In a way, this is another post about Claire's vocation. But in particular, it is about how her vocation affects her 20th Century husband, Frank, and his own concept of his vocation. The conflict between a man's and a woman's vocation is a very 20th Century phenomenon. When women are limited to vocations that complement those of men (and notice I did not say "women's vocation is to serve men," or women's vocations are limited to home and family," because I feel that those statements are too stereotypically feminist and reductive), then there could be no conflict. Even in the 18th Century, Jamie did not feel that his own role was threatened by Claire's vocation--by other things, certainly, and sometimes by Claire's 20th Century sensibility, but not specifically by her vocation. The reasons for this difference remain to be seen...
During their discussion of vocation, upon hearing that Frank made Claire's medical career possible, Roger remarks to Claire that he didn't think Frank would have approved. Claire confirms--Frank did not approve. This is important in itself, because Claire's vocation did indeed come into direct conflict with Brianna's wellbeing--hence, with Claire's
other vocation, and what many today, especially in religious circles, would still see as her primary vocation: motherhood. The narrative here evokes a long debate, since pioneering voices in women's rights--Wollstonecraft and Gilman in particular, for very different reasons--felt that not every woman (whether or not she had borne a child) was suited for motherhood as a vocation. The event (which I'm not going to recount) that brings the matter to a head for Frank and Claire is sufficiently dramatic, but, though Frank does, the reader is never expected to judge Claire as an unfit mother.
Nevertheless, Frank, in a not-so-rare moment of clarity, voices the contrast between
Roger's sense of a "natural" vocation as something he continued to do out of habit, and Claire's as something she was driven from within to continue to do:
“Ah, Claire.” He spoke impatiently, but with a tinge of affection nonetheless. “You’ve known forever who you are. Do you realize at all how unusual it is to know that?” (105)
Frank contrasts her passion with his sense of simply doing
very well one of
many things he might have done well:
"I haven’t got that absolute conviction that there’s something in life I’m meant to do— and you have.”
“Is that good?” The edges of my nostrils were sore, and my eyes puffed from crying.
He laughed shortly. “It’s damned inconvenient, Claire. To you and me and Bree, all three. But my God, I do envy you sometimes.” (106)
That envy becomes even more clear as Frank contrasts his own scholarly occupation, which, like Roger's, does not seem to ascend to the level of a vocation, with the men whom he and others study:
“To have that passion for anything”— a small twitch tugged the corner of his mouth—“or anyone. That’s quite splendid, Claire, and quite terribly rare.” He squeezed my hand gently and let it go, turning to reach behind him for one of the books on the shelf beside the table.
It was one of his references, Woodhill’s Patriots, a series of profiles of the American Founding Fathers.
He laid his hand on the cover of the book, gently, as though reluctant to disturb the rest of the sleeping lives interred there.
“These were people like that. The ones who cared so terribly much— enough to risk everything, enough to change and do things. Most people aren’t like that, you know. It isn’t that they don’t care, but that they don’t care so greatly.” He took my hand again, this time turning it over. One finger traced the lines that webbed my palm, tickling as it went.
“Is it there, I wonder?” he said, smiling a little. “Are some people destined for a great fate, or to do great things? Or is it only that they’re born somehow with that great passion— and if they find themselves in the right circumstances, then things happen? It’s the sort of thing you wonder, studying history … but there’s no way of telling, really. All we know is what they accomplished. (106-107)
In the midst of this
HUGE, AMAZINGLY HUGE foreshadowing, I am curious about those "circumstances." Frank's question seems particularly valid and compelling, considering that Claire and Jamie found themselves in those circumstances, on numerous occasions--Claire in World War II, and
then in the 18th Century. Only back in the postwar 20th Century is she compelled less by circumstance than by inner passion.
Frank lacks that passion, but--like Roger--is drawn by it to Brianna. But he is somewhat absolved, perhaps, because he did not have the circumstances to inspire passion. He can blame his more lukewarm existence in a more passionless age (World War II notwithstanding). Here again, as in
Outlander, Frank represents a time period that is lacking immediacy and passion.
Frank perhaps redeems himself further when, in deference to Claire's vocation--which he defines with reference to an inner calling and passion--he offers his own brand of support (albeit reluctantly):
“I said,” he repeated patiently, “that I’ll take Bree. She can come from her school to the university, and play at my office until I’m ready to come home.” (107)
This is a gesture that was not only alien to Frank--it was alien to the 1960s. In fact, in certain academic cultures, it is still alien, though I have believed academia to be more family-friendly than most professions. For a man to make this kind of sacrifice at this moment in history is about as much an element of fantasy as travel back in time through standing stones. However, as a narrative gesture, it speaks to the necessity of support for a mother who would accomplish external goals. Claire had to have some support on the parenting side, otherwise she would not--
could not--have become a doctor.
However, Frank's attitude does not make things easier for Claire. His support is itself a condemnation (he has already implied that she will "pay" for her passion), and a punishment, and he remains slightly despicable:
“Why?” I asked bluntly. “It isn’t that you’re dead keen on my being a doctor; I know that.”
“No,” he said thoughtfully. “It isn’t that. But I do think there isn’t any way to stop you— perhaps the best I can do is to help, so that there will be less damage to Brianna.” His features hardened slightly then, and he turned away. (108)
However, his actions did facilitate Claire's career. And perhaps Frank is justified in his hurt, and in his assessment. Claire is
not a motherly mother. But he is well-established by this time as an unsympathetic character.
As historical commentary, it is worth noting that Jamie was more accepting of Claire's vocation than the 20th Century Frank, just as Claire's healing seems--in some ways--more of an anomaly in the 20th Century. Frank wants Claire's identity to be more one-dimensional than Jamie. Which perhaps makes for a reactionary commentary: do 20th Century men keep tighter reign on women because, unlike in the 18th Century, men's power is not absolute?
As for what motivated Frank...
“So far as he ever felt he had a destiny— something he was really meant to do— he felt that Brianna was it,” Claire said. She stirred her cocoa meditatively. (108)
This is a moment in the narrative that should give every reader pause, as the implications are painfully profound. In
Outlander, Frank is unable to entertain the notion of adoption--his first revelation of his selfishness--because he does not feel that he can ever truly love a child that is not his own. And yet, he does more than adopt Brianna--he accepts her as his own, even knowing that she is
not a child of his body. Perhaps a noble act, it nevertheless carries quite a bit of selfishness. He cannot father children. He will never have another child. And... he needs a purpose.
What does it mean to have as your purpose--the closest thing to a passion-driven vocation--the nurturing of the child you will never have? Particularly as a man obsessed with genealogy. The position has the potential to be deeply humbling and uncomfortable. He is, in essence, in love with another man's progeny, when in the first place, he has a debt of honor to receive the woman who has been married to another man and is carrying another man's child--by virtue of the fact that he (Frank) is still married to her. That's a bit of a twisted cruller. But in a way, Frank is bound by another debt of honor. One might wonder if--in her full disclosure--Claire has told Frank about Jack Randall and Jamie. The Frasers and Randalls seem to be bound by blood and sex--and now, honor.
I have said before that
Voyager feels purgatorial in some ways. Is it too much to suggest that in Frank's adoption of Brianna--by making her the focus and the meaning of his life--he is atoning for his own sin of adultery and his ancestor's sins toward Brianna's father?
Gabaldon, Diana (2004-10-26). Voyager (Outlander). Random House, Inc.. Kindle Edition.
