The Bujold discovery continues: Ethan, and a touch of Miles
Tehani and I continue our conversational review of the Vorkosigan series here with Ethan of Athos and the novella “Labyrinth” from the omnibus Miles, Mystery and Mayhem. This is my first time reading Bujold, Tehani’s nth. (We have discussed Cordelia’s Honor, the Young Miles Omnibus, and the novel Cetaganda previously.) Spoilers aplenty!
ALEX:
This novel started enjoyably enough, if weirdly, what with the discussion of uterine replicators – it is an unusual enough thing to encounter in SF that imagining a roomful of the things with an attending physician is weirder for me than reading about FTL! Anyway, things then got even weirder, and for me way harder to read, when it’s revealed that these replicators are being used because Athos is a world populated entirely by men.
TEHANI:
It’s really clever, the way it starts out. We know about uterine replicators because of Cordelia’s story (and Elena’s too, in fact), and so we naturally assume these are simply gestating children for some parents of the “usual” type. It’s quite a shock when we find out differently! It was a good introduction to the world though, setting us up to be fond of the main character.
ALEX:
The opening few chapters, those set on Athos, were quite a trial for me to read. The misogyny was so believably portrayed that, were this my first encounter with Bujold and/or I thought it was written by a man, I would probably have given up in disgust and never touched the series again. I swallowed my bile and continued because I figured a) Bujold deserved some trust after the characters of Cordelia and Elena, and b) neither Tehani and Tansy would have put up with that sort of crap. Turns out, thankfully, that this was a fair decision. Of course.
TEHANI:
Of course! Would we steer you wrong? I think (our friend) Alisa might have stumbled into that problem though – have a feeling it may be the books she tried to start with, which really isn’t a good idea. Readers, be warned! Ethan of Athos is NOT the place to start reading this series!
ALEX:
Whoa, I cannot imagine starting with this book.
TEHANI:
Having said that, I didn’t have the same reaction as you. For some reason, I wasn’t offended that this was a lifestyle choice made by a group of men a couple of centuries earlier. I guess I read it as that while yes, some of the men making up the colony originally might have been women haters, others would have joined for different reasons. And many years later, there is that whole whisper game that’s gone on about what women are like, causing both inaccuracies and naivity in the current generation. Ethan’s own reaction probably demonstrates that best, when he reads the scientific journal and can’t tell which articles are by men and by women! (Hilarious, by the way, in light of recent discussions on just that!). I was more cross that the children growing up on Athos weren’t educated about the outside world, and women, in any sort of way other than to dismiss or demonise them. Hmm, maybe that’s what you mean!
ALEX:
I think I find the very idea of men wanting to escape from women in this permanent way – since that’s what the planet is all about – irrational and offensive, when they also want to ensure continuity of their genes. They’re not giving their sons the chance to make the choice for themselves. There are some lines that really struck me – the “revolted silence” that greets the idea of growing female fetuses to harvest their ovaries, for example. It is a revolting idea, but the men are revolted by the idea of women being present in any real way on their planet. The way that some of the characters spoke of genetic choice I also found uncomfortable.
Anyway, the ovaries that Athos has been using for 200 years to develop their foetuses from are coming to the end of their productive lives. Ethan is an… obstetrician, I guess… who discovers that the replacements they’ve purchased are not what they thought. In turn, he gets sent on a mission off-world, to get some more. This of course means that he has to deal with that sin-inducing entity, Woman. His first encounter on the station where he disembarks is with just such a personage… who turns out to be Elli Quinn! Tehani, she is back in my life, just as you promised! Ethan ends up getting involved in a Cetagandan mess concerning genetic experiments with telepathy. He learns that women are not (necessarily) the enemy – although he does end up going home, to Athos, and mostly happily.
TEHANI:
Yep, it’s an overdose of Elli! She’s so awesome, and I think this book is fantastic because it really sets her up as an intelligent and resourceful person all on her own, not just as a sidekick to Miles. Well played Bujold!
ALEX:
Yeh, I am definitely an Elli fan.
Athos as a planet is a really interesting place. I’m very interested to hear, Tehani, what you think of it coming from a mother’s perspective. Like I said I found the misogyny hard to deal with. As a society, though, I was fascinated. The idea of earning social credits so that you can become a Designated Alternate – and the idea that being a parent is actually, hugely, valued in society. Ethan’s shock and horror that parenthood should be treated as unpaid labour was quite welcome coming from a male character! The idea also that celibacy is an accepted part of society was nice to see, as was the genuine love for children and Ethan’s desire to have a large, connected family.
TEHANI:
I think the actual societal model is brilliant! There are some people who really shouldn’t have kids, and parenthood is definitely undervalued in our society – to have both issues dealt with (in what I think is actually a very smart and sensible model) was a delight. Somebody make that world with women and I’ll be there! 🙂
ALEX:
Cetaganda does not come off well in this story at all. Their genetic experiments are shown as just that, experiments, and the idea that they might just possibly be serving an admittedly somewhat dubious greater purpose – as demonstrated in Cetaganda – is barely alluded to. This is one of the disparities between the two stories.
TEHANI:
See, this is where it fell apart a bit for me. Terrence and his background simply don’t fit the Cetagandan societal mould set up in Cetaganda! Here’s a quote (from p 319 in the paperback omnibus) to demonstrate:
“Is Cetaganda – controlled by women or something?”
A laugh escaped her [Elli]. “Hardly. I’d call it a typical male-dominated totalitarian state, only slightly mitigated by their rather artistic cultural peculiarities…”
It goes on to talk about genetics projects headed by men, sponsored by the Cetagandan military. In Cetaganda though, genetics is the sole province of women, right? And telepathy is NEVER hinted at!
Later (p 373), this conversation takes place:
There was no talk at all of ever admitting him to the ghem-comrades, the tightly-knit society of men who controlled the officer corps and the military junta that in turn controlled the planet of Cetaganda, its conquests, and its client outposts.
It all just feels WRONG given what we know from Miles’ adventures on Cetaganda – which surely Elli knows too!
Ethan of Athos was published about ten years before Cetaganda though, and therein lies the problem. Bujold obviously changed her mind about how she wanted Cetaganda to work between the two books, but reading them in close proximity makes the continuity issues very apparent. I like the Cetaganda version better (as I mentioned in the last review) and I think comparing the two, it’s pretty easy to see why Bujold changed track there. Terrence’s Cetaganda, what we see of it, seems just another male-dominated society, whereas the exploration of the society we see in the novel Cetaganda gives us a very different norm.
Bujold’s afterword in the Miles, Mystery and Mayhem omnibus which contains these stories is interesting for her discussion on the way she let the Cetagandans evolve in their own book, rather than just being the “rather all-purpose bad guys” they started out in the earliest stories. She also talks there about extra-uterine replication and genetic engineering, themes in all three books to one extent or another, making it a great wrap up to the sequence!
To be fair, I think the Cetagandan glitch one of the very few continuity problems with the Vorkosigan saga as a whole, so maybe I’ll simmer down and just let it slide now 🙂
ALEX:
It is indeed an interesting look at lack of continuity. I’d be interested to know what sort of notes Bujold kept!
Miles does not feature in this story personally. He does get several mentions, though, as Quinn reflects on her ?love/admiration? for him, and the role that she is playing within the Dendarii Mercenaries as an information agent. It’s a curious part of the Miles universe in that sense, and I can’t help but wonder whether Bujold considered a series featuring Quinn in her own right….
TEHANI:
OOOH!! What a GREAT IDEA!! Let’s write to her and ask her for that 🙂
I liked the ending of this book – I think Ethan shows tremendous but believable growth throughout the story, and his admiration of Elli is expressed in the most important way he can. Perhaps taking Terrence back with him and the little hopeful romance projected are a bit trite, but overall, it works pretty well.
ALEX:
I was shocked at first by Ethan’s request/suggestion that he take one of Elli’s ovaries, but came around to your point very quickly – that it’s an expression of immense respect, actually. Terrence is the character we haven’t spoken of much yet – he’s quite the enigma, since Elli and Ethan have slightly different takes on him and the Cetagandan has a very different view. I actually wondered, towards the end, whether the Cetagandan was telling the truth and that Terrence would actually end up betraying Ethan, so I was pleased to discover that he was on the up and up. And I didn’t think the romance was that trite, in the end.
The Omnibus is complemented by the novella “Labyrinth” which rounds out quite nicely, I think, a discussion of genetic engineering in the Vorkosigan universe. Miles gets employed to pick up a disaffected geneticist from Jackson’s Whole. Things (of course) go somewhat awry, and Miles ends up having to retrieve a genetic package… which is secreted in the leg of a genetic experiment… which is locked in a dungeon at the bottom of a very nasty man’s research facility. The genetic experiment turns out to be a fanged, clawed and 8-foot-tall 16 year old girl.
TEHANI:
And isn’t it fun how Miles’ adventures ALWAYS go awry? One of my favourite things about the books.
ALEX:
SO MANY DISASTERS.
I enjoyed this story, and it was nice to get back to Miles relying on his wits to get things done – and, this time, actually finding that his lack of height is af advantage, when having to crawl through ducts. I will admit to being a bit uncomfortable about Miles’ sexual encounter with Taura – no matter that she’s huge, she’s still young! And I’m not comfortable with the idea that sex can be used quite so (ahem) mercenarily – not and have both parties apparently enjoy it. Yes yes, perhaps I am confused in my attitude towards this bit; I’ll be the first to admit it!
TEHANI:
Yep, I struggled with that too. So many reasons this is not cool. From one angle, if you squint, it could be said that Bujold is using Miles like women are often used in books – as a sacrifice on the altar of sex in order to get to a higher goal. But yeah, Taura is so young, and naive, and unsophisticated, that it’s just icky. It also makes me wonder why, exactly, the character had to be this age? Miles is 23 in this story, and it’s something that bothers me a lot – if there’s no real reason the character couldn’t be a year or two (or three) older, why not make them that? I mean, Taura has a shortened life span, so making her 16 means Bujold can get more years out of her I guess, but really? It’s her own world building she’s dealing with! And while we aren’t going to read Falling Free in the reread (it’s not a Vorkosigan book, it doesn’t count I tell ya!), Bujold does the same thing with a character there too, which also squicked me (and is one of two main reasons I don’t really like the book – the other being, it’s not MILES!). So yeah, not cool, especially when it’s avoidable. If Bujold gets so much right, should we fuss when we have a problem with one thing?
ALEX:
I guess it’s disappointing to find these sorts of issues in books that we otherwise enjoy – I don’t like finding flaws in those I admire!
Anyhow, I also enjoyed this story for its greater exploration of Bel Thorne, the Betan hermaphrodite, and other Dendarii. I can see the crew developing in further stories, and I look forward to it greatly.
TEHANI:
Ah, Bel. I’m a fan of Bel – it is such a complex character, and Bujold draws it so well. Its emotional and physical journey is a highlight. Overall, I liked Labyrinth, and, no spoilers, but this story actually sows a lot of seeds that will grow hugely over the coming books!
ALEX:
Of course it does. Look forward to their growth and harvest!
Cetaganda: a conversational review
Tehani and I continue our very enjoyable review series of the Miles Vorkosigan saga with the first story from the third Miles omnibus – the novel Cetaganda. (We have discussed Cordelia’s Honor and the Young Miles Omnibus previously.)
ALEX:
I really enjoyed this story! Miles – and Ivan – are sent on what ought to be a relatively boring diplomatic mission to bear witness to the Cetagandan Empress’ funeral, and of course things go haywire from the first moment. Mischief certainly seems to dog Miles’ footsteps. There’s an attempt to frame him as part of a conspiracy against Cetaganda (Barrayar’s longstanding rival) and several attempts to wound and/or assassinate him – as a result of which Miles ends up investigating a potentially enormous Cetagandan conspiracy, involving the genetic inheritance of that race. Miles falls in love (well, in lust), goes to parties, gets hurt, and meets the Emperor… pretty much a standard fortnight, as far as I can tell, for him. There were a goodly number of twists and mysteries and surprises to keep me guessing and intrigued – it was much more a detective story than a space opera. It just happens to be set on an alien planet with a whole lot of genetic engineering going on (those kitteh plants are just weird). I allowed myself to be carried away by the story and didn’t spend too much time trying to outthink Miles (or Bujold), so the ultimate revelation – that it was a haut woman married to a ghem man, conspiring with a planetary governor – was a surprise, albeit one that made perfect sense.
TEHANI:
I was certain I remembered this as one of my least favourite Miles books, but on rereading, I found it really enjoyable. I think I know the source of my mistaken assumption though – it is very much, as you say, a detective story, with barely any space opera-ish events! Nothing wrong with that, but when read in the wrong order (ie: after a bunch of action-packed Miles adventures), it was a little tamer by comparison…
ALEX:
I can understand that coming at it from a more adventurous story would be weird. For me, it worked – The Vor Game isn’t exactly packed with space battles.
On the gender politics: I though the revelation and discussion of the intricate power balances within Cetagandan society were really interesting from a gender point of view. Miles’ surprise at the power that the haut women had, and the way in which it manifested, was perfectly appropriate: he wasn’t surprised they had it, but the way they had it, I think. The very idea that they have power over the development of the ghem and haut genetic development is a neat twist on the idea of maternal responsibility for children, I think. I’m not sure what to make of the ending, in light of this – the Emperor ‘marrying’ the Handmaiden, attempting to gain control over it? Will Rian give up control, or is the power structure too embedded?
TEHANI:
That’s a good point and I hadn’t really picked it up! I think that Miles, for all that he has grown up in a male dominated society, is pretty damn accepting of women in powerful roles (mainly thanks to his mother, no doubt). So you’re right, that was expressed well here, and it was mostly Miles trying to adjust his own notions of what an imperial society looks like, and who has the power.
To me, it seemed that Rian cemented her power base by “marrying” the Emperor, and I really couldn’t see how it would benefit him more than her. However, it was a smart move by the Emperor, at the same time!
ALEX:
hmm, perhaps you are right about Rian. Perhaps it’s both being pragmatic about how best to deal with a dangerous situation, and do what is best for the haut, which seems to be the overriding concern for both anyway.
On Cetagandan society: there have been references to the ghem and haut in other novels, if briefly, so it was good to get some greater understanding about what the heck is going on in this society. I still can’t say that I entirely understand it! It’s a fascinating way of thinking about genetic engineering as a way for society to express itself, and as a way of bettering itself too. Miles has some interesting insights into their collective attitude towards expansion which I still need to think about; there’s certainly an assumption – on Miles’ part as well as the Cetagandans – that expansion must happen, but quite why this is so imperative is opaque to me. One of the unfortunate things about the name choices is Bujold’s habit of saying “the haut Rian,” because I couldn’t help but read that as “the hawwwt Rian”…
TEHANI:
It is a really interesting way to consider genetic engineering. Expansion I think is a theme right from the beginning of the saga though – after all, Cetaganda invaded Barrayar when it was rediscovered; Cordelia and Aral met on opposites sides of a planetary claiming of Sergyar. It’s almost like the Wild West – who can claim the most planets, even when (like Komarr and the Betan colony), they are barely livable! But expansion is the reason Earth went a-colonising in the first place I guess, and despite all other advancements, humans are STILL overpopulating their habitats.
We need to talk more about the portrayal of the Cetagandan society when we look at Ethan of Athos – this book was written nine years AFTER Ethan, even though it precedes it in the internal chronology, and I think it’s one of the few places where Bujold mucks up her consistency with all the popping around. I like what she does with Cetaganda here better, for the record.
ALEX:
Ethan of Athos, up next!
On the characters: I so knew Maz was going to end up with the ambassador. Saw it a mile off. I enjoyed Lord Yenaro immensely – the idea of scent-work being a worthy art to pursue is delightful. Rian was… I was going to say impenetrable, but that gives all sorts of nasty implications. She was appropriately hard to fathom, I guess. I liked that she was mysterious and that it made sense for her character. Having Miles fall in love/lust with her makes sense, because of her great beauty and her untouchability. Miles continues to develop here, although it was hard to remember how young he was supposed to be – so much has happened to him! And Ivan isn’t nearly so annoying as he threatened to be in earlier books.
TEHANI:
I loved Maz! And I loved that the Ambassador loved Maz. I think it’s a very clever thing Bujold does with her minor characters – it’s very subtle and I wonder if you’ll notice it. Frequently there’s some little side story or a throwaway characterisation that shows about how some Barrayaran person or other has taken a step outside the old-fashioned, quite restrictive societal norms of the planet. Look out for these! They are showing the progression and modernisation of the planet from a sideways view!
I also loved Ivan in this. You need to watch Ivan closely too, as the series progresses. I want to talk more about him, but I won’t, til you’ve read some more books 🙂
ALEX:
ooooh you are giving me such teasers! I did wonder whether she was going to keep Ivan in a cute-Obelisk kinda role, or whether he would develop greater diplomatic insights as time went on. On Maz etc, t’s so nice to see secondary characters actually having a life outside of their interactions with the principal cast.
Questions: will Miles indeed have more to do with the Emperor Giaja? Will Miles ever be allowed to leave the planet again? What are Elena Bothari and the Dendarii Mercs up to??
TEHANI:
You know, I can’t remember if Miles runs across the Emperor (or Rian) again! Could they really STOP Miles from going space-side? 🙂 As for the Dendarii, just wait… 🙂
ALEX:
ARGH. Mooooore Miles to come!
Red Gloves are a bit creepy
This is the second book in the Curse Workers series. As such, it almost certainly contains spoilers for the first, White Cat (which was awesome).
We left Cassel Sharpe having discovered that he is not only a worker – possessed of magic – but the mightiest of all workers, capable of transformation magic. He had also discovered that his brothers had been using him as a tool for murdering people, that he had turned his best friend into a cat (which is better than having killed her, which he had thought), that she has now been cursed to love him, and that life is not, actually, going to be easier now that he is really part of the family. I think it’s fair to say that White Cat was a moderately dark book. It’s also fair to say that Red Gloves is, too. It’s not like things really can improve when you’re regarded suspiciously by most people at school, you’re in love with someone who’s forced to love you, your mother encourages you to help her con people, and you can’t trust either of your brothers. Oh, and your grandfather is a death worker, magic is illegal, and the mob wants a piece of you.
Fun times.
This is definitely a sequel. You could probably get by without knowledge of White Cat, but it would likely drive you a bit nuts. And rightly so; the power dynamics of the Sharpe family, and interactions with the Zacharov family, were neatly set up there and carried through here. (Also, at under 300 pages and a ripping read, it’s not like it would be a chore.) Those dynamics are fundamental to the plot of this story because when Cassel’s oldest brother, Philip, is murdered, both the Feds and the mob (with magic being criminal, of course there’s an underworld) come calling, wanting Cassel’s help and/or connivance. Cassel has to figure out how to deal with both sides of the law, not get kicked out of school, not get his mother sent back to jail, and how exactly to cope with Lila-in-love. It would be nice to know who is actually responsible for Philip’s death, too. There are some amusing moments in this book, mostly thanks to the witty banter that Black pulls out, but it is no light-hearted romp. The problems Cassel faces cannot be dismissed with witty banter and a clever con, much as he might like to.
I saw someone describe this as a ‘slice of life’ narrative, and that’s pretty accurate. There’s a fair bit of what could be seen as downtime – it’s not an action-on-every-page thriller, by any means. There’s having dinner, and doing homework, and catching up with friends. But neither is that dead time, because it’s developing characters, and the characters are a large chunk of what is so appealing about this series. Cassel himself is a very believable teen. His angst is real and heartfelt but also not overwhelming – broody Cassel never lasts that long; his family and friend relationships are appropriately messy and difficult to navigate. His school friends, Sam and Daneca, continue to play a large part in his life – helping, hindering, comforting, playing fall-guy. Their relationship also changes, separate from Cassel’s traumas. And then there’s Lila, who although central to White Cat in so many ways – her ‘death’ obsessing Cassel no end – hardly developed as a character at all, for obvious reasons. She gets much more of a showing here. Her awareness of the love-curse and her struggles with it are fundamental to much of Cassel’s own experiences. She doesn’t have much of a life apart from him, which makes sense in context, although towards the end there are some intriguing indications of What Might Be. In terms of minor characters, we get much more Mother Sharpe, which is fun if at times rather disturbing – the opportunities for emotion workers to be seriously creepy are legion. There wasn’t enough Grandpa for my liking, but I guess you can’t have everything.
The wider world of magic prohibition is slightly expanded in this volume, although the focus is still fairly tightly on Cassel and his issues. The main problem facing workers in New Jersey is a new proposal that would see everyone tested to find out whether they are hyperbathygammic – magical. The question then of course is how, or whether, that information would be kept private – and the fear is that the government would use that knowledge for nefarious purposes. There are overtones of the concerns raised by comics such as X-Men, of course, as well as other more general concerns about what the government (and other agencies, hello Faceblah) might do with personal information. There’s a very pertinent discussion of politics within this riveting fantasy.
I can’t wait for the third book.
Tiptree link of interest
This is from a while back, but Niall Harrison of Strange Horizons wrote about Her Smoke Rose up Forever and raised some interesting issues about some of the stories – including “Houston, Houston, Do you Read?” Some of the comments are very interesting too. Those of us who are reading the anthology for the Book Club started by Dreams and Speculation may find it stimulating – although I did skip over some of the discussion, because I haven’t read those stories yet!
Miles grows up: my Bujold discovery continues.
Tehani and Alex forge on to the end of the second Vorkosigan omnibus, watching Miles grow up and cause havoc. Alex falls further in love with the universe and Tehani watches gleefully. Spoilers! (We’ve reviewed Cordelia’s Honor here, and The Warrior’s Apprentice here.)
Tehani:
“The Mountains of Mourning” was an early foray into the Vorkosigan world for me. It was available for free from the Baen e-Library and I downloaded it, among a bunch of other stuff. It’s a novella, not a novel, and it is somewhat different to most of the other Miles books. It’s a rather introverted story, in which Miles is given an opportunity to consider the Vor aspect of himself and what it means, at the same time as confronting some ingrained social issues in his society that relate directly to him. “Mountains” gives us a rather more thoughtful Miles than we saw in The Warrior’s Apprentice, and fills out a bit more of his personality, and, again, grounds his honour more solidly. It’s a sad story, but one that ultimately fits in very well with the overall world-building.
June Tiptree book club discussion
Along with everyone else, I was sad to see that TJ had made the (sensible!) decision to let her blog, Dreams and Speculation, go. I came across her because of the Women in SF Book Club, and have so far really enjoyed the books and discussion. Rather than letting a good thing go, Shara at Calico Reaction and I have made the decision to jointly host and continue the Book Club; she’s doing the novels, and I get the joy of talking about James Tiptree Jr. So, welcome! And enjoy.
June’s story from Her Smoke Rose Up Forever is “Houston, Houston, Do you Read?” – a story I have previously read as novella double, paired with Joanna Russ’ “Souls” (there’s a headspin for you). What follows is some of my thoughts on the story – completely full of spoilers, so if you haven’t read it yet, back away! Following in TJ’s footsteps, I’ve added a couple of questions at the end of the post – feel free to consider them in the comments or completely ignore them, as you see fit.
This story sees three astronauts on a solar mission; they encounter a flare and when they come back around to the Earth side, things are… different. Houston doesn’t answer, but someone else does. They get picked up by a very different spaceship, one that seems almost entirely crewed by women – and it’s several hundred years into their future.
This story does what my favourite stories do: with an awesome sf story, its focus is on the people – their reactions, their attitudes, their problems. The astronauts are appropriately different from one another such that a range of reactions can be explored, but they don’t feel like ciphers; Tiptree deftly sets them up as individuals. I believe this story first came out when Tiptree’s true identity was unknown; all I can say is, Seriously? Did they just not see the feminism?
Anyway, the slow unravelling of the men’s good nature at being rescued by women is very cleverly done. I found the attitudes of the men towards the men really quite harrowing; their patronising tone, their easy assumption of supremacy, automatic belittling of the women’s competencies – it was presented as so horrendously normal and obvious. Bud, in particular, is horrendous in his attitude towards women as nothing but sex objects. That said, in some ways Lorimer is almost more horrifying; as the narrator and because of his scientific background I felt sympathy for him, but still his attitudes and perceptions of the women are almost entirely sexist.
The gradual reveal that not only is the entire ship crewed with women but the entirety of the human race is women, thanks to an epidemic three hundred years previously, is very cleverly handled. The idea of a single-sexed humanity has been explored in other science fiction, with varying results; I quite like this idea, with clones to allow reproduction. The most poignant reflection on the differences between a single-sex and two-sex world comes right at the end, when Lorimer tries to defend Bud and Dave’s aggressive actions. I could almost feel sorry for all of them at that point.
Questions:
1. Did you pick that the future society was single-sexed before it was revealed?
2. Was the futuristic society believable for you?
3. What were your reactions to the men’s characters and attitudes?
4. This story was published in 1976. Do you think it is still a relevant story?
Bujold: the saga continues. Or begins.
Tehani and Alex continue their conversational review of Lois McMaster Bujold’s Vorkosigan saga – Alex for the very first time. Spoilers ahead. (We have previously discussed the omnibus of Cordelia’s Honor here.)
Young Miles omnibus: Warrior’s Apprentice.
Tehani:
Warrior’s Apprentice was actually one of the last Vorkosigan books I read, despite it being the very first Miles book in the internal and publication date chronology. I probably couldn’t tell you which book I actually started with, but I know Young Miles (which contains this novel) was the last omnibus I worked through on my first time read. It was quite strange at the time, reading it with all the knowledge of what was to come but absolutely fascinating to see where the split personality that is Miles – Lord Vorkosigan of Barrayar, and Miles – Admiral Naismith of the Dendarii mercenary fleet, really began. It absolutely encapsulates everything we come to know of this mad little man – the fly-by-the-seat-of-his-pants ingenuity, his hyperactive intelligence, his sarcastic dry wit, his absolute faith in the abilities of those around him to do everything he thinks they can and more. We as the reader can’t help but fall in love with him as he careens from crisis to crisis, almost falling flat on his face more times that we can count but with that incredible brain working ten steps ahead of anyone else.
Well, that answers my question about the significance of the mercenaries! I figured they would continue to crop up; it seemed like too much perfect setting-up to simply have them only play a bit part in the continuing saga. Your assessment of Miles is spot on, and I think his faith in others is one of the more interesting aspects of his capabilities as a leader. It’s a much more realistic view, for a start. I guess you could argue that it allows Miles to get away with stuff that he really shouldn’t, and perhaps he could be seen as grasping too high/too fast; but really the ability to inspire others, and knowing when and how to use others (in good ways) is key to any leader actually succeeding. I was amazed by the careening – it was like watching someone who is just on the brink of falling flat on their face but instead manages to turn into semi-competent running. Also, the speed with which he went from washed-out wannabe officer to recruiting his first fellow-washouts was hilarious. Watching the development of the Dendarii force was mesmerising… like watching an avalanche and not knowing whether this is a good thing or a bad. It’s so unlikely, and yet… it works.
Tehani:
In this book, we get our first glimpses of the darkness that dogs Miles, a counterpoint to his hyperactivity and seemingly endless hubris. Always the outsider on Barrayar, set apart by his physical deformities as well as his intelligence and questioning mind, Miles suffers greatly when facing rejection or personal failure. This ties into both his sense of honour, instilled by his family and his social environment, and his own desire to prove himself. In Warrior’s Apprentice, he faces down defeat and finally feels like he’s made something of himself. But of course, what he’s made is completely made up! It’s a fascinating premise, and the action and characterisation, of even the most minor characters, is what makes it work.
Honour is clearly going to play a seriously large part in the whole series – the Cordelia books set that up, of course. I was amazed by the fact that he failed his physical, and deliberately within those first few pages! Not exactly an auspicious start for a hero. And the continuing darkness that, indeed, dogs him, is fascinating. It too lends Miles a sense of reality; he’s closer to three-dimensional because of it. I’m going to be really interested to see what Bujold does with that. I can see ways that it could be done badly – wallowing, or using it as a mark of a hero, getting repetitive or eventually letting it slip away without explanation… I hope none of those come about!
I’m assuming at this point that one of the reasons for Miles’ despondency in later books is the loss of the lovely Elena. Their relationship was a really fascinating one. I had assumed from early on that Elena and Miles would end up growing up together, and was curious to see where that went. I was saddened that it didn’t out with her! I really liked the honesty of Elena’s reaction to Miles’ declaration of love, though – that she would be swamped by him, which is I’m sure a fair assessment. To see her develop as a character, and to see Miles encourage her in that even as it means she’s growing away from him, was a really nice touch of character development. It must be said that Elena’s wedding to someone else was not the moment at which I had tears in my eyes, though. No, that was reserved for Bothari’s funeral. It was heartbreaking! And I was surprised that she got rid of him so early in the series, but I guess it would have been awkward for a cadet in the Imperial Forces to have a bodyguard all the time. Connected with Bothari is the other rather raw moment of emotional honesty: when Miles stupidly tries to bring Bothari together with the original Elena. Her hatred and revulsion of Bothari are so appropriate, and it was nice not to have an author thinking that should be smoothed over for … I don’t know what reasons can be used there, but I know it’s been done.
Tehani:
Oh, Bothari! I always forget that he dies here because Bujold lets him live large in Miles’ life in future books, simply by way of the enormous presence the Sergeant had in his early life. It was a spectacular way to demonstrate that no-one is safe in Bujold’s books, no matter how much of a staple they might appear, and also a very apt way to resolve (sort of) Elena’s mystery. To be fair, it also ties into helping Elena say no to Miles’s mad proposal – knowing the truth about her origins could have only strengthened her knowledge that realistically, a marriage to Miles would in no way be condoned on Barrayar. And Elena too was brought up with the same strict sense of honour that surrounded Miles, so it was something she could no way get around. Poor Miles – with the mother he has, only a certain type of girl is ever going to appeal to him, but finding the one who can cope with him, and his background, is never going to be easy!
I was impressed by Bujold’s treatment of Miles’ disability in this book. I had wondered whether it would simply pop up when it was narratively convenient, but the reader is hardly ever allowed to forget it – like Miles – not because it’s being forced down your throat but because she keeps reminding you that his legs drag, or limp, or that he’s slow and wears braces, and so on. It’s genuinely a part of the story, and that’s really really nice.
Also, one of the nice things I picked up – eventually! – is the fact that the pilot is Mayhew: presumably the same Mayhew who has a cameo as the pilot gulled into helping Cordelia escape Beta Colony. Nice tie in!
Tehani:
Ooh, I never figured that out! I’m a terrible reader – I am hopeless at noticing cameo characters!
I continue to be hooked. Questions raised: where will the Dendarii fleet end up next? What assignment will Miles end up with at the end of his training? Will Elena feature in the later books?
Tehani:
Again, I only answer one questions – YES, we will have more Elena! 🙂
Fly By Night: a review.
Mosca Mye, 12 years old and named for the common housefly, has escaped the dreary confines of Chough with Eponymous Clent, a swindler, and Saracen, a goose. What could possibly go wrong?
This book was written by someone (Frances Hardinge) who loves books and words, for all of us who do likewise. It’s utterly enchanting, with a sly sense of humour and delightful characterisation. I just love it. I read it when it first came out, and reviewed it for the Victorian Association for the Teaching of English. I believe I had grand plans of donating the book to school; I think I convinced them to buy their own copy instead. I have re-read it this past weekend because I discovered that Hardinge wrote a sequel, and I finally got my hands on it… and it reminded me of how passionately I loved it the first time. Surely, I thought, the Suck Fairy can’t have visited in six years? Happily, she hasn’t.
Mosca lives in a world that borrows liberally from the Britain of the early eighteenth century but also, as Hardinge herself warns, takes great liberties with anything resembling historicity. It’s a world of coffeehouses that float on the river; beautiful ladies in awesome gowns who go to watch beast matches; men with monocles and gloves and dastardly plans; and one girl who can read, is desperate for words and stories, and has a rather large dollop of bloody-minded determination in her head. Who else would kidnap a goose when she runs away? And who else could persuade the goose to hang around? The world’s resemblances to historical Britain also include a recent-ish Civil War, but here the result has been a Fractured Realm: no monarch has been properly proclaimed, and Parliament is dithering in its effort to confirm one (and has done so for decades). Religion, too, has been fractured, and it’s based loosely on the Protestant Reformation and Catholic Counter-Reformation (I’ve just realised; sometimes I am seriously dim).
So Mosca runs away from the sodden Chough, after rescuing Eponymous Clent (I never get bored by that name); they have various adventures, and end up in Mandelion, where yet more adventures await them. There are traitors, and mysterious benefactors, and villains-who-aren’t, and a just-manageable cast who remain entertaining and enthralling for the entire story; I certainly never got bored by any of them. Mosca demonstrates hidden strengths, as befits a plucky heroine, who at times descends to genuinely murky depths. Hardinge plays very interesting games with Clent, leaving the reader guessing for quite a long time as to whether he is a blood-sodden genius or a silver-tongued skin-of-the-teeth and seat-of-the-pants petty crim. Even Saracen the goose has some wonderful moments.
The narrative is entertaining, the characters are endearing, and the world is enthralling. Over all and in all and making it all wonderful, though, is the prose. Hardinge has a wonderful turn of phrase, full of alliteration and poetic language. It never falls into the flowery trap, mostly because it’s often in Mosca’s mouth, which means it tends towards acerbic instead.
Example 1:
The roof of the dovecote stealthily rose, and two sets of eyes peered out through the gap. One pair of eyes were coal beads, set between a bulging bully brow and a beak the colour of pumpkin peel. The other pair were human, and as hot and black as pepper.
Example 2:
Clent: Where is your sense of patriotism?
Mosca: I keep it hid away safe, along with my sense of trust, Mr Clent. I don’t use ’em much in case they get scratched.
Hugely recommended.
The discovery of Bujold: Cordelia’s Honor
Alex has never read anything by Bujold. Tehani is a long-time fan. Welcome to a conversation of discovery and re-reading that will undoubtedly include a lot of squeeing, spoilers, and misdirected guesses from Alex. Also a fair bit of meta-commentary, since we can’t help ourselves. There will be spoilers.
It’s so wrong, isn’t it?
Awesome 😀
The Secret Feminist Cabal – now with extra awards
Since I wrote this review last year, The Secret Feminist Cabal has placed on the Honour List of the James Tiptree Jr Award, and I received a Chronos Award (voted on by the Victorian SF community) for the review itself. Allow me this gratuitous moment of reposting! The other exciting thing that has happened since is that I got to spend time with Helen Merrick herself – an utter delight.
The Secret Feminist Cabal: A Cultural History of Science Fiction Feminisms
Helen Merrick
Aqueduct Press, 2009
“… what kind of self-respecting cabal would openly advertise its ‘secret’ existence through websites and conventions, identify its members through the wearing of garish temporary tattoos, and fund itself by the sale of home-baked chocolate chip cookies?” (p1)
I did not grow up considering myself a feminist; I have no idea whether my mother would identify as a feminist or not. That said, I grew up in the ’80s with a younger brother and there was never a time at which I felt that I could not do exactly the same things as my brother, if I wanted to, so I know (now) that I benefited from second-wave feminism – and from liberal, caring parents. I was regarded as a feminist by at least some people by the time I was in my late teens (looking at you, high school teachers), probably because I was loud and everyone loves a stereotype. It’s only been over the last decade (my twenties) that I have consciously thought of myself as a feminist. And it’s only been in the last couple of years that I have consciously sought out feminist books, feminist perspectives on historical issues, and really come to grips with the idea that feminism is not a singularity.
All of this is by way of contextualising my reading of The Secret Feminist Cabal, a marvellous book that has challenged the way I think about science fiction, fandom, and feminism. Merrick had me from her Preface, where she describes her journey towards writing the book in ways that resonated deeply with me, from the nerdy adolescent to the discovery of feminism and the dismay that many female acquaintances not only do not share our love of science fiction, they are completely mystified by it. Having only recently discovered the niche community that is sf fandom, the fact that so much of this book is concerned with expressions of feminism within that community – and how they impacted on sf broadly – was the icing on the cake.
Merrick begins by examining the very idea ‘feminist sf’, defining which – much like attempting to define sf by itself – is like the proverbial attempt by blind women at describing an elephant. She approaches it by discussing the multiplicities that are the reality of the genre, which is indicative of the approach she takes in the book overall and an incredible relief for those of us who are sick of being told THIS IS THIS and if you don’t fit, get lost. She also gives some space to justifying the use of literary criticism on science fiction, tackling that persistent and derogatory argument that science fiction doesn’t count as literature. While accepting that sf and popular fiction generally have an ambivalent position, as far as literary critics – including feminists – are concerned, Merrick makes no apology for using their tools. The rest of the introduction lays the groundwork for the book: what feminist fiction is or can be, the potentially problematic nature of feminist genre writing, and the ongoing divide that exists between mainstream criticism and feminist sf criticism. I particularly enjoyed that while Merrick engaged with these issues, at no point does her discussion become a polemic against those who have disagreed. Rather, she situates her investigation within the ‘grand conversation’ of feminist sf, and demonstrates constructive ways in which that can be extended to mainstream criticism – to the advantage of both.
I was forced to stare into space for some minutes when I read the opening to chapter 2. Merrick quotes from a letter written in 1938 wherein an sf reader opines that: “[a] woman’s place is not in anything scientific. Of course the odd female now and then invents something useful in the way that every now and then amongst the millions of black crows a white one is found” (p34). If nothing else, this book has made me grateful for the changes that have occurred over the last century, such that I have never been personally confronted with such a statement. This chapter provides an overview of the ‘invasion’ of women, sex, and feminism into sf, with a fascinating if horrifying look at the arguments of the 1920s and 30s for and against women being allowed into the genre. (She makes the point that of course women were already there, both as authors and readers, and that it’s hugely problematic when those foremothers are written out of history, as happens too often.) The 1960s and 70s saw some changes to the field, and the disputes that attended this period of ‘sexual revolution’ make for fascinating – if, again, horrifying – reading. My favourite section is that on Joanna Russ writing letters and criticism and the way such respected names as Philip K. Dick and Poul Anderson responded to her and her comments. I love the fact that what now generally appears on blogs as a long and convoluted comment-thread then featured in magazines, albeit at the mercy of the editor. This chapter alone is worth its weight in cookies for outlining the milieu in which both male and female sf writers and fans existed for so much of the twentieth century – an invaluable resource for a newbie like myself.
The third chapter takes up one strand mentioned in the second and runs with it: the idea of ‘femmefans’. The fact that female fans were distinguished by a separate moniker goes some way to revealing how they were regarded, at least by some males of the community. It’s almost heartbreaking to read of the letters written to pulps such as Amazing Stories by women who imagine themselves as the only female readers of such stories – another reason I love the future that is blogdom. What I particularly love about this chapter is its uncovering of specific women involved with sf fandom, in many and varied ways. Instead of making generalisations about readers and contributors to zines, Merrick goes out of her way to trace named individuals and outline their experience within the scene. Appropriately, there is a section on Australian women, who seem to be even more hidden from view than their American or British sisters.
The development of specifically feminist criticism of sf is discussed in chapter 4, with a fair amount of space given to Joanna Russ, as one of the progenitrices of formal feminist criticism and the name to which many others felt themselves to be responding. Merrick chronicles the rise of feminist fanzines in the 1970s, and the impact these had on writers and fans, as well as the increasing numbers of feminist anthologies being produced. The chapter moves through to the 1980s and ’90s, noting trends and struggles as feminists of those times attempted to define themselves as well as understand their histories. As with the previous chapter, Merrick provides copious accounts of individuals here, and an extensive reading list of both criticism and fiction.
Bouncing back to fandom, chapter 5 examines the development of feminist fandom concurrent with the development of feminist criticism of chapter 4. Again going for the intensely personal stories to illustrate a broad, diverse narrative, Merrick weaves a story of female fans and their involvement in the fannish community from the 1960s to the 2000s. The feminist fanzines sound like an amazing community to have been involved in. Her discussion of the place of Marion Zimmer Bradley in this community – beginning as a fan, becoming a well-known writer, and causing all sorts of controversy over her (at least early) non-identification as a feminist – is enthralling, and beautifully illustrates the axiom that the personal is always already political. The chapter ends with a discussion of how WisCon (a feminist sf convention) and the Tiptree Awards were established.
The last two chapters of Cabal “examine how recognition of the cultural work of sf feminisms filters out into other critical communities,” and as a consequence have a heavier, more literary-critical, feel, which may make them more opaque to some readers than the first five chapters. Chapter 6 deals with sf feminim’s response to cyberpunk, a 1980s sf movement that some saw as eclipsing or superseding the feminist sf fiction of the 1970s. Merrick connects this with theorist Donna Haraway’s call for feminists to consider the cyborg as a way of considering the fundamental issue of what it means to be human. The movement also connects with a growing sub-genre of cultural studies, that examining techno-science and cyberculture. A feminist take on these issues is an intriguing one, especially in its observation that much cyberpunk is opposed to the material, the body – and how problematic that can be.
Interestingly, Merrick takes her discussion in what feels like quite a different, although still relevant, direction for her last chapter: the connection of feminist sf with science itself, and how feminism is and can be in dialogue with that discipline. She suggests very strongly that sf feminisms can and should play a vital role in dialogues negotiating the interplay of science, nature, and culture, and gives examples of a number of ways in which this has already occurred productively.
Finally, Merrick has a provocative conclusion. She addresses new challenges such as those posed by queer theory and postcolonialism, and where or how feminism might still fit in. Along with a consideration, appropriately enough, of what the Tiptree Award has taught us since its inception, Merrick considers the question of whether the science fiction field is ‘beyond’ questions of gender. She argues that feminism – as long as it remains the challenging and diverse field it has been until now – still has a great deal to offer science fiction writers and readers.
A critical work based in a deep-seated love of the genre, Cabal is a testament to the enduring impact of women, feminism, and fandom on the fractured behemoth that is science fiction. 2010 saw it shortlisted on the Hugo ballot for Best Related Work, and win the fan-voted William Atheling award for best critical work. These are well-deserved honours. I hope coming generations of both writers and fans will make use of the cornucopia of references Merrick has gathered, both to understand the history of the field and because most of them make for wonderful reading.
Randomly Yours, Alex 