The Conceit Of Filing

Its not that I'm completely against order and organization. Its not even that I'm particularly lazy, unwilling to put in the effort to achieve a degree of order. But for some reason I can't stand filing, an act most synonymous with order and organization. It's like an itch. A hard bit of popcorn shell in my gums. But that isn't a proper analog to my feeling on the matter.  That bit of shell actually is bothersome and uncomfortable. Stacks of paper and drawers of folders can hardly make one physically uncomfortable. Unless of course one were underneath a stack or stuffed in a drawer. And while that may be a metaphorical approach to my discomfort with the thing, its only representative of a small piece. A metaphorical hard bit of popcorn, stuffed between the gums. The problem is that, in this metaphor, I may be the hard bit, and the gums. The stack and the drawer.

The paper doesn't affront me. That stack of re-purposed plant fibers. That simian organization of a natural order. Imprinted with inks of similar origin. It's presence is not offending in the slightest...okay...maybe a bit. But the intention. That is the scrape. A massive, relatively massive, collection of...what? I guess thoughts, surely numbers, but for me, nothing?

Today, outside my office, I searched among the fallen leaves of a small oak tree. I found huge acorns beneath them. I had been watching one acorn grow for months. But I hadn't looked recently. When I did search, I found that the single massive acorn I had been looking at for weeks had fallen. As had many that I hadn't seen, or even conceived. These acorns not only grew without my involvement, they fell at a precise time. The tree somehow chose to live without my regard. I wasn't there for that decisive moment. But the tree, the acorns, the world functioned without me. I picked out the largest, cracked the shell and ate half.

Why the fuck can't these collections of wood fiber, bleached white, function without me? Why can't these words of thought percolate and diffuse into the world without my hand? Instead of wondering about my originality? About my meaning? These are questions I beat myself against.

But why should I be so bothered? There isn't an obvious depth of meaning to how things choose to be ordered. Nothing chooses to be ordered. Nothing stacks on purpose. Not by itself. As fall comes upon the deciduous trees their leaves stiffen, changer color, and fall. They fall according to a specific order, an organization, that wasn't created with intent. First leaf fallen beneath every leaf after, eldest first. All the trees, regardless of species agree to this order. The silts of a mighty sea slowly settle, great upheavals of volcanism explode, forming stones, that lay as they settle formed by sequence, but never intent. And so our soil is built. Without a damn word from me or anyone else. And that makes acorns. And all this functions just fine without any intervention.

But isn't that our way? To observe. To watch, hands weaving like a dirty fly's, in expectation. In expectation of an understanding of the order we are a part of, in order to subvert it? I'm sure it is my way. The cold calculation of it. That way which we would love to attribute to all of creation. That it is completely calculating. Cold and passionless. But creation, the universe, all of it doesn't fucking care, and could never know passion. Energy, in it's myriad forms is just as good as all encompassing entropy. It already has it figured out. It doesn't calculate. It does not plan. These things. These shortsighted things don't even matter to the whole. All of it is here, and there. All of it is then, now, and soon. And somehow the leaves that fall, and the silts that gather, have completely encompassed anything mankind has ever created. Without even trying they have included all of our shortsighted victories. Our fist raised heights. And our blood drenched depths. And the uncomfortable quiet in between.

But yet I stack and file these collections of papers. These historically meaningless words. These hopeless collections of wood fiber. Cut from lifeforms that had a greater potential than nearly anything that could be written upon them. And I realize that my problem with filing is the conceit. The absolute collective hubris. We watch, we see, we mimic. But we fall so short.

And that hubris turns upon us. We use this mimicry of natural order to slowly compartmentalize everything we know. To put everything in its intended place. Plants, animals, earth and, most especially, people. And we are finite in our organization. Finite in actuality. And that is the greatest failing. People base their experience off the small vignette of their conscious years. Combined with an ever changing future and nearly incomprehensible past, we decide where everything belongs right now. What is valuable. What is neutral. And what must be destroyed.

And we classify all things this way. All things and all people. This one good. That one bad.  That one doesn't even matter. She is expected to live this way, to expect this, and we will teach her so. He is expected to live this way, to expect this, and we will teach him so. This person doesn't conform, this person doesn't fit. That means they aren't a person. That means they will be ignored. Or destroyed. They don't fit in the drawer. They cannot be filed. They do not belong. They are not needed. Shred them. To fall and stack. In the order that they fell. Like leaves. Or pieces of paper. Lost words on their face. A hard bit, between the gums.

I fucking hate filing.

Divine Wandering - A (Spoilerific) Divinity: Original Sin Review, Part 4

I've played around 100 hours of Divinity: Original Sin. The last 20 hours I played were brutal. There was an absolutely massive difficulty spike at the beginning of the third act. I consistently ran into overwhelming numbers of enemies that individually outclassed my party in nearly every skill set. I found myself spending more time blinded, knocked down, poisoned, cursed, weakened, and resurrecting characters than ever before. Three groups of enemies in particular took me over 6 attempts to defeat, each. I even turned the difficulty down to easy. Still I only won through by luck alone in many of the encounters. And conversely I found an entire large set of later encounters a breeze.

When I finally arrived at the final encounter of the game the difficulty spiked yet again. “I'm done,” I thought, “Its been a great ride.” A rather mixed bag really. While on the one hand I do appreciate a challenge, on the other the battles in Divinity: Original Sin lengthen as the game goes on. By the time I'd reached the encounter that broke me they were in excess of 45 minutes. Iterating on tactical combat that takes nearly an hour to resolve is too much for me. Each failed attempt sets me back nearly an entire hour of playtime. I decided to step back. Get away and play other games for a bit and come back.

So now I've come back and tried out that last battle once more. And I'm still in the same place. I no longer feel invested enough in this game to continue, for now. I in no way regret the time I've spent playing. I did indeed enjoy Divinity: Original Sin. But there are a couple of issues that started off as bothersome after the first ten hours, blossomed into annoying after about 30 hours, and were honestly infuriating after about 70 hours.

First and foremost was the log.

If the completion of one quest is contingent upon the completion of another there is really no way to know until you've progressed far enough in a given quest that you either complete or are stopped by a blue force-field, invincible foes, or other impediments blocking off the end. And I ran into these impediments several times as the game progressed. These impediments meant that I hadn't completed a prerequisite for this section of content.

As I came to understand them these impediments were placed to solve a problem. Divinity: Original Sin was created with around an ideal of freedom. From the different interviews and videos released over the course of the Kickstarter I came to understand that by freedom the developers meant that they would create a rich world filled with possibility and turn you, the player, loose. No hand holding, no quest markers, an “old school RPG” aesthetic. And while Divinity: Original Sin does successfully capture that old school feel, where it falls short is the log.

The quest log in particular is an absolute mess. Quest are listed in the order given, with no hierarchy of importance whatsoever. A side quest involving a talking well is given the same weight as a main quest involving a murder. And to make matters even worse there is a separate quest item that details your accomplishments as Source Hunters that moves up the queue after quests are completed. You can of course filter out completed quests, but this really doesn't help except to keep your log less cluttered. And it will be cluttered anyway. And if you reach a place where you can't continue the game will only give you vague hints near the place you a blocked from. So you'll be looking up quests and spoilers on the internet a lot. Or at least I was, and so were many different people on various forums.

 If the quest log would just keep track of the quest giver, which overworld map the quest is located on, and the current step to progress, or which quest is conflicting, it would do wonders. As it stands I found myself backtracking to dungeons that I completed around 40 hours in, after 80 hours of play. Just to retrieve a couple of items that it took me a half an hour or more of forum trawling to figure out that I needed to progress. At one point I was blocked from the final dungeon because of a quest (involving a certain demon rift and the End Of Time) I was given tens of hours before, that I didn't know how to complete. This was particularly jarring as once this quest was completed an absolute barrage of consequences, with new gameplay mechanics, that had occurred in the interim totally ruined the flow of the narrative right before the final quest.

And the second issue was that massive difficulty spike in the third area.

I think that I might be to blame for some of this. Maybe my party build is wrong. Maybe my equipment loadout is lacking. But for whatever reason, and for the life of me I can't figure it out, round about 70 hours into the game, or party level 16 I started getting annihilated on a regular basis by pretty much everything. The three groups of monsters at the entrance to Phantom Forest were particularly brutal. I would run around to different merchants trying to get more potions, scroll, equipment, skill books anything. I finally won by sheer luck in two of the battles and sneaked past the other. I feel like I may have missed some things. But I have no idea why, or where I might look. Then it happened again wit the final Boss. And after 100 hours I feel like its time to move on for now.

I will acknowledge that there is still a lot of game that I haven't experienced yet. I've not tried out the co-op multiplayer, which is a big deal I know. There is an entire skill set I never touched (scoundrel). And there are quests and alternate solutions to quests that I haven't seen or even thought about. Larian set out to make the best RPG they could. And they came to the community through Kickstarter to engage with the fans and craft something special. They certainly haven't failed in that regard. Not in the slightest. And I don't think that this will be my last journey in Rivellon. Not in the slightest. But I'm going to wander elsewhere for awhile. Its such a wide world out there.

Divine Wandering - A (Spoilerific) Divinity: Original Sin Review, Part 3

Divinity: Original Sin is not perfect. There are some glaring issues, as well as some not so glaring issues. I'd like to focus on those for this part of the review. Ranting, complaining, and mild cursing to follow.

Complaint the first:
Clicking what I want to click should never be a guessing game. I mean it. And yes most of the time in an isometric RPG it doesn't matter what I click on. 90% or more of my clicks are for moving across the world. But that other 10% or so... I'm clicking what I'd like to kill. Even more important I'm expending limited resources (AP) each click. I'm baffled at times as to why a click goes astray. Targeting graphics flicker in and out of existence without discernible reason. Can I target this enemy or not? Seriously can I? Please can I? Damn I just moved up beside it. I was trying to use my bow. And this spell I'm aiming will it or won't it hit the target. For some reason the targeting icon is freaking out. Move the mouse imperceptibly and its back, then gone again and back again in the blink of any eye. Good I finally launched that fireball. Crap it hit an object between me and the target. But the targeting graphics told me it was a clear shot. Occasionally even the AI gets confused. But I believe that's only because the computer has to use the same finicky targeting data that I do. Its absolutely infuriating at times.

Complaint the second:
A lack of firm direction in a game is fine when the goal of a particular section of gameplay is clearly communicated along with the steps needed to accomplish that goal. When I get all the way into the bowels of the Abandoned Church near Cyseal after hours of difficult fighting only to find my path blocked because I hadn't completed a previous quest that the developers obviously intended me to finish before hand, we have a bit of a problem. Firstly this causes the plot to become unhinged. And while it is an interesting and complex narrative, it felt very tangled and stilted, as there wasn't a good flow to it. And that all came down to the fact that I didn't know where the story was going to be next. It would have been nice to have some sort of guide so I could follow an intended path in individual quests. I could easily subvert that plan if I wanted to and it would have felt much better when I did it on purpose instead of by accident. Instead my questing turned into a game of gotcha between me and the developers. "Ha! I got into the church when I was underleveled!", I say. "Ha! You weren't supposed to be here yet, so we've blocked your progress to the final section!", the developers reply. And I realize that the church and quests are entirely optional, and I could have skipped them entirely and gone on to the next section of the game. But the bits of narrative contained in the quests are certainly not something anyone who plays the game should miss. And this same situation happened to me again in the next section of the game. Twice. Just knowing the intended sequence of quests would be nice.

Complaint the third:
Let me pause the game. For now I'm playing single player. If I allow someone to drop in then disable pausing. Its pretty simple. Even bringing up the game menu doesn't pause the game. Sometimes I need to take a piss whilst in hostile territory, or check the oven, or take a phone call, or stand up and walk around for a few minutes because the finicky targeting is driving me crazy, or... Let me pause the damn game.

Complaint the fourth:
I wish my party members were more fleshed out. Especially Midora. She's awesome. And maybe I haven't seen all of her story arc yet, but at 53 hours of play, she is aloof and distant. In fact I don't really have much attachment to any of my party members. Some more barks would be nice. Hearing Midora or Jahan say anything is so rare I often forget they are even there.

Complaint the fifth:
Slipping on ice in combat is a cool mechanic. Slipping on ice outside of combat is only funny the first couple of times. After that it is annoying and pointless. Using spells and special arrows for ice removal outside of combat is not fun. Its a chore.

Complaint the sixth:

The Trait system feels half-baked. I understand that they are trying to make decisions in dialogue have a discernible effect on gameplay. But it is very unclear in the course of play what will happen to my character Traits in a given conversation. And frankly some of the buffs are baffling. Compassionate gives a 3% bonus to critical chance? Spiritual makes me immune to fear, while it's opposite Materialistic gives me a bonus to Loremaster. Those two are hardly balanced. Immunity to fear will have a much higher impact overall than an additional skill point in Loremaster. Its a really weird system.

Complaint the seventh:
An, "Are You Sure" prompt when I choose a dialogue option that leads to combat with, say, one of the only merchants in town would be nice.

Complaint the final:

So we're at the end of a particularly tough battle. All but one of my party is dead. Now I need to res them... But I used a ton of res scroll during the fight, and all the leftovers are in one of the fallen's inventories. Guess it's time to play warp around to different merchants for the next 20-30 minutes until I find enough scrolls to revive my party. Fun. Having a limited number of resurrection scrolls whilst in combat is fine. When you die you basically loose two turns in a given sequence. Plus resurrection can be used strategically, as you can teleport the fallen character to a new location. Outside of combat its just a chore. Maybe I could have planned ahead better, but it really doesn't add anything compelling to the game. The scrolls are not so expensive or rare that managing them out of combat is ever really interesting.

And cease rant. None of these issues were so terrible as to make me stop playing entirely. But some of them have caused quite a bit of frustration, desk pounding, and cursing. I wouldn't trade a single one of them for the game as a whole. But, seriously, can I please click on that enemy right there? Please?

Divine Wandering - A (Spoilerific) Divinity: Original Sin Review, Part 2

Its the little things.

Zap has been staring intently at a grey tabby for over 30 minutes.  Its unknown whether that registers to the other party members.  In fact there isn't any real way to gauge how time passes in Rivellon.  There is no definable day or night.  Yet somehow there is a Weaver Of Time in the Shelter Plane, which is ostensibly outside of time.  Then again I've yet to see the Weaver do any weaving, and maybe that speaks for itself.

Divinity: Original Sin has rapidly expanded around me at this point.  I've been places, I've seen things, killed those things in those places.  And yet I'm nearly aimless in my wandering.  The lack of any guiding hand coupled with the sheer density of content conspire to overwhelm me with detail at times.  The cat that Zap is talking to is named Unsinkable Sam.  Sam is a storied cat, his past is filled with intrigue, adventure, opulence, and loss.  A former ships cat, Sam's vessel sunk not far off the coast of Cyseal.  As he tells it he barely escaped with his life, and the entire crew was raving about a "Lighthouse" and how it was not lit.  Sam doesn't know what a lighthouse is, but he harbors no fondness for them after the loss his friends.

After unlocking the ability to speak with animals Zap learns that there are entire worlds within worlds in Rivellon.  In the graveyard we meet Murphy a dog, whose master was none other than the councilor Jake.  Zap realizes that the key to solving the murder may lie with Murphy's nose.  And so the quest for Esmeralda's smelly panties begins.

In the bowels of the lighthouse we meet a sorrowful ghost named Samson.  He mourns the loss of his beloved Desdemona.  The former lighthouse keeper in a fit of jealous rage left the flame unlit and watched as the ship carrying his love was dashed against the cliffs below.  This story sounds familiar and I realize that this was the same ship that Unsinkable Sam escaped from.  Upon further inspection I realize that there is a shipwreck impaled on an iron crystal beneath the lighthouse.

Eventually our travels lead us to the lichyard of an abandoned church.  Amongst the graves and mausoleums we happen upon a group of ghosts.  They pace about arguing.  They are led by a charismatic specter named Ebenezer.  He talks of his life as a captain his proclivity for decadence and of the ship's cat Oscar.  He says he doesn't want to leave Rivellon for the afterlife.  And Zap realizes she may know this cat.  We're off to Cyseal to talk with Sam once more.

Sam remembers his old name, Oscar.  He remembers Ebenezer.  Remembers Ebenezer's life of exclusive excess.  Ebenezer was a consciousless opulent.  Ebenezer confided his truths in Sam/Oscar.  Rare and exquisite clothes at the cost of ecosystems.  Wines and liquours from the sweat, toil and suffering of slaves.  And soft flesh, tender and young girls, destroyed for pleasure.  A quiet monster of a man.

We return to confront this quiet monster.  This ghost.  This ghost who refuses to face his life.  This ghost that says no god is worthy to judge him.  Its a short talk.  Hack, whose proclivity is for thieving, blades, and arrows, is not so quick to condemn.  Seeing the coils of decadence in himself.  But Zap, who's proclivity is for logic, fire, and stone will have none of it.  This man, this shade, will face his sins.  Face his sins and fade.

There is a confident attention to detail that captivates me in these narratives.  A woven skein of relation.  Subtle and yet pervasive.  As I travel through Cyseal and it's surroundings there is nuance all around me.  A care and consideration in the creation of this space.  Its not just the big shiny things.  Its not just in the cohesive art style.  There is care accorded the small and seemingly insignificant things.  The cats, the dogs, the rats and all they have to say.  The placement of a book, a shovel, and a bloodstained knife.

And while it may feel aimless at times, its a good aimlessness.  There is always a new conversation to have or secret to discover.  Always some new morsel of plot that ties another seemingly disconnected story to the one at hand.  And that's nice even if its a bit overwhelming at times.  For sheer amount of content, Divinity: Original Sin is almost peerless.

Divine Wandering - A (Spoilerific) Divinity: Original Sin Review, Part 1

It starts on a beach. The low rumble of the surf mixing with that of the wind. But I didn't come here to sunbathe. Zap and Hack certainly aren't here to sunbathe, they're Source Hunters. They've come to Cyseal to investigate a murder, a plague of undead, and an orcish invasion. Cyseal is not doing so well right now. Zap and Hack, as their names may suggest, were quickly made in the character creator by picking a basic class (Wizard and Fighter respectively) and changing around their faces a bit. Zap is a red haired enchantress with face paint and Hack is an ebony hued brute with short black hair. Zap always had an affinity for lightning and Hack for blades. Which is ironic because it will soon become apparent that Zap is destined for fire and earth magic and Hack for archery.

I don't know all this yet and neither do they as the walk up the beach passing the rapidly cooling bodies of orcs and legionaries. I'm in a race now. A race to find the fun. Eventually I come upon a gaggle of nefarious robed baddies. We dispatch them in short order and turn to find a very large stone door. The door tells me that it leads to a tutorial dungeon. I could skip it if I want to, but I've as yet to be tutorialised fully into the world of Rivellon. So in we go without a moments hesitation. Why are dungeons always so well lit by candles, torches, and whatnot? And there's food, in a dungeon? This dungeon is filled with the undead. Half of them are skeletons. Why is there a pumpkin, loaf of bread, and cheese down here? I can pick them up, but who the hell would eat the food they find lying around in a crypt? There is dead stuff everywhere. Corpses are literally stored here...... Ooooo! A ham! Well maybe just a bite. Zap looks on in horror as Hack tucks in. Waste not want not. Healing is hard to come by because someone forgot to learn healing magic.

We push on. We learn that stuff burns. We learn that water stops stuff from burning and conducts electricity. We finally learn that you can drag and drop objects in the game world, which is a pretty neeto mechanic I must say. I'm also beginning to think that this world and those that inhabit it don't take things too seriously. My suspicions are confirmed when I come across two drunken legionaries. blocking my progress to Cyseal. They demand to “escort” the Source Hunters back to Cyseal. After a game of rock paper scissors between both Zap and Hack. Which is how arguments between characters, usually the main characters, are resolved. Because I decided to argue with myself. Don't look at me like that.

We finally meet the local wizard at the gate to Cyseal. Yup things are all messed up. The legion is stuck inside Cyseal, orcs at one gate the dead at the others, a city councilor has been murdered, and Sourcery is implicated in most of this. Plus those nefarious robed people are a worrisome new development. Yeah, we're totally going to the bar. When we get there we meet a grizzled, wolf pelt wearing woman named Madora. She has a Texas accent, a distrust of magic, a massive sword, and is most definitely coming with after she asks to join up. And as it turns out the murder occurred in this very inn. But we'll need permission to view the scene. So I have to run across Cyseal to the legion headquarters to ask. This particular paragraph cliff-notes about 2-3 hours of playtime. No it wasn't very exciting. It didn't help that I wasn't sure how to approach my tasks and I was warned at all of Cyseal's gates to remain inside. I've heard it said that this game doesn't hold your hand. And I guess it doesn't, but it also gives unclear objectives and then encourages you not to explore. WTF?

The scenes of a grisly deed. 

We finally talk to the legion captain and he tells us all about the woes of his post and the murder of the councilor. And then we walk all the way back to the inn. So I enter the room where the councilor had been murdered and the place is a mess. There is a large red stone sitting in the center. As soon as Zap touches it there is a flash and the party disappears in a puff of smoke.... To reappear in an observatory packed with wobbling stacks of books. A pointy eared creature with bright clothing faces us. As I gaze around I realize that the observatory is perched atop a rock floating in a sea of stars. The being looking at us is named Zixzax and he's just as surprised to see us as we are him. After a short chat he notices our presence has lit a portal. We step through transported once again to a mysterious locale. Here we meet the Weaver of Time and find out that(surprise!) we're the only ones who can prevent all of reality from being devoured by a hungry darkness.

I guess, "packed with stacks of wobbling books," was an exaggeration. 

We now can warp to this place and between any gate on Rivellon at will. This, combined with two magical pyramids that link to each other, is how fast travel works. It's good to be back in Cyseal. The narrative becomes a flurry of blurry activity. Zap learns to talk to animals which compounds the number of interesting NPCs, and eventually sets us on a quest for the murdered councilor’s wife's smelly panties. Which Zap immediately equips, as they buff Charisma, and not at all because its hilarious to do so. While digging up graves in the graveyard, which no one seems to mind, we find a tunnel that leads to our first real engagement since the beach and exits at a well outside the gates.

Unsinkable Sam, the inn's resident feline has a story you wouldn't believe.

So Combat. Let's talk about Combat. Its completely turn-based and brilliant. Each fresh encounter brings something new and unexpected. I found myself often using offensive magic in a defensive capacity. Using fire spells specifically to set alight pools of oil dividing the battlefield and creating choke-points while simultaneously limiting visibility with smoke. Later when I met another mage in Cyseal's library, we added air and water magic to the mix. Lighting can be a double edged sword in Divinity: OS. Pools of water, even blood, can conduct it across the ground with a chance to stun anyone touching it. There are plenty of invisible dice being rolled behind the scenes. Very D&D like and often times battles that I lose initially play out completely different the second time around. In short this is a superb system and really forms the highlight of play.

Now that combat is frequent I find the pace much more appealing. Why was it sooooo sloooow at the beginning? Why did I have to spend so much time to get here? This is arguably the most important aspect of gameplay. I very much appreciate the dialogues and the exploration in the game, but the design was actively pushing me away from combat for almost 4-5 hours. That's silly. The combat is awesome! Why try to hide it? Some of this was of course my approach, but I was following in game prompts for much of it. There isn't any reason I can think of to have such a slow start in an otherwise excellent RPG.

I guess it comes as a balance to just how much content is in this game. The writers must have been very busy. I've read through hundreds and hundreds of lines of dialogue plus dozens of quests, and I'm not even halfway through the game yet. As I became more acclimated to the gameplay I realized that I had become completely unused to this style of game. I grew up playing games like Fallout, Baldur's Gate, and Neverwinter Nights. But those games suddenly stopped being made around 10 years ago. This game manages to feel fresh because of it. It's good to be back. But I'm still not done and have plenty more to talk about. This will probably end up being a 4 or even 5 part review.

Not A Sandwich: Papo & Yo

When the most controversial episode of Feminist Frequency yet suggested a game at the end, especially a game I already own and haven't played yet, that was all the motivation I needed. So Papo & Yo it is. Right off the bat I'm wondering why they didn't call it Papo y Yo. Because 2/3 of it is already in Spanish. But then again its the minorest of quibbles. Kinda like the quibble I have with Rio Grande River. It's a river sandwich. A big one.

Papo & Yo isn't a sandwich, its a game. A game about a boy named Quico. And a creature named Monster. Set in Quico's dreamworld, Papo & Yo documents the spiritual journey of a boy dealing with an abusive father. Ostensibly the game is supposed to follow the friendship between Quico and Monster exploring together and solving puzzles. Monster will eat frogs and when he does he flies into an uncontrollable rage.

This sounds interesting enough and even before you meet Monster in the game you meet the robot Lula who doubles as a jetpack. As a side note; When is jetpack ever a bad idea? Lula is a great companion, allowing for longer jumps and can flip otherwise unreachable switches. But after this particular high the game fails to establish a rhythm in it's mechanics. This is supposed to be a puzzle platformer, where the most important mechanic is your interactions with Monster. At least all the developer's press material touts it as that. But in reality the puzzles and platforming are a thin veneer over good art and narrative.

There are plenty of mechanics. Like switches that move everything from small blocks, to houses, to entire streets. There are the coconuts and blue coconuts and frogs that all effect Monster differently. But only a few of these ever get fleshed out past introduction. The puzzles are almost invariably linear. Flip this switch then that switch and finally that one, ta-da, puzzle complete advance to the next one. Visually many of the puzzles are quite appealing. One puzzle in particular comes to mind. A sequence of switches cause entire sections of a favela to fold up like a letter allowing you to access an area far above the streets by crossing newly intersecting rooftops. But the puzzle itself is juvenile in its simplicity, not even really a puzzle. It's three sequential switches after you lure Monster into a giant cardboard box with coconuts. In another puzzle the concept of portals in introduced. And while not unique to this game they could have been further explored in the context of wrangling Monster around. But they are only used twice and there are only ever one set at a time.

There are some cool puzzles. One that involves stacking houses into a flexible column is great. In order to get a house to stack you must flip a switch on said house. And not all the houses are immediately accessible. But as you stack more houses you can bend the column towards formerly unreachable houses until finally you have column tall enough to bend across the entire level. There is another puzzle that involves entire sections of a street whirling in the air above a watery pit. In both these puzzles you're required to make a way for both Quico and Monster to reach the level exit. This sadly isn't consistent across all levels. In one level you finally raise a large platform to reach the exit and Monster is magically right behind you as you exit, despite there being no way for him to reach it. At first I wanted to say that this felt like lazy level design. But that isn't fair. I wasn't present for any of the development. It is disappointing none the less. Many of the puzzles felt rushed, half-baked even.

Papo & Yo has an interesting and emotionally engaging narrative. I was overcome with both anger and sadness enough to halt my play session. Over the course of the game Quico and Monster's relationship changes drastically. Monster is unpredictable and dangerous. And, try as he might, Quico is slowly isolated from those few who he comes into contact with. Monster slowly isolates him from everyone. Because Monster only exists to consume. Coconuts, frogs and Quico are what sustains him. As this conflict comes to a head Quico is forced to use himself as bait to Monster's desires. Sacrificing his own safety to sate the endless hunger that is Monster. To place himself between Monster's hunger and all that he cares for. Soon Quico and his Monster come to the end of the path. The Choice. Him or Me. And knowing that Me was the right choice, was always the right choice, doesn't make it any easier to watch as He falls away.

Papo & Yo is a beautiful experiment. An admirable exploration of a new direction in game narrative. It is not perfect. It is flawed, it is broken and difficult at times. It is at odds with itself. Fraught and compromised in it's delivery. But those things it delivers on, it delivers competently. Graphically competent, and emotionally nuanced. My playthrough was worth the price of admission. This game provides a glimpse into where gaming can expand. There is uncharted territory. And any bold venture into that unclaimed space is admirable and inspiring.

Skipping Rogues: The Roots of My Obsession With Randomization and Simulation

I love skipping stones. Its such a satisfying free form activity. All of it, from traveling to a location with enough water upon which to skip stones, to the finding of that perfect stone on the shore, to finally counting the number of skips, is pure magic to me. It has always been surprising how I can take so much satisfaction out of such a simple activity. But with each flick of the wrist, an entirely new and unique instance arises. In that small instance my hand, the stone, and the world around it are as one. And then the moment is over, the stone arriving at its final destination, clattering to the opposite shore or slipping from sight beneath the water.

It always starts with a search. My eyes scanning the shore as I begin sorting through various stones discarding those that are too large or small, too round or cubic. Near planar, flat stones were the most desirable. Their material and shape gave them various properties that one could exploit when skipping them across the water. Smooth round stones were the most accurate and traveled farther. Curved stones would skip in surprising patterns some returning like boomerangs. Each stone was a different set of possibilities. Each search of the shore yielding...

***

Wonderful randomized loot in the original Diablo was revelatory for the young impressionable me. The dungeon walls were ever shifting around my character, spawning new monsters and chests that dropped new loot. So much loot. With that final blow the Butcher exploded into gore and treasure raining down as if I had struck some macabre and decadent piñata. Who stores their money and trinkets in the bowels of a foul beast? The most notable loot were the coins, at first, shiny piles neatly separated from the blood and giblets. But that wasn't what I had come for, what I had killed for. There to the side of a potion was the steely glint of a blade, orange text above it marking it as legendary quality. My heart began to beat faster.

As much as I was intrigued by the new monsters and dungeon paths I stayed for the loot. Each new randomly enchanted item had the chance to affect gameplay in profound ways. Bolstering immunity to certain elements allowed my character to wade into the midst of enemies that would otherwise quickly overwhelm. Conversely, an enchantment that added elemental attacks would allow the exploitation of enemy weaknesses, allowing me to loot them faster. Some items would passively increase my movement or attack speed. But I never knew what the next meat piñata would drop, and that was nearly as compelling a reason to keep stabbing them open as the loot itself. Stabbing them open again and again until I reached down...

***

To pick up that momentarily perfect rock, that is the culmination of the search. To stand up upon the strand with at least one if not several skipping stones in hand, ready for yet another search, yet another collaboration with chance. Its not enough to simply fling the stones at the water. This is skipping, and skipping is art. Where you throw is just as important as how. Bad footing can make an otherwise superb throw go kerplunk. Throwing against or with a current affects range and skip length. Still water has higher surface tension. The slope of the bank affects the angle of the throw.

Even after these considerations its always nice to pick a goal. Get across a specific stretch of water. Maybe try to hit a partially submerged log. Out throw whoever is with you. Whatever your goal, its bound by the conditions of the stone in hand, the bank beneath you feet, and the water before you. With that in mind, my eyes once more begin their perusal. Only now searching the bank or banks, the waters and all that is near at hand. I take a step forward and realize...

***

Exploration is key at the start of a game of Civilization(any of them really). The first 10 turns have a profound effect on the next 100. What will my warriors and settlers find? I look for gold, silk, wheat, and ivory so I can establish a trading empire early on. Or will my tentative first steps uncover ancient ruins containing lost knowledge or treasure? Now is the time for planning. Who is nearby? What kind of resources are available? Is there a great spot to establish my second city? I look for rivers and jungles, as they will block my roads and hamper unit movement. And those barbarians over there? Well, they'll need to be handled soon.

While my play shaped the map, the map in turn shaped my play. Many times I'd find myself generating maps for the sake of seeing how they turned out. It was intriguing to see how a game that began on an island composed of three land squares would play out. Or what two adjacent civs who had discovered iron early on would do to each other and their neighbors(a storm of swords(men) being most likely). After sinking literally hundreds of hours into the Civilization franchise the hook that brings me back is this: there is always a new experience 1 map generation away. And with each new map I find that...

***

Choosing how to play is generally when things start getting good. A hollow log provides a tempting target. I cock back my wrist, stone held just so in my fingers, and let the it fly. A rookie mistake would be to use the best stone first. You always miss the first throw. Well almost always at least. Sometime the second throw too. Sigh...and the third. But eventually all the seemingly disparate pieces come together. The stone hums as it leaves your hands, striking the water with a rapid pattering sound. It barely touches the surface before rebounding again, dry on top, with barely a splash. It does this again and again leaving small, concentric, radial patterns on the water's surface. I watch head bobbing with each skip, mentally counting them comparing them to my previous tries. And the stones make it all the way to the target diving headlong into the hollow log to disappear with a splash.

A moment to savor this small victory and yet another search will begin. One goal met now on to another. I could stay here lobbing rocks at this unfortunate log, but that's not the point of skipping stones. The point is that the details and the moments make this outwardly repetitive activity constantly percolate into novel situations. By simply changing one of the many variables completely new and interesting things happen. From upstream a twisted mass of leaves and twigs comes floating by. Suddenly I have an intriguing new target. Sometimes the stars align and...

***

Spelunky hands you emergent play on a brimming silver platter. All the myriad systems come together so cohesively and convincingly that you rarely stop to even reflect on them. They are so logical within the context of play that you rarely question or deeply analyze whats happening. It's not so much in the details you expect, but rather those you don't. The darts that traps shoot are actual objects with defined physics. They catch fire, are effected by explosions and webs, can be stuck into wall to give you a momentary foothold, and have a deadly ricochet. I'm probably missing something in all that, but the point is that the myriad behaviors associated with a pointy stick in this game are breathtakingly complex. And that's just the darts. All the objects in the game have similarly complex contextual behavior. And its that complexity coupled with the randomized levels that make the game so compelling.

Spelunky is really a game that brought it all together for me. It is absolutely permeated randomization and simulation. Each and every playthrough is unique. Not only unique in that the levels and enemies and loot changes, but unique in the way you approach it. It allows you to be constantly exploring, constantly learning, find surprise after surprise. It left me almost shell-shocked at first. I couldn't believe that this game existed and that it hadn't existed before. It was almost like coming home. And the sentiment...

***

Is completely inexplicable. These games that I love tap into something so primal that it is nearly impossible to convey. But I love them. And that is enough for me.

The Little Engine That Could and Vegan Vampirism: A Court Ordered Rambling

I remember the cover most. The blue locomotive with a bright smiling face on the stack. The boy in overalls next to a girl in a dress and bonnet, the little dog running to get ahead of the train. And the toy clown with the pointy hat waving at them from the coal box, the car behind him filled with a menagerie of toy animals. The image, as was intended, was quite appealing to a child of four. It has stuck with me the many years since, and become emblematic in a way, as it is always the first thing to come to mind when I think of trains.

Even more appealing were the contents of this train. Talking toys, candy and fruit, the cabins were brimming with such wonderful stuff. Upon re-reading the story I found there was also spinach for some reason. I wonder why I forgot about that? Re-reading it also left a farcical impression of this train. Why are there no people on this train? Who is the conductor? Why do the good little boys and girls on the other side of the mountain need candy, fruit, and spinach so much? Are they vegans?

The meat of the story involves the three engines that happen upon the troubled train. The first, a fancy passenger engine, refuses to help out of arrogance. The second, a large freight engine, believes the job is beneath him. And the third, rusty and old, is too tired. All of these engines are trapped in their roles, trapped by their perceptions of themselves, and indeed trapped by the reader's perceptions. They are rigidly defined constructs, their existence focused under a narrow lens. All three exist for a single purpose, and anything outside that is beyond their comprehension. They don't even wonder about it, and neither should the reader.

The hero, or rather heroine, of the story is the fourth and final engine that shows up. Luckily for the toys and their haul of candy and spinach, this engine is used to switch trains in the yard. That's right, this is an engine that specializes in pulling other engines; a tow train. Fortunately this task doesn't fall too far outside the blue engine's realm of experience. She hasn't been over the mountain before, but she has pulled an engine or two in her day. So she agrees to help. Then comes the titular “I think I can,” up the hill refrain, ending in the “I thought I could” down the hill segment. End story. Presumably the good vegan boys and girls on the other side of the mountain get their talking toys, fruit, candy, and delicious spinach.

The odd part of the story is that the toys mention the need to deliver the train's fantastic cargo before the children on the other side of the mountain awaken. I guess this would imply that it was nighttime. The illustrations are quite bright and sunny though. I'm not really sure what's going on here. Is it a simple mistake? Are we peering into some dream world? Do the vegan children have an aversion to sunlight? Are they vampires? Vegan vampires? There doesn't seem to be enough information even to infer. The original 1930 publication of the story doesn't include any mention of a deadline. It just takes for granted that there are talking toys and trains in the world of the story. I kinda like that better. Logic be damned just tell me a good story. You're apt to get me talking about vegan vampire children and possessed toys if you don't allow me suspend my disbelief naturally.

So what's the takeaway for a 29-year-old me after reading this story again? For one thing, I think there should have been bacon in addition to everything else on that train. Also, as I try to apply logic to hypothetical situations the undead start popping up. That's a bit strange really. But most of all, I'm left thinking about roles in society, and how they are used to define an individual or even groups of individuals. How so very much is lost when you choose your definition or when one is chosen for you.

One thing that bothered me about the story is how rigidly defined the characters are. We know everything about them within a few sentences. I realize this is a children's book, but where are all the real people? Where are vibrant and delightfully flawed creatures that share existence with me? Those represented in the story are robotic by comparison. They don't have dreams or aspirations. They don't have real emotions. They can never know failure, so they can't know triumph. Even the little blue engine, our heroine, doesn't truthfully excel. She is just finishing a job that someone else started. She's working overtime, and her only payment is a sense of accomplishment. And though there isn't anything wrong with that, it hardly inspires greatness. At the end of the story she is still who she was at the beginning, her journey a distraction and anything but transforming. It is admirable that she helped the needy. But when she gets back to the yard there are still trains that need to be switched. And in the end that is who she is.

An industrial society values individuals that conform to the roles imposed by industry and it's organization. A machine does enjoy it's cogs, gears, and levers. But our society is post-industrial. We don't strive for conformity as individuals any longer. We value the unique, the innovative, and the progressive now. People are not expected to fill one role, they are expected to fill many. A bartender is also an assistant football coach and a musician. An artist is also a writer and a waitress. An actor is also a director and a producer. A teacher is also a veterinarian and a gardener. Information flows much more freely in this era. Entire libraries of knowledge are at our fingertips. I found both editions of, “The Little Engine That Could,” in less than five minutes on Google, while simultaneously reading about the election and looking at funny pictures of cats. You can't just be a little engine anymore. You have to be the little engine, the freight engine, and the toy clown.

Try it. Ask someone young what they do. They'll answer in several sentences. Press them further and they'll tell you even more. But you will never hear them say that they are one thing. You'll never hear one answer.