Whanganuilibrary.com
Normal view MARC view ISBD view

Dragonfly in amber / Diana Gabaldon.

By: Gabaldon, Diana.
Material type: materialTypeLabelBookSeries: Gabaldon, Diana. Outlander novels: 2.Publisher: London, England : Arrow Books, 2015Description: 963 pages ; 20 cm.Content type: text Media type: unmediated Carrier type: volumeISBN: 9781784751364; 9780440215622.Other title: Dragon fly in amber.Subject(s): Randall, Claire (Fictitious character) -- Fiction | Fraser, Jamie (Fictitious character) -- Fiction | Time travel -- Fiction | Scotland -- History -- 1689-1745 -- FictionGenre/Form: Historical fiction.Summary: "For twenty years Claire Randall has kept her secrets. But now she is returning with her grown daughter to the majesty of Scotland's mist-shrouded hills. Here Claire plans to reveal a truth as stunning as the events that gave it birth: about the mystery of an ancient circle of standing stones, about a love that transcends the boundaries of time, and about James Fraser, a warrior whose gallantry once drew the young Claire from the security of her century to the dangers of his...Now a legacy of blood and desire will test her beautiful daughter as Claire's spellbinding journey continues in the intrigue-ridden court of Charles Edward Stuart, in a race to thwart a doomed uprising, and in a desperate fight to save both the child and the man she loves."-- Publisher.
Tags from this library: No tags from this library for this title. Log in to add tags.
Fiction notes: Click to open in new window
    average rating: 0.0 (0 votes)
Item type Current location Collection Call number Copy number Status Date due
Fiction Davis (Central) Library
Fiction Collection
Fiction Collection GAB 1 Available
Fiction Davis (Central) Library
Fiction Collection
Fiction Collection GAB 2 Available
Fiction Gonville Library
Fiction Collection
Fiction Collection GABA 3 Unavailable
Fiction Hakeke Street Library
Fiction Collection
Fiction Collection GABA Available
Fiction Mobile Library
Fiction Collection
Fiction Collection GABA In transit from Davis (Central) Library to Mobile Library since 02/08/2019

Enhanced descriptions from Syndetics:

THE SECOND NOVEL IN THE BESTSELLING OUTLANDER SERIES - Now a major TV series.

For twenty years Claire Randall has kept her secrets. But now she is returning with her grown daughter to the majesty of Scotland's mist-shrouded hills. Here Claire plans to reveal a truth as stunning as the events that gave it birth- about the mystery of an ancient circle of standing stones, about a love that transcends the boundaries of time, and about James Fraser, a warrior whose gallantry once drew the young Claire from the security of her century to the dangers of his.

Now a legacy of blood and desire will test her beautiful daughter as Claire's spellbinding journey continues in the intrigue-ridden court of Charles Edward Stuart, in a race to thwart a doomed uprising, and in a desperate fight to save both the child and the man she loves.

TV tie-in

"For twenty years Claire Randall has kept her secrets. But now she is returning with her grown daughter to the majesty of Scotland's mist-shrouded hills. Here Claire plans to reveal a truth as stunning as the events that gave it birth: about the mystery of an ancient circle of standing stones, about a love that transcends the boundaries of time, and about James Fraser, a warrior whose gallantry once drew the young Claire from the security of her century to the dangers of his...Now a legacy of blood and desire will test her beautiful daughter as Claire's spellbinding journey continues in the intrigue-ridden court of Charles Edward Stuart, in a race to thwart a doomed uprising, and in a desperate fight to save both the child and the man she loves."-- Publisher.

Kotui multi-version record.

Excerpt provided by Syndetics

1 Mustering the Roll   Roger Wakefield stood in the center of the room, feeling surrounded.   He thought the feeling largely justified, insofar as he was surrounded: by tables covered with bric-a-brac and mementos, by heavy Victorian-style furniture, replete with antimacassars, plush and afghans, by tiny braided rugs that lay on the polished wood, craftily awaiting an opportunity to skid beneath an unsuspecting foot. Surrounded by twelve rooms of furniture and clothing and papers. And the books--my God, the books!   The study where he stood was lined on three sides by bookshelves, every one crammed past bursting point. Paperback mystery novels lay in bright, tatty piles in front of calf-bound tomes, jammed cheek by jowl with book-club selections, ancient volumes pilfered from extinct libraries, and thousands upon thousands of pamphlets, leaflets, and hand-sewn manuscripts.   A similar situation prevailed in the rest of the house. Books and papers cluttered every horizontal surface, and every closet groaned and squeaked at the seams. His late adoptive father had lived a long, full life, a good ten years past his biblically allotted threescore and ten. And in eighty-odd years, the Reverend Mr. Reginald Wakefield had never thrown anything away.   Roger repressed the urge to run out of the front door, leap into his Morris Minor, and head back to Oxford, abandoning the manse and its contents to the mercy of weather and vandals. Be calm, he told himself, inhaling deeply. You can deal with this. The books are the easy part; nothing more than a matter of sorting through them and then calling someone to come and haul them away. Granted, they'll need a lorry the size of a railcar, but it can be done. Clothes-- no problem. Oxfam gets the lot.   He didn't know what Oxfam was going to do with a lot of vested black serge suits, circa 1948, but perhaps the deserving poor weren't all that picky. He began to breathe a little easier. He had taken a month's leave from the History department at Oxford in order to clear up the Reverend's affairs. Perhaps that would be enough, after all. In his more depressed moments, it had seemed as though the task might take years.   He moved toward one of the tables and picked up a small china dish. It was filled with small metal rectangles; lead ''gaberlunzies,'' badges issued to eighteenth-century beggars by parishes as a sort of license. A collection of stoneware bottles stood by the lamp, a ramshorn snuff mull, banded in silver, next to them. Give them to a museum? he thought dubiously. The house was filled with Jacobite artifacts; the Reverend had been an amateur historian, the eighteenth century his favorite hunting ground.   His fingers reached involuntarily to caress the surface of the snuff mull, tracing the black lines of the inscriptions--the names and dates of the Deacons and Treasurers of the Incorporation of Tailors of the Canongate, from Edinburgh, 1726. Perhaps he should keep a few of the Reverend's choicer acquisitions . . . but then he drew back, shaking his head decidedly. ''Nothing doing, cock,'' he said aloud, ''that way madness lies.'' Or at least the incipient life of a pack rat. Get started saving things, and he'd end up keeping the lot, living in this monstrosity of a house, surrounded by generations of rubbish. ''Talking to yourself, too,'' he muttered.   The thought of generations of rubbish reminded him of the garage, and he sagged a bit at the knees. The Reverend, who was in fact Roger's greatuncle, had adopted him at the age of five when his parents had been killed in World War II; his mother in the Blitz, his father out over the dark waters of the Channel. With his usual preservative instincts, the Reverend had kept all of Roger's parents' effects, sealed in crates and cartons in the back of the garage. Roger knew for a fact that no one had opened one of those crates in the past twenty years.   Roger uttered an Old Testament groan at the thought of pawing through his parents' memorabilia. ''Oh, God,'' he said aloud. ''Anything but that!''   The remark had not been intended precisely as prayer, but the doorbell pealed as though in answer, making Roger bite his tongue in startlement.   The door of the manse had a tendency to stick in damp weather, which meant that it was stuck most of the time. Roger freed it with a rending screech, to find a woman on the doorstep.   ''Can I help you?''   She was middle height and very pretty. He had an overall impression of fine bones and white linen, topped with a wealth of curly brown hair in a sort of half-tamed chignon. And in the middle of it all, the most extraordinary pair of light eyes, just the color of well-aged sherry.   The eyes swept up from his size-eleven plimsolls to the face a foot above her. The sidelong smile grew wider. ''I hate to start right off with a cliche,´ '' she said, ''but my, how you have grown, young Roger!'   Roger felt himself flushing. The woman laughed and extended a hand. ''You are Roger, aren't you? My name's Claire Randall; I was an old friend of the Reverend's. But I haven't seen you since you were five years old.''   ''Er, you said you were a friend of my father's? Then, you know already. . . .''   The smile vanished, replaced by a look of regret.   ''Yes, I was awfully sorry to hear about it. Heart, was it?'' ''Um, yes. Very sudden. I've only just come up from Oxford to start dealing with . . . everything.'' He waved vaguely, encompassing the Reverend's death, the house behind him, and all its contents.   ''From what I recall of your father's library, that little chore ought to last you 'til next Christmas,'' Claire observed.   ''In that case, maybe we shouldn't be disturbing you,'' said a soft American voice.   ''Oh, I forgot,'' said Claire, half-turning to the girl who had stood out of sight in the corner of the porch. ''Roger Wakefield--my daughter, Brianna.''   Brianna Randall stepped forward, a shy smile on her face. Roger stared for a moment, then remembered his manners. He stepped back and swung the door open wide, momentarily wondering just when he had last changed his shirt.   ''Not at all, not at all!'' he said heartily. ''I was just wanting a break. Won't you come in?''   He waved the two women down the hall toward the Reverend's study, noting that as well as being moderately attractive, the daughter was one of the tallest girls he'd ever seen close-to. She had to be easily six feet, he thought, seeing her head even with the top of the hall stand as she passed. He unconsciously straightened himself as he followed, drawing up to his full six feet three. At the last moment, he ducked, to avoid banging his head on the study lintel as he followed the women into the room.       ''I'd meant to come before,'' said Claire, settling herself deeper in the huge wing chair. The fourth wall of the Reverend's study was equipped with floor-to-ceiling windows, and the sunlight winked off the pearl clip in her lightbrown hair. The curls were beginning to escape from their confinement, and she tucked one absently behind an ear as she talked.   ''I'd arranged to come last year, in fact, and then there was an emergency at the hospital in Boston--I'm a doctor,'' she explained, mouth curling a little at the look of surprise Roger hadn't quite managed to conceal. ''But I'm sorry that we didn't; I would have liked so much to see your father again.''   Roger rather wondered why they had come now, knowing the Reverend was dead, but it seemed impolite to ask. Instead, he asked, ''Enjoying a bit of sightseeing, are you?''   ''Yes, we drove up from London,'' Claire answered. She smiled at her daughter. ''I wanted Bree to see the country; you wouldn't think it to hear her talk, but she's as English as I am, though she's never lived here.'' ''Really?'' Roger glanced at Brianna. She didn't really look English, he thought; aside from the height, she had thick red hair, worn loose over her shoulders, and strong, sharp-angled bones in her face, with the nose long and straight--maybe a touch too long.   ''I was born in America,'' Brianna explained, ''but both Mother and Daddy are--were--English.''   ''Were?''   ''My husband died two years ago,'' Claire explained. ''You knew him, I think--Frank Randall.''   '' Frank Randall! Of course!'' Roger smacked himself on the forehead, and felt his cheeks grow hot at Brianna's giggle. ''You're going to think me a complete fool, but I've only just realized who you are.'   The name explained a lot; Frank Randall had been an eminent historian, and a good friend of the Reverend's; they had exchanged bits of Jacobite arcana for years, though it was at least ten years since Frank Randall had last visited the manse.   ''So--you'll be visiting the historical sites near Inverness?'' Roger hazarded. ''Have you been to Culloden yet?''   ''Not yet,'' Brianna answered. ''We thought we'd go later this week.'' Her answering smile was polite, but nothing more.   ''We're booked for a trip down Loch Ness this afternoon,'' Claire explained. ''And perhaps we'll drive down to Fort William tomorrow, or just poke about in Inverness; the place has grown a lot since I was last here.''   ''When was that?'' Roger wondered whether he ought to volunteer his services as tour guide. He really shouldn't take the time, but the Randalls had been good friends of the Reverend's. Besides, a car trip to Fort William in company with two attractive women seemed a much more appealing prospect than cleaning out the garage, which was next on his list.   ''Oh, more than twenty years ago. It's been a long time.'' There was an odd note in Claire's voice that made Roger glance at her, but she met his eyes with a smile.   ''Well,'' he ventured, ''if there's anything I can do for you, while you're in the Highlands . . .''   Claire was still smiling, but something in her face changed. He could almost think she had been waiting for an opening. She glanced at Brianna, then back to Roger.   ''Since you mention it,'' she said, her smile broadening.                   Excerpted from Dragonfly in Amber by Diana Gabaldon All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

Reviews provided by Syndetics

Library Journal Review

This time-traveling romantic adventure will please fans who have been waiting for the further adventures of Dr. Claire Beauchamp Randall, a 20th-century American who goes to Scotland in search of her 18th-century husband, virile Scot Jamie Fraser, whom she met and married in Outlander ( LJ 7/91). Book 2 of a planned trilogy takes readers along on Randall's quest, as she hopes to find a state or time (like that of the title's dragonfly suspended in a piece of amber) where Fraser still exists. This imaginative novel suffers somewhat from the author's overuse of personification (``spectacles gleaming with concern and curiosity'') and her confusing switches between the two first-person narrations, which sometimes cloud an otherwise intriguing adventure. But Outlander 's readers will still devour this hefty volume without complaint.--Marlene Lee, Drain Branch Lib., Ore. (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

Publishers Weekly Review

This immensely long, compulsively readable sequel to Outlander follows time-traveler Claire Randall and her 18th-century Scottish husband, James Fraser, to the court of Louis XV in 1744, as they seek to forestall the disaster due to overtake the Scottish Highlands at the battle of Culloden Moor the following year. Having learned from Claire about the forthcoming disaster, James, the son of a Highland chief, gains Prince Charles's friendship in order to subtly sabotage Jacobite efforts to raise funds for an invasion of Britain. When James is banished after dueling with his nemesis, Jack Randall, ancestor of Claire's modern-day husband, he and Claire leave France convinced they have accomplished their purpose. They settle back in Scotland, looking forward to peace, only to learn of Prince Charles's landing in Scotland and his signing of James's name to a declaration of the Stewart right to rule, effectively forcing the couple to the Jacobite cause and a fate they are unable to prevent. Portraying life in court and hut and on the battlefield through the eyes of a strong-minded, modern participant, Gabaldon offers a fresh and offbeat historical view, framed by an intriguing contemporary issue of Claire's daughter's paternity. (Aug.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

Kirkus Book Review

An engaging time-travel romance, the second of a trilogy (after Outlander, 1991), that animates the people and politics of a pivotal period in history--while turning up the heat between an appealing modern heroine and a magnetic romantic hero. It's now 1968, and Claire Beauchamp Randall has returned to Inverness, Scotland, with her daughter, Brianna. This is Claire's first visit back since she and husband Frank visited 22 years before--when she walked through a Druid stone circle into the middle of the 18th century. Now, Frank is dead, and Claire hopes to learn what happened to the second great love of her life--gallant Jamie Fraser, laird of Lallybroch whom she married during her journey into the past. She's also looking for a way to tell Brianna who her real father is. Framed by these dilemmas, the bulk of the story consists of the second installment of Claire and Jamie's adventures. Escaping the English death sentence passed against Jamie, they flee to prerevolutionary Paris, where they secretly work at foiling Bonnie Prince Charlie's efforts to regain the Scottish throne. But this espionage is only the beginning. Two rapes, Claire's near-fatal miscarriage, Jamie's attempted murder by one enemy and his tormented and volatile feud with another, the evil ``Black Jack'' Randall, are only part of the action that keeps things lively. Then the inevitable war breaks out in Scotland, and Claire and Jamie are in the thick of it--until the English draw too near and Jamie sends Claire back through the stone circle to save their unborn baby. At the close, Claire is relieved to learn that bighearted, ingenious Jamie--who will surely go on to the final installment--has survived. A most entertaining mix of history and fantasy whose author, like its heroine, exhibits a winning combination of vivid imagination and good common sense.