Chapter 22 - Reckonings

Well, I must say, in this chapter there's a whole lotta beatin' goin' on. Between Claire being "punished" for risking the lives of the rest of the group, to Jamie sharing some of his youthful experiences with punishment, there is no lack of bruised and/or swollen hind ends or hands.

Not having read any of the fan comments that I'm sure are out there in regards to Jamie's treatment of Claire, I can only say that, for the time period and her behavior, she definitely put herself in a place for this to happen. I was actually surprised to see that Diana brought this aspect of accountability into the story; quite honestly, it makes Claire's situation so much more believable to me. Consequences for actions; who would have guessed?

“Do ye realize, Claire,” he said quietly, “that all of us came close to bein’ killed this afternoon?” I looked down at the quilt, shamefaced. “Yes, I know. My fault. I’m sorry.” “Aye, so ye realize,” he said. “Do ye know that if a man among us had done such a thing, to put the rest in danger, he would ha’ likely had his ears cropped, or been flogged, if not killed outright?” I blanched at this. “No, I didn’t know.” “Well, I know as you’re not yet familiar wi’ our ways, and it’s some excuse. Still I did tell ye to stay hid, and had ye done so, it would never have happened. Now the English will be lookin’ high and low for us; we shall have to lie hid during the days and travel at night now.”

Based on the ramifications of her actions, Jamie's response appears to me to be measured and appropriate. He would be right in saying that any man who had jeopardized their mission so severely would easily have suffered a worse punishment. And the response of the rest of the men as they ate dinner at the inn, dismissive and edged with silence, would be a natural reaction to this type of behavior.

As Claire reciprocates by ensuring Jamie sleeps on the floor, she was, as she puts it, "torn between fits of rage and philosophy". This also surprised me. There's a depth to some of her surmisings that caught me off guard. She admits to "having trouble with the scale of things"; "things" being what was truly a priority based on her future-knowledge of the ravages of mechanized war. It was hard for her to relate her actions among the clan fightings to the broader context of WWII.

A man killed with a musket was just as dead as one killed with a mortar. It was just that the mortar killed impersonally, destroying dozens of men, while the musket was fired by one man who could see the eyes of the one he killed. That made it murder, it seemed to me, not war. How many men to make a war? Enough, perhaps, so they didn’t really have to see each other? And yet this plainly was war—or serious business at least—to Dougal, Jamie, Rupert, and Ned. Even little rat-faced Murtagh had a reason for violence beyond his natural inclinations. And what about those reasons? One king rather than another? Hanovers and Stuarts? To me, these were still no more than names on a chart on the schoolroom wall. What were they, compared with an unthinkable evil like Hitler’s Reich? It made a difference to those who lived under the kings, I supposed, though the differences might seem trivial to me. Still, when had the right to live as one wished ever been considered trivial? Was a struggle to choose one’s own destiny less worthwhile than the necessity to stop a great evil?

Heavy thoughts, these. And not without precedent. My wife is a huge Lord of the Rings fan, and reading Claire's musings in her final sentence there regarding choosing personal destiny over resisting evil reminds me that the very same question is the root ethic of the Lord of the Rings epic.

Me personally, I'm not big on war. I have a hard time trying to determine what a "just cause" is. Typically, the truth of any conflict rarely surfaces until it's over, and the form and shape of the war simply follows base ethics of the participants. That probably comes across sounding pretty liberal for someone who is most certainly more conservative than most, and who served four years in the US Air Force, but, there it is. Time molds and changes our opinions as we grow, to be sure.

Continuing on, as they travel all night toward the Red Boar at Bargrennan, Jamie opens up and begins to reveal some of his own childhood thrashings. Jamie's intentions are to remove the sting of Claire's own predicament (no pun intended) by sharing some of his own self-deprecating moments, yet there's a ring of authenticity to his overall message. I was sensibly repulsed by his revelation of Randall's true intentions with him when he was a prisoner at the Fort, yet captivated by the story of his father's death during Jamie's flogging.

Through all of this, Claire finally comes to a measure of understanding regarding the motives behind Jamie's actions, and while she ultimately forgives him, she makes it clear that she will not be tolerant of Jamie laying a hand on her again. Although in Jamie's oath to her (upon her dirk), he simply says he would never lay a hand on her "in rebellion or anger". That certainly doesn't preclude another episode of defiance on Claire's part.

Chapter 21 - Une Mauvais Quart d'heure after Another

"One Bad Time Shift after Another." Yes, I had to go to Google translate to find out what the heck it meant.

I really liked this chapter. It had a lot of good stuff: the tense and witty dialogue between Randall and Claire; the gripping suspense of what he was going to do to her; the surprise rescue by Jamie; the daring escape from Fort William; and a good ol' adrenaline-fueled argument between the newlyweds. Let's break it down.

Good dialogue. And a good cartoon. :)

I LOVE good dialogue. Diana does not disappoint. The repartee of Randall and Claire in the barracks was thoroughly enjoyable, each character dancing around the situation, verbally lunging and parrying, thick with sarcasm and bluff. After sharing a glass of claret, Randall twistedly declares:

“I had forgotten to offer you felicitations on your marriage,” he said suddenly. “Forgive my lack of manners.” “Think nothing of it,” I said graciously. “I’m sure my husband’s family will be most obliged to you for offering me hospitality.”

And later:

The tension was slightly relieved by the entrance of an orderly, bearing a tray of tea things. Still silent, Randall poured out and offered me a cup. We sipped some more. “Don’t tell me,” I said finally. “Let me guess. It’s a new form of persuasion you’ve invented—torture by bladder. You ply me with drinkables until I promise to tell you anything in exchange for five minutes with a chamber pot.” He was so taken by surprise that he actually laughed. It quite transformed his face, and I had no difficulty seeing why there were so many scented envelopes with feminine handwriting in the bottom left-hand drawer of his desk. Having let the facade crack, he didn’t stifle the laugh, but let it go. Finished, he stared at me again, a half-smile lingering on his mouth. “Whatever else you may be, Madam, at least you’re a diversion,” he remarked.

As Claire struggles to find out her immediate fate, she comes up with a half-remembered name from Frank's research: the Duke of Sandringham, and she finds an opportune moment to inject the reputation for an unknown result. Randall falters briefly:

"...if you were working for Sandringham, why the devil would you act in such a damned ridiculous manner?” “Perhaps the Duke is testing your loyalty,” I suggested at random, preparing to leap to my feet if necessary. His fists were bunched at his side, and the discarded riding crop was within much too easy a reach on the desk nearby. He snorted in response to this suggestion. “You may be testing my gullibility. Or my tolerance to irritation. Both, Madam, are extremely low.” His eyes narrowed speculatively, and I braced myself for a quick dash.

Unfortunately for Claire, the intended result was achieved. However, such a bold ploy in the presence of a truly unstable individual simply motivates Randall's foregone conclusion to rape her.

Enter the wonderful timing of Jamie with the now famous, TV-series-cliffhanging-line:

“I’ll thank ye,” said a cool, level voice, “to take your hands off my wife.”

In the scuffle and escape that ensues, I totally bought the whole scene, and found it wonderful.

“You bluffed your way in here with an empty gun?” I croaked hysterically. “If it were loaded, I would ha’ just shot him in the first place, wouldn’t I?!” Jamie hissed.

Good point, J-man. Jamie then satisfyingly overpowers Randall, and both he and Claire jump out the window and escape over the fort barricade in the midst of a diversion elsewhere in the compound. A dashing execution of hastily-drawn-up plan by Jamie, as we come to find out later in the passionate argument that ensues when they reach safety.

Do ye know where I got the gun I used?” I shook my head numbly, my own anger beginning to fade. “I killed a guard near the wall. He fired at me; that’s why it was empty. He missed and I killed him wi’ my dirk; left it sticking in his wishbone when I heard you cry out. I would have killed a dozen men to get to you, Claire.” His voice cracked. “And when ye screamed, I went to you, armed wi’ nothing but an empty gun and my two hands.” Jamie was speaking a little more calmly now, but his eyes were still wild with pain and rage. I was silent. Unsettled by the horror of my encounter with Randall, I had not at all appreciated the desperate courage it had taken for him to come into the fort after me.

Upon making up and forgiving each other, they head off to the inn at Doonesbury with Dougal and the rest of the men to recover and gather their senses.

What strikes me about the scenes in this chapter is the intensity of emotion in every different place the narrative takes us. No one is an innocent or silent bystander; every character is heavily-weighted and charged with raw energy that leaps through the dialogue. I am beginning to sense the blurred lines when it comes to describing the kind of story that Outlander is, and why it appears to straddle several genres of "traditional" novels. This type of rich writing in this chapter easily demonstrates the ongoing appeal of the story to so many people over the years.

Chapter 20 - Deserted Glades

At the beginning of this chapter, Claire receives a gift from Jamie that was sent to the happy couple from Hugh Munro.

...on my blanket rested a small parcel, done up in a sheet of thin paper, fastened with the tail-feather of a woodpecker thrust through the sheet. Unfolding it carefully, I found a large chunk of rough amber. One face of the chunk had been smoothed off and polished, and in this window could be seen the delicate dark form of a tiny dragonfly, suspended in eternal flight.

Of course, I'm sure all of you women swooned over the poetic inscription that Hugh Munro had scribbled hastily, quoting from Catullus. Yet, at this point, all my guy-brain could think of was: insect imbedded in amber; only one place this story could go now:

Okay, so maybe that wasn't the case, but after a little more convoluted Fraser back-story, what with Jamie having been shot by either Dougal or Rupert, Claire comes to find out that if Jamie dies, she inherits Lollybroch. Hey, not bad after losing her original husband to a future time, her current husband to a past time, at least she would end up with a little Scottish land deal.

Once more, the amorous couple is after it again, but this time, savagely interrupted by a couple of English deserters. Really, you would think the English, even deserters, would have a bit more decorum than to interrupt them in the middle of...ahem. Anyway, with her new-found fighting skills, Claire makes short work of the attempted rape, while Jamie makes short work of, well, basically just more killing. Seems these two can never catch a break. Oh, wait. I just kept reading and...there it is, they were able to finish now.

So now, as Jamie is trying to ensure his meeting with Horrocks goes off without a hitch, he tries to make sure that Claire will stay put, out of harms way. Yeah; Claire stay put. Right.

True to form, she remembers where she is and, realizing she is only seven miles from Craigh na Dun, she heads off to the infamous stone circle. I thought it was interesting how quickly she was abandoning her new-found husband for the chance to be reunited with her original husband. (Diana can't win with me, as I have been complaining all along how Claire seemed to never think of Frank up to this point). Anyway, fickle as I am, it still seemed a bit abrupt, even to the point of unusual as she imagines Jamie finally hooking up with Laoghaire:

And finding no trace of me, eventually he would forget me, and wed again. Perhaps the lovely young Laoghaire, back at Leoch.

Yeah. Consoling yourself with leaving Jamie by having him shack up with Laoghaire, Claire. That is classic justification if I've ever seen it.

Here's a woman who doesn't know what she wants, running here and there to keep the hope of her desires alive. Problem is, every time she doesn't get what she wants, she finds some other obstacle to pull her even further in to the quagmire of confusion and chaos. This time, it happens to be a botched "escape" to the hill of Craigh na Dun.

And, once again, off to to Fort William we go.

Chapter 19 - The Waterhorse

Such a short, yet poignant, chapter. Claire's strange encounter with the waterhorse is the stuff that any out-of-town visitor to Loch Ness would relish.

It gave me an odd feeling to see the place again; so little had changed. Or would change, I should say.

I love how this simple statement made my brain skip for a moment; I had to re-think what the implications were and then....ohhhh yeah, that makes sense. Any changes Claire had previously seen were actually after the fact; a little reminder of her current time-challenge predicament.

As she watches the tentative waterhorse (or, rather, they watch each other), Claire describes the animal compared to the replica she had previously seen at the British museum, and how recognizable the basic shape was:

The colors of living things begin to fade with the last breath, and the soft, springy skin and supple muscle rot within weeks. But the bones sometimes remain, faithful echoes of the shape, to bear some last faint witness to the glory of what was.

Diana's naturalist side seems to be poking out through there, as well.

Peter, one of the drovers of their party, also witnesses Claire's encounter with the waterhorse, and Claire finds the superstitious nature of highlanders is alive and well.

“Ha-have mercy, lady,” he stammered. To my extreme embarrassment, he then flung himself flat on his face and clutched at the hem of my dress. “Don’t be ridiculous,” I said with some asperity. “Get up...It’s only a wee monster,” I said at last, and grabbing his hand, tugged him to his feet.

What I love about this book is the little side-trips I can take while thinking about the current chapter. In this instance, it occurred to me that I didn't know the origin of the term "waterhorse" and thought it would be interesting to find out.

From what I can tell, the waterhorse is considered a mythical animal based on Greek stories of the hippocampus, a water creature with webbed feet and the head similar to a horse's.

A rendering of a hippocampus from the early 1500's.

Finding the picture above led me to discover Conrad Gessner, a botanist from the 1500's from whose book this image is taken. Seems that Conrad was also an innovator, and that prior to his contributions to the literary world, naturalist books were rarely found with pictures, but his were full of beautiful woodcuts like the above. Nowadays it seems difficult to imagine describing various botanical items without any pictures to help describe them.

I also enjoy using pictures for other reasons:

Chapter 18 - Raiders in the Rocks

This chapter was a bit different than other recent chapters; it seemed more, um, manly. There's a lot of fighting, swordplay, and knife training going on. And of course more sex. I'm half-tempted to think that Diana was challenged to a wager that she couldn't write a chapter that would appeal more to men. I would bet she won the wager.

The only other manly thing missing from this chapter...

One of the first things encountered is the after-effects of the wedding. I like how the reaction of Randall is downplayed; this is a fine point that may have been missed in any other novel. Sometimes the main characters begin to take on an oversized value within the confines of the narrative, but this does not seem lost on how Claire's marriage is portrayed from the perspective of Randall's point of view (via Dougal):

“He’s more to worry about than one stray Sassenach wench, no matter how pretty.” He raised an eyebrow and half-bowed toward me, as though the compliment were meant in apology. “He’s also better sense than to rile Colum by kidnapping his niece,” he said, more matter-of-factly.

Not only how Randall would think about it, but how the balance of power in the MacKenzie clan would be affected. What would the ramifications be beyond the immediate needs of keeping Claire safe? In my estimation, this tends to bring flesh and blood to the characterizations, as they have potential for consequences beyond the immediate story.

As they were settling in for the evening after dinner around the campfire, I did like the little story about the waterhorse, and learned some trivia about the legends:

These beings, I was given to understand, inhabited almost all bodies of water, being especially common at fords and crossings, though many lived in the depths of the lochs.

And here I thought there was only one in the depths of the Loch Ness.

The truth about the Loch Ness monster.

The raid brought things back to the seriousness, and dangers, of the mission at hand. The casual nature
of the men shifting positions around the campfire while moving closer to their weapons had a ring of authenticity to it. Also, I liked the fact that there wasn't a lot of screaming or talking during the fighting, just lots of grunting and shuffling while the hand-to-hand fighting is taking place. This, I'm sure, is how much of the adrenaline-fueled skirmish fighting was carried out. We tend to think in terms of modern movies with characters shouting their catch-phrases at each other, but a good ol' fight was probably just a bunch of dull thuds and groans. I find it hard to imagine Jamie making some sort of witty comment to best his opponents; he would be much more likely to just beat them to a pulp, but with grace and style, I'm sure.

One of Jamie's less used fighting catch-phrases.

The field skirmish brings the reality of the times to the foreground, as well. It had to be difficult from a safety perspective to travel on long journeys, something that we take for granted in our modern vehicles and interstate highways. Understanding some of these dangers, and seeing the fighting up close, certainly brought a tangible urgency to training Claire how to defend herself. These are obvious skills needed for the times.

I was timid and extremely clumsy at first, but Rupert was a good teacher, very patient and good about demonstrating moves, over and over. He rolled his eyes in mock lewdness when he moved behind me and put his arm about my waist, but he was quite businesslike about taking hold of my wrist to show me the way of ripping an enemy across the eyes.

I also like how the men are starting to take to her, now that she is an official member of the clan. I can see how it would take some time for them to warm up to her, but now that she has immediate ties to the welfare of their little caravaning troupe, they begin to take her under their wing, even if Jamie wouldn't let her handle a pistol:

“I’d let ye see [how it fires] for yourself,” he said, raising one eyebrow, “but I like ye better wi’ all of your teeth. You’ve a nice smile, Sassenach, even if ye are a bit feisty.”

Only just married and he already knows her so well.

Chapter 17 - We Meet a Beggar

As we continue to move beyond the wedding, I'm beginning to feel some of the depth of the story that is obvious and necessary (since the story covers monumental ground over the course of the series). Between familial intrigue and clan politics lies the heart of wisdom, and Jamie appears to navigate these waters skillfully, as if he is a master diplomat.

Plover's nest with neatly arranged eggs

I really do enjoy what I am coming to call within my head the "extras" that Diana just plops down in the middle of the ongoing action. The little side-note regarding the behavior of the plovers is one of those "extras". I love learning these little tidbits of natural history, and then she takes that little bit of information, even about how all the "narrow ends of the eggs" should be toward the center of the nest, and turns it into a major back-story piece about Jamie's past and his mom. Amazing.

I did make myself laugh when I ran some of the narrative together that was supposed be separated. This is how I read it:

I thought of telling him that his own touch seared my skin and filled my veins with fire. But I was already alight and glowing like a brand. I closed my eyes and felt the kindling touch move to cheek and temple, ear and neck, and shuddered as his hands dropped to my waist and drew me close. Jamie seemed to have a definite idea where we were going.

Ha, I thought we were headed into another part of the story I would have to "skim", but then I kept reading:

At length he stopped at the foot of a huge rock, some twenty feet high, warty with lumps and jagged cracks. Tansy and eglantine had taken root in the cracks, and waved in precarious yellow flags against the stone. He took my hand and nodded at the rock face before us.

Okay, so the they really were going somewhere else, not just, um, somewhere.

Beggars and merchants carried news from town to town

Then we meet with Hugh Munro as Claire and Jamie are lunching on top of the cleft of rock. What a wonderful post-medieval character: a mute beggar with information; an early version of the internet! Surely this is one of the classic ways information was shared throughout history: travelers would move from town to town, picking up tidbits of news here and there, and disseminating it wherever they would roam, kind of like birds scattering seeds, or weed spores carried on the wind.


Munro's loyalty is captured in the story of his suffering at the hands of the "Musselmans" (the Muslims). Even though he suffered greatly, he is allowed to beg in the various parishes of the countryside due to his torturous experiences in the Middle East. Unfortunately, people of all various religions have been able to justify horrendous practices, all in the name of "truth" or their own version of God.

And then, of course, what would an Outlander chapter be without Jamie and Claire, yet again, getting after it.  Skim, skim, skim. Ladies, I gotta tell ya (once again), from my perspective, these sex interludes do not enhance the story at all. Yes, we know Jamie and Claire are in love. Yes, we know they yearn for each other dearly. Yes, we know I'm a prude. :)

But it's still a good story....

Chapter 16 - One Fine Day

In the intervening time since I've posted last, we have had a very busy August and we are now moving into the beginning of the new school year. You have all been very patient, and I appreciate all of the comments and support received through Facebook and Twitter.

During this time, I've also had the opportunity to view the first four episodes of the TV show, and thought I might throw in a little bonus critique as well:

Summarized, I'm finding the show to be beautifully filmed, elegantly costumed, and superbly acted with great characterizations. The locations are wonderful and the music is enchanting. Now, with all of that said, I have to say that I still think reading the book is better than the show. I believe that there is a rhythm and cadence to Diana's writing that somehow keeps the story more interesting (to me) and moving along, where the show does not.

No harm against Ron Moore who is doing most of the screenplay; I think he's taking great pains to remain faithful to the story. I recognize there are certain creative licenses that have to be done to bring the story to the screen, such as deleted scenes or invented scenes, to keep the emotional tension in place and to assist in telling backstory that would otherwise be too ungainly and long. But I have to say, if I was not invested in the characters from reading the book, I doubt that I would continue watching the series from a straight entertainment perspective. I know that is horrible to say knowing how much effort and professionalism is going in to every episode. No one appears to be doing anything "wrong" or disingenuous within the creative teams, but for some reason, while I believe it is faithful to the book, it just seems to move much slower as a show than in novel form.

Unfortunately, when I am not swept up in the story or characters, I begin to look around at the production values. I'm finding the locations and sets are awesome, but for some reason the dialogue seems a bit muddled and difficult to discern at times. Yes, I know from time to time they are speaking in Gaelic. But many of the low-voiced and whispered conversations seem to be drowned out a bit.

And yes, I am convinced I am a prude. I don't see how the nudity helps in telling the story; it just seems gratuitous and contrived for this genre of mature-themed cable epic. I know much of it (and more) is in the book, but again it doesn't seem to translate naturally to the screen.

Well, there you have it. I know it may be disappointing for many of you to read these remarks, but remember my whole premise here is to provide my perspective on your favorite story. Looking forward to your comments on that little diatribe....

Now on to chapter 16: One Fine Day

The scene in this chapter opens with recuperating from the awkwardness of the sensuality of the previous evening. I mean for me, not Claire and Jamie.

Okay, yes, they are also recuperating. Their tentativeness is well-played out and even-handed. Some interesting tidbits of information and backstory come to light as they begin to now forge the friendship that will become the central pillar of the structure of the ongoing narrative. We find out a little more about Jamie's sister Jenny, and gain insights into the politics and paranoia of the MacKenzie clan.

I did enjoy the little foray into the practice of trout-tickling, and their shared moments, as Jamie recounts some Scottish verse in English, all of which is brought to clarity of summation:

I had time, watching him declaim, to reflect on the oddity of sitting on a rock in a Scottish pool, listening to Gaelic love songs, with a large dead fish in my lap. And the greater oddity that I was enjoying myself very much indeed.

Beautifully silly and heartwarming.

Jamie was about to find out that some trout are just
plain not ticklish...

I was also glad to see that at least Jamie is keeping the right perspective, even if Claire is not demonstrated as thinking as much of Frank as I would think she should convey:

“It troubles you,” he said, tilting his head to look at me intently. “Not headache, I don’t mean. Frank. You’re thinking of him, and so it troubles you when I touch you, because ye canna hold us both in your mind. Is that it?” “You’re very perceptive,” I said, surprised.

This is one area that I think is picked up a little more in the TV show, as we see more of the Frank-left-behind vignettes and how her thoughts are drawn to him. I reiterate, it does not seem to me to be as prevalent in the story, so I'm glad to see Jamie here keeping Claire's focus.

Another roll in the hay (literally)...skim, skim, skim.....

I did like the scene at the inn which showed how Claire is becoming more relaxed with the situation at hand. The bawdy comments and whimsical dancing, culminating in a good-natured gesture on Jamie's part:

Ending up by forethought near the stair, we swirled to a close with his arm about my waist. Here we paused, and he made a short speech, mixed in Gaelic and English, which was received with further applause, particularly when he reached into his sporran and tossed a small wash-leather bag to the landlord, instructing that worthy to serve whisky so long as it lasted. I recognized it as his share of the wagers from his fight at Tunnaig. Likely all the money he had in the world; I thought it could not have been better spent.

As they make it up to their room, Jamie surmises his thoughts about things Claire: from her hair to whether or not she is a spy, and why certain things must be or not be so. Finally exasperated, he resignedly confesses:

“Damned if I know, Sassenach. Damned if I know. There isna any reason able explanation I can think of for you. You might be one of the Wee Folk, for all I know”—he peeked sideways from under his arm—“no, I suppose not. You’re too big.”

Closer than he knows, at least for now.

Chapter 15 - Revelations of the Bridal Chamber

First of all, I want to thank all of you for your patience while I have been "off-grid" for the past many days. Although not technologically off-grid, I have been mentally off-grid with a myriad of other life-necessities, a brief yet lingering illness, and other family commitments and responsibilities. It's true: real life trumps virtual life every time.

So...how 'bout them newlyweds?

Really, I have no idea where to go with this chapter. Really. Is it because of the bedroom scene? No, not especially. Actually, I think the whole thing is depicted with a light touch and a gentle sense of humor. Much less graphic than I expected. (Whew). What did surprise me, though, was how much hefty story and plot lines are drawn in to this first time that Claire and Jamie are together.

"Six weeks ago, I had been innocently collecting wildflowers on a Scottish hill to take home to my husband. I was now shut in the room of a rural inn, awaiting a completely different husband, whom I scarcely knew, with firm orders to consummate a forced marriage, at risk of my life and liberty." 

How, indeed. Obviously, this is a rough summary of the book up to this point. This plot device is the pivot on which the whole book (and series, I suppose) turns. I like how the narration carries these logical suppositions and many times mirrors my own thoughts as I read the story. I suppose this is one of the reasons Diana is such a popular writer, to which her extremely dedicated and loyal fan base (that's you) readily attests.

The early embarrassment between them is palpable and is only broken by Claire's offer to have him sit down next to her. As he sits down instead on a stool across from her, he takes her hands in his and she notices how his hands are hairier than Franks. I kind of snickered at the insertion of the Old Testament passage about Jacob and Esau; not because it was entirely inappropriate (I mean, things pop into our minds from all sorts of triggers), but it made me think of the rest of that Bible story. When Jacob "stole" Esau's birthright, it turns out he tried to fool his dim-sighted father Isaac by wearing goat-skins over the backs of his hands to mimick Esau's hairiness. Goat skins. Umm, have you ever felt a goat at a petting zoo or farm? Esau had to be one hairy dude! Anyway, this is the image that popped into my mind when Claire made the reference: Jamie with goat-like hair on his hands and arms. Kinda ruined the moment, so to speak.

As if to tag on to that humorous image, then Jamie compares the unknown act to what animals on the farm do, and if that's the case it shouldn't take very long! From that perspective, I'm sure it would be true. His humorous imaginings were entertaining. I mean, if that's all you know or have seen, why would that not be the case?

Also, as if to make my earlier point about Claire not seeming to think much about Frank, even Jamie agrees with me! Jamie!

“Well, I knew ye must be thinking of him. Ye could hardly not, under the circumstances. I do not want ye ever to feel as though ye canna talk of him to me. Even though I’m your husband now—that feels verra strange to say—it isna right that ye should forget him, or even try to. If ye loved him, he must ha’ been a good man.” 

(Okay, I'm not really making that point, but he certainly does impress upon her the need for her to honor Frank's memory).

I think it is interesting too, that when Jamie offers to get Claire a real ring, she kind of brushes the thought away by consoling herself with ongoing thoughts about leaving this time and circumstance, including Jamie. Would her thoughts be changed after this chapter, or events yet to come? She still has a main objective through this onslaught of unusual events that has happened to her. If she ever does make it back to Frank, how complicated would that relationship now be?

I do like the little "private vow" they take to always make sure they never lie to each other.

 "...I’ll ask nothing of ye that ye canna give me. But what I would ask of ye—when you do tell me something, let it be the truth. And I’ll promise ye the same. We have nothing now between us, save—respect, perhaps. And I think that respect has maybe room for secrets, but not for lies. Do ye agree?” He spread his hands out, palms up, inviting me. I could see the dark line of the blood vow across his wrist. I placed my own hands lightly on his palms.
“Yes, I agree. I’ll give you honesty.” His fingers closed lightly about mine.

My wife and I have this same value (without the blood vow, though), and have made it the key value our kids have had to deal with as they've grown up. Once lies and deceit enter in, trust goes out the window; no healthy relationships can survive without trust. However, I did have to pause a moment as Jamie draws a distinction between not telling lies, yet leaving room for private secrets. Isn't a private secret kind of like a lie? After thinking about this for a bit, I concluded that as long as what is secret is not a violation of the person's revealed character (like, if Jamie turned out to secretly be an ax-murdering serial killer or something), then I suppose it would not violate the honesty rule. But I still think that is a very slippery slope that requires much mature thought and consideration.

“You are safe,” he said firmly. “You have my name and my family, my clan, and if necessary, the protection of my body as well. The man [Randall] willna lay hands on ye again, while I live.” 

Jamie's awkward Senior Class photo
and trophy for being most gallant guy, ever.

As Jamie pledges to protect her, even with his own body, Claire is reminded of infantrymen that she had encountered in field hospitals. I thought this was a great comparison for her character to draw seeing that Jamie is younger than she is, and has certainly seen his share of violence. This is a noble and gallant young man, indeed. Maybe a little too perfect. I'll have to keep my eye on him; he's raising the bar for men everywhere. Dangit.

Then, Claire makes the mistake of asking Jamie about his family. Whoa. Clan heritage is certainly an ongoing source of pride for Scots, even to this day. My wife showed me how there is a family tree in MOBY to help everyone keep things straight.

Okay, now I'm not sure if this is a guy thing or if it's just me, so I'll just throw it out there: while I understand that exponential characters are necessary in an epic of this size and scope, it's one of my least favorite parts of fiction reading. I don't like having to keep multitudes of characters and relationships in check every time new ones are brought in.

For example, since I am a fan of the science fiction series Dune by Frank Herbert, I struggled with that same factor in his universe. To top it off, his characters are spread out over several centuries and planets and have unusual alien names that are difficult to figure out how to pronounce, even mentally pronounce, if you know what I mean (although some of these Scottish names seem practically alien to a Northwestern 'Merican like me). Understandably, in sagas of this breadth, it is necessary to introduce additional characters as new adventures continue, but, for me, I dislike having to flip back and forth between chapters (or books) trying to remember who's who and keep everyone straight. Perhaps I just need to pay closer atten-squirrel! 

Little-known fact that Jamie is actually related to US President Barack Obama!

Of course, in this plot-rich section, we learn that Jamie still has rights to his father's estate at Broch Tuarach, or Lallybroch, even though he can't return because of the price on his head. After his tour of duty in the French army he returns to Scotland with a band of "broken men". Here again, the getting-hit-in-the-head-with-an-ax story resurfaces raising more questions for me, with further hints of foreshadowing, I'm sure.

His stay at the Abbey Ste. Anne de Beaupré certainly helps to explain Jamie's grasp of scripture. But France? That sure seems like a long and difficult way to transport someone who is injured so badly, especially in that day. How were they so successful at avoiding the English patrols with someone so badly wounded? They surely could not have made time very well, and with an invalid suffering a practically fatal head wound? Hmm.

Okay, well, moving from the unlikely to the...(ahem) inevitable, on we go to the um, other parts of this chapter.

Skim, skim, skim, - yes, it's funny how he is surprised that it's face to face.

Skim, skim, skim - "Haven't you seen a naked woman before?" "Aye, but not one so close...And not one that's mine."

Skim, skim, skim - "Hey lass! Ye’re still able t’ walk! Isn’t Jamie doin’ his duty by ye, then?"

Skim, skim, skim - what, three times!?

Skim, skim, skim - "“Oh, so there’s something you don’t know? Well, we’ll find out then, won’t we? As soon as I’ve the strength for it...Next week, sometime.”

Whew, made it! And it only took a few squinty-eyed pages and half a bottle of wine!

Okay, all kidding aside, the consummation of their marriage is dealt with in a lightly humorous, but meaningful way. Yes, Jamie is a gallant young man; yes, they are being drawn together by their mutually constricting circumstances; yes, there remain many questions from new information about family, property rights, and unknown dangers. But isn't this all just like...life? We all wonder about the unknown from the comfort of the known, and yet, in a true adventure, there is little that's familiar, which is why we cling tightly to that which we do know for sure. That's what makes it an adventure! Claire only knows that Jamie has been the one constant beacon of integrity and hope in a whirlwind of unusual circumstances and persons. These two characters are simply drawn together in the throes of an adventure with (to them, and me) unknown outcomes.

The logic of her circumstances catches up with Claire in the middle of the night...

I woke in the hours before dawn, shivering and rigid with terror. I could not recall the dream that woke me, but the abrupt plunge into reality was equally frightening. It had been possible to forget my situation for a time the night before, lost in the pleasures of newfound intimacy. Now I was alone, next to a sleeping stranger with whom my life was inextricably linked, adrift in a place filled with unseen threat.

Another masterfully-crafted vivid passage that clearly describes Claire's sobered perspective. But what better way could Jamie reassure her, than to comfort her with what's familiar: “Don’t be afraid,” he whispered into my hair. “There’s the two of us now.”

But among all of my other questions, one burning one remains: don't they realize that summer romances never last?  :)

Chapter 14 - A Marriage Takes Place

Once again, what strikes me about this chapter is its directness;  it moves from Claire's waking out of a hangover, to preparing for the wedding, to the wedding itself, swiftly and seamlessly. 

Also once again, new words unapologetically assault my understanding. A "ewer" and basin (a wide-mouthed pitcher for water); a "sempstress" (another word for seamstress, rather understandable, that one) and "serge" (describing her typical woollen fabric of her day to day clothing). Here are some snippets from this quickly moving narrative:

Claire describes her morning after the whiskey drinking:

I eased myself very carefully back down, closed my eyes and held onto my head to prevent it from rolling off the pillow and bouncing on the floor.

Ha. I remember a doozy of a hangover I once had after a night of (over)drinking after a military base command party many, many years ago. My problem was everything was spinning, and spinning: the room, the bed, the world. And the worst part was nothing would make it go away. Even my eyelashes hurt. My eyelashes. I wondered if anyone had ever died from a hangover.

"A bit later I sat on the bed, fully dressed, feeling dazed and belligerent, but thanks to a glass of port supplied by the goodwife, at least functional. I sipped carefully at a second glass, as the woman tugged a comb through the thickets of my hair."

The fact that she was supplied some port wine to offset her hangover made me think. The few times in my younger days where I may have "overindulged" I've never had additional alcohol the next day; in fact, that would be the last thing I would be willing to do. I know I've heard of "the hair o' the dog", but does that really work?

Dougal caught sight of me slowly descending, and abruptly stopped talking. The others fell silent as well, and I floated down in a most gratifying cloud of reverent admiration."

What a great visualization. The words just seem to conjure the image in real time as Claire, prepared for the wedding, now comes down the stairs, shockingly beautiful to those who have only seen her in her serge.

"Wherever we were going, it was some distance from the village. We made a rather morose wedding party, the bridal pair encircled by the others like convicts being escorted toward some distant prison."

This made me laugh, but also made a striking simile for how Claire must have felt. Prison. An unknown time, practical strangers all around, and here she is tending to one of life's most precious and rare moments with a man she hardly knows. Prison, indeed.

I'm sure this is exactly how Claire and Jamie
would have looked on their wedding day.
If Jamie was a 40-year old, Irish-bred actor from New York.
And if they were 500 years earlier.
And in the movie Braveheart.
Yup. Exactly like that.

"Through the drizzle and mist, I saw the chapel jutting out of the heather. With a sense of complete disbelief, I saw the round-shouldered roof and the odd little many-paned windows, which I had last seen on the bright sunny morning of my marriage to Frank Randall."

Oh, no, she di'int. Really? Diana didn't just go there, did she? Yup. She did. Married in the same chapel as her wedding to Frank?

Ok, gang, this is where I'm havin a wee bit o' disagreement with me wife. Why the heck is Claire never thinking about Frank?! I mean, with the chapel and all, of course she's going to think about Frank, but he's rarely even mentioned in her thoughts up to this point. Here she is, in a strange time and society, undergoing all kinds of strange experiences and forging new and strained relationships, yet she never yearns for her Frank, for the familiar, for the constancy of that shared oneness. Here she is, separated from her husband, her true love, unless...unless, of course he isn't. Hmm. (No spoilers, please.)

“It’s a bit pagan, but it’s customary hereabouts to have a blood vow, along with the regular marriage service...‘Ye are Blood of my Blood, and Bone of my Bone. I give ye my Body, that we Two might be One. I give ye my Spirit, ’til our Life shall be Done.’"

A Celtic rite known typically as "handfasting"; it is still practiced in various forms among the Wiccans and nature religions (although not always with the actual blood-letting), and the chant of "blood of my blood, and bone of my bone." But even on it's surface, it can be seen that it is a corruption of the original in the book of Genesis:

Genesis 2:22-23 And the rib, which the LORD God had taken from man, made he a woman, and brought her unto the man. (23) And Adam said, This is now bone of my bones, and flesh of my flesh: she shall be called Woman, because she was taken out of Man.

Changing the "flesh of my flesh" into "blood of my blood" of course is necessary for the blood vow portion. However, it is indeed historically accurate for the time of Claire and Jamie. Technically, there is no specific biblical pattern anyway for what we would consider a typical wedding ritual. The rings, vows, and any other accouterments are all traditions of the distant past cultures that have been added over the years as couples have pledged their unity.

And then, as if a harbinger of things to come (of which I know you all are waiting with bated breath), Diana leaves us with this light-hearted couplet:

“Mmmphm. Aye, we’re married, right enough. But it’s no legally binding, ye know, until it’s been consummated.” A slow, fierce blush burned its way up from the lacy jabot.
“Mmmphm,” I said. “Let’s go and find something to eat.”

Well done, Claire. Some protein and carbs will serve ye weel for the comin' chapter...

Chapter 13 - A Marriage is Announced

Wow, what an interesting chapter. This one definitely runs the gamut from disorientation, to pain and suffering, to, well, let's just say unusually motivated legal agreements.

At first I couldn't figure out what Dougal was doing. Obviously he was taken aback by the bitter cruelty of Randall punching Claire. But why in the heck would he be taking Claire out into the the woods essentially to tell her the story about Jamie?

...hereabouts, ladies are generally not exposed to such sights as floggings. Have ye ever seen one?”"

No, nor do I much want to,” I responded sharply. “I can imagine what it would take to make marks like the ones on Jamie’s back, though.” 

Dougal shook his head, flipping water out of the pool at a curious jay that ventured close. “Now, there you’re wrong, lass, and you’ll pardon my saying so. Imagination is all verra well, but it isna equal to the sight of a man having his back laid open. A verra nasty thing—it’s meant to break a man, and most often it succeeds.”  

And on it goes; the nerve-wracking anticipation, the defiant endurance, all to demonstrate a wickedness in Randall that we could already guess at, but there it was, spelled out in all of its bloody cruelty for all to see. As profoundly moving and heroic as that story about Jamie being flogged was, it made no sense to me why Dougal was telling Claire all of that back story, until she asked him that very same question.

Everything was quiet in the small glade except for the faint rush of wind through the leaves of the rowan tree. I closed my eyes and listened to it for some time. “Why?” I asked finally, eyes still closed. “Why did you tell me?”

Dougal was watching me intently when I opened my eyes. I dipped a hand in the spring again, and applied the cool water to my temples. “I thought it might serve as what ye may call a character illustration,” he said.

"Of Randall?” I uttered a short, mirthless laugh. “I don’t need any further evidence as to his character, thank you.”

“Of Randall,” he agreed, “and Jamie too.”  

So here it comes: the Plan. In order to spare Claire from having to be delivered to this maniacal Randall, who now (and I'm sure in greater detail to come) is even more confirmedly wicked, Dougal suggests that she marry Jamie to become a Scot and avoid being handed over to his evilness. It keeps her safe and gets him off the hook for not delivering her, and Jamie...well, Jamie gets, y'know...Claire.

What?! Married?! Okay so let's just pause here for a moment and reflect. When you have finished pausing and reflecting, please come back and finish reading.

Are you done now? Okay, good. (If you did get a snack, be sure to clean your fingers so the keyboard and mouse don't get sticky).

So, if you remember, I originally agreed to read at least 200 pages of this book, for I was told by Debby Kennedy that by then I would be hooked. In good faith, not only did I commit to read the whole book, I also agreed to document my thoughts through each chapter. So, here I am, only a hundred and seventy-seven pages into this thing, and already Claire and Jamie are getting married!! I mean, in any other story, we're basically done! Just get Claire back to the stones, a heart-breaking scene where she can no longer stay with Jamie who rescued her from the evil Randall, and be sucked back through the time-hole thing to be reunited with her true husband Frank, only to reminisce longingly about her adventures in the 18th century, where, as the story closes, now in her old age, Frank has died, and in a fit of aged introspection she travels back to Craigh na Dunh only to find a now-ancient carving of Jamie's undying love for her for all time, aaaaaaand fade to black. End of story.

Yeah. Not with Diana. I can see how this is going to go. This is why she couldn't sell the movie rights to just have this story be a 2-1/2 hour movie, because we're already there, done! The whole story up to this point is a complete whole (with the modified, truncated ending, of course).

Um, I'm pretty sure with 7 more books already written (who knows how many more on the way), Diana's just getting warmed up. At this point in this first book, she hasn't even gone through her first bottle of Rhenish yet. With all of the background and history groundwork already laid, this story still has a million places to go. It's just like my eight-year-old daughter's really long feet; she's got to grow into them.

So, after all the wrangling that Dougal has done, they draw up the paperwork with the help of Ned Gowan:

...Dougal removed a chamber pot from its resting place on the table and fanned the sheets of paper out ceremoniously on the rough oak surface. “All done,” he said, with the pride of one who has shepherded a difficult project to a successful conclusion. “Ned’s drawn up the papers; nothing like a lawyer—so long as he’s on your side, eh, Ned?” 

The men all laughed, evidently in good humor. 

"Not really difficult, ye ken,” Ned said modestly. “It’s but a simple contract.”

A simple contract, yes, but a massive shift in the plot of the story, to be sure. Of course, Jamie's response to all of this Plan is just priceless:

“Did you know that Dougal wants us to marry?” I demanded bluntly.

His expression cleared. “Oh, aye. I knew that.”

"But surely,” I said, “a young man like yourself; I mean, isn’t there anyone else you’re, ah, interested in?”

He looked blank for a moment, then understanding dawned. “Oh, am I promised? Nay, I’m no much of a prospect for a girl.” He hurried on, as though feeling this might sound insulting. “I mean, I’ve no property to speak of, and nothing more than a soldier’s pay to live on.” He rubbed his chin, eyeing me dubiously. “Then there’s the minor difficulty that I’ve a price on my head. No father much wants his daughter married to a man as may be arrested and hanged any time. Did ye think of that?”

I flapped my hand, dismissing the matter of outlawry as a minor consideration, compared to the whole monstrous idea. I had one last try.“Does it bother you that I’m not a virgin?”

He hesitated a moment before answering. “Well, no,” he said slowly, “so long as it doesna bother you that I am.” He grinned at my drop-jawed expression, and backed toward the door. “Reckon one of us should know what they’re doing,” he said.

The door closed softly behind him; clearly the courtship was over.

What more can be said to that wonderful exchange? On to the wedding!

Chapter 12 - The Garrison Commander

I liked Claire's ponderings at the opening of this chapter. It helps me keep my bearings in the story as the plots begin to thicken and intertwine. One of my favorite aspects of good literature is to see inside the characters' heads so I can know not only what they're doing, but why they are making the choices they are. This is a little more difficult to accomplish with TV and movies, though, so it will be interesting to see how this  is carried off in the production.

As Claire considers her various options and opinions about who others think she might be, she begins to wonder if Column actually considered her to be a spy for the English, or not:

...I was patently not a Scot myself; surely he [the garrison commander] would not be inclined to think me a spy of some sort? That was evidently what Colum and Dougal thought—that I was an English spy. Which made me wonder what I was meant to be spying on? Well, unpatriotic activities, I supposed; of which, collecting money for the support of Prince Charles Edward Stuart, pretender to the throne, was definitely one. But in that case, why had Dougal allowed me to see him do it? He could easily enough have sent me outside before that part of the proceedings. 

These definitely are some of the thoughts I considered about her predicament, as well. I also reasoned that if Colum really thought she was a spy, he had been pretty free with her seeing the inner workings at the castle. 

Probably a staircase similar to this
where Jamie tried to sneak and sleep

As they journeyed to the inn at the village, I was struck with the stark baseness of 18th century life; the unsanitary conditions in her "room" if you could call it that, the need for a flint-box and candle, fumbling around in the dark, all very genuine for something as simple as trying to get a good night's sleep. Although, when her intruder tried to sneak upstairs, I did feel it was a little predictable that it would be Jamie.

What it did remind me of, though, is that there have been many times that I have tried to be quiet early in the morning getting ready for work, when invariably I will step on every squeaky floorboard or trip on the unexpected toy left in the hallway. Do you know how screechingly loud a bureau drawer can be when you are trying so hard to open it silently? Why is it that when you are trying to stay quiet that the simplest task makes the most excruciatingly loud noises that would otherwise be unnoticed during the day? It's like trying to open up a cellophane candy mint in church; who ever knew those things made that much noise?

 As to why Jamie would be up there, well, my first thought, actually, was one that Jamie voiced about wanting to stay away from the English.

“It isna entirely disintested kindness on my part, ye ken,” he observed. “I’d as soon avoid notice myself.” I had forgotten that he had his own reasons for keeping away from English soldiery. It did not escape me, however, that this could have been much better accomplished, not to say more comfortably, by his sleeping in the warm and airy stables, rather than on the floor before my door. “But if anyone does come up here,” I protested, “they’ll find you then.”

It made sense to me that he wouldn't want to be seen by them, for sure. But the mix up regarding the propriety of Jamie spending the night in her room as a guard was mildly amusing.

“Won’t they wonder, though, what you’re doing up here in the dark?” I could see nothing of his face, but the tone of his voice told me he was smiling. “Not at all, Sassenach. They’ll just think I’m waiting my turn.” I laughed and went in then. I curled myself on the bed and went to sleep, marveling at the mind that could make such ribald jokes even as it recoiled at the thought of sleeping in the same room with me.

Okay, then, the next day, Claire is brought before the garrison commander. Randall?! Seriously, I did NOT see that coming. I probably should have, but I think I was too busy trying to figure out how Dougal was going to try to expose her as a spy and I wasn't sure what he was up to. In the end everyone's motives become clear enough.

He drew back his arm and hit me in the pit of the stomach. I made no noise, because I had no breath. I sat on the floor, doubled over, struggling to draw air into my lungs. I was shocked far beyond the actual pain of the blow, which was beginning to make itself felt, along with a wave of giddy sickness. In a fairly eventful life, no one had ever purposely struck me before.

Wow. Did this strike anybody else as being absolutely repulsive? Certainly, if you want to have a main character become really despicable, have him punch a woman. Full force. In the pit of the stomach. Oh, and then have him say: “I trust you are not with child, Madam...because if you are, you won’t be for long.” *Shudder* I'm sure there's more to come.

One funny thing I read about Diana is how she was with a group of women who were commiserating with each other at how absolutely heinous they thought Jack Randall was, and then she thought to herself: "If they only knew; I am Jack Randall." Ha. Brilliant.

Could this be Frank's alter-ego
in the monster world?

Then, a new thought occurred to me: why is it that the bad guy is named Randall? Could it have anything to do with the kids movie Monsters Inc.? Think about it; the bad guy in that story was also called Randall (voiced by Steve Buscemi, my wife's OTHER favorite Steve). Coincidence?

Let's see, if the character association works out, that would make Sully Jamie, and Mike Wazowski, well, he would have to be Claire. But that means that Sully and Mike Wazowski would have to...um, ok, maybe it doesn't work.

But you get the idea: Randalls of all kinds should most likely be avoided, just in case.

Chapter 11 - Conversations with a Lawyer

There are some favorite quotes, and some new words that I learned in this chapter.

As they head out from the castle towards Fort William, the day is bleak and shrouded in fog:

The noise of the horses’ hooves seemed muffled in the fog. Voices carried strangely through the damp air, so that calls from one end of the long string were sometimes heard easily at the other, while the sounds of nearby conversations were lost in broken murmurs. It was like riding through a vapor peopled by ghosts. Disembodied voices floated in the air, speaking far away, then remarkably near at hand.

This is the strange quality of fog. It muffles sounds and limits visibility. In fact, I'm surprised that the smell of fog wan't mentioned. You've never smelled fog? It's sort of a damp, fresh, clean, invigorating jolt when inhaled deeply. I love it. Where I live, we frequently have fog in the seasonal change between summer and autumn, and the fog lies low over the ground early in the morning, and then typically burns off by mid-morning.

I remember where I grew up that sometimes the fog would come in so thick, that it was literally impossible to see your hand in front of your face. Walking our long driveway to school on one occasion, I held my black-gloved hand within 12" of my face and I was absolutely unable to see it. Even as young as I was, 10 or 11 years old, I remember laughing to myself how that saying could actually be true. The description here in the story is equally vivid: "It was like riding through a vapor peopled by ghosts." What a great simile to convey the distinct nature of the riding group; on a single journey but with, as we soon find out, veiled objectives.

The picture of Ned Gowan, the lawyer/solicitor, is one of classic 18th-century, bookish clerk-type; and, yet there is a sense of something more.

I was quite curious to know what had led a man of Mr. Gowan’s obvious qualifications to take up a post in the remote Scottish Highlands, far from the amenities of civilized life to which he must be accustomed.

"Well, as to that,” he said, in answer to my questions, “as a young man, I had a small practice in Edinburgh. With lace curtains in the window, and a shiny brass plate by the door, with my name inscribed upon it. But I grew rather tired of making wills and drawing up conveyances, and seeing the same faces in the street, day after day. So I left,” he said simply.

He had purchased a horse and some supplies and set off, with no idea where he was going, or what to do once he got there. “Ye see, I must confess,” he said, dabbing his nose primly with a monogrammed handkerchief, “to something of a taste for…adventure. However, neither my stature nor my family background had fitted me for the life of highwayman or seafarer, which were the most adventurous occupations I could envision at the time."

This appears to be a little out of character for someone who in all other respects appears quite clinical and calculating. But, as usual, it seems that Diana anticipates this view by having Claire recount that "...the little man on the bay mare, dry as his bones might be, and steeped to the marrow in the law, had by his own testimony the soul of a romantic." So there it is; the wanderlust in all of us come to fruition in the business-like mannerisms of one Mr. Ned Gowan. (Wow, kinda sounds like I've got the whole Rod Serling/Twilight Zone thing going on there).

One of my new words is found here:

"Dougal might have been made chief at the time, but ’twas felt he’d not the judgment for it yet.” He shook his head. “Oh, there was a great stramash about it all. There were cousins and uncles and tacksmen, and a great Gathering to decide the matter.”

"Stramash": a row or uproar. Great word. We have those all the time at work. At least now I know what to call it besides "arguing".

Ned continues discussing various topics with Claire, and she recounts:

We passed the rest of the day in pleasant conversation, wandering among his reminiscences of the dear departed days when men were men, and the pernicious weed of civilization was less rampant upon the bonny wild face of the Highlands.

What beautiful imagery to convey the ruggedness, idealism, and conservative nature of the Highland clansmen. In one sentence a volume of information is passed to us to understand the deep roots of nationalistic pride that beat within the heart of every true-blooded Scotsman in the MacKenzie clan.

We soon come to find out why Jamie was invited on the rent-collecting expedition, as he is proffered as an exhibit of English cruelty which is designed to cause the country farmers to contribute financially to the Jacobite rising. So now a larger picture is emerging; one of political instability, intrigue, and recognition.

Another new word comes to my ears among the descriptions of the country folk: crofter. Not having experienced this term, a quick search reveals that a crofter is one who works a plot of land, typically in the service of the feudal lord or "laird". Hmm...just like me and the IRS today.

One of the more interesting terms I ran across was the sgian dhu (which appears to be pronounced SKEEan doo, please correct me if someone has a different understanding), the ceremonial knife carried in the stocking of traditional clansman. Besides the knife, there are so many traditions associated with the regalia that I was detoured a bit with my own research into the history of this small knife and the variations depending on clan, etc. I even found a site that is all about kilts (and shares once and for all what men really wear underneath them) which can be found here.

I really enjoyed Claire's little detour in her mind considering the significance of the stones:

...the spot would have been one of terrible mystery and powerful magic; a spot where people would have disappeared without warning. Or appeared, perhaps, out of thin air.

This whole logical-consequence-imagining of Claire was very interesting to me in the sense of where the story may take us. This aligns neatly with legends and fairy tales and anchors the story firmly in legends. This is a very powerful literary device and, to my way of thinking, gives the Outlander story the mythic fuel it needs to outlive its current generation.

Interrupting her thoughts, Dougal and Jamie have an argument regarding the ethics of Dougal's agenda to leverage Colum's authority for support of the Stuart rebellion. The exchange is edged with tension, as Dougal challenges Jamie's allegiance:

"Your obedience is to the chieftain of the clan, and outside of Leoch, I am Colum's head and arms and hands as well as his legs."
"And never saw I a better case of the right hand not knowin' what the left is up to," came the quick rejoinder..."What d'ye think the right is going to say about the left collecting gold for the Stuarts?"

Jamie's response is sharp and witty, and once again, another reference that has a foundation in scripture. The original context applies to money that is given to the poor, not financing a war-chest:

Matt. 6:3-4  But when thou doest alms, let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth: That thine alms may be in secret: and thy Father which seeth in secret himself shall reward thee openly.

Whether intentional or not, the irony of using that reference in the context of war and rebellion had impact on me. While it was explained earlier in the story that Jamie lived at a monastery for four months which cured him of his swearing, I suppose he could have picked up a couple of Bible passages here and there. For the common rural clansman of the day, though, quoting scripture might not come as easily since printed Bibles were not something as readily available as we have in this day and age; a reference like that might be a bit more obscure.

I did enjoy the brief sword fighting lesson Jamie shared with Claire; now I have some tactics I can use in my next broadsword fight at work. (I'm sure they'll never expect me to use a left-handed sgian dhu to gain the advantage).

Chapter 10 - The Oath-Taking

In her introductory remarks for this chapter, I thought the escape plan from the castle that Claire had devised wasn't too bad: she had a distraction so her presence wouldn't be missed (the Gathering), she had squirreled away some food for the journey, she had picked out a horse. But how in the heck would she know where she was going to get back to Craigh na Dun? She had been unconscious for part of the journey after she got knocked out by one of her "rescuers" from Captain Randall. But, in fairness, I suppose it would be an acceptable risk, facing the potential of continued oversight by the MacKenzie clan.

My beloved USAF unit badge.
A bright red horse.
On a flying bulldozer.
With an M-16 rifle.
Yup, it doesn't get any better than that.

After Jamie and Claire are found out and brought back in to the castle for the Gathering, I was surprised to see how early on in the story we also learn Jamie's clan motto "Je Suis Prest." Actually, while I Am Ready is a great motto, I kind of liked the MacKenzie motto of I Shine, Not Burn. Obviously I could have no knowledge of how these may continue to come into play in further chapters, but I thought of the irony of how these types of fraternal traditions have come down to us in our day and age with military units all the way through to bikers clubs. The Air Force units I belonged to, the 819th and 820th Red Horse combat engineers squadrons, had the mottos of: Can Do, Will Do, Have Done, and Lead, Follow, or Get the Hell Out of the Way. Kinda hard to fit that on a badge.


I have to say, the way the oath-taking scene is presented, the tension had me squirming just a bit to see just how Jamie was going to try to get out of taking the MacKenzie oath without violating his own clan's honor. At least through his pledge to Colum, he demonstrated his faithfulness and loyalty. And in the process, I learned a new term: "quaich", the cup from which they were drinking. I love learning new things, and as much as I enjoy a good hard-backed paper-paged book, I do like reading a digital version that allows me to do some quick research now and then on unfamiliar terms.

Another new term that I learned was the tynchal or hunt. This whole scene for me evoked an ethereal feeling, as I had been in deeply fog-shrouded forests like these in England. I never encountered a boar, though, thankfully enough. The most I ever had to do was "play" mock war games encamped in the depth of the woods during military exercises. We called them "Agressor" games, when "the enemy" would attempt to breach our camp security while we were entrenched in various defensive positions. I have never been so cold in all my life. Not from the physical temperature, mind you, but because everything was damp, wet, and just plain miserable. If these Scots were also coming off their hangovers from the evenings festivities before, I can't imagine they were feeling any better, even as tough as they appear to be. And with an enraged boar running around, it's not far-fetched to see how badly they could be wounded.

The death of Geordie is extremely moving, as they had to face a choice (albeit limited) of trying to patch him up so he could suffer for days from the effects of deadly infection, or allow him to bleed out and die. The poignancy of the moment for me is captured in picturing the silent march back to the castle:

The trip up the hill to the castle was silent. I walked beside the dead man, borne on a makeshift litter of pine boughs. Behind us, borne in precisely similar fashion, came the body of his foe. Dougal walked ahead, alone.

The paralleling of the two "victims" repose is irony of the highest crafted order. What a futile and reckless pride that fuels bravado.

I'm glad the chapter didn't end there, but continued on with a glimpse of some real Highland games, and how they appear to be a bit more, um, dangerous than any contemporary reenactments. Claire relates her busyness in the surgery that day:

All I could say for sure of authentic Highland games is that they were played for keeps.

I'm sure there were many severe injuries that would require constant attendance by medical personnel. Even in our own military training, extraordinary measures are taken to avoid injuries as much as possible. Moving a lot of men and equipment around, even for training, is bound to cause some mishaps. Makes me wonder how many clansmen might have missed real battles due to negligence during the games.

Interesting conclusion to the chapter, as Dougal offers to take Jamie and Claire to Fort William:

"...The commander there might be able to…assist ye in finding your family in France.” Or to assist you, I thought, in determining who I really am. And how much else are you not telling me? Dougal stared down at me, obviously wondering how I would take this news.

Nicely timed lead-in to further mysterious doings of the MacKenzie clan. Just what do they expect to find out about Claire? And, by all rights, what difference would it make to such a high-functioning clan heirarchy to find out some history on this meager outlander?

(Wow. I'm starting to sound like a trailer lead-in for the TV show...)

Chapter 9 - The Gathering

As Claire is settling in to her new routine in the 18th century (as much as can be expected, anyway), she recounts some of the daily activities that are becoming common pleasantries: helping in the kitchen, visiting the stables, working in the castle garden.

I would join the gathering in the Great Hall to listen to the evening’s entertainment of stories, song, or the music of harp or pipes. I could listen to Gwyllyn the Welsh bard for hours, enthralled in spite of my total ignorance of what he was saying, most times.

Sometimes I like to just listen to international music when I just want to listen to some contemporary beats without being assaulted by lyrics. What I call "international music" is essentially any kind of world music which is either instrumental or where I don't understand the language. Since I only speak and understand English, the field is pretty wide open! Maybe Brazilian or European folk music, doesn't matter; as long as I can't understand what they're saying so I don't have to think about it, just enjoy it for what it is. That's how I picture Claire's enjoyment of the bard.

When she gets invited to go berry picking, she relates a bit of the routine:

We plucked only the best, dropping them into our baskets in juicy heaps, eating as much as we could hold, and carrying back the remainder to be made into tarts and pies.

This brought to mind a memory of me of "helping" my mother to pick strawberries when I was just a "wee bairn". I'm surprised when it came time to weigh how many pounds we had picked, that the farm hands didn't want to weigh me on the way out of the berry patch! One in the bucket, two in my mouth, sit in the shade, eat some more, put one or two in the basket, eat another handful -- I'm pretty sure I wan't really much help at all!

Even among the preparations for the Gathering, Claire is still thinking of ways to escape. I like how there is really no plan except just to get back to the rocks at Craigh na Dun...but then what? I'm sure I would be thinking the same thing. Although I've noticed she hasn't mentioned Frank in quite a while...

After Claire befriends Geilie Duncan on the berry picking expedition, she also has an opportunity to meet with her in the nearby town of Cranesmuire to receive some herbs needed for the castle population. Geilie is depicted as a very likeable character, although each time she is described, she is related as having a sharp wit and "a wry-tongued, cynical viewpoint". I had to stifle a laugh, as I couldn't help but think of my oldest daughter; it was practically describing her to a "T", and then I just kept picturing her in the action in the place of Geilie. Can't imagine where she gets that wry wit and cynicism...

While Claire is at the Duncan's home, a commotion begins outside near the town square:

For some time, I had been conscious of noises coming from the street outside, but had attributed them to the traffic of villagers coming from Sunday Mass; the kirk was located at the end of the street by the well, and the High Street ran from kirk to square, spreading from there into a fan of tiny lanes and walks.

The fact that the population is Catholic shows how far removed the village is within the Highlands. Since Catholicism had essentially been outlawed in Scotland after the Reformation, it was only in the remote areas of the Highlands where Catholicism was still practiced, though usually not openly. Recusants as they were called, would be persecuted for not attending Anglican services, and even included some Reformed Protestant Christians (or any dissenters from the Church of England). So to have an open mob of villagers coming from Mass, it would definitely be a localized enclave. Of course, with my very limited understanding of the Jacobite rising, this seems to fit neatly with the socio-politics of the day.

I'm also quite amazed at how deftly the time-oriented perspective is maintained. When Claire equivocates the mob in Cranesmuire to the similar dissociation of the German people in Nazi Germany, she writes:

Looking down on the assembly, standing patiently in the drizzle awaiting a verdict, I suddenly had a vivid understanding of something. Like so many, I had heard, appalled, the reports that trickled out of postwar Germany; the stories of deportations and mass murder, of concentration camps and burnings. And like so many others had done, and would do, for years to come, I had asked myself, “How could the people have let it happen?"

I know at the outset of this blog I stated I was not going to comment on Diana's writing, but I was struck with a thought when I read this passage. As Diana is relating this story, she has to be extremely mindful of writing not from our current perspective, but from Claire's WWII perspective. I noticed in the foregoing passage how she emphasized, "like so many others had done, and would do, for years to come..." Claire could not have known that except in understanding the depth of the German indifference would have historical ramifications, which of course it did. I don't know, a minor point perhaps, but it did make me think how many phrases and references we take for granted that cannot be used by the author because they would not have been in existence in Claire's time in the 1940's. Challenging, indeed.

The tension of the mob scene continues:

...I thought of myself stepping out, alone and powerless, to confront that mob of solid and virtuous citizens, avid for the excitement of punishment and blood to alleviate the tedium of existence.

Some things never change. Similar things excite today: the daredevil stunts, the Indy car crashes, the boxing injuries; people still clamor for these things to "alleviate the tedium of existence".

To me, the most poignant statement comes as Claire struggles with her own inability for action to somehow help this poor tanner's boy:

To stand against a crowd would take something more than ordinary courage; something that went beyond human instinct. And I feared I did not have it, and fearing, was ashamed.

Wow. Just...wow. A courage that goes beyond human instinct; that, to me, is unbelievably profound. Claire's recognition of her lack of this type of courage goes beyond her own shame to us; to me. Can we not identify with some illustration from our own life when we refused to be the one who "stood in the gap" for another? And then felt ashamed for not having done what was right? Wow.

The scene with the tanner's boy at the pillory is central to Claire's adventure in the village that day, and as such we see many insights into the justice of the day: its barbarity and striking cruelty, but also its effectiveness as the young tanner lad, ear pinned to the pillory, was reproved for stealing by the citizens of the community:

...now and then a more sober citizen was to be seen, seizing a moment from the round of daily duties to attend to the moral improvement of the delinquent by means of a few well-chosen words of reproval and advice.

I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one who can think of a few young people who would have benefited greatly from a similar public display and embarrassment. If only our community provided opportunities for more elder involvement with our young people, our streets might become safer environments for all.

While the ear-nailing was extreme, it makes for a great dramatic scene with Jamie and Claire, as Claire convinces Jamie to help her release the lad so he does not have to rip his head free of the nail. I thoroughly enjoyed Claire's mock faint in the orchestration of the distraction so Jamie could pull the nail and help the young lad. Perhaps we meet up with the lad later in the story...?

At first, my initial thought was, again, why would Jamie, who is already shown to be in hiding of sorts, risk exposing himself over such a comparative trivial manner? But then, in the closing narration, the question is answered for me, almost word-for-word as the question had formed in my head:

“But it was a risk to you,” I said, persisting. “I didn’t realize you’d be in danger when I asked you.”

"Ah,” he said, noncommittally. And a moment later, with a hint of amusement, “Ye wouldna expect me to be less bold than a wee Sassenach lassie, now would ye?”

I can hear the collective swooning from here. But it does indeed fit the moment, and of course, Jamie's character nicely.

All in all, this chapter is a clever and briskly moving narrative of village life in those times.