My dad is bingeing Outlander.
Just putting that out there.
I have been an Outlander fan since 1994, at least. I was pigging out on Diana Gabaldon’s 800-page time-travel novels back when there were only three of them. They had supercheesy romance-fiction covers. I didn’t care—I was a goner for this genre-busting story of a former Army nurse who starts out in 1940s Scotland but wakes up and finds herself in the 1700s.
I got into Outlander before the internet, before obsessive chat boards, before any of the wild fandom that this sexy series has spawned. In Edinburgh this spring, we could have gone on Outlander tours to see the sites where the series is filmed. I didn’t go, because I haven’t yet watched the Starz series that is now in its fourth season. I didn’t want to put any of it in my head before watching the series.
Why didn’t I jump in on the Outlander series at its premiere, four years ago? I wanted to wait until there was a ton of it to watch—I’m so spoiled now, none of this wait-til-next-week business like in the olden days of TV.
But now, the time is ripe. The first two seasons of Outlander have just landed on Netflix, so I don’t have to put out a Starz cable subscription.
I mean, Dad is asking me all sorts of questions about whether Claire Fraser is ever going to come out of the 1700s and return to the 20th century. I need to catch up with him.