SEX
Every now and then—roughly once every two years—I get a letter from someone objecting to the sexual content of the novels. These letters are invariably polite; their objection is usually based on the theory that Great Literature does not include sex scenes. Since they are kind enough to consider my books as otherwise qualifying for this classification, they feel that the inclusion of sexual encounters lowers the tone of the work, and is thus to my artistic detriment.
While I do appreciate the care for my literary reputation reflected by these letters, I must respectfully disagree on the place of sex in the novels. There are a great many reasons why an author may choose to include explicit depictions of sex; the least worthy is of course to provide titillation to the reader—and I suspect some of my correspondents feel that this is the only possible reason for including such material.
It’s not, though. Human beings being what they are, an interest in sex is hardwired into the genetic machinery, and thus lies behind a great deal of human behavior, whether it’s explicitly recognized or not.2
Given that one level of the novels is devoted to an exploration of the nature of love and marriage, it seems to me that some reference to sex is likely desirable. That is, there may possibly have been devoted asexual marriages in history, but that isn’t how it usually works. And if one is interested in what does work between two people, I think that the sexual aspects of their relationship are certainly a legitimate concern.
While I’m happy to hear that these readers think so highly of my efforts otherwise, I really do think the scenes involving sex are a necessity to this particular story, whatever one feels the requirements of Great Literature to be.
To avoid giving a false impression, I should perhaps emphasize here that I get a very small number of controversial letters, overall. So far as I can recall, I’ve had perhaps three (out of ten thousand or so) objecting to the sexual content. On the other hand, I’ve had roughly three hundred letters asking for more sexual content—but not being either a television network or a politician, I’m afraid I don’t respond to preference polls.
FOUL LANGUAGE—“THE F-WORD”
After wife-beating (see p. 401), the most common objection I encounter among letter writers (roughly twenty letters, so far) is to “foul language,” or blasphemy—”taking the Lord’s name in vain,” as my correspondents put it, though in fact they are often concerned with language that is merely vulgar, rather than truly profane.3
A nice woman in her seventies (I know how old she was, because she announced that she had been born in 1925) came up to me at a signing once, and after the usual sort of conversation, in which she said how much she enjoyed all the books, confided that she had been just a little disappointed in Drums, because of my use of “the F-word.”
I didn’t point out that I had used the same word in Outlander, Dragonfly, and Voyager, where it evidently hadn’t troubled her in the least. I did, however, say that I felt the use of that particular word was appropriate in the spot where I used it—i.e., that a young man of Roger Wakefield’s age and background, in the late 1960s, would have been inclined to use that expression in the particularly stressful situation in which he found himself [Drums, chapter 18, “Unseemly Lust”].
The lady frowned and said that she had been born in 1925, and she never used such language. I bit the inside of my mouth and politely replied that I’d been born in 1952, and I didn’t use that sort of language, either—but Roger does.
In point of fact, as the result of a conservative upbringing, and an early education acquired in a Catholic elementary school, I am completely unable to swear. I might say “Damn!” under extreme provocation, but the F-word has never passed my lips in public hearing. It’s therefore quite a relief that Claire has no such inhibitions.
The F-word, however, was not (so far as I can ascertain) nearly so popular in the time in which Claire acquired her habitual colorful expressions as it is now. So while she is given to casual blasphemy “Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!”), she tends not to employ the F-word often (though she does use it now and then, under stress).
NB: The following is a representative sample of the sort of correspondence I sometimes get on this subject.4
From: Doug Toole
To: [email protected] Date: Mon, 2 Jun 1997 18:22:41 EDT Subject: commendation & word question
Dear Diana
The Outlander series is great. I have listened to and read the series several times and find it difficult to wait for you to get another read. Thank you for the series.
Question: The first three books were great without the F-words,5 is it necessary to use these words? I personally feel that the people of that time did not use that word.6 I will continue to read and listen to your books but would rather not have to expose my children to the word when I can prevent. Doug Toole
From: Diana Gabaldon
To: Doug Toole
Date: Fri 06 Jun 97 03:11:29 EDT Subject: commendation & word question
Dear Doug—
If you were reading the books with some attention, you might notice that “the F-word” is _not_ used in “that time” (i.e., by eighteenth century characters). It _was,_ however, used—with what I thought reasonable frequency—both in the 1940s (where Claire learned it, no doubt), and in the 1960s, which is where it occurred in the book Drums of Autumn. Hate to tell you this, but people—especially young men in a rage—did indeed use that there word; I was alive in 1960, and I heard them.
Glad you’ve enjoyed the books otherwise.—Diana
From: Diana Gabaldon
To: Doug Toole
Date: Fri 06 Jun 97 03:11:30 EDT Subject: commendation & word question
P.S. It does occur to me to wonder about your comment about “not exposing your children” to the F-word—how old are your children? If they’re too young to be entirely familiar with that word, I’m afraid they’re a lot too young to be reading my books, and not (by any means) because of the language.
From Doug Toole
To: [email protected] Date: Fri, 6 Jun 1997 07:44:02 EDT Subject: Re: Commendation & word question
Diana,
Thanks for your prompt response. The children or child now is four and loves books either audio or printed. You are right, too young to be reading your book. But we as a family traveling on trips enjoy listening to books, yours included. As an example we just returned from eleven days driving from Seattle to Needles and back. So we are cognizant of the language popping up. We know she will learn the words but would like to keep her virginal as long as possible. No reply is needed unless you would prefer. Once again we enjoy your books and will continue to look forward to them in the future.
From: Diana Gabaldon
To: Doug Toole
Date: Sun 08 Jun 97 04:43:37 EDT Subject: commendation & word ques
Dear Doug—
Well, I have children myself (11, 13, and 15 at the moment), and we try not to expose them to “bad language,” either, in spite of the fact that they all know all the words already (there’s still some point to insisting that these are not suitable for civilized conversation, after all).
The thing is, though—my books are definitely written (and carefully written at that) for adults. When I do use bad language in the books (oddly enough, I never use it, personally; never), it’s because it seems to me to be called for, by the circumstances and character. In the case of the F-word in DRUMS (I did use that same word in all the other books, by the way, though sparingly), it’s used by a young man in the grip of angry (and sexually motivated) passion, in the late 1960s. Given this character, this time period, and this set of circumstances, his language seemed entirely appropriate.
Now, one reason for insisting that bad language not be used in everyday discourse is, of course, that it’s low-class and offensive. One other reason—equally important, in my opinion—is that such language does have its own legitimate purpose; that is, to express feeling that is also beyond the limits of norm
al civilized discourse. To use such words casually deprives them of their impact.
You can see that, in the scene in question in DRUMS. If Roger normally spoke like that, the reader wouldn’t have (what I hope is) the impression of a man driven almost beyond endurance, and holding on to his notions of decent behavior with great effort.
Okay. So, the point is that when I do use strong language, I have a specific reason for doing so. It really doesn’t seem reasonable to me to eradicate such language—chosen and used carefully, to a purpose—on the grounds that someone might someday wish to listen to a taped version of an adult book in the presence of a small child. Hm?
(By the way, I do hope you read the books themselves; owing to abridgment constraints, only about one-fifth of each story is on the audio versions.8)
Cordially,—Diana
From: Doug Toole
To: [email protected]
Date: Sun, 8 Jun 1997 04:58:34 EDT
Subject: Re: commendation & word
question
Diana
The fact that you have heard my concerns puts it to rest, thank you for that personal response. My wife and I will continue to be readers and listeners of your works. We hope that you have many rewards and much happiness in your life.
“TAKING THE LORD’S NAME IN VAIN”
The following is a letter I wrote to an early correspondent in reply to her objection to what she perceived as unnecessary blasphemy. As it stated my position fairly clearly and was well received by my correspondent, I’ve continued to use variants of it in reply to similar complaints, whenever they occur.
December 7, 1993
My dear Mrs. F.:
Thank you so much for your lovely letter. I do try to answer all of my mail9—I love to hear from people who read my books—but it often takes me months, since there is rather a lot of mail, and my husband and editor tend to object strongly to my writing letters when they think I ought to be writing books!
Still, I thought I would snatch a moment to respond to your letter, today being slightly less busy than usual.
I’m happy that you appreciate the research and the quantity of detail that goes into these books; it is a great deal of work, but I do enjoy the research very much, as well as the embodiment of detail in the story. And, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, it is in great part this use of detail that gives the books their sense of immediacy—of the reader “being there,” so to speak.
What I would like to observe, though, is that this concern with accuracy and detail extends as much to the language of the characters as it does to the physical details described in the book. I appreciate your concern over the use of profanity and vulgar expressions; I am myself an observant Roman Catholic, and—owing to having been raised in a Catholic home, and gone to parochial school throughout my formative years—I don’t use any form of such language myself.
However, I have read a great many documents composed in the eighteenth century—and earlier—comprising correspondence, journalistic accounts, essays, and fiction of the period. I have an extensive collection of dictionaries, dealing with Scots, Gaelic, idiomatic French, and historical English slang, which I consult while writing. Such terms (including what my children refer to as “the s-h word”) have been in use—and the common use of them deplored by moral writers—for a very long time indeed. If I could unearth it from the huge piles of material in my study, I would send you an extract from an essay written in the Middle Ages by St. Jerome (of Vulgate Bible fame), in which the writer strongly deplores the common use of profanity and vulgarity, and laments the undoubted corruptive effect of such language upon society.
In addition, owing to the oddness of my previous careers—I was a professional ecologist (I was a university professor for twelve years, prior to the publication of Dragonfly in Amber), an “expert” in scientific computation, and a marine biologist—I tended to work in environments where most of my colleagues were men, ages 20 to 45. And the unfortunate truth is that men do talk that way.10
The casual use of profanity and vulgarity is much less apparent in mixed situations—and women in groups tend to do it much less frequently—but it is a common pattern of speech in male groups. There seems to be no real intent of disrespect to the Almighty or offense to one’s companions; it’s simply a common and accepted manner of speech. This is particularly true in military situations, and—so far as I can ascertain from my reading of World War I and World War II documents, as well as the private journals of earlier combatants—it has always been the case.
This being so, I do feel that depicting speech as it is or was commonly practiced is merely part and parcel of the commitment to historical realism that is the job of a historical novelist—not a condonement or encouragement of improper speech, but simply the best approximation possible of what persons in such a situation might actually have said. You will have observed, I hope, that people in mixed groups, in family settings, or in groups of women in my books do not use any such language. But men—particularly on the battlefield or in casual work—definitely do.
In other words, while I hope the existence of such dialogue will not impair your enjoyment of my books, I don’t mean to stop doing it. The use of such expressions is not the result of carelessness or of my own personal preference in usage, but a conscious inclusion—as much a meticulous detail as the description of house furnishings or wardrobe.
I am delighted that the books have brought you pleasure in other respects, particularly the relationship between Jamie and Claire. Speaking of the books, I really must go and write some more, so I trust you will excuse my stopping here. Again, thank you so much for writing, and I trust you will enjoy the next two books. And have a good time on your trip to Scotland!
Best wishes, Diana Gabaldon
HOMOSEXUALITY
Among the occasional controversies, I find that the topic of homosexuality arises now and then. A few readers dislike any reference to homosexuality and simply object to the inclusion of any gay character “I don’t want to see Jamie kiss any more men!” as one letter writer sternly adjured me). That is, of course, their personal preference, but really has nothing to do with either the books or the characters.
I do, however, get a few letters objecting to what the reader sees as my “negative portrayal of homosexuals”—usually with reference to the character of Black Jack Randall.
Black Jack Randall
Well, one swallow does not a summer make, and one pervert scarcely condemns an entire segment of the sexual populace. Black Jack Randall is who he is—an individual—and he fulfills his fictional purpose in Outlander and Dragonfly in Amber without in any way implying a reprehensible view of gay men as a group.
Also, as I point out to the occasional reader who writes me with this concern11—the fact is that Jack Randall isn’t gay; he’s a pervert (and no, those really aren’t the same thing).
Jack Randall is a sadist; he derives sexual pleasure from hurting people. In Outlander, four separate sexual attacks by Randall are described—two on men, two on women (men: Alexander MacGregor and Jamie Fraser; women: Jenny Murray and Claire Fraser). Clearly, he’s not all that particular about the gender of the person he’s hurting; it’s the pain and the act of domination that turns him on.
At the same time, given the society and situation in which he’s operating—he’s an officer in an occupying army—he’s plainly going to have much greater access to males as potential victims. Early in Outlander, Frank Randall reports that there were instances of “insult—unspecified,” laid to his ancestor’s account, and that these resulted in complaints from the populace [Outlander, page 30 (U.S. paperback edition)]. Evidently, going about the countryside attacking women was a risky pastime; abusing male prisoners (or subordinates) in the confines of an English-run prison would be a good deal safer.
Of course, there’s the possibility that his sadistic side would be especially gratified by the response of males, since they might suffer additional pain or horror as a re
sult of homosexual attack, but I don’t think there’s sufficient evidence in the text to adduce that. On the other hand, one could reasonably assume that a male held in a prison where no one cares what happens to him might be much more severely abused than might a woman whose welfare was to some degree the responsibility of the community, as well as of her own relatives. So, we might reasonably assume that Randall did indeed prefer males—but as the result of their increased vulnerability, rather than as a result of a homosexual orientation.
Alexander MacGregor
A few of the other complaints I see regarding the treatment of homosexuals (virtually all from readers who have only read the first book of the series) are based simply on misinterpretation. Two or three letter writers urged me to consider the possible ill effects of Alexander MacGregor’s suicide on young people struggling with awareness of their sexual orientation—surely I ought not to be suggesting that discovering one is gay is grounds for killing oneself?
Putting aside the larger question of whether it is a novelist’s responsibility to address every possible mental response that every possible reader might have, and handle these in such a way as to maximize the (collectively hypothetical) readers’ self-esteem, in the context of Modern Enlightened Thought,12 the simple fact is that there isn’t the slightest indication anywhere in the text that Alexander MacGregor is gay.
In other words, he didn’t hang himself out of shame at discovering his sexual nature—he hung himself for the much more sensible reason that he couldn’t stand being raped and tortured. Most people would find this distressing, I daresay, no matter what their proclivities.
The Outlandish Companion Page 51