And That Is Why I Don't Care For Diana Gabaldon Books
Aunt B. lunched on Friday with Rachel, and was inspired by a good bit of brilliance from our favourite Medical Librarian.
I know this has little to do with what they were originally talking about--feminism and sweeping cultural change--but their talk of public sanitation reminds me of why I really don't like the Outlander series by Diana Gabaldon.
I admit that I've only read the first book, Outlander, and nearly everyone I meet loves them on an almost inexplicable level. Since I have my own cultish devotion to a fictional series, I just can't judge anyone else. I'm sure the entire series is fabulous and I'm just missing something.
The book I read involved an unhappily married woman who travels from the 20th century to the 16th century and falls in love with some improbably dashing and magnificent guy. Everyone who loves the book loves the romance.
Frankly, I don't care how wonderful a man is. There are things I like. Toilet paper. Flush toilets. Penicillen. Bottled water. Soda. Knives and forks. Central air conditioning. E-mail. It's a really long list. I've grown accustomed to these things and I really don't imagine that any man is dashing and handsome enough to make me want to live the rest of my life sleeping on straw, eating from bread trenchers and crapping in a corner of the yard like a dog.
I know that if I were to live in the future I'd be used to things like rocket travel, self-cleaning houses and holographic entertainment. I'd probably loathe to return to 2006 and live without the magic of instant Spoo. I don't consider my life to be primitive, but if I lived in 2606 I just look back on the Now as a caveman era. So, I'm content to have my love stories in a plus-10 minus-10 span of years.
Also, I can't help but be reminded that the men of 16th century Scotland weren't frequent bathers.