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#its been ages since i had to anxiously await a books release
arachnaesghost · 3 years
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Oh man, so once I finish this book, it's going to be like a year long wait at least until the final book is released how do people deal with this?? Ughhhh
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in the afterlife part two
Summary: can you do a part 2 to the “in the after life” where the reader wakes up after the neibolt’s destroyed and realizes that either she’s back where she died and gets a second chance at life, or that she wakes up outside the house and spend the rest of her life with the losers club?
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God himself must be having a field day laughing at you and all the life decision you made to get to this point. The air surrounding you is so dark and impenetrable it’s almost tangible, eluding you to think you might be in heaven or hell. Then your leg kicks out and rams a broken piece of glass in the flesh, twinging an electrifying pain stab conjugated in the back of your mind, and you think assimilate, oh, it’s been a while since I felt that. You’re obviously not an expert in heaven or hell matters, but you do have enough presence of a mind to understand that pain is not something that supposed to be felt in the afterlife. Not dead in that case.
A dust particle flows in your throat, irritating it so hard you undergo a massive coughing spree to get rid of it. In turn, you bring your hand up to cover up your mouth and knock free a rooftop plate, the tiniest sliver of light worming through the opening.  You stare at the back of your hand integrating the way it looks clearer somehow, more then it did while inside Neibolt, and then mind reelingly come to the conclusion that you just pushed something away. You touched something, and discerned the material of said thing under you hands, and not ghosted through.
Your throat bobs, putting a lid on your enthusiasm because you don’t want to get let down when the inevitable punchline tales. With a firm shove, something else topples over and the sunlight from outside illuminates your face. It’s warm and the sun burns a streak on your face, but the outside air is so fresh and crisp you can’t even focus on that, to busy holding back tears. Sitting up proves to be an effort, but you manage, albeit with a small huff, and then you’re seated on the runes of the old house that held you captive for twenty seven years.
The details surrounding this are a little hazy, worn down by the incredible and emotionally draining changes taking place, but you can see the boy, Bill, and his friends of misfits clear as day, better friend than you’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.
A car zoofs by, and the drives, on older male, leans in their seat to stare at you for as long as they can, judging you, but never slowing down or stopping to offer up any kind of help. The man disposed of a can of soda out his window, ricocheting against the pathway and luring your attention there.
It looks appealing, but a snide of apprehensiveness holds you back. You’ve tried to leave the house multiple times, but each time had ended with a hand grissing your leg and prise you back inside like you weight nothing, Pennywise savoring the wails of despair.
But you’d never been able to flick anything before either, and with Pennywise dead, who knew the possibilities that laid ahead of you?
Hesitantly, the tips of your toes cross the curb, your breath lodging in your throat as anxiousness compels you to step back equally as hurried. No hand grasps you back into the house, not that there is one to go back to, and no pain shocks prickle every nerve in your body, so you try again, propping your whole foot across this time. A halted breath releases at the painless sensations swooping your body, and gathering all courage, your swing your body to the other side.
You let out a punched out laugh, giddy that you’re no longer bound, hysterically laughing because if you don’t you’ll start crying. ‘I’m free.’
When the adrenaline and the utter amazements wears off, you’re left standing in front of a collapsed, the house no longer of any value to you but a place you’ll avoid for the rest of your days. You have no idea what to do next, it’s been twenty-seven years, you can’t out of bleu show up at your parents doorstep, if they even still live there, how would you explain where you’ve been for so long? And the lack of passing time?
No matter the answer to that question, you decide to set track to your old home regardless, the sight of the silhouette will be enough.
You’re walking with a noticeable limp, tracking the leg the glass stabbed you with behind like a cripple, and your clothes are covered in rubbish and are outdated, yet no one in Derry regards you twice, just turn up their nose when you pass them on the streets.
‘Fuck this town, and fuck these miserable people.’
The cursing of the town works you up so bad you’re lost in engulfing yourself in the new things renovating Derry, an arcade coating the old skaters rink you abolished every day, and mister Keens pharmacy updated with a new layer of white paint. Your own home, close to the pharmacy, is one of the many buildings renewed, so completely unrecognizable you doubt for a second if this truly is the house you grew up in.
‘Hey? A-a-aren’t you the girl f-f-from Its layer?’ Bill’s sauntering on the street, trailing his bike with him but not riding it, staring at you from afar. He’s cleaned up, washed away the grime from the sewer water and the red around his eyes has faded away, but it’s definitely the leader of the losers club. Bill speaks softly, as to not attract any more attention than necessary, which is stupid, since no one in Derry cares for anything but themselves.
‘I- yeah I am, my names Y/N, by the way,’ you walk on over to him, nodding your head and coming ot a stop a few feet from him.
‘H-h-how did you get here?’
‘I don’t know, I guess when’, a person passes and you fall silent, starting back up when she’s gone. ‘When Pennywise died I got set free.’
‘You’re h-h-hurt’, Bill observes, glancing at the injure you obtained. Strangely, you’re not bothered by it at all, you like the sting of it, proving that you can actually feel things again now.  
‘If you w-w-want, you can come with me to our c-c-clubhouse? My friends are on their way and they’ll h-h-help us.’
Your house being demolished carves room for a nagging feeling, a feeling that tells you don’t belong anywhere anymore, and you have many places to be now anyway, so you agree. Hopping on the carrier of Bills bike, you swoop your legs up and enjoy the inkling of movement ripped away from all those years for a stupid mistake you made.
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The clubhouse is bigger than you imagined, and is filled with life. The others haven’t arrived yet, but based on the poster and gadgets scattered all over the place, it’s obvious they have a lot of personality to share.
You meddle with everything, savoring the textures of different objects and in turn accidently knocking some things over. You smile sheepishly at Bill as an apology, but he doesn’t respond and simply watches you as you go on. At one point, a splinter sticks in your thumb, and like a toddler you show it to him.
The latch unlocks and the other losers all stream in to take their place in the cottage, halting as they spot you.
‘Holy shit,’ Richie, Bill told you all their names before they arrived, says fidgeting with his glasses.  
‘I f-f-found her on t-t-the streets w-w-wondering around, she n-n-needs our h-h-help.’ What their leader proclaims is what happens, and they all scramble to help you as fast as possible.
Eddie disinfects your wounds, Ben, Mike and Stan go digging for books on the subject matter, Bill and Richie distracts you from the ache, and Beverly retrieves clothes that allow you to blend in perfectly.
They’re all very sweet and considerate, attending to you and being friendly while they’re at it, kinder than your best friends at the time had been towards you.
‘You got a second chance in life, it’s a miracle’, Mike concludes after the last book on his stack in cleared.
‘That’s really cool actually. What do you plan on doing with your new found freedom?’
And endless sea of possibilities with waves drowning you and fluctuating you up awaits in the unknow stage of life, but it’s intimidating to start that life with no one behind your back to support you.
‘I don’t know yet. I had a plan before I died but I’m not sure I’m going to pursue that now. In all honesty I have no idea what to do.’
‘Here’s a glorious idea from the smartest kid in the room, your height is the same as ours, you could totally fucking pass as a twelve year old.’
Eddie snorts, the fizz bubbling out his nose, all the while shrieking.
‘Hey, come to think of it, maybe you and Eds should pretend to be siblings, you’re both small for your ages.’
Eddie’s laughter dies out in hurdles, and when he’s done he raises and eyebrow to dare Richie to say anything else. ‘That’s not fucking funny.’
‘You were laughing before though’, Richie proudly answers, his smile positively beaming.
‘I can’t be a twelve year old. I flat out refuse to go through high school again, no thank you’, you shiver, the memories of highs school horrific.’
‘J-j-just stay h-h-here until you f-f-figure it o-o-out then.’
‘Finally, a true genius talking.’ Richie flips Stan off at his words, sticking out his tongue for good measure.
‘Really? You would let me do that?’
‘Well, us losers got to stick together.’
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tanadrin · 5 years
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I’m reading One Long Night, because the interview with Andrea Pitzer on Chris Hayes’ podcast was so interesting; and the book does not disappoint, though the subject matter is in equal measures depressing and infuriating. I want to talk about it at length when I’m through with it, but I was particularly struck today by her discussion of the Soviet gulags and how concentration camps arose in Germany, and how they marked a transition away from how concentration camps had been used before then.
The background is this: the concentration camp as we know it is only a little more than a century old. The individual kinds of violence that all inform the modern concentration camp have plenty of predecessors, some as old as time: internal deportations, native reservations, forced expulsions, detention without trial. But prior to the modern era, the characteristic feature of a concentration camp--the long-term detention of large numbers of civilians not convicted of any crime--would have been prohibitively expensive in manpower and effort. Two major technological innovations altered that calculus, Pitzer argues: the automatic gun and barbed wire. Those two devices permit a small number of guards to contain a much larger number of people; all that was needed was the will to do so.
The concentration camp as we know it was invented during Cuba’s struggle for independence; the advantages enjoyed by the rebels meant that Spain struggled to clear them out of the countryside, and the general in charge of Cuba, Arsenio Martinez Campos, noted that the only way to win the war would be to relocate basically the entire rural population of the island to Spanish-held towns to cut off the rebels’ base of support and prevent them from hiding among the rest of the population. And this he refused to do, considering it unthinkable under the rules of warfare. So Spain replaced him, and his successor, Valeriano Weyler, was all too happy to attempt what Campos would not. The resulting atrocities--including starvation and the spread of disease--were one of the things that spurred the American public to support war with Spain shortly thereafter, and while the Maine provided the immediate casus belli, Spanish conduct in Cuba was, in the public’s eyes, just as important a reason for going to war.
What is so bitterly comedic about that justification, though, is that after the war, when the U.S. found itself in possession of former Spanish colonies like Cuba and the Philippines, it found itself struggling against the very same rebels that Spain had failed to suppress; in the Philippines, the military immediately adopted tactics almost identical to the ones the Spanish had used in Cuba; and when during the Boer War in South Africa, the British likewise rounded up both Boer and black civilians in the Boer republics, it could cite the U.S.’s use of concentration camps as a justification for its own. And so on--each subsequent generation of internment drew on the precedent its predecessors had established, and if you wanted to object to (say) the policy of Germany interning all the British in the country at the start of World War I, you had to contend with the fact that they were doing nothing the British hadn’t done a few years before. (Indeed, it was the British internment of enemy aliens specifically that set off reciprocal treatment all over Europe; Pitzer relates the account of one Israel Cohen, a British man, being arrested in Germany and interned at Ruhleben, who, when the police came for him, was told ‘You have only your own Government to thank for this.’)
In fact, World War I is very important--internment of enemy civilians established not only a general precedent in favor of concentration camps in the eyes of the public, but it created the expectation that if you went into a concentration camp, you would come out again. The conditions in these camps were not good by any stretch of the imagination, but they were not as awful as the camps of Cuba, the Philippines, or South Africa, where famine and disease killed thousands. Concentration camps became decoupled from actual battlefield strategy, arising not “out of the local chaos of warfare, but instead represent[ing] a deliberate choice to inject the framework of war into society itself.’ (p. 103)
To this grim precedent, the Soviets added another innovation: the gulag was the first time concentration camps were used in peacetime particularly, and they were integrated into the Soviet state apparatus as a normal part of its justice system. And more than just the semi-punitive labor that, say, German POWs had been forced to perform during the war (and after--Germany had to release the POWs it held when WWI ended, but thousands of Germans continued to be detained long after the war), the Soviets hoped to make gulags profitable to their economy on net. Whatever their original justification, it quickly becomes clear as the labor camp is institutionalized in Soviet society that much of the behavior of the Soviet state around forced labor is shaped by the age-old impulse of conquerers to use conquered peoples to enrich themselves. After Poland was divided with Germany, thousands of Poles were shipped to the gulags and forced to work. And not only was the USSR thus inheriting the system of forced labor that Tsarist Russia had used, it was making it significantly crueler.
The premise of using labor to reeducate problematic citizens to be part of a bright Soviet future gave way to the idea that detainees themselves represented raw materials to be consumed in building that future.
In reality, Frenkel [an administrator at the Solovki camp] did not invent the tiered ration system from scratch. Likewise, the shift from idealized rehabilitation to a more permanent system maximizing forced labor may have been inevitable. Stalin appeared impressed with the possibilities of detainee labor and believed in the profitability of the Solovki endeavor (despite the fact, as Anne Applebaum has noted, that Solovki required a subsidy of 1.6 million rubles--perhaps due to graft). (p. 132)
Under the tsars in previous centuries, Polish insurgents resisting Russian rule or political prisoners convicted for offenses against the tsar were shipped off to remote Siberian katorga, working in mining or logging. Their penal labor had often been brutal, but it had come after conviction in an actual trial. Compared to penal labor under the tsars, Gulag workdays were longer and the rations shorter. A daily quota for earth mined by a single Decembrist prisoner at Nerchinsk under Tsar Nicholas I was 118 pounds; in the Soviet era, the same lone prisoner might be expected to excavate 28,800 pounds. And while tsarist courts had long sentenced political prisoners to labor camps, the Gulag was orders of magnitude larger from its very beginning. The Soviet Union had grafted the worst of Russian penal history onto the extrajudicial detention of internment, creating a vast malignant enterprise. And it would continue to grow. (p.133-34)
The scale of the gulags declines after Stalin’s death, but it never quite disappears.
Neither self-sustaining nor productive in the long run, the system required tremendous resources, and the economic burden of the camps had weighed heavily on the Soviet Union in wartime.
Still, as historian Steven Barnes has pointed out, ‘The Soviet leadership never entertained the notion of dismantling the system.’ The USSR had always had a camp system; its tendrils had grown into agriculture and industry, as well as becoming a key facet of government interactions with citizens. The Gulag was intrinsic to the state itself. (p.155)
And then there’s this passage, about the camp at Solovki, which was almost painful to read:
Prisoners heard from the radio station that [Maxim] Gorky was coming. Detainees could hardly wait for him to tell the world what was happening on Solovki: ‘Gorki will spot everything, find out everything. ... About the logging and the torture on the tree stumps, the sekirka [punishment cells], the hunger, the disease... the sentences without conviction.... The whole lot!’
Before Gorky’s visit, contingents of prisoners were hidden in the forest to lessen evidence of overcrowding. Sick patients were given new gowns to wear ... . Gorky visited the sick bay, a labor camp, and stopped in at the children’s colony that had been formed since Likhachev first encountered the urchins hiding under his bunk.
Gorky asked to speak to one boy privately and stayed with him a long time. Standing outside with the rest of the crowd, Likhachev counted forty minutes on the watch his father had given him. He recounts that Gorky emerged weeping and climbed the stairway to the punishment cell at Sekirka.
Yet when Gorky’s anxiously awaited piece on the trip came out, the section about Solovki was relegated to Part Five of the report, with the devastating conclusion that ‘camps such as “Solovki” were absolutely necessary. ... Only by this road would the state achieve in the fastest possible time one of its aims: to get rid of prisons.’
The German system, of course, did not start out as a program of genocide. It did not even necessarily start out as a program of forced labor (i.e., slavery) like in Russia. Its immediate predecessors, in fact, might be said to be the concentration camps established before the Nazis even came to power to keep Roma away from cities like Frankfurt (cf. p. 183); the Roma were subject to registry before any racial laws about Jews were passed, before the Nazis ever took power, and they were swept up along with the homeless during the Olympics to keep them out of sight of the international press (p. 187). But as the classes of political prisoners and other undesirables swelled, so did the concentration camp system.
Once war broke out, of course, the temptation to use prisoners for war industry was not resisted.
By late 1941, the camps had grown dense and squalid from the flood of detainees arriving from abroad, yet the war placed still more demands on the camps. ... a complex network of labor projects emerged, spread across thousands of sites. Every camp and subcamp used prisoner labor in some fashion. Prisoners working for the I.G. Farben rubber plant lived in a dedicated compound at Auschwitz. Fur linings in the coats of the SS came from hutches of rabbits under the administration of prisoners at Dachau. At Neuengamme, detainees were set to work clearing rubble from the bombed roads and buildings outside Hamburg. ... Both Nazis and Soviets went to war on the backs of their concentration camp prisoners. Forced-labor Gulag efficiency expert Naftaly Frenkel had suggested the system be optimized to get the most out of prisoners in their first three months, after which they were disposable. He would have been ideally placed to appreciate that before the end of the war, average life expectancy at Neuengamme concentration camp had dropped to twelve weeks. (p. 200-201)
What is perhaps the most bitter flourish on the German concentration camp system is that there was a very real possibility it could have been entirely avoided. Pitzer argues that even after the death of Hindenberg and Hitler’s adoption of the title Fuehrer, there was a very real possibility that the Nazi regime might have proceeded along (still cruel, still inhumane, still racist) legalistic lines, keeping continuity with German law, rather than relying on extrajudicial terror. Himmler’s desire to strengthen his position within the government and the purge of Rohm and the SA led to him expanding the concentration camp system further; and this was what ensured that, when the systematic, wholesale extermination of the Jews was decided upon, there was a preexisting infrastructure in place to facilitate it. (see p. 178-179) In the early years, local prosecutors actively sought to arrest and try sadistic guards, and the notion that the concentration camps were sites of abuse or torture was hotly contested.
In his first months as commandant at Dachau, Theodor Eicke flew into a rage, haranguing prisoners about the vicious rumors in the community about conditions there. Reminding them that detainees had already been killed for spreading word about the camp--including Dr. Katz, who had helped so many prisoners--Eicke threatened that more could be executed at any point. He seemed especially offended by any suggested comparison to Soviet tactics. ‘There are no atrocities and there is no Cheka cellar in Dachau!’ he insisted. ‘Anybody whipped deserves to be whipped.’
Even the Nazis, one supposes, would balk at being compared to the Nazis.
Special mention goes to two people in this section of the book: Margarete Buber-Neumann, a German communist who fled to Russia and, who along with her husband, was arrested and thrown into the gulag. She survived; her husband did not--but survived only to be handed over to the Nazis after the invasion of Poland, as part of a prisoner exchange, whereupon she was shipped to a Nazi concentration camp. She survived the war, at least, and seven years total of internment; she lived until 1989.
Hans Beimler was a Communist elected three times to the Reichstag, the last in May of 1933. He was arrested in April and imprisoned in Dachau, where he was repeatedly beaten and humiliated and encouraged to kill himself. Nighttime beatings and the murder of his cellmates (some of whom were friends of his) made him resolve to escape, since he figured it would be better to be shot trying to break out than to be murdered and have it staged to look like a suicide.
[A] friend who was a prisoner outside the bunker managed to slip him a tool to unscrew the grate over his window and tin snips to help manage the barbed wire. Later reports claimed he strangled a storm trooper and took his clothing, but Beimler simply crawled out of his high window, taking a board with him. He navigated three layers of barbed wire--the middle one electrified--using the wood for insulation, and climbed onto the six-foot wall surrounding the camp’s exterior. Waiting there a moment to make sure he had not been seen, he jumped down the other side and made his way to Munich.
The next morning, Steinbrenner arrived to find an empty cell. Frantic searches were made, prisoners were interrogated. For some time, guardhouse staff remained certain Beimler was hiding somewhere on the grounds. Dogs were used to search, and a hundred-mark reward was posted in the local paper Amper-Bote. But Beimler remained in hiding until he could safely get to Berlin and cross the border to the east.
Once out of the country, he mailed a postcard to Dachau telling the camp commanders to kiss his ass. Some three months after his escape, he was sitting in Moscow writing a searing indictment of Nazi atrocities. It was printed in three languages and circled the globe. (p. 173-174)
It’s important to observe that no system of mass detention ever sets out with the cruelty that (sooner or later) inevitably manifests in mind. From reconcentracion in Cuba to the Nazi crimes, there is never a single point of no return for the countries involved, nor a single moment of moral clarity where the architects of these policies are forced to confront what they are creating. It is always possible for those responsible to hide behind precedent, behind political rhetoric, behind expedient to justify to the rest of the world as to why their camps are not only right but necessary, to argue away any evidence for the gravity of these sins as ‘a few bad apples’ or ‘an unfortunate excess.’
And the corollary to this is that you will never get one moment you can point to and say to the people around you, “Look! There it is! That’s the moral event horizon, and they just crossed it. You can’t possibly support them now.” Because there will always be a way for people to rationalize their support of such policies. I suspect the only antidote, individual or collective, is an ironclad moral will that rejects the dehumanization of others outright--and to fight like hell to shut such evils down when they first begin to appear.
This all has obvious relevance to the present political moment--that’s why Pitzer was on Hayes’ podcast, that’s why I wanted to read this book to begin with. I don’t think that, outside genuine, self-described neo-Nazis, even in the darkest imagination of the most reflexively prejudiced Trump supporter, the desire for Soviet or Nazi-style gulags exists, I really don’t. But things can always get worse. The cruelties build on themselves incrementially--and the only way to prevent that, to actually make sure that kind of thing can’t happen here (or anything like it--there is, after all, plenty of evil that is not outright genocide) is to refuse to permit the creation of the institutions that are its necessary predecessors.
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tgbreviews · 4 years
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Twenty years have gone by since Jamie sent Claire back through the stones, so that she and their unborn child would be safe from the aftermath of Culloden. Claire spent those years in Boston with her first husband, Frank Randall, raising “their” daughter Brianna and going to medical school to become a surgeon. After Frank died, Claire returned to Scotland, told Brianna about Jamie, and —with the help of Roger Wakefield—went about the task of learning the fates of everyone she left behind. Knowing he meant to die on Culloden Moor, the last thing she expected to find out was that Jamie survived the battle… but he did. Then they discover an article written by in 1765, put out by an Edinburgh printer named A. Malcolm. Certain that Malcolm is Jamie, Claire must choose between staying in the 20th century with her daughter, or returning to the 18th century to be reunited with the man she loves.
Aaaaaand she chooses Jamie… with Brianna’s blessing. (The book was released 27 years ago, and the series is about to enter its 5th season… so most people probably know this already.)
Like the previous book, the storyline covers two different timelines. Claire’s 20th century storyline, and the 18th century storylines. Voyager has multiple narrators, adding Jamie and Lord John Grey as first-time narrators for certain portions of the story, as well as Roger, and (of course) Claire. Jamie and Lord John’s narrations cover the 20 years of Claire’s absence. It is through their points-of-view that readers discover details of Jamie’s life without Claire. Glimpses into Claire’s past are given during key moments of her narration, as well, usually when an event is taking place that calls the memory to mind for her. While readers certainly aren’t privy to every little thing that happened during those decades, they are made aware of the important events that happened to Jamie and Claire.
This is important, because it illustrates that Jamie and Claire aren’t the same people anymore, and why. I didn’t really pay attention to that the first few times I read it, but now—being almost the same age as Claire is in the book—I’ve actually experienced the way a person evolves over decades. 40-something me bears little resemblance to the twenty-something me I used to be. The core of what makes me who I am hasn’t changed, but my experiences in life have taught me things I wouldn’t have been able to grasp as a young adult. The same is true of Jamie and Claire—both are mature adults who have lived vastly different lives, partly because of when they lived, partly because of how they had to live without each other. When they reunited, they basically had to get to know one another for the first time all over again. I loved the way this was shown in their interactions with one another, how they both felt hesitant and nervous even in their initial conversation, because it would be awkward and uncomfortable having to figure out how to act around someone you haven’t seen in twenty years.
Several familiar characters make a reappearance in Voyager, and their reactions at seeing Claire were either heartwarming (Fergus’ delight at seeing Claire), distinctly upsetting (Jenny, how could you?!), or shocking (well, I was shocked about her the first time I read it, at least).
Many new characters are introduced as well.  The most significant of these are Ian Murray (Jamie and Claire’s nephew) and Marsali Fraser (Laoghire’s daughter, and Fergus’ wife). Both go on to play larger roles as the series progresses—especially Ian—and it was enjoyable to revisit their first appearances in the story. The bulk of the story is driven by their search for Ian, in fact, who is abducted and taken on a ship.
One of my favorite things about Voyager is the way humor is liberally sprinkled into the dialogue. I often found myself laughing over a piece of dialogue I’d just read (how fun is that?) and it made for an even better reading experience.
“Has he come armed, then?” she asked anxiously. “Has he brought a pistol or a sword?”
Ian shook his head, his dark hair lifting wildly in the wind.
“Oh, no, Mam!” he said. “It’s worse. He’s brought a lawyer!”
A LOT of things happen in this novel, perhaps more so than any other book in the series. That’s largely due to the fact that (a) it covers the largest span of time, even though only key events are shown for their years of separation, and (b) the events that take place as they search for Ian. I would say that this novel is more adventure-oriented, with a less focus on historical aspects than the rest of the series. That’s not to say it isn’t there at all, but the action definitely takes the lead in this novel.
Highly recommended for readers who love reading genre-crossing big, lengthy novels in a continuing series full of history, romance, action, adventure, and of course… time travel.
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Author: Diana Gabaldon Title: Voyager Series: Outlander #3 Genre: Historical Fiction, Historical Romance, Fantasy, Time Travel Publication Date: October 26, 2004 by Dell Rating: 5 stars
Books in the series:
(Outlander #1)
(Outlander #2)
(Outlander #3)
(Outlander #4)
(Outlander #5)
(Outlander #6)
(Outlander #7)
(Outlander #8)
About the Book
From the author of the breathtaking bestsellers Outlander and Dragonfly in Amber, the extraordinary saga continues.
Their passionate encounter happened long ago by whatever measurement Claire Randall took. Two decades before, she had traveled back in time and into the arms of a gallant eighteenth-century Scot named Jamie Fraser. Then she returned to her own century to bear his child, believing him dead in the tragic battle of Culloden. Yet his memory has never lessened its hold on her… and her body still cries out for him in her dreams.
Then Claire discovers that Jamie survived. Torn between returning to him and staying with their daughter in her own era, Claire must choose her destiny. And as time and space come full circle, she must find the courage to face the passion and pain awaiting her…the deadly intrigues raging in a divided Scotland… and the daring voyage into the dark unknown that can reunite—or forever doom—her timeless love.
BONUS: This edition contains an excerpt from Diana Gabaldon’s Drums of Autumn.
About the Author
DIANA GABALDON is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of the wildly popular Outlander novels—Outlander, Dragonfly in Amber, Voyager, Drums of Autumn, The Fiery Cross, A Breath of Snow and Ashes (for which she won a Quill Award and the Corine International Book Prize), An Echo in the Bone, and Written in My Own Heart’s Blood—as well as a collection of Outlander fiction, Seven Stones to Stand or Fall; the related Lord John Grey books Lord John and the Private Matter, Lord John and the Brotherhood of the Blade, Lord John and the Hand of Devils, and The Scottish Prisoner; two works of nonfiction, The Outlandish Companion, Volumes 1 and 2; the Outlander graphic novel, The Exile; and The Official Outlander Coloring Book. She lives in Scottsdale, Arizona, with her husband.
Voyager by Diana Gabaldon Twenty years have gone by since Jamie sent Claire back through the stones, so that she and their unborn child would be safe from the aftermath of Culloden.
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