Mysterious Interview

Now, I have to apologize for the fact that I don’t remember who I did this interview for. It was in my archives as “Worlds.Q&A.” I did do it when The Fiery Cross was first released, though, and so it seems appropriate to publish it here in recognition of that book’s now being all the way “out”-i.e., published in hardcover, trade paperback, and mass-market editions. And if you happen to know where this interview first appeared, do let me know, so I can provide a link or print reference for it! --Diana

1. Several themes seem to be of key importance throughout the Outlander saga. One that leaps to mind is “family legacy.” Can you touch upon this briefly?

Briefly? Er...no. [laughing at notion of anyone using the words “you” and “briefly” in the same sentence when talking to me] I didn’t set out to write a “saga,” as such--in fact, I was only going to write one book, for practice, in order to learn how to write a novel. There is, however a reason why the term “brief” is not one that springs to mind when people think “Diana Gabaldon.” That’s because I never met a possibility I didn’t like--and for better or for worse, I was born with a great capacity for visualizing possibilities.

When you start dealing with real people, you run right up against all the possibilities inherent in the fact that humans are gregarious, form relationships, and have families. And to most people, the complications--good and bad--that come from wanting and having families are so important as to affect pretty much everything else they do.

Family ties are a two-way street, though; people do the things they do principally because they want a mate, want children, want to protect their family, want to insure the safety and well-being of that family. Once they’ve got a family, though, the existence of the family starts affecting the individual right back.

A man with a son has different concerns than does a man without one; a woman facing grandmotherhood views life--and death--differently than does one who never married. A daughter who discovers that she has a father she never knew will do almost anything to find him, including risk her life. A son who discovers who his father really is may do anything to deny the fact, including murder. A child who grows up without a parent will find one--somehow.

People generally think that a “family legacy” is something handed down from one generation to another. In fact, the legacy of a family is an ever-evolving web of actions and emotions, that affects all the individuals involved in it, from birth to death--and well beyond.

And you do know what the Constitution says: “To secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity.” No man (or woman) fights for himself alone.

That’s one reason why my books tend to get successively longer (no, it isn’t just that I’m dead to shame, or have abandoned any sense of self-discipline); as the family gets bigger and its individuals get older, the story gets that much more complex...and that much more interesting.

2. What, if anything, would you say to people who are just discovering the series with The Fiery Cross?

“If anything?” You mean like, “Run for your life! Get away before it sucks you in!” Like that? I tried that once; it didn’t work.

No, really, what I’d say to someone picking up The Fiery Cross is, “Hey, put it down and go get the first one.” Outlander, that is. Whether you want to call it a saga, an epic, a series, or The Blob That Ate Scotland, the fact is that there are several novels (so far) in the story, and if you have a choice, it’s usually better to start a story at the beginning.

I did make an effort to construct each novel so that it would stand alone, since I couldn’t be sure that people would necessarily encounter the series as a whole, but the overall effect is naturally richer if you read the books in order. The novels are interlinking parts of a greater work, and I like to think that the whole is greater than the sum of the parts.

3. Claire, being a 20th-century woman, has sensibilities other than those of the 18th century characters she lives with. You use her throughout the books to introduce potentially controversial topics. One that you tackle--in both Dragonfly in Amber and Drums of Autumn--is abortion. Do you think it is important for your books to explore such issues? Why?

You bet. It’s not that I have any desire to “explore such issues,” though--it’s that real people have such issues. Throughout history, people have pretty much dealt with the same concerns--and believe me, having a baby is a big concern, whether you want one or not. The fascination of good historical fiction, though, lies in seeing just how the people of different times deal with familiar problems.

I think that the chief function of historical fiction (beyond entertainment, which should go without saying) is perspective - how did we get where we are, from where we came? (An important corollary to this is the heretical notion that “modern” is not necessarily always “better,” in terms of attitude and cultural assumptions.)

As for the idea that I’m using Claire to introduce controversial topics...ha. She’s using me, if anything. I reject absolutely the idea that a writer should use people’s lives for the main purpose of making social commentary. People’s lives are social commentary, by their nature, and a writer’s job is to be faithful to the characters and their situation--and let the readers draw their own conclusions.

4. A Salon.com article described your unique novelistic style as such: “The genius of the series lies partly in her unconventional method of storytelling: She simply doesn’t pay attention to genre or precedent, and doesn’t seem to care that identifying with Claire puts women in the role of the mysterious stranger, with Jamie--no wimp in any regard--as the romantic ‘heroine’ Could you comment on this, please.

Endlessly. Given that we do have limited space here, though, I’ll confine my remarks to a few observations on genre fiction. Genre fiction deals with the major (and most interesting) Life Topics: relationships and marriages (women’s fiction and romance), individuality vs. society (Westerns and thrillers), the nature of the social contract (mysteries), the lure of the Unknown (speculative fiction), and the need for spiritual exploration and affirmation (all of the above).

There’s a largely artificial, but widely accepted distinction made between “literary” writing and “genre” writing. If it’s beautifully written, doesn’t follow an ABCD plot arc, and has a matte-finish cover, it’s literary (aka “boring”). If it has a classic plot and a gaudy picture with lots of foil on the front, it’s genre fiction, (aka “fun, but intellectually disreputable”), no matter how good the writing.

OK. I write reasonably well [she says, with altogether characteristic modesty], and would like to think that I have as much claim to understand human nature as any other person who’s lived as long as I have. However, as I said above, I wrote Outlander for practice. Given that I didn’t intend even to show it to anyone, let alone try to publish it, there was no reason to choose between literary and genre fiction--so I didn’t.

I’ve always read everything, and lots of it, so when I began writing my own book, I simply included any element that seemed interesting, and then pursued the development of that element logically. Some such elements--a woman out of her proper time, the Loch Ness monster, battles and sword-fights--lend themselves naturally to the sort of plot developments that one finds in genre fiction. Others--the consequences of homosexual rape, the nature of identity, the conflict of loyalties between the personal and the social in time of war--don’t.

So I don’t write either literary novels or genre novels; I just write Big, Weird Books. And since it seems to work, I’ve just kept doing it.

(You’ll notice that the latest (US) covers are matte-finish, but brightly-colored, with a little foil. I believe that’s supposed to indicate that the books are Wildly Entertaining, but still Quality Fiction. Confusing, isn’t it?)

5. You use “je suis prest” as the motto of the Fraser clan. What does it mean? How does it apply?

Well, “je suis prest” is the motto of the Frasers of Lovat; I didn’t make it up. Which is what I tell those French purists who write to inform me that it should really be “je suis pret” (with the carat accent over the “e” of “pret”); possibly the Frasers ought to have updated their motto from ancient French to the modern form, but they didn’t, and who am I to do it for them? I’ve been meddling with their history quite enough, what with grafting illegitimate branches into the family tree and making wild speculations about the condition of Lord Lovat’s prostate, without that sort of intrusion.

It means (in either form) “I am ready.” As to how it applies--well, it’s a nice, resonant, ambiguous statement that can sound forthright, bold, and noble, and still mean anything one wants. Good mottoes are like that.

Consequently, I was able to use it in various situations throughout the novels, to characterize the emotional or physical states of various characters and entities. I do mostly use it in the context of one main character, though: Jamie Fraser is chronically poised between two (or more) threats, and the mental, physical--and occasionally moral--agility required to survive is very neatly encapsulated by his clan motto--“I am ready.”