Rereading the Vorkosigan Saga: Memory, Chapters 7-9

Here’s the thing: I love Barrayar.

It’s a hideous horrible clump of dirt orbiting a sun somewhere a bunch of wormhole jumps and several centuries away. Its culture is godawful and masochistic. It is dismissive of women, callous to men, and completely horrible to anyone who doesn’t fit into its limited collection of Proper Barrayaran molds. It’s overdue for a Marxist revolution, but thus far its streets have run red with blood on several notable occasions without any substantial changes to its intolerable injustices. I don’t know why anyone puts up with it.

I am tired. I sprained an ankle falling off a horse a month ago, and when I went back to the barn today to ride for the first time since then, a horse stomped on my toes. I had to buddy tape three of them so I could walk the dog. I’m giving the toenails a 25% ...