Voyager: Some Problems with Literacy (A Literacy Moment)

The title of my dissertation was "Literacy and Its Discontents."  Finally, Ch. 7 of Voyager introduces a few of the problems of literacy--albeit more material and less existential problems than might be found elsewhere.  The first is the difficulty of finding information in documents.  It is ironic commentary when the narrative reveals that "a week later, Roger’s faith in documents remained unshaken" (99).  Because they do not know in which prison exactly Jamie was incarcerated, they have to acquire documents from all of the possible prisons.

The second "problem" of literacy is one that bibliophiles and scholars (and all people who get junk mail) know well--the problem of the voluminous mass of print materials:

This table normally was asked to accommodate no more than a small lamp, and a collection of the Reverend’s smaller artifacts; it was pressed into service now only because every other horizontal surface in the study already overflowed with papers, journals, books, and bulging manila envelopes from antiquarian societies, universities, and research libraries across England, Scotland, and Ireland. (99)

This is one of the major benefits of the eReader.  Even someone enamored of the codex will admit that storing them becomes a problem after a while.  With limited space, and without the ability to cover every flat surface with paper, I do find my Kindle and my Kindle apps (and PDFs, etc) to be a welcome relief.

Perhaps a more existential problem (or perhaps not) is the difficulties that arise from placement or misplacement of documents.  Sometimes, you just can't remember where you're put them.  And when Roger misplaces a specific envelope, he has to issue an appeal for help finding it.

Fiona, who Roger inherits as housekeeper, has a relationship with the books and documents that marks her as a non-reader.  This makes for some interesting commentary and interaction.  At this point in the chapter, the narrative seems to be coming from Roger, who has the most intimate (but not in that way) knowledge of Fiona:

Fiona had not the slightest use herself for history— never read anything beyond My Weekly magazine— but she never questioned his activities, tranquilly dusting the heaps of books and papers daily, without bothering about their contents.
     “Thanks, Fiona,” he said. “I was only wondering, though; have you seen a big blue envelope— a fat one, about so?” He measured with his hands. “It came in the morning post, but I’ve misplaced it.”
     “Ye left it in the upstairs bath,” she said promptly. “There’s that great thick book wi’ the gold writing and the picture of the Bonnie Prince on the front up there, and three letters ye’d just opened, and there’s the gas bill, too, which ye dinna want to be forgetting, it’s due on the fourteenth o’ the month. I’ve put it all on the top of the geyser, so as to be out of the way.” A tiny, sharp ding from the oven timer made her withdraw her head abruptly with a smothered exclamation. (100)

This passage portrays Fiona as a practical woman with a relationship to the written word that is different from Jenny's.  Rather than seeking any kind of help--practical or transcendental--from books, Fiona simply counts books as part of the household objects.  The initial description of Fiona as having "not the slightest use herself for history," coming as it does on the heels of her account of the oral history of the "Dunbonnet," who all (except Fiona) understand to be Jamie, the description is particularly unfair.  Her level of and use for literacy--described with reference to a popular publication--emphasizes the "hyper-literacy" of Roger and the comparatively low literacy of the housekeeper.  Further indictment comes from the fact that she never "bothers about [the] contents" of the books and papers that she dusts daily.  Hers is a functional literacy, but one that isn't particularly functional for her.

And yet there is affection (albeit condescending) in Roger's account of Fiona, and her practicality stands in contrast to the absent-minded professor who leaves the documents in the bath and forgets to pay the gas bill.  A follow-up paragraph--one that really makes the narrative "voice" sound like Roger's--emphasizes Fiona's focus on the materiality of books:

     Roger turned and went up the stairs two at a time, smiling. Given other inclinations, Fiona’s memory might have made her a scholar. As it was, she was no mean research assistant. So long as a particular document or book could be described on the basis of its appearance, rather than its title or contents, Fiona was bound to know exactly where it was.  (101)

Again, the tone is affectionate, but the meaning is condescending--to Fiona and to research assistant, who, the implication seems to be, would be more efficient if they paid more attention to the appearance of the book or document and less to their insides!  It might take a tiny twist to get to that particular implication, but I don't think it's too far off.

There are many questions that remain unanswered about Fiona, her "inclinations," and whether Roger's assessment is particularly fair.  If there is indictment of the scholarly inclination and lifestyle as elitist and scattered, it is slight--but then, the narrative pulls from Roger's perspective, and in the bigger picture, Fiona provides the missing elements of memory, practicality, and orality.

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