I don’t know about you guys, but I read Cetaganda as a total cozy party-in-the-posh-countryside murder mystery. See for yourself: comedy of strangers being caught up in a remote location with high-strung pretty people, the comedy of manners (what a barbarian form of afternoon dress! theatralized poetry recitals!), and murders, of course. Miles unfortunately persists in misplaced het pining, but a) at this point it is downright caricature and b) there is Ivan, who miraculously makes everything better even though by all accounts he should annoy me.