Voyager: Title Changed to Prevent Search Engine Issues

It may not actually be the case, but it seems as though I have already written about sex more with reference to Voyager than with either of the other novels, and that feels strange to me, and a bit misleading, because when reading the books this time, it has felt as if the sex doesn't reach out and grab the reader by the appropriate appendage the same way in Dragonfly in Amber and Voyager as it undoubtedly does in Outlander. In fact, the point throughout Voyager is that, really, Jamie and Claire aren't having much sex.  They are separated from each other, and while they both find themselves in positions which require (though that seems too strong a word) more-or-less reluctant sexual intercourse, these acts are infrequent.  And yet, because the overall emphasis is on celibacy (sort of/not really--perhaps "denial" is a better word), each sexual act takes on thematic significance. It is in sex that things happen in this particular novel, and the sexual act is the locus of interaction between men and women, with all of the various complexities that sex--along with interpersonal connections, and gender and power relationships--entails.  (I find myself thinking, as much for my own benefit as others', "See?  Lit crit does tell us something about life.")  So while I was consciously not stopping to talk about each sexual encounter in Dragonfly and (especially) Outlander, I find myself feeling compelled to talk about each sexual encounter in Voyager.

And so it is, after remaining celibate for years after Culloden and Claire's departure (longer than Claire, whose encounter with Frank apparently happened within two years or so of returning), and refusing to think about a woman as a mate or a spouse or a sexual object for 7 years, Jamie is presented with a "gift"--a "sending off" and opportunity for tenderness and release from a woman for whom Jamie was laird and a benefactor of sorts.  This description suggests an unequal power relationship.  In fact, there is not one--or at least, not a traditionally unequal one, as Jamie does not, in fact, possess (or desire) power over her.  Lacking Claire, Jamie is always at a disadvantage when he enters into sexual situations with the three women with whom he copulates during her 20-year absence.**  Mary McNab is the first.

The occasion is Jamie's last night in a cave near Lallybroch before giving himself up to the English for a ransom to provide for his family and tenants.  Mary brings him his meal, and then lays out his bed.  When Jamie refuses her, she begins by giving him back his title, and granting him some of the power and identity that he has lost:

     “My lord!” she said.
     He stopped, but did not turn around. “It isna suitable to call me that,” he said.
     “Lallybroch is yours,” she said. “And will be so long as ye live. If ye’re its laird, I’ll call ye so.”
     “It isna mine. The estate belongs to Young Jamie.”
     “It isna Young Jamie that’s doing what you are,” she answered with decision. “And it isna your sister that’s asked me to do what I’m doin’. Turn round.” (90)

Because she is effectively restoring his position, I sense an ironic echo of the droit du seigneur--the right by which a French feudal lord could choose to deflower a bride on her wedding night.  Mary is not a virgin, and Jamie is not that kind of lord.  And that is largely the point.  Except that, through sex, she is able to restore him to his proper station--before it is stripped from him entirely.

The scene is one of a non-sacramental union.  From a Christian perspective, it would have to be regarded as fornication.  But though that is the perspective that formed Jamie's consciousness and world view long ago, he has been muted by sorrow and suffering, and a little bit of relativism from Claire (though not in the matter of sexuality, where she does, in fact, expect and demand a high level of honor and fidelity).  The issue of fidelity is raised, in the narrative, by the woman herself (and I wonder, here, if Mary McNab is a type of Mary Magdalene as she has existed in various traditions--giving something to her Lord that He could use):

     “I ken weel enough what ye’re thinkin’,” she said. “For I saw your lady, and I know how it was between the two of ye. I never had that,” she added, in a softer voice, “not wi’ either of the two men I wed. But I know the look of a true love, and it’s not in my mind to make ye feel ye’ve betrayed it.”
[....]
     “What I want,” she said quietly, “is to give ye something different. Something less, mayhap, but something ye can use; something to keep ye whole. Your sister and the bairns canna give ye that— but I can.” He heard her draw breath, and the touch on his face lifted away. “Ye’ve given me my home, my life, and my son. Will ye no let me gi’e ye this small thing in return?” (90)

And so what we have in this sexual moment is human need for tenderness and physical contact (though the emphasis is not on physical release), along with a pagan joining and sending off--a secular/pagan "communion" of sorts--and another testament to the integral nature of body and soul.  Sex has power, the narrative argues, even outside of the Sacrament.  Even so, it is used gravely, as a sacrifice, and with reverence.

Gabaldon, Diana (2004-10-26). Voyager (Outlander) (p. 90). Random House, Inc.. Kindle Edition. 

**There is a larger point to be made about the vulnerability of masculinity.  Jamie is thoroughly unmanned in this novel, and has been at risk since Outlander--from Jack Randall, from Claire, from the English, from childbirth, and now from women, though he retains dignity (perhaps separate from masculinity, or perhaps a redefinition of what masculinity means.  Still thinking about this...  It is certainly his vulnerability that makes Jamie such an attractive Romance hero for Diana Gabaldon's fans.)