I do not know what it would be to read Gamelife without also having lived a life of meaningful games. Childhood is long, we have all shed potential lives that didn’t quite fit. Games fit me. The life I settled on, the one that Gamelife rips into the open air, is Secret of Mana: The way it felt to pull the rusty sword out of the stump; to be exiled from your village; to find the seeds; to revive the Mana tree. It was not the first game I loved, but it was the first game that no one else at school talked about or cared about. The first game that was just mine.
Gamelife puts you back there, if there exists as a place for you to return. Who can say what unsummoned memory might pierce you if Secret of Mana was instead filled with football practices or piano lessons? Game memories flood back not as diversion or waste but as hobby, habit, real experience. Your limited time on earth was spent non-frivolously, seeing and touching and being other than you.
My character was a half-elf wild-magic sorcerer, and the first things he tried in any given scenario were the intellect-based skills of a wizard—arcana; history—even though he stunk at them. I had him functionally want to be a calm, studied wizard, jealous of their supposed composure, and it was fun to have the game seem to play along. He occasionally got to sass a wizard with a labeled “sorcerer only” line like, “I thought wizards were supposed to be smart?” Coming from him, that line had more jealous melancholia than snark.
Read MorePokémon–videogames writ large, but Pokémon firstly and specifically–attach to a particularized aspect of humanity that manages discovery, exploration, and pattern recognition. There exists in a created world an understanding wherein repeated actions receive continuous, replicable, and most importantly comprehensible responses: this, to me, is the foundation of videogames and the font of their appeal. It is unbelievably rewarding at a base level to be able to uncover definitive rules about the world, and it contrasts directly with our impossibly complex reality. Thus, the true magic of videogames is in making seemingly complex systems actionable and navigatable through the employ of a sparse handful of verbs.
Read MoreNow that I had discovered the rumors, I was soon way out in the corner of the map, being taunted by enemies for “relic hunting” when I should be leading the Resistance. Beyond intrigued by what the Palace of the Dead could possibly be, I found a secret door and what seemed to supply an endless possibility of tough, small battles. Oh, what’s that, now there’s a rumor of a pirate’s graveyard somewhere out beyond the islands far to the south?
Read MoreThe other huge strength of procedural generation, to me, is that it creates too many possibility spaces for the designers to decide what is best. I do not like spending my time in a video game trying to guess what the designer wants me to do. That can sometimes be inevitable, but it still frustrates me when I start seeing the various gameplay inputs as tiny puzzles with a golden-path narrative outputs.
I am not immune to this; when my own brain starts telling me to look for the optimal route so I’m rewarded with seamless narrative breadcrumbing and cohesively designed narrative, I know I am not treating the emergent story like my story but like a book that I have to tape back together to read.
Read MoreIf you’ve never heard of the Amulet of Yendor, I don’t know how or why you would search this out. But if you have even the smallest amount of interest in video game history—of uncovering the roots of the procedurally generated loot tables that underpin the gaming world’s new hotness—then Dungeon H@cks is required reading.
Read MoreAnd all of a sudden, I was through the main story quest. I had leveled past 50 on four classes and had admitted to myself I was, indeed, a dragoon main. Never could have expected it. Then I found myself doing something I even less expected—I was running end game content.
Read MoreTech and games are much more ubiquitous now than when I used to spend the afternoon at my friend’s house watching them play The 7th Guest. Games your friends owned were extra-magical, because you didn’t have the option to learn them well or to explore at your own pace. Because you were pigging-backing on their familiarity, you could see things in them you were not prepared to completely understand on your own merits. Paradise Killer has that vibe: I don’t always know what is going on, but I know I like it.
Read MoreThe movement, the puzzles, and the combat of CrossCode are so enjoyable. The major conceit—that you’re playing an MMO—allows some sideways commentary on video games in a way that’s really cute.
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