I’ve been re-reading Lois McMaster Bujold’s Vorkosigan series recently, which means that it’s time to add another entry to my extremely timeline-extended set of reviews for the series.
This time, we’re going to talk about Borders of Infinity, which is a collection of Vorkosigan short stories and novellae.
In the interests of full disclosure, I think one of the stories in this volume, The Mountains of Mourning, coming in at a whopping 84 pages, is one of the tightest, most emotionally affecting, beautiful and sorrowful pieces of writing I’ve ever read, and I don’t say that lightly.
Each of the stories has been published elsewhere, but getting them together in one collection is handy - though there’s now another short, Flowers of Vashnoi available, meaning you don’t quite get all the Vorkosigan short tales in one volume any more. The stories are surrounded by a framing story, of Miles Vorkosigan (he of The Warrior’s Apprentice and well, much of the rest of the series) getting surgery on his bones, on Earth, after the events of Mirror Dance. The frame is amicable enough, and gives a little connective flesh between the bones of the stories it surrounds - but it’s by no means the meat of the thing, and I’d struggle to recommend picking up the collection just for the frame, unless you’re a real completionist.
The Borders of Infinity is, confusingly, the same of one of the stories in the collection. Here we see Miles at his best - or worst, depending on how you look at it. Thrown into a military prison camp, he works to gather resources, motivate the prisoners, and escape. The prison, though, is a near featureless void - a plain on which there is nothing to see, nothing to do, where the vast possibilities of humanity are constrained udunderner the edges of their own expectations, chained by their own demons. And, to be fair, by a giant dome which encircles the place. Guards are dispensed with, the prisoners sealed in the dome. Shelter, given the dome, is unnecessary. Food is dispensed, regularly, but in such a way as to encourage internal conflict. By the time Miles arrives, military hierarchy is breaking down. The worst impulses of the prisoners, left with no external enemy to turn upon, are turning on each other, even as their minds slowly turn in on themselves. With no way to act, those people Miles has come to save are slowly going mad, driven to depression, suicide, and infighting. Bujold brings a desolate emptiness to grey, horrifying life. But she also gives us more of Miles’ verve, energy and manic refusal to stop, as he pushes forward, shaping circumstance and people in the service of his goal, with a combination of high expectations and fast talking bullshit. Miles brings hope to the hopeless, and that keeps me turning pages - well, along with the banter, and the “How will he get out of this” tension.
Labyrinth is a story from Jackson’s Hole, a world where everything has a price, and anything can be bought. That includes your own personal monsters. And here is Miles, thrown into the pit with a monster, a creature bred for war, left languishing in a pit, unable to die, unwilling not to live. But this is as much the monster’s story as one of Miles. As he sits on he precipice of ignominious demise, he finds common ground and respect with Taura - who moves gently from the Other, the horror in the dark, to being a person, someone to be seen and loved and known in her own right, with her own agency. Labyrinth is Taura’s story of manumission, and of personhood, and Miles is the catalyst. The transformation of Taura is done wonderfully, with a delicate craftsmanship that lets us see her as she is - and also lets her embrace herself. There’s a fair amount of action in this one too, and it’s always good to see the folk of the Hole get their comeuppance. This is a story of love and friendship and kindness, and, also, kicking the arses of some malevolent, awful people. Which also means it’s a heck of a lot of fun.
And then there’s The Mountains of Mourning. It’s actually at the start of the collection, and I don’t want to spoil it. But it’s beautiful. Miles is packed off to the backwoods of Barrayar to investigate claims of a murder. There are twists aplenty - who did what and to whom is remarkably hard to establish, even when you have truth serum at your disposal. And the poverty, the desperate, grinding life lived by people Miles is responsible for, is drawn vividly, brutally, and sympathetically. These are people shaped by circumstance, forgotten by those who should uplift them, trudging through their days, living as best they can. But doing so with the best and worst of humanity in themselves - bigotry and violence, old grudges and bone-deep prejudices, warring with kindness and honesty and hope for a better future for children. This is a story with teeth, and it hurts. It hurts to read, in so many ways, as the death of a child becomes the centre of a widening gyre which could tear apart a community, and where those who thing mutants should have their throats cut, have to contend with a Lord’s son, from the far off capital, who is under five feet tall, feisty, and unafraid. It’s a special story, exploring poverty and prejudice, responsibility and grace, and the prose is polished until it shines.You want to read this one; though be warned, it may hit close to home.
Overall, this is a solid collection, with some good stories, and one genuine standout, gamechanger of a tale. It’s worth the read, worth your time, and I recommend it wholeheartedly.
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