Outlander: Reactionary Moments #2

I should say that the Outlander books are looooooong books.  The small paperback I have is 850 pages.  This means that I will have many more "moments" (no--not generally THOSE kind of moments) before I'm finished reading.  That was my disclaimer--I hope I don't lose you along the way, and that you will be interested in what I'm saying even if you're not interested in the book, per se.

What I'm calling the "reactionary" moments interest me in particular.  The novels are not quite fantasy--fantasy has been presumed traditionalist.  They are not quite that, either.  They are mostly historical fiction, and I've mentioned before that the author flirts with a romance classification, which could almost be justified by the fact that it's a forced marriage, but the heroine likes it.  It's not the "romance" style of reactionary novel that we have when it comes to gender, though.

We have a very strong female protagonist and narrator in Outlander, and she does hail from the Twentieth Century.  She does, in fact, try to change the culture--or, rather, the men--around her.  In failing, she reveals some things to the reader about historical gender roles.  For example, as she travels with her new husband and his kinsmen, it becomes apparent to the men that she should be able to defend herself.  Although one remains firm in his conviction that "the only good weapon for a woman is poison" (349), the others, collectively, teach her to defend herself with a dirk and a sgian dhu ("sock dagger").  She learns, however, that a misplaced stab can numb the forearm.  The next line of defense for a man is a gun (and they all laugh uproariously at that), but when asked, her husband firmly refuses to teach her to shoot--because she is a woman.  Her response is perhaps predictable:

"Oh?" I said sarcastically. "You think women aren't bright enough to understand the workings of a gun?" (348)

Their responses foil her post-suffrage indignation, however.  First,

"I've a mind to let ye try it," he said at last.  "It would serve ye right."
Rupert clicked his tongue in annoyance at us both.  "Dinna be daft, Jaime.  As for you, lass," turning to me, "it's not that women are stupid, though sure enough some o' 'em are; it's that they're small." (348)

And then, after a description of the difficulty of firing the weapon and the bruises that result, even when  fired by a muscular Scot of over 6 feet,

"I'd let ye see for yourself," he said, raising one eyebrow, "but I like ye better wi' all of your teeth.  You've a nice smile, Sassenach, even if ye are a bit feisty."  (348)

This argument convinces our heroine.  The wry commentary is typical of Jamie--as Claire and the reader begin to learn--who is not especially sexist, by the way.  So begins a battle of wills that interrupts the honeymoon--a battle fought, more often than not, with gender as the playing field (in this book, at least).  I'm not putting my money on modern sensibilities.