the 10 days in a madhouse book shouldn't just be a history lesson. It should be a call to action.
- Be a critical consumer of institutions. Don't assume that because a facility is "regulated" or "government-run" that it is performing its job humanely.
- Support investigative journalism. Real reporting is expensive and dangerous. Whether it’s a local paper or a national outlet, the "Nellie Blys" of today need funding to do the work that changes laws.
- Listen to the "unreliable" voices. Bly’s biggest revelation was that the people labeled as "mad" were often the most honest people in the room. When society dismisses a group of people, that’s usually where the biggest stories are hiding.
- Vocalize for the vulnerable. Bly used her platform to speak for those who literally were not allowed to speak. Use your own platform—whatever that looks like—to highlight injustices you see in your own community.
The madness didn't end in 1887. It just changed its face. Whether it’s the prison system, the elder care industry, or modern psychiatric wards, the need for eyes-on reporting is as high as ever.
Grab a copy of the 10 days in a madhouse book. Read it in one sitting. Then, look around your own city and ask yourself: what is the "Blackwell’s Island" of today that no one is talking about?
Practical Steps for Further Exploration
- Read the original text: Most versions are in the public domain and available for free online.
- Compare then and now: Look up the history of "Deinstitutionalization" in the 1960s and 70s to see how the system Bly helped reform eventually collapsed into a different set of problems.
- Watch the adaptations: Several films have been made about Bly’s experience, but honestly, her own words are much more vivid than any movie budget could replicate.
- Visit the site: If you’re ever in New York City, Roosevelt Island (formerly Blackwell’s) has a memorial to Nellie Bly called "The Girl Puzzle." It’s a powerful place to reflect on the impact of her work.