Announcement: I have firmly resolved to harbor absolutely no empathy for Claire's perpetual hemming and hawing about, "I'm not sure if we belong together." You two have been magnetically pulled towards each other by sheer magic, spanning epochs. Accept your fate and confront your trust demons, Claire, for if anyone's union is preordained, it's undoubtedly yours with Jamie.
Jamie and Claire seem astonishingly nonchalant about boarding a minuscule ship bound for the West Indies in hot pursuit of Young Ian, who's on the brink of being enslaved by the Portuguese—or some such dire fate. Reassuringly, we're told that the lad is presumably valued at a whopping thirty pounds, so as long as he stays out of mischief, he should remain unharmed. You might be pondering, "Oh no, what will Jenny think of this madness?" but Jamie, ever the pragmatist, has wisely opted to dispatch a letter to Lallybroch and let the consequences unfold as they may.
Jamie's official title aboard the ship is "supercargo," a term more aligned with maritime terminology than Transformer lore. He's even garnered some hometown backing from fellow inmates from his prison days.
Among those well-wishers, unfortunately, is Fergus, who has brought along his freshly minted bride, Marsali—Laoghaire's very image, down to the last detail. In a shocking twist, she views Claire with disdain, branding her a harlot and perhaps even a witch. Their union, it seems, is more of a symbolic handfasting than a consummated marriage, prompting Jamie to don the role of youthful sex watchdog. However, such matters must wait for another time.
As the episode unfolded, I found myself contemplating, "Hmm, it's evident that Claire will face significant objections, which she'll eventually overcome by drilling wisdom into someone's cranium or diagnosing diabetes. But what form will these objections assume?" Will Claire:
A) Simply existing as a female aboard ship, amidst sailors notorious for their deep-seated superstitions, might pose a challenge in itself?
B) Attempt to pioneer feminism in such an era?
C) Meddle in a punishment scene akin to a flogging—albeit impossible on this non-naval vessel, much to my dismay, as I had envisioned titling this recap "Rum, Sodomy, and the Imagined Lash"?
D) Or indulge in behaviors so uncharacteristically futuristic and eccentric that they might as well be perceived as witchcraft, given her persistent oversight of how bizarre she appears to them? (*Note: The absence of actual whipping aboard ship ruins my pun-intended recap title.)
To give Claire some slack, couldn't Jamie have spared a mere ten minutes to prepare her for these unforeseen circumstances? And perhaps refrain from engaging in passionate kisses in full view of the crew? He is acutely aware of her incessant chatter and her inability to keep her thoughts to herself. However, events unfold at a breakneck speed, often from unanticipated angles, barely registering on the crew's paranoia radar. This voyage is a symphony of elements, featuring a captain who quotes Shakespeare with elegance and indulges in superstitions to maintain crew morale. (Claire retorts, "Believing in something doesn't render it tangible!")
Regrettably, this journey also includes an ominous set of chimes signaling the arrival of Yi Tien Cho, alias Mr. Willoughby. Gary Young embodies the role with fervor, a notable improvement over his novel counterpart (thankfully devoid of a foot fetish). Yet, his character is steeped in mystical elements, casting doubts on how seamlessly the Jamaican storyline will unfold. Period dramas often grapple with portraying people of color, often resorting to awkward avoidance tactics. If not for the show's fidelity to a prolonged series of novels, I suspect they might have skipped the West Indies detour entirely, sticking to Anglo-Scottish intrigues. Nevertheless, here we are, embarked on this venture, eager to see where it leads.
After languishing in a prolonged funk that nearly culminated in the tragic fate of a scapegoat crew member, Yi Tien Cho seizes an opportunity to demonstrate his exceptional talent for gauging the emotional climate of a room—a gift that, as we are acutely aware, has eluded Claire throughout her journey. Spotting a seabird gliding perilously low, hinting at an impending weather shift, he weaves an intricately ornate narrative, replete with literary allusions that would surely captivate Edward Said himself, captivating the crew's attention and diverting their pitchforks and torches just in time for the wind to catch their sails and rejuvenate their spirits.
This narrow window of respite affords Jamie and Claire but a fleeting moment of intimacy, Jamie's seasickness miraculously vanquished by the ancient art of acupuncture. Yet, their tryst is abruptly interrupted by the advent of an external dilemma: a British man-of-war, plagued by typhoid and desperately seeking a ship's surgeon. Unperturbed by her own well-being, having been fortified by vaccination, Claire hastily boards the ailing vessel to impose her directives on sanitation and patient care—only to find herself abruptly whisked away as the ship sets sail, leaving behind a scenario that borders on an archaic act of legal abduction. It seems our history lessons on impressment have finally found their moment in the spotlight, albeit with a gender twist that might challenge historical accuracy. (Nevertheless, let us not dwell on such trivia.)
HOW WILL OUR STAR-CROSSED LOVERS RECONNECT? Will their paths reunite in the New World's uncharted territories? And what of Young Ian? Perhaps it's time we began referring to him simply as "Ian," given our potential detour from Scotland for the foreseeable future. Such a moniker shift feels apt, doesn't it?
