Целя най-вече да започна разговор, понеже в последно време се интересувам, та ако има хора с интерес...
![Smile :)](./images/smilies/icon_e_smile.gif)
~ I literally squealed with joy when I found out what Videogames for Humans is about. An entire book on Twine! And Twine games! And the people who make them! Why, welcome to Wonderland! :)))
Thing is, I have a friend who's been thrusting Twine onto me for the past couple of years; yet I, partly disappointed by the low tide of people's interest in pure text reading, partly excited about the new opportunities offered by visual novels, have been neglecting it, probably thinking thoughts like, "What can another textual tool bring to our waning medium?" Who knows? Sometimes, I can't quite trace my own thinking.
Anyway, finally I've found something that will guide me through Twine without (I hope) all the pain of trial-and-error, excitement-and-disenchantment, hit-and-miss. I hope. ;)
~ The opening essay, Eva Problems' thoughts on Rat Chaos, both thrilled and terrified me. And it did both for one and the same reason: its honesty. I love to see people open up like this. But then I hate to comment on their words. They feel ... too personal. In some way, sacred.
So see me smile instead, and nod.
~ Riley MacLeod's stroll through Fuck That Guy had me smile a lot, too. Sometimes incredulously ("C'mon, they can't be all that bad"), sometimes with great sympathy (especially at this part: "I tend to arc toward sleeping with people instead of sleeping with bodies"), and sometimes with bafflement (is Riley pulling our collective leg here or is this observation dead serious?).
At any rate, if the going's going to be that good, I'm holding on for dear life.
~ Emily Short's experience of Anhedonia is another instance of too personal, too sacred. In fact, here I'd have appreciated if Emily had said more, included more screenshots. Being bipolar myself, I'm deeply curious about others' version of depression and other ways to cope with it. So yes, I want moar. ;)
Also, so far I've been enjoying the essays far more than the game texts themselves. Hmmmm.
~ And seemingly to compensate me, the book then offers me Imogen Binnie's thoughts on Eva Problems's Sabbat. Where, while I do enjoy Imogen's thoughts, I squeal with laughter (or shudder with this tiny bit of visceral terror) at Eva's writing. It's luscious, lascivious, ludicrous. It makes fun of itself. What more could I ask for?
~ Tom McHenry's Horse Master is the second game whose narrative excites me. There's a type of jigsaw fiction (speculative or not) where the thrill is in discovering what world we are in. Naomi Clark's notes accentuate the discoveries--so much so that sometimes they feel like the log of certain quests.
Yes, a part of me hates the ending; another part hates the randomness. But the rest of me have been too thrilled (and moved) to nitpick.
~ Elizabeth Sampat's Nineteen reads like a non-suicide note: summing up all the things that we wouldn't have been able to tell our loved ones if we had gone through with the act. Which is perhaps a tribute to interactive fiction itself, the "what if--but also what if" aspect that makes it far more satisfying than linear fiction for a vast number of themes and situations.
And one of its conclusions resonates with one of my foundations, why I am still alive too:
~ My first reaction to Michael Brough's scarfmemory was, "WTF? A dirge about a stupid scarf?!" Now, after going through it along with Anna Anthropy, I feel ashamed. Stereotyping has many faces. I should know better. :(It took a decade, maybe longer, to realize that no matter what I did it would be impossible to handle these feelings on my own. I joined a church in high school, I wrote, I tried therapy. All of these things helped, some more than others, but the only consistently valuable tool I have found has been my friends.
Depression convinces you that you have no power. Sometimes you need friends to lend you some of theirs.
(And, Michael, I'm sorry about your loss too.)
~ Aevee Bee's Removed: another very personal journey. Across the densest jungle so far: each sentence needs its own untangling.
I wish it were longer, though.
~ In Bryan Reid's For Political Lovers, a Little Utopia Sketch, I didn't enjoy the game but really sympathized (and often empathized) with Avery McDalndo's experience of it. In fact, the game text made me gulp uncomfortably a few times: I, too, am prone to these impenetrable layers of abstraction and having too much fun at the expense of my readers. (I don't always do it on purpose, I promise.) But there was a thought at the very conclusion of Avery's reflections which points to a possible interpretation: that Little Utopia Sketch starts as a muddle and ends as a mirror in order to demonstrate the quality of the transition that it hints at. Sounds good.
~ Bryan Reid's (literally) poetic response to Miranda Simon's Your Lover Has Turned into a Flock of Birds was eloquent, multi-layered and, well, impenetrable. (To me.)
Miranda's Lover was short. (But I do hope their love was longer.)
~ Jeremy Penner's There Ought to Be a Word is deceptively simple, yet perhaps the most mature and explorational essay so far. Or at least it becomes so whenyouI supplement it with Austin Walker's analysis. (Also, is "essay" the word I'm really looking for? How 'bout "analysis"? Yes, There Ought to Be a Word has that effect onyoume.) I see all my relationships--intimate or not--in a similarly ambivalent, between-and-beyond-the-words way, so I was the third man in the company, silently pondering, asking and answering and asking again.
So ... what do you call a friend to whom you go when all your words have failed? What about the one whom you call when you've bashed in your own door and can't fix it? The one that shares with you the most amazing visions of the future, kindling the fire to come up with your own? The one you've never seen in person, she who writes the tenderest reviews and sounds just this bit broken and makes you want to make the whole world whole?
~ Musing on Olivia Vitolo's Negotiation, Katherine Cross wrote this.Spoiler
"You call them by their names" feels like a cop-out.
I rest my case. ;)
~ Soha Kareem's reProgram was, so far, the most uncomfortable piece for me. Had I been left to read~play it on my own, I most likely wouldn't have been able to complete it. There're chambers I'd rather not enter; there're choices that make me feel like slapping everyone involved. (And not in the kinky sense.)
Amazingly, Mattie Brice's commentary made the experience completely comfortable. She sounds calm, understanding, supportive throughout the journey. A voice that I can trust won't let me down.
Here's another reason why I enjoy listening to people who cherish something rather than people who criticize it.
~ Nina Freeman's Mangia throws you in the middle of digestive disorders. It's deeply personal. Highly instructive.
And I found Lana Polansky's commentary another welcome hand-holder. (Says the boy out of his depth. :)
~ Cara Ellison's Sacrilege: :D & <333
Soha Kareem's commentary: :DDD & <3
~ Anna Anthropy's writing in And the Robot Horse You Rode In On feels the most delicious so far, and her future of cowgirls and cyberhorses, the most detailed. (But is the whole story really a family drama? Some of me shake their heads incredulously. C'mon, there should be moar to it ....)
I also loved listening to Cat Fitzpatrick's commentary. "Listening" here reflects the tangible quality of her voice. And her sympathy.
~ Zoe Quinn's Depression Quest may be the most realistic depression simulator I've ever encountered. The fact that for any decision you face, you can see all those good, constructive options in your head but cannot act on them, is telling enough. (Toni Pizza, the commentator, asked if there could be any other game mechanics representing this state of anxious passivity. I had an intriguing idea ... but let me try my hand at it before I tell you more. ;)
Considering my own experience with depression, I wonder about the purpose of the two "stat meters", "You're not currently seeing a therapist" and "You are not currently taking medication for depression." Is there any path where these statuses change? To what effect? If I weren't afraid that spending so much time in such a depressive environment (no pun intended) wouldn't drag me down, I might have given the game a shot. The website says that choices do matter and there're five different endings, so one day I still may.
While this may be the most realistic representation of depression I know of, the most moving one (also in the sense that it made me move my ass while in a very depressed state: no small feat in itself) was the beginning of Dreamfall: The Longest Journey.
~ Kayla Unknown's 3x3x3 was sweet. To each mermaid, her own mermate. :)
~ While I shuddered at the beginning of Michael Joffe's Eft to Newt (I find Kafka's Metamorphosis deeply disturbing), I smiled at its endings.Quirky structuralist humor is my cup of tea.Spoiler
(All of them, not just the 7th one.)
~ Rokashi Edwards's I'm Fine was an instructive counterpart to Depression Quest. It helped me understand my sister better. (She used to get aggressive in her depressive periods; I get passive.) And John Brindle's analysis highlighted the depth and details I'm bound to miss, in my present exhausted-agitated state.
Thank you both, guys.
~ Lydia Neon's Player 2 is an interesting tool, a sort of vent-your-hurt assistant, but it's too abstract for me. Stories with concrete plots and fleshed-out protagonists have always worked better in my case.
Which brings me to a general observation about Videogames for Humans: If I consider it as an anthology of literary fiction, I won't rate it very highly as a whole. However, I choose to consider it as a much-needed introduction to a new medium, blending fiction and non-fiction, narrative and interactive devices, distancing and self-identification. Twine transcends traditional approaches, so we need new yardsticks for rating it.
You won't be surprised by my rating, will you?
In a Baffler article from 2012, David Graeber, in the process of trying to figure out whatever happened to the flying cars and hotels in space that science fiction once promised us, notes how our most transformative inventions of recent years, the microprocessor and the Internet, are largely used to simulate new realities rather than to create them. Those matinee audiences who watched Buck Rogers serials in packed theaters back in the 1930s wouldn’t be as impressed as we might like to think by a modern film like, say, Interstellar because they thought we’d be out there actually exploring interstellar space by now, not just making ever more elaborate movies about it.
(...) Whether you claim the failures of more recent science-fictional prognosticators not named William Gibson to be the result of a grand failure of societal ambition and imagination, as Graeber does, or simply a result of a whole pile of technological problems that have proved to be exponentially more difficult than first anticipated, it does sometimes feel to me like we’ve blundered into a postmodern cul-de-sac of the virtualized hyperreal from which we don’t quite know how to escape as we otherwise just continue to go round and round in circles on this crowded little rock of ours. The restlessness or, if you like, malaise that this engenders is becoming more and more a part of the artistic conversation — appropriately, because one of the things art should do is reflect and contemplate the times in which it was created. See, for example, Spike Jonze’s brilliant film Her, which so perfectly evokes the existential emptiness at the heart of our love affair with our gadgets that makes the release of a new Apple phone a major event in many people’s lives. We’ve spent so much time peering down at our screens that we’ve forgotten how to lift our eyes and look to the stars. Already many of us find virtual realities more compelling than our own — and no, the irony of my writing that on a computer-game blog is not lost to me. Portal doesn’t have quite the grace of Her, but it’s nevertheless just as remarkable in that it nails the substance of our modern dilemma almost thirty years before the fact.
И еночко от коментарите:More successful are all of the sly double entendres that litter the text, right from the moment you walk into a restroom at the beginning of the game and find a “stool” there. They’re all about as stupid as that, but sometimes gloriously so. My favorite bit might just be the response to the standard SCORE command.
When he’s not cursing or referencing sex in some way, Meretzky is giving you pretty much the game you’d expect from the guy who wrote Planetfall and co-wrote The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy: lots of broad, goofy humor, the jokes coming fast and furious, often falling flat but occasionally hitting home. The situations you get yourself into are as gloriously stupid as the puns and double entendres, and perfectly redolent of the game’s inspirations: you go wandering through the jungles of Venus; go sailing the canals of Mars; and, best of all, get into a swordfight in space where you can inexplicably talk to your opponent and where Newtonian mechanics most resoundingly don’t apply. I’d probably be a bit more excited about the humor in this and Meretzky’s other games if it hadn’t led to so many less clever imitators who held fast to the “stupid” but forgot the “glorious.” See, for example, this description of a spaceship in Leather Goddesses, which is far more anatomically explicit than anything in any of the sex scenes: “Hanging from the base of the long, potent-looking battleship are two pendulous, brimming fuel tanks.” Then compare it with its distressingly literal adaptation to graphics in the blatant but more explicit Leather Goddesses clone Sex Vixens from Space of a couple of years later.Code: Select all
>score [with Joe] Unfortunately, Joe doesn't seem interested, and it takes two to tango.
Cliffy73 wrote:Yes, if you never play Leather Goddesses on Tame mode, you’ll never see the funniest parser error message in Infocom history:
>fuck Trent
[I don’t know the “f-word.”]