Och, aye.

Last week, I wrote about books, books, books. And I've been agonizing every day since about all the books that didn't make it on to one of the lists. Books like The Shell Seekers by Rosamunde Pilcher. Books by Mauve Binchy. Books by James Herriot. Books such as All Quiet On the Western Front by Erick Maria Remarque; A Room With A View by EM Forster; Watership Down by Richard Adams; Kidnapped by Robert Louis Stevenson; Possession by AS Byatt (How could I have forgotten Possession?). And so many many more that missed the lsit because they didn't quite fit, or because the author was represented by another book, or...oh, I don't know, because I didn't think about it until later.

I like so many different genres, I could probably gone on for ages, but boring my blog readers is not my intent. However, as one friend adroitly pointed out in an email, there was one glaring omission from my lists.

You forgot Outlander, she wrote. You read that series annually, you get rather predatory over Jamie, and you refuse to listen to criticism of the book - which is totally unlike you because usually you're all set for a heated discussion about a book. Therefore I humbly posit that Outlander HAS to be on one of your top 10 lists.

Well, yes.

It's no secret that history is one of my one of my loves, but I also take a rather furtive pleasure in historical  romance. And Diana Gabaldon's massive Outlander series feeds my addiction. I used to joke that I was always part of the way through one of the books because they are big and when I'd get to the end of the series I'd often start again. To be fair, after the first couple of times reading the series, I stopped my insatiable devouring of the books and rather enjoyed a more languorous pace - a chapter here, a page there - so it took much longer to read. Now, they are more of a familiar friend that I turn to when in need of indulgence. But they are still among my favourites, and just writing this makes me think about picking one of them up again.

(Read why tomorrow)