The Vorkosigan Companion - Lillian Stewart Carl [73]
Or the cultural misunderstandings between Betans and Barrayarans. I don't know which is funnier: the scene in the junkyard—"But that would kill him!"—or the repayment of Miles's financing: "Y'know, there's something backwards about this," from Ivan, as they tie their creditor up and then stuff bundles of money into his clothing.
Or just the little throwaway lines:
" 'I always knew,' Miles lied cheerfully. 'From the first time I met you. It's in the blood, you know.' "
"You can't eat an exhibit!"
"Who wouldn't? Who do you think you are? Lord Vorkosigan?"
"—even if he is at a convenient height for it."
And finally, there's the quiet smile that comes from subverting the conventions of the genre. A space opera/MilSF hero should be tall and ruggedly handsome (or tall and curvaceously gorgeous) and physically hypercompetent; s/he should have a plucky sidekick and a trusty blaster, should go charging valiantly into battle, and should be the center of attention and admiration, especially from the opposite sex. Miles is short and funny-looking, he's generally unarmed except for an old knife, his sidekick is anything but plucky, he's in danger of collapsing before charging into battle, and as for the opposite sex . . . well, you'll see. The Warrior's Apprentice isn't a satire—it's a real science fiction adventure story, not a parody of one—but if you listen carefully, you can hear the sound of genre clichés being picked up, flipped over, and shaken hard to see what falls out.
Now, combining a picaresque space opera with a comic romp would be accomplishment enough for any author. However, Bujold goes for the hat trick. There's a third story being told here, and it's a grim, gothic tale of violence and violation, of innocence lost and old secrets coming back to bite. Be warned: there's death in this book, and pain, and bad things happening to characters that you've come to care about. While it's by no means a grisly or explicitly violent story, there are scenes here that are creepy, and disturbing, and that may haunt you for a long time afterward.
Comedy, it is said, ends best when it ends with a marriage or a voyage; tragedy, with a death and perhaps a redemption. The Warrior's Apprentice has all these things, though not necessarily in that order, and at the book's end you may be surprised to find that the seemingly disparate plot threads have come together. The tragedy plays out as it inevitably must, the comic elements are resolved, and the wild adventure loops around to an end. Just as the fragmented plotlines come together, so too—perhaps—do the fractured pieces of Miles Vorkosigan. I don't want to give too much away, but pay close attention to the book's final scene. Like the first, it involves a test, a difficult colleague, and the ascent and descent of a wall . . . but with a difference. Lois Bujold, you will find, does little by accident.
No discussion of Bujold would be complete without at least mentioning her quiet but effective use of recurring symbols. (I warned you I was going to talk about symbols, didn't I? Oh, come on, we're almost finished.) I'll just mention one, and then you can have the fun of trying to catch some of the others. Keep an eye out for old Piotr's knife, a tool that is put to a startling variety of uses, from the horrific to the comic. Sign of authority, implement of torture, means of escape . . . the knife hints at the complexity of old Piotr himself, and of the role that Miles is trying to grow into.
Well, all right, just one more: the title. Of course it's a sly reference to The Sorcerer's Apprentice, the foolish young man who conjures up an army of brooms and buckets and then finds that they've multiplied beyond his control. But there's at least one level of meaning beyond that. As you read, pause now and then to think about it.