Outlander: The Neverending Scottish Highlands Love Story

So I started getting pretty into Outlander.

I know you're probably thinking 'Wait, weren't you reading The Sun Also Rises?' and yes, yes I was, but when choosing between Hemingway describing various Spanish bars, and a 1940s lady who totally looks like Alex Kingston (see below) on the brink of sexytimes with a hot 18th c. Scottish guy, give me some bagpipes because it's away to Scotland with me.

Back in ye olde ER days

I mean, what is this book? It's a historical time travelly romance novel. BUT the cover's classy as hell, and you can get away with reading it on the train. Also the author (whom I call Diana Gabalalabadon in my head because it's way more fun to say) is at least really TRYING with period detail and humor and all sorts of fun things that aren't just two characters finding each other IMMENSELY attractive.

We're gonna briefly talk about Jamie Fraser though, because hey now. Hey. I know this predates Twilight, but I think we're been through this with Edward Cullen. "He's super-strong and handsome and brave and smart and self-sacrificing and good with animals and has a dark mysterious past, but is still able to gather flowers for a lady and his eyes are the color of cornflowers."

Like...no. No. Jamie Fraser is not a person. And I'm used to fanfic dudes, who are basically girl creations of tv characters WHO ALREADY EXIST, but we take them and make them do things like soothingly smooth down hair and be open to long talks and think that the lady they're into fits them "like a matching puzzle piece."

And he's beyond even that. So every now and then I'm pulled out of the story because there'll either be a fanfic cliché or something where Jamie is TOO PERFECT. But you know what? Overall --

And yeah, I'm only a third of the way through, and there are a BILLION MORE PAGES and then a billion more books in the series, but I will finish at least this one. If only because of occasional lines like this:

"I had time, watching him declaim, to reflect on the oddity of sitting on a rock in a Scottish pool, listening to Gaelic love songs, with a large dead fish in my lap."

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