Bantam Classics, $4.95, ISBN 978-0-553-21260-0
Historical Fiction, 2008 (Reissue)
The actual full title of Kidnapped is Kidnapped: Being Memoirs of the Adventures of David Balfour in the Year 1751, How He Was Kidnapped and Cast Away; His Sufferings in a Desert Isle; His Journey in the Wild Highlands; His Acquaintance with Alan Breck Stewart and Other Notorious Highland Jacobites; With All That He Suffered at the Hands of His Uncle, Ebenezer Balfour of Shaws, Falsely So-Called: Written by Himself and Now Set Forth by Robert Louis Stevenson… whew. It’s less of a title and more of a spoiler-heavy synopsis. Still, Robert Louis Stevenson was writing this tale in a sprint to pay the bills, we can’t blame him for skipping brevity.
Besides, all those words just set you up for what this story truly is: a tale of frenemies and adventures, long before your favorite fandom invented shipping wars.
The story kicks off with David Balfour, a hapless Lowland teen who travels to meet his miserly uncle, Ebenezer Balfour, to discuss his inheritance. His uncle is a man whose idea of a warm family welcome is to shove you into the nearest deathtrap. Ebenezer’s masterstroke is arranging for David to be kidnapped and sold into slavery. But don’t worry, this isn’t the last we’ll see of him, because karma doesn’t take holidays.
Enter the dashing Alan Breck Stewart: Jacobite, troublemaker, and the ultimate ride-or-die. He teams up with David after a shipwreck, because why not add Titanic-lite to the chaos? Together, the duo trudges through the Scottish Highlands, dodging Redcoats, murder accusations, and enough betrayal to keep a daytime soap opera running for years. It’s a buddy comedy with swords and kilts, and it’s glorious.
Mr Stevenson spices up his prose with Lowland Scots dialect, which, while authentic, can feel like trying to read Chaucer after three pints of ale. For non-native English speakers, it might feel less like being Kidnapped and more like being Held Hostage by the language. Stick with it, though—the payoff is worth the effort.
Also, the first few chapters have some serious Gothic melodrama vibes. Ebenezer is less serious villain and more cackling maniac who’d definitely wear a mask if Scooby-Doo and the gang were around to unmask him. Once David is bonked on the head and dragged aboard a ship run by pirates—I mean, “entrepreneurs”—however, the story takes off like a cannonball.
Oh, Alan Breck Stewart. He’s infuriating, arrogant, and a little bit scrappy, but also funny, brave, and (dare I say?) irresistible. The way he swaggers into David’s life, insults half of Scotland, and still comes out smelling like heather? Magnificent.
Honestly, I’m pretty sure Alan was my first literary crush, and I still haven’t recovered from the shame.
David’s dynamic with Alan is hilariously relatable: Alan struts around being cocky, while David mutters, “You’ll be the death of me,” and promptly follows him into danger anyway. Friendship goals? Perhaps. Therapy-worthy? Definitely.
Furthermore, Mr Stevenson doesn’t just write about Scotland. He breathes Scotland. The misty moors, rocky crags, and endless wilderness practically leap off the page. If you’re not longing to book a one-way ticket to the Highlands by the end, you’ve missed the point entirely. The landscape isn’t just a backdrop; it’s a partner in crime, shaping every twist and turn of the story.
The sold downside here is that the novel ends too soon. Just as you’re ready for Alan and David to form their own 18th-century buddy cop franchise, Mr Stevenson has the nerve to end the book. Sure, the story resolves, but you’re left wondering. What hijinks would these two get into next? Couldn’t they have stayed on the run forever, dodging Redcoats and outsmarting scheming relatives?
To conclude, Kidnapped is equal parts historical adventure, bromance, and wild Scottish escapade. Sure, the Gothic opening is clunky, and the dialect can be a hurdle, but once Alan storms into the story, you’re hooked. By the time it’s over, you’ll be begging for a sequel… and maybe googling “How to immigrate to Scotland.” Robert Louis Stevenson didn’t just kidnap David; he kidnapped us all.
