The best books with antidotes to Outlander's version of Scottish history

Start with these. Distilling a lifetime's reading, these four pocket-sized volumes are a quilt of short extracts from contemporary texts written by and about Scots from the middle ages to 1802. Introduced and commented on with distinctly interwar charm and wit, they paint the single most vivid picture of real Scottish life I've ever read. I picked up the first two volumes from the shelves of a retiring colleague and immediately ran to buy the others—you're in for a treat.

A bracing tonic for anyone slogging through the Outlander—or Waverley—version of the Jacobite rebellions, Jacob's 1911 novel is beautiful, painful, and utterly unromantic (even though the deep attraction felt between the two main male characters is the driving force of much of the plot). It throws into sharp relief the ambiguities of civil war and the ways in which personal background, inclination, and affection play more of a role than principle ever could in determining an individual's place in such a conflict. Each year, my students are continually surprised by how much they enjoy it.

A forgotten gem of a book. Katherine Parker hasn't (yet) enjoyed the same revival of interest as Violet Jacob, but this volume alone should make us reconsider. Sitting somewhere between biography and novel, it teases us and makes us a little uncomfortable as it veers between fragments of dialogue—clearly invented, albeit very much in keeping with period language—and more obviously historical passages, telling the eventful life of Jean Cochrane, Viscountess Dundee (1662-1695) from her birth in the west of Scotland, through her marriage with the famous Jacobite general Viscount Dundee—"Bloody Clavers" or "Bonnie Dundee" depending on your political preferences—to her strange death, killed by a collapsing inn roof in Utrecht, and her stranger exhumation a hundred years later.

Surviving in a single manuscript, printed once in 1844, and forgotten almost instantly, the Breiffe Narration is, without doubt, one of the masterpieces of Scottish prose. It is the autobiography, partial in more ways than one, of Father Gilbert Blackhall (d. 1671), a soldier turned Catholic priest from Aberdeenshire who was the confessor to three leading noblewomen during the tumultuous period of the civil wars. Blackhall evades robbers, rescues his noble charges from dastardly plots, and travels halfway across Europe in a first-person narrative written in a rich, broad Scots and full of vivid dialogue (presumably more invented than remembered, but splendid for all that). My copy has almost been read to pieces.

What is the dividing line between genius and madness? The question is a pressing one when you face Sir Thomas Urquhart of Cromarty (1611-1660), duelist, soldier, mathematician, genealogist, linguist, poet, historian, metaphysician, cryptographer, and endless self-promoter. It is said that Urquhart invented as many words as Shakespeare. The difference? Shakespeare's neologisms caught on, while "disobstetricate," "enixibility," and "scripturiency" remain firmly outside the dictionaries. If you're feeling brave, though, Urquhart's Discovery of a Most Exquisite Jewel More Precious Than Diamonds Inchased with Gold, The Like Whereof Was Never Seen in Any Age (he means his own writing) is one of the richest, maddest, most compelling narratives of a Scot trying to find himself and his country in the war-torn seventeenth century.