October

The Scottish Prisoner by Diana Gabaldon, 2011

As far as I'm concerned, Diana Gabaldon can basically do no wrong. My list of favorite literary characters essentially begins and ends with Jamie Fraser, and the Outlander series is as near and dear to my heart as any work of literature I've ever experienced. I wasn't absolutely blown away by the first novel in the Lord John spin-off series, but it was still a great read. For a Gabaldon worshipper like me, then, The Scottish Prisoner is a magnificent little gift, like finding an elegantly wrapped box of chocolates in a broom closet. It's not the next Outlander novel – that's An Echo in the Bone, which is still on my shelf waiting to be devoured. No, Prisoner is a hybrid novel, straddling both series, starring both Jamie and Lord John in an all-new adventure.

It's 1760, many years after the end of the Highland Uprising, and Jamie Fraser is still basically a prisoner of the English, working on parole as a groom on a horse farm. Jamie's life is both complicated and enriched by the presence of his illegitimate son, Willie, being raised as the heir to the Dunsany title. Meanwhile, Lord John Grey comes into possession of a packet of documents accusing a senior military officer of corruption and treason. Lord John enlists Jamie's help in translating a mysterious poem that hints at a full-scale Jacobite conspiracy, and the two are soon reluctant traveling companions on a journey to the muddy and dangerous land of Ireland, where murder, treachery, and dark plots await them.

The Scottish Prisoner is interesting in part because it's incredibly inessential. There's no crucial, plot-y reason for it to exist at all. It takes place in a small gap in the Outlander timeline already covered in Voyager, so nothing terribly important occurs, either in the story or in the character development. It's a novel that exists simply because Jamie and Lord John are two incredible characters, and their fans would hungrily read a novel in which they went to the grocery store together. Gabaldon is an absolute genius at piling layers upon layers of development on these two men while still keeping them consistent and recognizable. The Jamie Fraser we see in this novel (angry, bitter, still mourning the loss of his wife) is very different from the man we see in, say, The Fiery Cross, but that's because the progression of these characters is so logical and so painstakingly real. This Jamie is sad and worn down by life, but he's also not without hope, and the way Gabaldon depicts that is a master class in character.

It's the tenuous, burgeoning friendship between Jamie and Lord John that forms the heart of Prisoner, a friendship that's strained by their conflicting national loyalties and polar-opposite personalities, not to mention the fact that Grey is still in love with Jamie. It's a testament to Gabaldon's immense skill that she's able make the relationship even work at all, let alone make it leap off the page the way she does. The way these two men navigate the unimaginable gulfs between them – personal, political, cultural, sexual – and still manage to find mutual respect and affection is incredible. I can't imagine a newcomer to the series would understand their relationship at all; it takes knowledge of both their shared past and their shared future to properly put together the mosaic. It's an unbelievably rich tapestry of storytelling that gains even more dimension when Gabaldon uses the relationship between John and Jamie to explore the turbulent connection between England and Scotland. This is what psychologically compelling historical fiction should look like, people.

The problem with The Scottish Prisoner is that, as a hybrid novel, it's neither a slim historical mystery like the other Lord John books nor a vast, sweeping family saga like the other Outlander books. Prisoner doesn't really have an easy label or a clear structure, and since it clocks in at over five hundred pages, this leads to a somewhat sleepy, erratic pace, full of meandering subplots and lots of beating around the bush. And that's fine! Gabaldon has never been a writer who gets right to the point; it's one of the things I love and adore about her work. The side stories and little discursions are part of the fun. It does make sections of the book a slog, though, and I never managed to work up much sustained interest in the plot.

Short-term plotting has long been a weakness for Gabaldon, as it is here; every time the mystery seems about to go in an interesting direction or a bit of tension is introduced, it's quickly undercut. There's a neat twist late in the novel, and a nifty action scene or two (Gabaldon's depiction of a critical duel is as breathless and sensate a portrayal as you'd expect), but you never get a cathartic moment of "Ah-ha!" and the central conspiracy is dealt with off-screen with a minimum of fuss. Gabaldon's portrait of the desperate, ragged Jacobites hanging all of their hopes on a crazy scheme is haunting and affecting, though, especially when Jamie sides against them with the English. It's just too bad that there isn't a little more suspense to the storytelling, and some tougher editing.

None of this is really all that much of a problem, though, since the plot is just a slender frame on which to hang the real meat of the story, which is the two main characters interacting against a beautifully realized historical backdrop with some dollops of action and a spine-tingling dash of the paranormal. Nobody does that combo better than Gabaldon, and even if The Scottish Prisoner isn't her best work, it's still a totally worthy addition to the ever-growing Outlander cycle.

A Breath of Snow and Ashes by Diana Gabaldon

A Breath of Snow and Ashes by Diana Gabaldon, 2005

Diana Gabaldon is unchallenged by any other author when it comes to the things she does well. Her ability to connect readers to her characters, and to create a completely convincing and vivid world, is staggering. There are few pieces of literature as emotionally convincing or as utterly involving as the Outlander saga at its best.

The fifth book, The Fiery Cross, was the first disappointing entry in a series that had previously only topped itself. Book six, the even heftier A Breath of Snow and Ashes, is a return to form for Gabaldon. Cross's main faults--a slow pace, meandering plot lines, repetitive scenes, editorial mistakes--are mostly absent from Breath, which is about as tightly plotted as a 1,000 page romantic/historical/fantasy epic can be.

It's 1772, and the American Revolution is right around the corner. Jamie and Claire Fraser know what's coming and that they have to throw their lot in with the rebels, but the trick is how to do it when the backwoods of North Carolina are seething with violence and political discord, and the smallest move could set off a firestorm. Perhaps most troubling, a newspaper clipping from the future prophesies a violent death by fire for the entire Fraser clan.

Unlike the rather sluggish Cross, Breath seems determined to keep things moving--indeed, it sometimes seems like Gabaldon is intent on dismantling the Frasers' hard-earned sense of security, piece by piece. Over the course of the novel, half of the recurring cast is either killed or scattered to the wind, and the ending--rather abruptly-- features another seismic change in the series' direction.

Like all of the books in the series (but particularly the last few), Breath has many interlocking subplots and rambling dicursions. While this rather unconventional narrative technique sometimes becomes a little bit tedious, it paints a wider and more fully realized universe. Seeing what happens in the little nooks and crannies of Gabaldon's world increases the feeling of intimacy and reality.

Her four main characters are by now so fully developed and multi-faceted. It's pretty damn impressive that we can still find out new and interesting things about Jamie and Claire after so many volumes of emotional upheaval. The hold these characters have on my mind is borderline creepy. We've seen Gabaldon build them with care since the very first book. It's amazing to think about how much they've changed and grown, while still remaining true to who they were in their early twenties.

Roger and Brianna have likewise matured immeasurably. In this volume, Roger struggles with his calling to become a minister, while Brianna--well, Brianna is still the least-featured of the quartet, which isn't particularly fair, since she's as intriguing a character as Roger is. A key action that she takes late in the novel immediately made it onto my list of favorite-ever scenes from the series.

And how amazing is Ian's journey in this book (this entire review could just devolve into gushing about all the characters I love)? His spiritual struggle after returning from the Mohawk's village is vintage Gabaldon; she's always in her element when tormenting her characters in some way. The Tom Christie storyline is another fantastic example of this.

Thank goodness, there are no extended sequences like Cross's Scottish Gathering or Jocasta's wedding. There's also more action, both in terms of adventure and conflict, and in terms of several huge milestones reached in the long journey to the Revolution. As always, Gabaldon pulls back the curtain on a fascinating and little-known period of history. She expertly captures the turmoil and uncertainty of the years leading up to the war. Few authors are capable of immersing their readers in a time and a place like Diana Gabaldon.

The juxtaposition of the actual history and the time-traveling recollections of the future makes for an even more layered, nuanced approach to historical fiction. The time-travelers in the cast (Claire, Roger and Brianna) discuss the morality of war, the difficult situation with the Indians, the possibility that they might change the past. Brianna even tries to give the Ridge running water, and in one moving, funny scene, tries to explain the concept of Disney World to her eighteenth-century father:

"And you'd hear music everywhere, all the time," she said, smiling. "Bands--groups of musicians playing instruments, horns and drums and things-- would march up and down the streets, and play in pavilions. . . ."

"Aye, that happens in amusement parks. Or it did, the once I was in one." She could hear a smile in his voice, as well.

"Mmm-hmm. And there are cartoon characters--I told you about cartoons--walking around. You can go up and shake hands with Mickey Mouse, or--"

"With what?"

"Mickey Mouse." She laughed. "A big mouse, life-size--human-size, I mean. He wears gloves."

"A giant rat?" he said, sounding slightly stunned. "And they take the weans to play with it?"

"Not a rat, a mouse," she corrected him. "And it's really a person dressed up as a mouse."

"Oh, aye?" he said, not sounding terribly reassured. --- (page 449)

If Gabaldon has a flaw as a writer, it's a tendency to repeat herself and the slightly jumbled order of her novels. She writes individual scenes and then patches them together, and it shows. Two similar chapters might be right in a row, or an important detail may be skipped over entirely. For devoted fans who are used to this quirk, it's little more than a slight irritant.

And believe me, the reward is worth it. The Outlander saga has been tremendously enjoyable since its first page and even after six mammoth books (all of which range from eight hundred to a thousand pages), I haven't tired of the characters or their world. A Breath of Snow and Ashes doesn't feel like set-up for the End. By the end it feels like a new beginning. And if there are six more, I'll be only be too happy to continue being lost in Diana Gabaldon's web of words.

NEXT UP: Suzanne Collins' smash-hit The Hunger Games.

Lord John and the Private Matter by Diana Gabaldon

Lord John and the Private Matter by Diana Gabaldon, 2003

I've written at length on this blog about Diana Gabaldon's Outlander series, an incredible blend of historical fiction, fantasy, adventure and romance. There aren't many authors that I enjoy as much as Gabaldon--or series that I enjoy as much as the Outlander books--so reading the Lord John Grey series, an Outlander spinoff, was a no-brainer.

Lord John Grey is a minor character in the Outlander novels, although popular with fans. A British officer with a hidden sexual orientation and an unrequited passion for Jamie Fraser, Grey is a constant presence in the main series, and one I've always enjoyed. His spinoff series, unlike the main Outlander books, is focused more on mystery and crime than romance, with Grey in the role of eighteenth-century detective.

In Private Matter (which takes place roughly during the events of the main series' third volume Voyager), Lord John finds himself entangled in two seemingly separate mysteries. On the one hand, the Army has assigned him to the case of a suspected spy's brutal murder. On the other, he finds himself forced to investigate his cousin's fiance, who he thinks is cheating on her. Little does he suspect that his two problems may be one and the same.

Gabaldon's signature is usually the enormous scope of her work, but with this novel, she demonstrates her ability to work within a smaller canvas, which she does admirably, while still providing readers with the wealth of tactile detail that is her trademark.

As a whole, I enjoyed the novel more on its own merits as a standalone historical mystery than as another piece of the Outlander saga. Despite a few small references to Jamie and Claire Fraser (and, of course, the presence of Lord John), Private Matter feels very much like its own animal. I doubt that many unenlightened readers would be aware that it was a spinoff at all.

Of course, for those in the know, it's easy to recognize Gabaldon behind Lord John's narration. There's the effortless evocation of the time period, the colorful characters and, natch, the endless sex (readers will learn far more about eighteenth-century brothels, both heterosexual and otherwise, than they ever wanted to know). Gabaldon seamlessly mixes the historical setting with her own quick wit, which helps lighten up the novel significantly:

"On the other hand, whoever stamped on his face didn't like him much," Tom completed the thought shrewdly. "That was no accident, me lord."

"No, it wasn't," Grey agreed dryly. "That was done after death, not in the frenzy of the moment."

Tom's eyes went quite round.

"However do you know that? Me lord," he added hastily.

"You looked closely at the heelprint? Several of the nailheads had broken through the skin, and yet there was no blood extravasated."

Tom gave him a look of mingled bewilderment and suspicion, obviously suspecting Grey had made up the word upon the moment for the express purpose of tormenting him, but merely said, "Oh?"---(page 60)

The novel's setting and characters are completely top-notch, as I would expect from Gabaldon. Even the most minor details are just right, from the smells of the streets to the the textures of various fabrics. Her characters, as always, are rich, poignant and vivid. Lord John is an interesting protagonist with a lot of intriguing inner conflict; I can certainly understand why the series is centered around him.

The actual plot is a little weaker. It starts out very strongly, but ends with a whimper rather than a bang. Gabaldon is good at keeping the story engaging; her problem is making it all fit together in a satisfying way. By the end, the tangle is so ridiculously complicated that it feels like a bit of a cheat and there's no decisive climax.

Good mysteries are hard to write and they require at least one "Ah-ha!" moment during the unraveling, a moment that Private Matter sadly lacks. Not to say that the solution doesn't make sense, it's just not too satisfying.

Still, the book is extremely likable and entertaining, if not earth-shatteringly good. Gabaldon's writing habits tend to be slapdash and it shows. Had the plotting been streamlined a bit, Private Matter could have been an excellent novel rather than just a fun historical mystery. For ravenous Outlander fans, it's a tempting morsel. For mystery fans, it's a diverting read. And hey, any book that can combine transvestite prostitutes, bizarre cures for syphilis, military spycraft and a flamboyant German with a plumed helmet can't be all bad.

NEXT UP: Possibly The Brothers Karamazov. Possibly the next Julia Spencer-Fleming novel, I Shall Not Want. Hmmm. Which do you think I'll finish first?

The Fiery Cross by Diana Gabaldon

The Fiery Cross by Diana Gabaldon, 2005

The Outlander saga clocked in at around 4000 pages by the end of the fourth volume, Drums of Autumn. The series is a truly scale-breaking story, one so complicated and intertwined that even the most faithful fans will need to check Gabaldon's companion volume or website from time to time while reading The Fiery Cross, the massive fifth chapter of the sprawling cycle.

The sheer size of the Outlander books is simultaneously a positive and a negative thing. It's positive because there's so much room to develop the characters that I love, and a negative thing because the sheer scope allows more room for authorial slip-ups.

Unfortunately, The Fiery Cross is the first Outlander novel to feel truly marred by those mistakes and missteps. It's a book that switches constantly from engrossing to dry, from utterly original to disappointingly formulaic. It's a 1000-page mess of a book, really.

When we last left the time-traveling Fraser clan, they were cozily ensconced on their North Carolina homestead in 1771. After more than twenty years of adventure, separation and loss, the family is finally together.

But Claire, Brianna and Roger have brought knowledge with them from the future: knowledge of the impending American Revolution, a bloody conflict whose seeds are being sown even as the Frasers struggle to survive in the hostile wilderness.

This being a Diana Gabaldon novel, there's also a couple of gruesome surgeries, a mystical ghost-bear, a couple of battles, a cache of mysterious treasure, murder, contested paternity, potty-training and many, many sex scenes.

It's hard to imagine how a book with this much story crammed into it could be slow, but Gabaldon manages it. The plot is-- well, there really isn't one. There are many subplots and sub-subplots and a great deal of drama, but the novel really feels more like an eighteenth-century slice of life than anything else.

The previous volumes were all incredibly busy epics in which the overarching story was affected in every chapter. In The Fiery Cross the status remains quo throughout. The Frasers are in more or less the same situation at both the beginning and end of the book.

There are more problems, too. The book definitely seems like it was incompetently edited. Redundant scenes, purple prose, awkward sentences, unnecessary interludes, continuity errors and recycled pieces of prose pop up throughout. Especially annoying are the turns of phrase (such as "comically blank" and "pleasantly muzzy") that are repeated over and over. A firm editorial hand could have fixed many of the book's most egregious errors.

Some segments are downright painful to wade through: the 160+ page beginning, which takes place entirely at a huge gathering of American Scots, is a punishing read. Proceedings move at a snail's pace, killing the book's momentum before it even gets started. It's an outrageously miscalculated opening for the book.

And the sex. There are so many scenes of sex between the two main couples that it seems to be a writing crutch for Gabaldon. It happens far too often and is far too lavishly described. There can be no doubt that Gabaldon is a pretty terrific romance writer, but she should realize that her preoccupation with sexuality sometimes gets in the way of the story.

It may seem like I'm being hard on the novel, but I only criticize it because I love the series and the characters so much. Gabaldon is capable of a special kind of brilliance and it's too bad to see that the overall novel is a bit of disappointment.

There's a great deal to love, though. When she's at her peak, Gabaldon can run rings around lesser writers. She has a fantastic understanding of history, and an even better understanding of human beings.

In Jamie and Claire, she has created two of the finest characters I've ever read about. The longtime reader has an enormous history with them. They're both in their early fifties now, but we've watched them progress since they were in their twenties. Gabaldon continues to deepen them throughout Cross. The chapter in which they share their frustrations over past lovers is a prime example of the kind of character development Gabaldon is capable of:

We closed the barn door and walked back to the house in silence, hand in hand.

"Claire," he said suddenly, sounding like a little shy.

"Yes?"

"I dinna mean to excuse myself--not at all. It's only I was wondering. . . do ye ever. . . think of Frank? When we. . ." He stopped and cleared his throat. "Does the shadow of the Englishman perhaps cross my face-- now and then?"

And what on earth could I say to that? I couldn't lie, surely, but how could I say the truth, either, in a way he would understand, that wouldn't hurt him?

I drew a deep breath and let it out, watching the mist of it purl softly away.

"I don't want to make love to a ghost," I said at last, firmly. "And I don't think you do, either. But I suppose every now and then a ghost might have other ideas."

He made a small sound that was mostly a laugh.

"Aye," he said. "I suppose they might. I wonder if Laoghaire would like the Englishman's bed better than mine?"

"Serve her right if she did," I said. "But if you like mine, I suggest you come and get back into it. It's bloody cold out here."--- (page 877)

Roger also got a lot of attention in The Fiery Cross. Indeed, his narration is threatening to overtake Claire's, while Jamie and Brianna only narrate brief segments.

I do like Roger, who is definitely Gabaldon's favorite punching bag (kidnapped and tortured by Indians in Drums, he gets hung and left for dead in this installment, prompting Claire to perform emergency throat surgery). His developing relationship with Jamie is wonderfully handled by Gabaldon, who draws subtle parallels between Roger's growing attachment to Jamie and the loss of his own father when he was small.

Brianna is still the most one-dimensional of the four main characters, and this volume gives her little room to shine. She's endearing and likable, but not as real to me as Jamie, Claire or Roger. Maybe Book 6 will give her more screen-time and more development.

The book's middle is definitely saggy, but Cross picks up a lot during the final pages, giving the characters a huge amount of new information on time-travel and bringing back Ian, one of my favorite characters in the series.

A few big questions remain unanswered. Why did Ian leave the Mohawk village? Who fondled Claire during the night at River Run? Can the Frasers jump-start the Revolution? What about the newspaper clipping reporting their deaths by fire? Is Jemmy Roger's or Stephen Bonnet's (my prediction: Bonnet)? Gabaldon definitely does a bang-up job of leaving you hungry for more.

Ultimately, The Fiery Cross feels like the first placeholder in the Outlander series and the first time that Gabaldon has really seemed to be struggling a bit.

Does that mean that it's a bad book? Good God, no. It's sometimes infuriating, sometimes disappointing, but it's also a rich immersion in Gabaldon's world, a place that feels real enough to touch, with characters more complex and rounded than just about any you're likely to find. Gabaldon is still capable of fairly staggering feats of writing. I just hope she tightens the plot in her next entry. And finds a new editor.

NEXT UP: Elmore Leonard's LaBrava