The Outlandish Companion - Diana Gabaldon [227]
From Jamie’s point of view, his wife has—for no apparent reason beyond stubbornness—flagrantly disobeyed instructions meant only to keep her safe, and has fatheadedly wandered into a situation endangering not only her and himself, but all the men with him. Beyond that, she’s brought him into face-to-face contact with the man he most despises, caused him to reveal himself in a way that will ensure determined pursuit, and worst of all—allowed Jack Randall to assault her sexually.
He’s not only annoyed with her for her original thoughtless (he thinks) behavior, he’s sexually outraged at its results, and—unable to deal properly with Randall—is strongly inclined to take it out on the available guilty party. Even so, he might not resort to violence, save for two things: his own history of physical discipline, which leads him to consider the punishment he intends inflicting not only reasonable, but quite moderate—and more important, his notions of the Tightness of things, (which includes, though less important, the moral pressure of his companions’ opinion).
The man is twenty-three years old, and while he’s an accomplished warrior, he’s very new to this husband business, and anxious to do it right. That means dealing responsibly with his wayward wife, in a manner that will not only keep her safe, by convincing her of the wisdom of obeying his orders, but will redeem her socially.
He therefore declares his intention of taking a strap to her. He isn’t seeking personal revenge, or exercising a taste for sadistic violence; he’s trying to do justice. Historically and geographically, this was an entirely appropriate thing to do,16 and Jamie sees nothing even faintly questionable about it.
Claire does. From both a personal and a historical (her history) point of view, she sees quite a lot wrong with this proposition. In the end, of course, this clash of viewpoints comes down to the… er… bottom line—which is that Jamie is nearly a foot taller than she is, and outweighs her by a good eighty pounds. Over the greater span of historical time, might has made right.
The public response to this particular scene is fascinating. Most readers find it hilarious, erotic, or simply very entertaining. A few find it absolutely unacceptable—a “good” man, they argue, would never beat his wife, no matter what the circumstance!
Well, but he would. Jamie Fraser is arguably a “good man,” but he’s an eighteenth-century good man, and he’s acting not only from a completely different perception of the situation, but from a completely different set of assumptions as to what constitutes appropriate behavior.
Those readers who object to this scene seem to respond in one of two ways: a) They simply can’t sympathize with a man who resorts to violence, no matter what. Ergo, I should not have allowed him to do so! or b) Even if Jamie’s behavior is historically appropriate, it’s wrong for me to have shown it, because women who are in abusive relationships will read this and conclude that it is okay for their husbands to beat them!
It is not the business of a novelist to pursue political agendas. Still less is it the business of a historical novelist to pursue modern political agendas. It deprives the reader of any sense of perspective or notion of social ambiguity, and reinforces a smug, narrow-minded belief in the