I reluctantly admit that my lack of writing lately has nothing to do with how busy I’ve been as of late, for I’ve no been working or cleaning my house. Instead I’ve been enjoying some free time after the holidays, I’ve been re-reading my Outlander series of novels by Diana Gabaldon, and if you aren’t familiar with the books I’m afraid that I can’t write anything here to describe them for nothing I write will do justice to them, and I’d be worried that something I wrote would make them sound not quite as good as they truly are.
A woman transported from the end of World War II through standing stones back to the times of Culloden and Bonnie Prince Charlie and the Jacobite uprising, it’s full of highland brutality, superstitions and Gabaldon weaves a lovely tapestry that captures the little bits that make you truly feel teleported to that rough and wild time. There is romance, what woman couldn’t fall madly in love with a fiery headed, savage of the highlands? There is lust, there is carnal knowledge of such intimacy and such violence that it could make you weep and swoon all in a single passage.
I truly love the stories of the barbaric warrior Jamie Fraser and his loving wife Claire, a woman of extraordinary healing talents, mostly because of the fact that she comes from a time of penicillin and knowledge of germs and bacteria, so how can she not be a healer of repute when she can save a limb just by washing her hands and bathing the wounded area with alcohol before even touching the area, when all other healers are still applying leeches and hoping that will cure the ills of their patients.
No, I haven’t been writing lately because the words on the pages before my eyes have me transfixed in a place in a place in time where the brutal and the beautiful collide and sometimes I think to myself that I truly don’t ever want to return from that place.
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