GDC: Marleigh Norton, Conversation Interfaces

So, it’s the middle of IF comp, but I spent much of this week attending the game narrative summit at GDC Online.

Tuesday I went to sessions on storytelling in Rock Band; puzzle and storytelling (by Clara Fernandez-Vara, of the Boston IF crowd); exposition in games, and how to distribute it at the levels of structure and system as well as overt narrative; and a writing critique session that was largely about how to give useful, productive feedback to other writers. But inevitably the talk I was most keen to see was the one on interactive dialogue, by Marleigh Norton.

Norton’s background is in interaction design, and she had some intriguing ideas about how to use forms of interaction other than the dialogue tree. (Another write-up of that talk is here.) She started out by saying that she’s an academic and so she hopes that people will steal, use, and/or modify her ideas — so here are some of my own riffs on the things she presented.

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Latest Homer in Silicon

My latest column is not about any specific game, but about the method that many games use lately, of creating friction between the apparent rules and the real ones, and requiring the player to question the system of play. It’s productive in a lot of cases, but it’s often put to the service of fairly dark messages.

Homer in Silicon

…on Tiger Eye: Curse of the Riddle Box, a hidden object game based on a romance novel. It has its flaws, though interestingly (I thought) they were the opposite set of flaws from the ones in Love and Death: Bitten.

Clearly, though, there’s a bit of a trend in the hidden-object-romance-novel direction right now. One I haven’t played or reviewed, but whose title consistently cracks me up, is Harlequin’s Hidden Object of Desire, which presumably means that Fabio is hiding under the bed.

Bissell, Braid, and the Use of Words

A colleague recently loaned me Tom Bissell’s Extra Lives: Why Video Games Matter.

I knew it existed, but wasn’t planning to buy it immediately. Since I’ve been freelancing in the field, I’ve been focusing on books specifically about writing for games, rather than broader criticism.

This is a stodgy process, requiring self-discipline. There’s much I feel I need to know, but it’s often sandwiched in between things I consider too obvious to be worth saying and things I consider insanely wrongheaded.

The latest book on the pile is Lee Sheldon’s Character Development and Storytelling for Games, which is apparently designed for those game writers who have never written anything before and came in from some other part of the production team.

Sheldon’s book dutifully describes many, many basic aspects of story-building; offers an introductory view of plot structures for video games, while deftly avoiding any really hard problems or really interesting solutions; and takes care to remind the reader every few pages of Sheldon’s credentials not only as a professional writer but as the sort of person who has shared a limo with Dick Clark.

The prose is breezily good-natured and would not tax the vocabulary of a fourth-grader, but it gets through its material slowly, with many explanations per concept, so that it becomes boring in aggregate. It is the mental-nutrition equivalent of buttered macaroni. I don’t feel respected by this book, though it is probably fairest to say I am not its intended audience. If I were, I might find it a thorough, not-too-hard introduction to many of the core concepts of the craft.

Bissell’s book, therefore, was refreshing. For one thing, it’s very well-written, in the sense that individual sentences give pleasure. After reading a bit, I find my own writing turning into half-conscious, third-rate Bissell pastiche. This is annoying, but also a sure indicator of prose whose rhythm has got into my head like a hooky song.

Extra Lives is observant. It reads like the kind of travel narrative that is as much about the traveler’s inward journey as his outward one. It captures many of the things I find compelling about games as an expressive medium, and also identifies many of the aspects that are hard to defend. If you’re reading my blog because you’re interested in the problems of narrative/mechanic interface I often write about, then Extra Lives might well appeal to you.

It is pyrotechnic in its wording—I said it was well-written, not that it is modest, and I was not surprised by Amazon reviewers who said they had come to personally dislike the author on the basis of his narrative voice. That wasn’t my own reaction, but I can see where it comes from.

Anyway, here is a guy who turns such phrases as “ozonically scorched” to describe the atmosphere of a room after a disturbing presentation; “thermonuclear charisma” for a personality; “Bachelor Futurist” for a decor style. It is characteristic of Bissell to take an idea that would take most of us a prepositional phrase or a whole clause to express, and condense it to one adverb. If he has to invent that adverb himself, so much the better. Sharp observations in small spaces, that’s Bissell.

It is probably for this reason that Bissell’s chapter on Braid struck me so forcefully.

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