The Outlandish Companion - Diana Gabaldon [186]
However, as I was working along, with the rock polisher whirring away in the background, someone asked me what had ever happened to the chunk of amber (with dragonfly embedded) that Hugh Munro gave Claire for a wedding present. Actually, I don’t know what happened to it (though it’s probably in Jenny’s jewelry box, back at Lallybroch), but that question did recall the image to my mind.
Now, Dragonfly in Amber is a pretty good title, if you ask me. “Dragon” is one of those nice, evocative words that always catches people’s attention (similar words being “blood,” “moon,” “blue,” etc. I couldn’t tell you why “a blue and bloody moon” is more evocative than “newspaper on a beige street,” but it is). A dragonfly in amber is a visually arresting image, rather poetic in sound—and it actually had something to do with the book, insofar as notions of fate and inevitability, helplessness in the face of circumstance, references to antiquity, etc., are concerned. Besides, dragonflies are good luck.
The British publisher liked Dragonfly in Amber, too, so that was fine. True, I did get science fiction and fantasy fans asking me whether this was part of Roger Zelazny’s famous Amber series, but nothings perfect. And, as I say, I already knew the third book was titled Voyager.>>
To me, Voyager conjured up not only the superficial meanings of journey and adventure—and the very concrete reference to an ocean voyage—but something a bit more. Growing up in the sixties as I did, I was exposed to the U.S. program of space exploration in a big way, and found the whole notion unspeakably romantic. Of all the different missions, Voyager was one that particularly caught my imagination. This was commitment to the dark unknown, in the search for unimagined knowledge. Courage and daring, in the service of hope. Very suitable, I thought, for a book dealing with dangerous journeys in search of self and soul.
And then, along came the fourth book. The Colonies—New World, whiffs of revolution, lost daughters, gallant quests through time, Native Americans up the gazoo… Next to the Last of the Mohicans? One If by Land, Sick If by Sea? There’s a Wet Dog in My Wigwam?>>
Well, hey, sometimes it’s easier than others. And if all else fails—look back at what you did the last time you got stuck. So… sounds like… Dragonfly in Amber. (whirrrrrrr-clank, whirrrr-clank) Begins with “D.” Okay, fine. (whirrrrr…) Three words? Awright, if they’re short. (whirrr…) With prepositional phrase? Hmmmm.
Evocative word beginning with “D,” having (preferably) something to do with something in this book. Got Indians (in the eighteenth century they were still called Indians). Got Redcoats. Both got drums. Oh-HO! “Drum” is an evocative word, too. “Drums” is even better. (Slaves used drums occasionally, too, but my husband said he would divorce me if I did any more voodoo scenes.)
Okay, Drums. Why of Autumn? Well, heck. I needed a prepositional phrase, the second word of which began with “A,” and one could make a case that Claire and Jamie were entering the autumn phase of their lives (though it may be a long season, what with two more books to go), and it is on the eve of the Revolution, i.e., the autumn of British rule in the Colonies, and… well, actually, I later decided that Drums of Eden would be better, but the publisher had already sent out thousands of catalogs calling it Drums of Autumn, and besides, I liked the look of all those “U”s and “M”s—aesthetically pleasing, you know.
Now, pause a moment and ask yourself: Would you rather read a really good book with a strange title, or a mediocre book with a straightforward title? (This is not a trick question; feel free to consult the New York Times Bestseller List before answering.) Yes, well, that’s what I thought, too.
Okay. The fifth book is called The Fiery Cross, and I’m pretty set