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A review by allison_r
Gentleman Jole and the Red Queen by Lois McMaster Bujold
5.0
I wept. Mostly because it was beautiful. Also because it was sad.
I read "Cordelia's Honor" (the collected first two books of the Vorkosigan saga) when I was in early high school. Then read it again, and again-- the first half, "Shards of Honor," is probably one of the books I've read the most times in my life.
I was drawn to it for a lot of reasons. First, it starts with a survival/exploration sequence written by a biologist, which is a treat. Second, it's a really romantic book; I swooned over it before I knew what swooning was.
But the third reason was Cordelia. A brilliant astro-cartographer who gave up her way of life to be with the person she loved. She had a clearness of vision, a certainty of what she wanted and what she was willing to sacrifice, that I think I've unconsciously tried to model for most of my life. (Jury's out if I've succeeded.)
I think one part of Lois McMaster Bujold's brilliance is that her characters are meaningfully flawed-- so flawed that, when you encounter them from another character's perspective, they can be delightfully annoying. Miles spent the greater part of this book being a little shit who took much too long to wrap his mind around his mother's autonomy. Ekaterin rarely speaks and intercedes on Cordelia's behalf even less (that we see). We get to see how irritating Cordelia's persistent correctness and counseling can be. Aral, witnessed in the memory of those who loved him, kept part of his life that was dear to him secret from his family because of his shame.
If you're reading reviews of this book, this is probably why:
I think that instead of writing off this book because of its initial plot twist, it should prompt us-- as it prompted me-- to consider why this revelation was so shocking to us. Far more ludicrous for me is the suggestion that people could be married for any length of time, let alone forty years, without their relationship and sexuality changing. And honestly, it was so cool to see people who weren't twenty-two discovering new things about their sexuality, taking delight in their partners, having crushes, having sex, and starting new projects and families. (One of the main characters of this series, Aral, was in his 80s, bisexual, and had an active sex life. In-cre-di-ble.) It's more lovely because of the uncertainty of time and the wisdom of their experience, not less.
I guess this book also makes me grieve a little. For Jole and Aral, who did not get to take what was lovely between them into the light, partially because of disastrous political fallout, but also because of their own shame. For Cordelia, who had to watch them do this and couldn't make the decision for them. The most cathartic and devastating scenes for me were when Miles and Cordelia talked about Aral's bisexuality, and again when Jole told Miles about his relationship with Aral. This book turned the tables on me; I actually begrudged Aral for not telling people about his relationship with Jole, and I've been in the closet most of my life; I know how awful and necessary it sometimes is. I grieved at how much of my world I see reflected in Barrayar. It's funny how I simultaneously love this world so much and fully understand why Cordelia will raise her daughters elsewhere.
I've heard people call this the last book of the Vorkosigan saga. I don't know if it's true. But if it is, it's a damn good ending. It had a similar tone to "Captain Vorpatril's Alliance," a distinct sense that threads are being wrapped up now, especially as Cordelia returns both to the planet she discovered and the career she set aside in order to be a countess. As the series began with her, so, perhaps, it ends. It was a hell of a ride.
I read "Cordelia's Honor" (the collected first two books of the Vorkosigan saga) when I was in early high school. Then read it again, and again-- the first half, "Shards of Honor," is probably one of the books I've read the most times in my life.
I was drawn to it for a lot of reasons. First, it starts with a survival/exploration sequence written by a biologist, which is a treat. Second, it's a really romantic book; I swooned over it before I knew what swooning was.
But the third reason was Cordelia. A brilliant astro-cartographer who gave up her way of life to be with the person she loved. She had a clearness of vision, a certainty of what she wanted and what she was willing to sacrifice, that I think I've unconsciously tried to model for most of my life. (Jury's out if I've succeeded.)
I think one part of Lois McMaster Bujold's brilliance is that her characters are meaningfully flawed-- so flawed that, when you encounter them from another character's perspective, they can be delightfully annoying. Miles spent the greater part of this book being a little shit who took much too long to wrap his mind around his mother's autonomy. Ekaterin rarely speaks and intercedes on Cordelia's behalf even less (that we see). We get to see how irritating Cordelia's persistent correctness and counseling can be. Aral, witnessed in the memory of those who loved him, kept part of his life that was dear to him secret from his family because of his shame.
If you're reading reviews of this book, this is probably why:
Spoiler
I see a lot of reviews complaining that it hadn't been revealed before in the series that Cordelia, Aral, and Jole were in a polyamorous relationship for most of the series. But I kind of think that's the point. This book is about the fundamental opacity of others, certainly to the crowd, but also to the ones who love them. Miles, a brilliant investigator and the chief narrator of the series, never deduces on his own that his father was in love with Jole, because Miles-- like us-- was raised in a heteronormative environment, which even the influence of his Betan mother couldn't erase. By the same token, he didn't guess that Jole and Cordelia were dating before Cordelia told him, because parents aren't supposed to have sex or boyfriends!I think that instead of writing off this book because of its initial plot twist, it should prompt us-- as it prompted me-- to consider why this revelation was so shocking to us. Far more ludicrous for me is the suggestion that people could be married for any length of time, let alone forty years, without their relationship and sexuality changing. And honestly, it was so cool to see people who weren't twenty-two discovering new things about their sexuality, taking delight in their partners, having crushes, having sex, and starting new projects and families. (One of the main characters of this series, Aral, was in his 80s, bisexual, and had an active sex life. In-cre-di-ble.) It's more lovely because of the uncertainty of time and the wisdom of their experience, not less.
I guess this book also makes me grieve a little. For Jole and Aral, who did not get to take what was lovely between them into the light, partially because of disastrous political fallout, but also because of their own shame. For Cordelia, who had to watch them do this and couldn't make the decision for them. The most cathartic and devastating scenes for me were when Miles and Cordelia talked about Aral's bisexuality, and again when Jole told Miles about his relationship with Aral. This book turned the tables on me; I actually begrudged Aral for not telling people about his relationship with Jole, and I've been in the closet most of my life; I know how awful and necessary it sometimes is. I grieved at how much of my world I see reflected in Barrayar. It's funny how I simultaneously love this world so much and fully understand why Cordelia will raise her daughters elsewhere.
I've heard people call this the last book of the Vorkosigan saga. I don't know if it's true. But if it is, it's a damn good ending. It had a similar tone to "Captain Vorpatril's Alliance," a distinct sense that threads are being wrapped up now, especially as Cordelia returns both to the planet she discovered and the career she set aside in order to be a countess. As the series began with her, so, perhaps, it ends. It was a hell of a ride.