I just finished The Outlander by Gil Adamson.

This was the November selection for the book club that meets at my local library. This is not a book I would have ever chosen to read on my own, but then that’s why I like being part of a book club of near strangers. I end up reading things I would never have read under ordinary circumstances. Usually, I’m better for it. Not always, of course. But usually. This was one of those times.

I enjoyed the tale of a young widow on the run in the wilds of Canada in the early 20th century. The story is interspersed with flashbacks that slowly reveal how the widow came to be in her current predicament. If you’re not a fan of non-linear storytelling, then this novel might drive you batty. I didn’t mind it. At times it was hard to tell what was real from the widow’s own delusions, but that merely serves to put you more firmly in the widow’s own shoes. She herself often can’t tell reality from her mind’s creations.

It’s a good book, if a bit bleak. But sometimes bleak is just what you need.