Characters with disabilities in Diana Gabaldon's books

One of the aspects of Diana Gabaldon's books that I have appreciated from the beginning concerns her treatment of characters with disabilities. It's a very personal topic for me, because I was born with cerebral palsy affecting both legs, and I have difficulty walking.

Characters with disabilities of various kinds appear throughout the OUTLANDER books, going back to the very beginning, when Claire first encounters Colum MacKenzie. These characters are without exception portrayed with sensitivity, but never pity, condescension, or stereotyping. They are people who happen to have disabilities, but always people first and foremost.

By depicting each of these characters as a unique individual, with his or her own personality, temperament, background, family relationships, and other characteristics that have nothing to do with the disability, Diana Gabaldon forces us to look beyond the surface, to see the whole person rather than just the disability. That's something that I really value in my day-to-day interactions with other people, and I think it's rare in fiction, in my experience at least.

Here are some of my favorite examples of characters with disabilities in the OUTLANDER books.



COLUM MACKENZIE

When Claire first arrives at Castle Leoch, she is shocked by Colum MacKenzie's appearance.

Colum MacKenzie shared the broad planes and high forehead of his brother Dougal, though the vital force that gave Dougal an air of intimidation was here mellowed into something more welcoming, though no less vibrant. Darker, with dove-grey rather than hazel eyes, Colum gave that same impression of intensity, of standing just slightly closer to you than was quite comfortable. At the moment, though, my discomfort arose from the fact that the beautifully modeled head and long torso ended in shockingly bowed and stumpy legs. The man who should have topped six feet came barely to my shoulder.

He kept his eyes on the birds, tactfully allowing me a much-needed moment to gain control of my features. Of course, he must be used to the reactions of people meeting him for the first time.

(From OUTLANDER by Diana Gabaldon, chapter 5, "The MacKenzie". Copyright © 1991 by Diana Gabaldon. All rights reserved.)

Claire deduces that Colum suffers from a disease called Toulouse-Lautrec syndrome. His body may be weak, but his mind is very sharp. Colum is very intelligent, good at reading people, and ruthless when the situation calls for it. He's learned to cope with his disability, but he doesn't make a fuss over it. I think this observation of Claire's is very telling:

His progress down the stair was slow and obviously painful. Just as obviously, he didn’t wish for help, and I offered none.

(From OUTLANDER by Diana Gabaldon, chapter 7, "Davie Beaton's Closet". Copyright © 1991 by Diana Gabaldon. All rights reserved.)

I understand that need for independence very well, as someone who has lived with mobility issues all my life. Claire's instincts are sound. It's a great example of how to interact with disabled people in general.



HUGH MUNRO

Jamie's friend Hugh Munro had his tongue cut out while he was held captive by the Turks. I like the matter-of-fact way Jamie deals with his friend's disability. He's learned to understand the sign language Munro uses to communicate, and he doesn't treat him any differently because he can't speak. They engage in some good-natured teasing, and it's clear they've been friends for some time.

Later, Jamie explains to Claire that despite his current predicament as a beggar, Munro is an educated man. (Appearances can be deceiving!) He's also very perceptive. He gives Claire a dragonfly in amber as a wedding present, but it's the message accompanying the gift that will have a lasting impact.

I smoothed out the wrapping. A message was incised on the grimy white surface, written in small and surprisingly elegant lettering.

“What does it say?” I asked Jamie, squinting at the odd letters and marks. “I think it’s in Gaelic.”

He raised up on one elbow squinting at the paper. “Not Gaelic. Latin. Munro was a schoolmaster once, before the Turks took him. It’s a bit from Catullus,” he said.

…da mi basia mille, diende centum,
dein mille altera, dein secunda centum…

A faint blush pinkened his earlobes as he translated:

Then let amorous kisses dwell On our lips, begin and tell
A Thousand and a Hundred score A Hundred, and a Thousand more.

(From OUTLANDER by Diana Gabaldon, chapter 20, "Deserted Glades". Copyright © 1991 by Diana Gabaldon. All rights reserved.)

This, of course, is the inspiration for the inscription in Claire's wedding ring, "Da mi basia mille".



IAN MURRAY

Jamie's best friend, Ian Murray, lost his leg as a very young man, fighting as a mercenary in France. He seems to have adapted quite well to his wooden leg, for the most part -- he can walk, and ride a horse -- but there are occasional things he can't manage.

“We were comin’ down the slope of the hill two miles outside the village, leading the horses because the footing was bad, and Ian stepped in a molehole and broke his leg,” Jamie explained.

“The wooden one,” Ian amplified. He grinned, a little sheepishly. “The mole had a bit the best o’ that encounter.”

“So we stayed at a cottage nearby long enough to carve him a new one,” Jamie ended the story.

[Ian removes the wooden leg so Claire can examine his injured knee.]

Ian’s long, good-natured face was nearly as red as the injured joint. While perfectly matter-of-fact about his disability, I knew he hated the occasional helplessness it imposed. His embarrassment at being so exposed now was likely as painful to him as my touching of his leg.

(From DRAGONFLY IN AMBER by Diana Gabaldon, chapter 33, "Thy Brother's Keeper". Copyright © 1992 by Diana Gabaldon. All rights reserved.)

I recognize that feeling very well! It's something that many people with mobility issues can relate to. When you pride yourself on being as independent as possible in your daily life, being deprived of that independence, even for a short time, can be intensely frustrating! I use a mobility scooter to get around most places, and I drive a car equipped with hand controls and a lift to get the scooter in and out. Whenever anything goes wrong with my scooter, or my car, it has a major impact on my independence and my quality of life. Ian was lucky to be able to replace that wooden leg so quickly!



JOCASTA CAMERON

Jamie's Aunt Jocasta is blind, but her blindness is only a minor part of her character, and in my opinion it's a mistake to underestimate her on that account. Far more important is the fact that she is a stubborn, strong-willed woman with a vivid personality, with enough wealth and status in the community that she generally gets what she wants. She is a formidable woman, no question about it! In terms of personality, she definitely lives up to Jamie's description of the MacKenzies as "charming as larks in the field, and sly as foxes with it."

We are so accustomed to seeing Jocasta in total command of herself and everyone else at River Run that we tend to forget that she can't see. Her home at River Run is carefully arranged to accommodate her blindness, and she manages quite well with the aid of her black butler, Ulysses, and the other enslaved people at River Run.

Ulysses came in, a lighted taper in his hand, and began to light the branches of the great candelabrum.

“You don’t need to light all those for me.” Brianna spoke as much from a desire not to disturb the quiet melancholy of the room as from modesty. “I don’t mind the dark.”

The butler smiled gently and went on with his work. He touched each wick precisely, and the tiny flames sprang up at once, jinni called up by a magician’s wand.

“Miss Jo will be down soon,” he said. “She can see the lights--and the fire--so she knows where she is in the room.”

He finished and blew out the taper, then moved about the room in his usual soft-footed way, tidying the small disorder left by the afternoon guests, adding wood to the fire, puffing it into crackling life with the bellows.

She watched him; the small, precise movements of the well-kept hands, his complete absorption in the correct placement of the whisky decanter and its glasses. How many times had he straightened this room? Put back each piece of furniture, each tiny ornament precisely in its place, so that its mistress’s hand would fall upon it without groping?

(From DRUMS OF AUTUMN by Diana Gabaldon, chapter 55, "Captivity II". Copyright © 1997 by Diana Gabaldon. All rights reserved.)

Jocasta manages so well, in fact, that it comes as a shock on the rare occasions where her blindness puts her at a disadvantage.

“Aunt!” Jamie exclaimed, suddenly recalling Jocasta. He whirled toward the sheds, but then stopped, relaxing. She was there, clearly visible in her green dress, standing rigid by the shed. Rigid with fury, as we discovered when we reached her. Forgotten by everyone in the flurry of the explosion, she had been unable to move, sightless as she was, and was thus left to stand helpless, hearing the turmoil but unable to do anything.

(From DRUMS OF AUTUMN by Diana Gabaldon, chapter 10, "Jocasta". Copyright © 1997 by Diana Gabaldon. All rights reserved.)

I thought her reaction was realistic. I would have been furious, too, in her position!

IAIN MHOR

When I first read THE FIERY CROSS, I was surprised and pleased by the inclusion of Joan Findlay's brother, Iain Mhor. He's a minor character in the book, but an unforgettable one, to me at least.

“A bhràthair, here’s Captain MacKenzie,” [Joan Findlay] said, reaching out a hand to the man that lay on a pallet of dry grass under the blanket’s shelter. Roger felt a sudden shock at the man’s appearance, but suppressed it.

A spastic, they would have called him in the Scotland of Roger’s own time; what did they call such a condition now? Perhaps nothing in particular; Fraser had said only, He has nay speech.

No, nor proper movement, either. His limbs were bony and wasted, his body twisted into impossible angles. A tattered quilt had been laid over him, but his jerking movements had pulled it awry, so that the cloth was bunched, wrenched hard between his legs, and his upper body was left exposed, the worn shirt also rumpled and pulled half off by his struggles. The pale skin over shoulder and ribs gleamed cold and blue-toned in the shadows.

Joan Findlay cupped a hand about the man’s cheek and turned his head so that he could look at Roger.

“This will be my brother Iain, Mr. MacKenzie,” she said, her voice firm, daring him to react.

The face too was distorted, the mouth pulled askew and drooling, but a pair of beautiful--and intelligent--hazel eyes looked back at Roger from the ruin. He took firm grip of his feelings and his own features, and reached out, taking the man’s clawed hand in his own. It felt terrible, the bones sharp and fragile under skin so cold it might have been a corpse’s.

“Iain Mhor,” he said softly. “I have heard your name. Jamie Fraser sends ye his regards.”

(From THE FIERY CROSS by Diana Gabaldon, chapter 9, "Germ of Dissent". Copyright © 2001 by Diana Gabaldon. All rights reserved.)

From the moment I first read that scene, it was obvious to me that Iain Mhor, like me, was born with cerebral palsy. A much more severe form than I have, but still, instantly recognizable. That took me quite by surprise. Not that there would be people with CP in the 18th century -- that seems pretty self-evident, as it's doubtless been around for many centuries -- but that Diana would make a point of including "someone like that" in the story. I think I'm safe in saying that many authors wouldn't have bothered.

I was very moved by the way Diana went out of her way to show how Iain Mhor is treated with respect by the other members of his family, in a time when he might easily have been left to die at birth.

He was likely younger than Joan; but perhaps not. She had treated him with deference, bringing Roger to him as a woman would naturally bring a visitor to the head of the family. Not greatly younger, then--say thirty or more?

Christ, he thought, how did a man like that survive so long in times like these? But as he had backed awkwardly away from Iain Mhor, one of the little girls had crawled into the crude shelter from the back, pushing a bowl of milk pudding before her, and had sat down matter-of-factly by her uncle’s head, spoon in hand. Iain Mhor had limbs and fingers enough--he had a family.

(From THE FIERY CROSS by Diana Gabaldon, chapter 11, "Pride". Copyright © 2001 by Diana Gabaldon. All rights reserved.)

He's part of their family, and that's all that matters. That's a powerful message, no question about it! It makes an impression on Roger, in the story; it made a much deeper impression on me as a reader, and I won't forget it. Realistic depictions in fiction of what it's like to live with cerebral palsy are incredibly rare, in my experience. In historical fiction? Until I read THE FIERY CROSS, I'd never seen it done before. I will always be grateful to Diana Gabaldon for including him in the story.



FERGUS

Fergus's left hand was amputated by British soldiers when he was about sixteen. He adjusts far more quickly than I would have expected, seeming not very bothered by it (or at least trying his best to act that way) when Jamie visits him two days after it happened:

“Do you not recall our agreement, milord?”

“Agreement?”

“Yes, when you took me into your service in Paris. You told me then that should I be arrested and executed, you would have Masses said for my soul for the space of a year.” The remaining hand fluttered toward the battered greenish medal that hung about his neck--St. Dismas, patron saint of thieves. “But if I should lose an ear or a hand while doing your service--”

“I would support you for the rest of your life.” Jamie was unsure whether to laugh or cry, and contented himself with patting the hand that now lay quiet on the quilt. “Aye, I remember. You may trust me to keep the bargain.”

“Oh, I have always trusted you, milord,” Fergus assured him. Clearly he was growing tired; the pale cheeks were even whiter than they had been, and the shock of black hair fell back against the pillow. “So I am fortunate,” he murmured, still smiling. “For in one stroke, I am become a gentleman of leisure, non?”

(From VOYAGER by Diana Gabaldon, chapter 6, "Being Now Justified By His Blood". Copyright © 1994 by Diana Gabaldon. All rights reserved.)

In later years, Fergus becomes adept in the use of his hook, using it to do all sorts of things. He does remarkably well, but it hasn't been an easy life. Fergus has a very hard time after the birth of Henri-Christian, when he falls into a deep depression.

He rose to his feet quite suddenly. He stretched out his left arm, and with a jerk, freed the leather strip that held his hook. It fell with a soft thump into the straw, and left the narrow stump of his wrist bare, the pale skin creased with red from the tightness of the wrappings.

“Me, I cannot hunt, cannot do a proper man’s work. I am fit for nothing but to pull the plow, like a mule!” His voice shook with anger and self-loathing. “If I cannot work as a man does, how shall a dwarf?”

“Fergus, it isn’t--”

“I cannot keep my family! My wife must labor day and night to feed the children, must put herself in the way of scum and filth who misuse her, who--Even if I was in Paris, I am too old and crippled to whore!” He shook the stump at me, face convulsed, then whirled and swung his maimed arm, smashing it against the wall, over and over.

“Fergus!” I seized his other arm, but he jerked away.

“What work will he do?” he cried, tears streaming down his face. “How shall he live? Mon Dieu! Il est aussi inutile que moi!” He bent and seized the hook from the ground, and hurled it as hard as he could at the limestone wall. It made a small chiming sound as it struck, and fell into the straw, startling the nanny and her kids.

(From A BREATH OF SNOW AND ASHES by Diana Gabaldon, chapter 37, "Le Maître des Champignons". Copyright © 2005 by Diana Gabaldon. All rights reserved.)

This is the point where Fergus finally admits that life on a farm in the backwoods of North Carolina just isn't a good fit for him, to put it mildly. He tried for years, but he can't escape the constant reminders of things he can't do -- things that all the other men on the Ridge do on a daily basis to support their families -- and the many extra chores that Marsali has been forced to take on as a result. That has to be humiliating, even emasculating, for Fergus. The birth of a baby with dwarfism, whom many of the tenants on the Ridge consider "demon-spawn", only makes things worse.

It seems to me, in retrospect, that living on the Ridge put Fergus in an impossible situation, especially as his family kept growing. (Four children in less than six years!) I'm not saying that Jamie deliberately set him up for failure, or anything of that sort. But I think Jamie and Claire simply didn't consider the cumulative strain on Fergus of years of not being able to provide for and protect his family the way all the other men on the Ridge do, owing to his disability. The tension must have been building up inside him for quite a while, but Fergus never spoke about it to anyone. It takes the combined shocks of the attack on the malting-floor (where a very pregnant Marsali was injured), and Henri-Christian's birth, for Fergus to finally admit that something is very wrong.

Eventually Fergus reaches a breaking point, when Jamie catches him actually in the act of attempting suicide (!) Obviously something has to change, and soon! Jamie helps to get Fergus set up as a printer, a job he can do effectively despite his disability. That, combined with the change of scenery, moving away from Fraser's Ridge, does a great deal to restore Fergus's usual good spirits, and he has seemed much happier in recent years.



HENRI-CHRISTIAN

And speaking of Henri-Christian.... The birth of a baby with dwarfism comes as a shock to everyone on Fraser's Ridge. Many of the tenants are convinced that he is demon-born, or that Marsali was somehow at fault. I've always loved Jamie's reaction.

“One of the lads asked me was it true, what Mr. Roger said, about the wean belonging to the Lord? I told him I certainly wouldna argue with Mr. Roger about that--but whoever else he belonged to, Henri-Christian belongs to me, as well, and best they should remember it.”

(From A BREATH OF SNOW AND ASHES by Diana Gabaldon, chapter 64, "I am the Resurrection, Part 2". Copyright © 2005 by Diana Gabaldon. All rights reserved.)

Jamie's unconditional acceptance of Henri-Christian, even in the face of considerable hostility by others in the community, speaks volumes both for Jamie's character and for Diana's, for choosing to write it that way. Whatever Jamie may feel about Henri-Christian being a dwarf, he is first of all a member of Jamie's family -- and that's all that matters. (Just as we saw earlier with Iain Mhor.) It's a powerful message, and I've always found it very moving.

As Henri-Christian grows older, we can see subtle references to accommodations the family makes for his disability, like the fact that "his feet were too short and wide to fit his sisters’ outgrown shoes", so he needed new ones made. (ECHO chapter 100, "Lady in Waiting") But above all, what stands out to me about the depiction of Henri-Christian in the books is not his dwarfism (let alone the tragic circumstances of his death!), but his friendly, bubbly personality, which was evident even when he was a baby.

[Marsali] closed one eye to assist thought, keeping the other on Henri-Christian, who was industriously blacking his father’s best boots—and a good deal of himself in the process. [....] “That’ll do, Henri! A Dhia, the state of you! Go find one o’ your sisters and tell her to wash your hands for ye, aye?”

Henri looked at his hands, as though astonished to find them completely black. “Oui, Maman,” he said, and, cheerfully wiping them on his breeches, scampered out into the kitchen, bellowing, “Félicité! Come wash me!” at the top of his lungs.

(From AN ECHO IN THE BONE by Diana Gabaldon, chapter 111, "A Distant Massacre". Copyright © 2009 by Diana Gabaldon. All rights reserved.)

I think Diana Gabaldon does a wonderful job of depicting the amazing variety of human beings, of all shapes and sizes, in the course of the series.

ROGER (after the hanging)

In the aftermath of the hanging in FIERY CROSS, Roger MacKenzie abruptly becomes someone living with a disability. His adjustment to the loss of his beautiful singing voice takes a long time, but I think it's portrayed realistically, both his initial depression in the days following the hanging, and his gradual recovery in the months that followed.

Look at the situation from Roger's point of view. His old life, everything upon which he based his image of himself as a man, husband, provider, his feelings of self-worth, etc. -- all of that is gone. Even before the hanging, he could barely cope with his new role as a man of the 18th century. He was already feeling grossly inadequate, especially as compared with Jamie. Then he loses his singing voice -- seemingly, the only thing he had that was of value to the 18th century people around him. OK, it's gone, possibly forever. So what does he do next?

It seems to me there are basically two choices. You either spend the rest of your life wallowing in self-pity for all the things you've lost ... or you pick yourself up and try to do what you can to live your life to the fullest with whatever you have left. Roger, of course, chose the latter path.

The solo surveying trip Roger embarks on soon after the hanging helps a great deal. Just the chance to be alone for an extended period of time is obviously a great relief to him.

[There] was something about the sheer awful scale of the wilderness that soothed him. Among the gigantic trees and teeming wildlife, he found some peace; peace from the dammed-up words inside his head, from the unspoken worry in Brianna’s eyes, the judgment in Jamie’s--judgment withheld, but hanging there like the sword of Damocles. Peace from the glances of pity or curiosity, from the constant slow, aching effort of speech--peace from the memory of singing.

[....]

He had a song in his head--again. They sneaked in when he wasn’t looking, melodies singing in his inner ear like sirens from the rocks, ready to dash him in pieces.

Not this one, though. He smiled to himself, as he nudged the bar of the astrolabe and sighted on a tree on the opposite bank. It was a children’s song, one of the counting songs Bree sang to Jemmy. One of those terrible songs that got into one’s head and wouldn’t get out again. As he took his sightings and made the notations in his book, he chanted under his breath, ignoring the cracked distortion of the sounds.

“The ... ants go ... mar-shing ... one ... by one.”

(From THE FIERY CROSS by Diana Gabaldon, chapter 82, "A Darkening Sky". Copyright © 2001 by Diana Gabaldon. All rights reserved.)

I've always admired these characters' capacity for resilience in the face of traumatic or life-altering events. In Roger's case, it takes a long time, but eventually he begins to sing again. I liked his attitude toward the scar on his throat in ECHO very much. At that point it's been about seven years since the hanging.

“How long did it take them to ask about your scar?” [Bree] asked, when he’d come home smiling from his first solo practice with the kids.

“I didn’t time it, but maybe thirty seconds.” He rubbed two fingers lightly over the ragged mark across his throat, but didn’t stop smiling. “Please, Mr. MacKenzie, what’s happened to your neck? Was ye hangit?”

“And what did you tell them?”

“Told them aye, I was hangit in America, but I lived, praise God.”

(From AN ECHO IN THE BONE by Diana Gabaldon, chapter 34, "Psalms, 30". Copyright © 2009 by Diana Gabaldon. All rights reserved.)

Children are curious, of course; they stare and ask awkward questions. Anyone with a visible disability gets those questions fairly often. (I used to hear, "Mommy, what's THAT?" every time I went to the grocery store or the mall, from little kids who'd never seen a mobility scooter like mine before.) I thought Roger handled that situation with the kids at the school very well. I think it's his way of saying, Yes, this happened to me, and I can't ignore it or wish it away, no matter how much I might want to.

AMPUTATION AND PHANTOM LIMBS

Fergus is not the only one to have lost a limb in these books, of course. A number of characters in the books have had limbs amputated (including Jamie, who lost a finger at Saratoga in ECHO), so the issue of phantom limb pain comes up from time to time.

Perhaps emboldened by the success of the purgative I had given him, Innes came voluntarily to call upon me in my cabin a week later.

“I am wondering, mistress,” he said politely, “whether there might be a medicine for something as isna there.”

“What?” I must have looked puzzled at this description, for he lifted the empty sleeve of his shirt in illustration.

“My arm,” he explained. “It’s no there, as ye can plainly see. And yet it pains me something terrible sometimes.” He blushed slightly.

“I did wonder for some years was I only a bit mad,” he confided, in lowered tones. “But I spoke a bit wi’ Mr. Murphy, and he tells me it’s the same with his leg that got lost, and Fergus says he wakes sometimes, feeling his missing hand slide into someone’s pocket.” He smiled briefly, teeth a flash under his drooping mustache. “So I thought maybe if it was a common thing, to feel a limb that wasn’t there, perhaps there was something that might be done about it.”

“I see.” I rubbed my chin, pondering. “Yes, it is common; it’s called a phantom limb, when you still have feelings in a part that’s been lost.”

(From VOYAGER by Diana Gabaldon, chapter 43, "Phantom Limbs". Copyright © 1994 by Diana Gabaldon. All rights reserved.)

It's a reminder that just as in real life, many disabled people live with pain on a daily basis, even if they don't talk about it.

CAPTAIN CUNNINGHAM

Finally, we shouldn't forget Captain Charles Cunningham, who was shot in the back during the fight on Lodge Night in BEES.

I glanced at his feet. One of them twitched and Elspeth gasped. She was stanching the blood from his arm, but at this stopped and bent over him.

“Move the other, Charles,” she said urgently.

“I am,” he whispered. His eyes were closed and water ran from his hair. I looked down the table. Neither foot was moving.

(From GO TELL THE BEES THAT I AM GONE by Diana Gabaldon, chapter 110, "Confused Noise and Garments Rolled in Blood". Copyright © 2021 by Diana Gabaldon. All rights reserved.)

Clearly there's damage to his spinal cord, though we don't yet know whether the paralysis is permanent or not. The fact that he was able to move even one of his feet is a good sign, under the circumstances. In a modern hospital, with modern medical care, perhaps he would eventually recover from an injury like that. In the backwoods of North Carolina (or on a long ocean voyage back to England), under these primitive conditions, I'm not so sure. Just thinking about the practical realities of caring for a man with a severe spinal cord injury under 18th-century conditions rather takes my breath away, though I'm sure these things happened back then.

CONCLUSION

There are many more characters with disabilities in the books that I didn't have room to discuss here: Arch Bug, Kezzie Beardsley, Murphy the cook -- the list goes on and on! There just isn't time to explore all of them! The overall effect is to reinforce the idea that people with disabilities have always been part of society, and always will be. Diana Gabaldon's portrayal of disabled characters in these books feels just right to me, on multiple levels. In my opinion, including all types of people, including those with disabilities of various kinds, makes for a richer, more realistic, and more immersive reading experience, especially in historical fiction, and I wish more authors did it.

What do you think about the portrayal of characters with disabilities in the OUTLANDER books? Are there other characters I've left out who made a particular impression on you? Please leave a comment here or on my Outlandish Observations Facebook page.