The Outlander Series: Why it's like the unpredictable teenager on my bookshelf

I've decided that Diana Gabaldon's Outlander series is a lot like a teenager.

When I first discovered Outlander (thanks to a very intuitive friend), I was blown away.  It impressed me as no other book has, before or since.  The way it brought history alive, the timeless love between Jamie and Claire, the time travel, the depth and breadth of the writing itself...it was something I'd never experienced in quite the same way with any other author, or in any other book.  I ordered all of the books back-to-back, hanging on every word, often rereading from the beginning.  Thus began an obsessive love of the story and Diana Gabaldon's writing.

Yet, much like an unpredictable teenager, the road isn't always smooth.  There have certainly been hiccups along the way.  Moments when I wondered where the author was taking me, or why.  Moments when things have dragged on forever and I almost gave up (the Gathering at Mount Helicon in Fiery Cross, anyone?), or times when I was annoyed or disappointed by the path the characters or story had taken.

Kind of like living with a teenager, don't you think?  ;)

But no matter what happens, I can't seem to give up on Outlander, and I can't seem to lose faith enough not to see the series through.  The most recent book, An Echo in the Bone, was a disappointment for me in that it veered away from Jamie and Claire so much, and took them places I would never have believed they'd go...and yet...even though I ranted and raved, and whined and complained, vowing that I'd wait for the next book to end up in the library before reading it, I know I'm fooling myself.  I'll buy it.  Whenever it's finally ready, I know I'll be there.

In spite of my disappointment in Echo, I still follow Diana's blog.  I may not agree with everything in the books, but I admire her thoroughly as a writer, and I still read all of the excerpts she generously shares with her readers.  I've even become a recent lurker on another blog devoted to the Outlander series, Outlandish Observations (which I happily recommend to any other Outlander Obsessive!).

Because even if there are some interminable slogs through slimy swamps, gratuitous amputations or endless clan gatherings, there will always be some spectacular, deeply moving moment in there somewhere that somehow makes up for it.

And strange as it may be, with both a book series and a teenager, one really good moment often has the power to help you forget all the bad. Or at least allow you to put the not-so-great stuff aside long enough to appreciate that nice moment.

It seems that my love for the Outlander story and characters far surpasses any "mistakes" they may make, or my disappointment in the paths they've traveled.  I just can't abandon them, and I will always care to know where their journeys will lead them.  I am devoted, sometimes reluctantly so, even if I'm just an outside observer with no say in what they do or where they go.  So I'll be there when the new book comes out, regardless of whether I agree with their actions or the roads they've traveled thus far. 

It can be challenging, and has it's share of head-scratching and cringe-worthy moments, but I just can't seem to turn away.  Somehow, I just know it will be worth it in the end.

Kind of like that with a teenager, too, isn't it?

Snow Day Simplicity

 "A lot of people like snow. I find it to be an unnecessary freezing of water."  ~ Carl Reiner

(Courtesy of
www.karenswhimsy.com)

Here on the East Coast, we are once more in the midst of a blizzard, even as we still valiantly (if unenthusiastically) attempt to dig out from the massive amounts of snow already on the ground.


In the few weeks since I last posted, we've had three storms and roughly three feet of snow (or more? I've lost track).  At this point, exiting driveways and certain roadways is an act of faith, what with the inability to see any possible oncoming traffic past the mountains of snow drifts.  Accelerate and pray...


Of course, this is New England; snow and blizzards and lousy driving conditions are a given, as are occasional power outages. During one of these recent storms, a tree limb came down onto our power lines, leaving us in the dark for nearly 11 hours. With no electricity, a long, dull day seemed to 
loom ahead.

But as the day went on, and my initial antsy annoyance at being cut off from computers, phones and appliances waned a bit, I found myself beginning to appreciate it.  We all gathered around the fireplace, rather than spread out with our various individual activities. We played board games, which we somehow rarely find time for these days.  We read by candlelight.  And we talked. And actually took the time to enjoy one another's company for a change. 

And what I noticed most as I sat by the fire, reading by the light of a couple of candles, was the quiet. 

No television, no constant electrical hum in the air. 

It was...peaceful. 

And surprisingly comfortable.

I won't say I wasn't happy when the power came back, but while it lasted, it really wasn't so bad.  It made me feel less stressed, somehow.  As if I were living in another time, back when there was no electricity and no modern conveniences, and most evenings were necessarily spent in quiet activity near the fire, the only source of warmth and light.

I've often wondered if I am enamored of historical romances in large part because of the depiction of those simpler times.  I enjoy contemporary novels as well, but not nearly as much as those that manage to bring to life the days when there were no modern conveniences or affectations.  There is something calming and intriguing about the thought of a life without the noise and madness we all just accept as necessary these days. 

As wonderful as our daily conveniences may be, there is a trade-off involved; we've given up much of the calm, peaceful quality of life that used to exist in a less modernized world.   And though I know I wouldn't want to be cut off from all of it forever, having that unexpected day of true simplicity wasn't merely tolerable, but actually rather nice.  And I'm sure that the next time the power goes out, I won't grumble.  Instead, I'll just let myself bask in the peace.

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to live in the 18th or 19th century?

Would having to wear a tightly-laced corset be a deal breaker, or would you love to dress in the frilly fashions of another time?

What would be the worst thing about it?  The best?

For me, I think the lack of running water would likely send me screaming into the night eventually, but how about you?

The Allure of the Romance Novel

All anyone has to do is peek over at the list of authors on the side panel to see that when it comes to reading, I am currently a fan of the romance genre.  With the possible exception of Diana Gabaldon, whose epic Outlander series somewhat defies any true categorization, all of the talented women listed are romance novelists.

There was a time when I had little interest in even picking up a romance novel.  In the past, I've tended more toward mysteries and thrillers and general popular fiction.  Stephen King, Dean Koontz, John Grisham...you get the idea.  They are still prolific, talented writers I admire, but I no longer seek out their novels as I used to.

While I still consider Stephen King an amazing, one-of-a-kind author, I find I no longer want to spend any extra time considering "the dark side" of life.  No more of King's rabid dogs and murderous sewer clowns, Koontz's lab experiments gone horrifically wrong, or Grisham's lawyers running for their lives.  The daily news has enough of the horror and fear; it seems I can't bring myself to seek it out as entertainment.

Ah, but then there's the romance novel.  Especially the historicals.  With these, I can truly escape to another time and place, one that doesn't hold quite so many echoes of the world we now live in.  The inhabitants of that historical romance world dress better, behave better, and appreciate the world around them and the people in it.  They live more simply, gathering together to read a book or listen to a concert in a neighbor's drawing room.  They hold house parties and balls and interact with the utmost civility and good manners.  Children are respectful of adults, men strive to be gentlemen, and hard work is both expected and pursued.  In the historical romance world, there are no televisions, iPods or cell phones.  When people are together, they have actual conversations; they don't walk along texting other people, ignoring the person beside them.  They appreciate the company of others. 

Naturally, a good portion of the allure of the romance novel is the romance itself.  Who doesn't love love, after all?  Who doesn't always hope for happy endings?  And with a romance novel, there will always, always be one. It's pretty much guaranteed.  And despite what some believe about the sex in romance novels, while they may vary in intensity from mildly steamy to erotic, in my experience they are almost invariably written with sensitivity and with the goal of conveying the natural progression of love.

Of course, the characters in romance novels are not perfect. There are always conflicts and misunderstandings, arguments and sometimes danger.  But these are inevitably worked out or overcome, and the villains receive their comeuppance while the heroes and heroines discover love and begin their Happily Ever After.  And these days, I would much rather set aside the endless stories of crime and unhappiness, and choose instead to remind myself of the possibilities of love and hope.