Reflections Regarding RUSE

Commando Supremo

I’m a sucker for touches like this: at minimum zoom, the battlefield looks like a sand-table exercise come to life. Stacks of chits topped by abstract unit icons slide glacially across the surface. Orbiting the camera around, I can make out the headquarters staff at work around the edges of the map. Signalmen sit at radar and communications stations. I am surrounded by the din of headquarters: phones ringing, wirelesses chattering, and the menacing, indistinct muttering of a PA.

Zooming in slightly, headquarters gets quieter and I can hear very faint sounds of fighting coming from the map. Mostly the dull crump of artillery. The stacks of units split into smaller stacks to better represent their positions on the board. I see three tall stacks of enemy tanks advancing against the crossroads on my team’s half of the map. I click on the “ruse” menu, since I have several of them and can afford to play one. I activate “radio silence” on the crossroads sector, which will mask my units there from enemy observation. Translucent bars appear across the sector, overlaid with “Radio Silence” and a timer. I have a few minutes of privacy there. I estimate his forces will be hitting my lines in about two.

We Have Incoming

I don’t have enough to stop him, assuming those tanks are real. It is possible this is a feint. The “decoy tank assault” ruse would make it look to me like a horde of tanks is approaching. So would the “reverse intel” ruse, which would make light units like recon cars and infantry look like heavy armor, and vice versa. So I hedge. My ally, Marcin, has the center right and right of our line pretty secure, but I’m going to have to draw troops away from my far left flank. I activate “spies” on the enemy sector opposing my left. I should see any build-up of forces taking place. With good intelligence telling me that my left flank isn’t threatened, I will be able to pull units off that part of the line.

But not yet. Right now I need more troops on the field to make certain that I can repulse this attack. I go into my “armor” and “antitank” menus and order up equipment to stop this assault. I’m playing the Italians, however, so my armor options are pitiful. My best tank, the Carro M15, still makes a US Sherman look like the HMS Dreadnought. My armor will be there to catch bullets and shells. But it’s cheap, and good for that kind of thing.

My antitank options are much better. I have a field-gun that can wreak some havoc from the lines of trees that bracket the crossroads and the field approaching it. I order two into the trees on the eastern end of the line. The two after that will hold the center. Now I can forget about them. There are no rally points to worry about: each unit I have ordered will proceed to the position on the map I have indicated. Production and reinforcement take place at the same time.

However, stopping this thrust will mostly be the work of my 90mm high-velocity anti-aircraft / anti-tank guns, which fill the same role as the 88 does for the Germans. Besides that, I’ve got fighter bombers waiting at the airfield. I repeat the ordering process for the high-velocity guns, putting two of them in the center. This places the entire line within their field of fire. Then I click on my airfield menu. In the lower left, I see the list of planes currently on the ground. I send all my fighter-bombers into  orbit above the line. They’ll provide air cover, and I can use them to strike at tanks.

That done, I check out a stack of units on my left flank. It contains my heaviest artillery, a  group of 210mm monsters, along with a lot of flak guns to shield them from bombers. I need them in the center to shell this group of enemy units, but the flak guns need to stay and watch the left. In the lower right of my screen, a group of tiles appear showing me what’s in this stack. I click on the 210s and send them to the center. They detach from the stack and begin moving east.

Less than a minute has elapsed since I spotted the German advance, and I have queued up all the necessary build orders and ensured that they will be delivered where they are needed. Momentarily bankrupt, I find myself with an unfamiliar luxury: a moment to think. Marcin is holding steady in the center and launching an attack on his extreme right. I think it’s premature of him to do this, but things still seem well in hand.

My free moment gives me time to worry, especially as I see another stack of unidentified enemy units converging on the crossroads from the center-left. He can’t pincer me – my line is in the wrong position for that – but I do worry that he will arrive with so many units at once that my center would give way. I pull my heavy infantry in toward the center from the left flank, and send my flak batteries to sit at the joint between my left and center left. My extreme left is now almost open, so I use one of my advantages as the Italians: Sahariana recon infantry. They’re very hard for the enemy to see, and have a great line of sight. I station a few on my left, and sneak a few into the woods on his side of the map. Now I know that he can’t sneak anything past.

The first new units are arriving on the front line, and I zoom in again. I need to position them carefully to turn back this attack. The stacks break apart again, into very small stacks of two or three units. I split my high-velocity guns apart and send them to different parts of the line. I do the same with the AT field guns and the tanks.  Now the stacks are disappearing, replaced by oversize icons on the map. My center describes a shallow V, backed by antiaircraft guns and heavy artillery. Just as the last units are getting set up, his troops come into visual range.

Contact

The sounds of headquarters are gone at this level, and the sound of battle is markedly louder. I order the 210s to commence firing on different parts of his columns, and shells begin arcing up toward the camera before plummeting back to earth. His units start scattering, Panthers and Tigers racing for my line while his infantry get blasted to pieces. He shouldn’t have approached in clumps like this, but “radio silence” meant that he didn’t know he would run into this. Still, he’s got a lot of heavy tanks. They are quickly blowing through my puny armored units and shrugging off AT fire. My tanks begin to break and reverse out of the line. The panzers are driving closer to the guns. I order up a bunch more tanks and send them toward the center. They might arrive in time to soak up some more punishment.

At this point, I only hear pounding guns, shrieking shells, and growling engines. Now that my tanks are routing, the panzers are opening fire on the 90mms and the field guns. Some of the crews are starting to bug out and I’m yelling at them to stay where they are. Their only hope is to stand at their station and kill Germans, but they don’t have the nerve. They’re dying as they run, and the entire center right is in danger of collapsing.

I re-task the 210s to start firing on my own positions, which are being overrun. The troops there are dead either way. A few of my tanks have rallied behind the line, and I send them back into the fray. Then I start selecting my Sparviero fighter-bombers and issuing orders for airstrikes. They peel off and begin diving toward the battlefield. Panzers begin exploding everywhere.

Between the airstrikes and the 90mm guns, the German attack is starting to peter out, especially as reinforcements arrive. I’m about to order up a counter attack against their center when I notice what my recon troops are reporting: his right flank is unguarded. Completely.

I start queuing units up in the woods behind my left flank while the last of his units try to extricate themselves from the center. His bombers arrive to take out my guns, but get devoured by AAA. Heinkels are fluttering toward earth in all the color and splendor of autumn leaves. Only a handful deliver payloads.

Meanwhile, Marcin has met with stunning success. His enemy, the other German player, has been completely caught out by his attack. Marcin will explain after the game that he played the “reverse intel” card and spoofed his opponent into sending a wall of tanks and AT guns against light infantry and recon cars, while his heavy armor plowed straight into the enemy base. By the time his opponent caught on, half his base was a crater.

Post-Battle Assessment

The rest of the battle is a foregone conclusion. My opponent’s attack, and the squandering of his bombers at the end of it, have left him without enough to regain the momentum, and his teammate is in his death throes. I use my recon infantry to spot for my heavy artillery while skirmishing using my tanks. He rolls up quickly.

Marcin and I have had a blast, and we’re both thrilled at the curious combination our team made. My Italians and his Frenchmen just pounded the Germans into the dirt. Two factions that most games don’t even bother to model are able to give the Wehrmacht a run for its money, using completely different methods. For me it was a game of information, line of sight, and opportunistic defensiveness. For Marcin, it was about holding the line early and then delivering a sledgehammer blow with his heavy armor. Both of us used our ruses to great effect, and neither of us can quite believe his reverse worked so well.

My opponent wasn’t particularly skilled, of course. His attack was sloppy and he didn’t support it with enough artillery or air assets. That he was using heavier German armor gave him a very slender chance of winning, but not enough to overcome my combination. But pause for a moment to consider a game that respects that the Italian army was not necessarily the demoralized, incompetent rabble of memory, or that the French were not mired in antiquity, meeting the panzers with nothing but trenches, rifles, and courage.

Afterwards, on Skype, we try and figure out what we really think of this game. This has become a ritual for us every time we play it. It is so very easy to play, and that keeps throwing me off. I’m used to wrestling with RTSs. I usually know what I want to do, the problems come when I try to do it. RUSE doesn’t seem to work that way. The interface lets me move about as quickly as my thoughts, and the game’s pacing gives me just enough time to consider each situation. It’s more like a fast-paced boardgame than a typical RTS.

Yet neither of us can quite figure out if there’s a lot there. It’s still a rock-paper-scissors game, with each faction having different strengths and weaknesses within that paradigm. There doesn’t seem to be much room for the kind of micromanagement that I associate with the power-users who dominate other RTSs. It’s so simple that it seems like it might be shallow.

On the other hand, I have a lot of games sitting on my shelf or in my Steam account that are models of depth and complexity that I have never quite managed to enjoy. Most of my RTS collection is aspirational, games that I keep promising to one day, some other day, get good at. In the meantime, I’m playing RUSE with my friend.

Snapshots of PAX East

If You Can Read This Sign

Red-shirted Enforcers, the utilikilt wearing stasi of PAXes, waving us back as the doors slam shut on the third level of the Hynes Convention center. “Balcony is full,” one of them says, conjuring the crowd backwards along the skylit corridor. Later, when we try to make it in for the Penny Arcade panel, they will give us the same bad news. By Saturday evening, I’ll have learned to expect this at every panel I want to attend.

But Are You Impressed?

A curly-headed kid in a grimy T-shirt going, “Whoaa! Whoaa! Whoaa! Whoaa!” as he plays the 3D-enabled demonstration of Metro 2033 at the nVidia booth. His eyebrows keep jumping above the black 3D lenses like jittery caterpillars. He is playing terribly, unused to Russian FPS’s with their ruthless and reliably fatal consequences. He takes careful aim at a monster’s head, but the shot flies wide and hits it on its shoulder. It looks up from its meal, doubtless another American gamer, more startled than angry. The kid shoots again while dust motes dance between him and the monster  (“Whoaa!”) and now he has its attention. It charges, and because I’m wearing the other set of goggles and am standing over his shoulder, I start co-piloting as he calls out questions. “How do I melee?”

“Try right clicking! Middle mouse! I don’t know, get the fuck out of there!”

“Whoaa!”

Tie Me to the Mast

I’m standing in a corner of the Compleat Strategist booth holding a copies of Memoir ’44, Ticket to Ride, and Carcassonne.  I’m explaining that Ken Levine, Soren Johnson, and Julian Murdoch have recommended each of these games, respectively. Surely those endorsements would appease MK if I brought this stack home? Tom Endo, my former editor at The Escapist and my wingman for this first day of PAX East, is giving me a knowing smile. “This is dangerous. You’re feeling it. You’re standing in a vortex of nerd energy, and you want to surrender to it. Maybe you should sleep on this.”

I Should Probably Buy It, Huh?

Time and again I see something amazing on a screen and ask, “What is that?” Tom says, “Bad Company 2.”

Bostonians Love It When People Do This

We’re heading a party at the TCS lounge and have no idea where the hell we’re going. As we pass the fire station on Boylston, I joke that we could go in and tell the firefighters that there’s a huge fire at the TCS lounge. Then we could just follow them. A moment later, Troy Goodfellow has knocked on the door to the firehouse and is getting directions from a stereotype: ruddy complexion and ginger hair, vowels that could span the Charles. Just as the fireman is about to go back inside, Troy turns to Jenn Cutter and says, “Now there’s your Boston accent.”

So Babe Wasn’t a Documentary?

Tiffany Martin is explaining why pigs are assholes and she hates them. “They’re not filthy or anything that people usually think about them. But they’re smart, and they’re always getting loose. And then you’ve gotta chase them, which is just a huge pain in the ass. It’s not like it is in the movies, where you’re running around with the Benny Hill music playing in the background. Pigs are smart, right? So they figure out what you’re up to. So you have to triangulate a pig and like herd it toward someone who can tackle it. Then you have to pick them up, and they make this sound. It’s like a human scream. Oh, and if you’re not careful, they’ll bite your hand off.”

Move Over, Saxton Hale

Tom Endo is explaining that he’d like to hunt coyote. “I don’t know why. I just really want to hunt one and, like, kill it, skin it, and, uh… I don’t know. Make a bracelet out of it. Or something.”

I Really Need to Do Something about My Weight… and Height… and Shoulders

Julian Murdoch, on meeting me in person. “My God, you’re a monster!”

Russ Pitts, on meeting me in person. “You’re huge. That doesn’t come through in your emails.”

Maybe Just a 1-Year Subscription

John Davison has just explained, during the “Death of Print” panel, that he was brought in to run GamePro because the owners wanted it to have an identity, to stand for something, at the end of its life. Jeff Green turns to him and says, “Wait a second. They brought you in basically so you could help this thing die with a little dignity, and you took that job?”

Somehow, Surely, You Could Make This Game Sound Less Interesting

At the APB booth, the producer is explaining what makes his game different. “It’s the three Cs – combat, customization, and celebrity.” In other words, approximately 1/3 of this product involves actually playing a game. In the background, it looks like a war has broken out between hipsters and cops, except that some of the hipsters appear to be cops. I see a firefight taking place amidst shipping containers. Despair threatens for a moment. Then he begins talking about character customization. One of the hipster character models appears on screen, her pants changing colors and style, her shirt getting longer and shorter. Then the guy working the demo machine zooms in on her narrow, sculpted ass and slaps Cartman sticker on her right butt cheek. I leave. I assume the third C, celebrity, involves an avatar sex tape.

PAX Break

I’ve been in a bit of a writing funk lately that’s been really frustrating me, and now that it’s finally ending and I have a million thing I want (and, for my editors, need) to get down on paper, it’s time to take a break for PAX East. That’s about the only downside, however, to a convention for which I am very excited. Yesterday I made the trek across the Harvard bridge, over the “Smoot” marking and past a major fender-bender – actually, let’s make that a crumple-zone crumpler – and arrived in Back Bay to meet Troy Goodfellow and some other writers for dinner. On the corner of Mass Ave. and Boylston, a large man wearing a too-small Ghostbusters T-shirt slammed into me while playing on a handheld system, and I knew I’d found PAX.

Then I promptly got lost, having not noticed that there is a jog between Hereford and Dalton, so I kept looking for a through street which doesn’t exist on the north side of Boylston. But I eventually found my way thanks to a laconically polite BPD patrolman.

Anyway, I highly recommend PAX-goers check out these helpful guides from the Phoenix’s Mitch Krpata: food, sights, and getting around. One bit of advice is so important, I must repeat it here:

Please don’t take your picture outside of Cheers, attempt to speak with a Boston accent, or wear any New York Yankees paraphernalia.

There. Mitch just saved your life.

I should also mention that the Eastern contingent of Three Moves Ahead will be having a little breakfast get together on Sunday morning. I will be there, as will Troy Goodfellow and Julian Murdoch. One or all of us may be savagely hungover, but there’s nothing for a hangover like bracing conversation! Here is what Troy had to say about it.

After checking reviews, schedules and locations, I’ve settled on the Trident Booksellers & Cafe around the corner from the Hynes Convention Center.

For now, I am planning on Sunday at 10 AM for the meeting, but I may bump it as early as 9:30 depending on a number of things. Don’t be afraid to come late, and please let me know if you plan on coming so we can try to get a reservation or something a couple of days ahead. I may have to leave by 11 to help with something else, but no one has ever needed me around to have fun.

I strongly urge you to come to this meeting if you like strategy games, Three Moves Ahead, or just some of the guys who are on Three Moves Ahead.

But where else might you find me during PAX East? Here are some panels that I am likely to attend:

  • Penny Arcade Panel #1 – Main Theatre – Friday, 4:00pm
  • The Future of PC Gaming – Wyvern Theatre – Friday, 10:00pm (this is a long shot for me)
  • Kotaku and Croal: In Search Of The Best Games Ever – Manticore Theatre -Saturday, 11:30am
  • The Death of Print – Manticore Theatre – Saturday, 1:00pm
  • Naughty Dog LIVE – Naga Theatre – Saturday, 4:00pm
  • Podcasting (f)or PR – Naga Theatre – Saturday, 5:30pm
  • Everything … About Game Journalism – Manticore Theatre – Sunday, 2:30pm
  • Sequelitis Snake Oil – Manticore Theatre – Sunday, 4:00pm

What do I look like? Well, take a look at this gentleman here and picture him with a beard, a black topcoat (if the weather stays cold) and surrounded by less vibrant foliage. He will probably be standing toward the side or back of a room, looking like he’s asking himself “What would Darcy do?” (probably not attend PAX). That is me, and you should absolutely say hello. We are, after all, members of the same tribe.

The Ethics of Bloody Retribution

A few years ago I read Adrian McKinty’s Dead I Well May Be, which instantly became one of my all-time favorite crime novels. In addition to being a blood-curdling revenge story, it was also a collection of surprisingly lyrical vignettes to different worlds: Belfast in the waning years of the Troubles, a city of desultory terrorism and economic stagnation. New York in early 1990′s, disorderly, larcenous, crazed.  The poor Protestant neighborhoods of the Six Counties over a decade into the Troubles, desperately clinging to a precious few privileges over the Catholics.

McKinty had a knack for sketching sharp characters and scenes with just a few choice details. His characters spoke with different voices, but all filtered through the wry and fatalist gaze of protagonist Michael Forsythe. He had a soft-spot for the underdogs and hopeless fuck-ups, people who chose to trust and love despite being given few reasons to do either. And Forsythe himself, too young for the work he did and far too careless to understand the import of the choices he was making, was one of them. He was just smart enough to know it.

Dead I Well May Be turns into a nightmare journey for the second act, and that gives way to a chilly, purposeful series of killings in the third act. By the time it ends, it has become a triumphant tragedy, the dead bodies piled high after glorious vengeance. Forsythe goes about his work with compassion and understanding, but not an ounce of mercy. It’s exhilarating to see it unfold.

The strength of that book made me a McKinty fan, but it didn’t take long before I started to worry that Dead I Well May Be was a flash in the pan. Hidden River, the story of a disgraced Royal Ulster Constabulary detective trying to solve a friend’s murder in Colorado, had its moments but was ultimately a dud. Not a single character was appealing, and the story behind the murder was devoid of any sense or import. The Dead Yard, the sequel to Dead I Well May Be, was a crushing disappointment.

McKinty seemed to be straining so hard to recapture the magic of Dead I Well May Be that he was turning into a parody of himself. His prose crossed that line from lush to purple, and his use of foreshadowing began to smack of narrative laziness. Rather than showing anything interesting happening, he just kept promising that interesting things would, eventually, happen. Most of them in another book.

The final part of the Forsythe trilogy, The Bloomsday Dead, was better than his other efforts but still a far cry from Dead I Well May Be. He never managed to make the case that Forsythe’s was a story that needed continuing, and the conclusion to the saga relied on a couple predictable twists and some unconvincing behavior on the part of some of the characters.

So I had just about written McKinty off. He’d produced one great novel, one decent one, one mediocrity, and one disaster. However, I gave him one last shot with his latest novel, Fifty Grand, and I’m thrilled to find that he is once again near the top of his game. This is easily his best work since Dead I Well May Be, and is also a marked departure from his other novels.

Fifty Grand is superficially a revenge mystery. A Cuban detective, Mercado, illegally leaves the country to find out what happened to her father when he was killed in a wealthy Colorado town.

That’s just the backdrop, however, for a story about class and illegal immigration. We know that Mercado is a smart professional and a first-rate cop on a fifth-rate police force, but in America she is nothing. Posing as a worker from Mexico City, she is given the choice of being a sex worker or a cleaning lady. The local police turn a blind eye to the illegals who are building their city and serving its elites. The human traffickers who run the immigration operation treat the workers as indentured servants. For everyone else, the Latinos are invisible. Just a bunch of Mexicans, whether they’re Mexican or not, here to build houses, clean them once they’ve been built, and occasionally to screw in them for money.

There is a scene where Mercado witnesses the sheriff administer a savage beating to her boss, Esteban, in front of her and another maid. After the sheriff drives off, Esteban tries to stop crying as he shakes with fury in the driver’s seat of his Navigator. He starts muttering that the sheriff couldn’t do this to him, he was an American citizen. Then he starts to cry as he says that all this, from Colorado to the Pacific, used to be Mexico. And he weeps.

Poignancy and irony are laced throughout this scene. Characters can be aware of the artificial distinctions and prejudices that are the bedrock of most discrimination, yet their ubiquity still makes those characters complicit in inequality. Esteban gets treated like shit because he’s a Mexican, and his reaction is to feel outrage because he’s an American citizen. It’s okay to abuse and humiliate illegals, he accepts that, but it’s outrageous to ask an Hispanic American citizen to accept such treatment. He accepts that American citizenship grants him superiority to the people who come over illegally from Mexico, but then he denies that Americans have any moral right to the southwest that they took from Mexico at gunpoint. Esteban, a Mexican, a citizen, and a trafficker, is mired in contradictions, chafing against a racist regime in which he is complicit.

This is a McKinty novel, however, and there is still a lot of room for lyrical violence and bloodshed. He sets the tone early with this passage, as Mercado tries to explain why she is out to avenge the murder of a man who abandoned her as a child.

Revenge is a game for pendejos. Hector says that tit for tat is a base emotion, from the lizard brain, from way, way down. He says we’ve evolved beyond revenge. Witnesses at executions always leave dissatisfied, and he would know, he’s seen dozens. But it’s not about feeling good, Hector. It’s about something else. It’s about tribal law, it’s about the restoration of order. Entropy increases, the universe winds down, and one day all the suns go out and the last living entity ceases to be. It’s about accepting that, accepting that there’s no happy place, no afterlife, no justice, just a brief flowering of consciousness in an infiinty of nothing–it’s about seeing all that and then defying the inevitable and imposing a discipline on chaos, even as the boilers burst and the ship goes down.

This neatly describes nearly every McKinty protagonist’s motivation. They are not history’s winners. They hunt the privileged and powerful, the people who will resort to violence and betrayal when they have nothing to fear, who cite the law when it is on their side, and who cry for mercy when they are on their knees with a gun pointed at their head. In this universe, justice is a mirage, a trick played on the downtrodden. The only safety is in the promise of retribution.

One Move Behind – Standing Athwart History Yelling "Stop!"

I am not an optimist. I am skeptical of most changes and need to see evidence that my fears are unfounded before I can abandon them. So when it comes to developments like Facebook gaming or microtransactions, my instincts say that there is great potential for these to be negative developments. This is the source of my misgivings during this week’s Three Moves Ahead.

Quality of Life

When it comes to Facebook gaming, I must concede that my objections have very little to do with the likelihood that we will see good games on that platform. It has everything to do with the kind of gamer I am, and the way I prefer to live my life. Selfishly, I am afraid that gaming will increasingly move into an arena for which I have little patience: the social network.

Right now I have four tabs open in my browser: Gmail, Google Reader, Twitter, and the WordPress editor. Whenever I momentarily come to the end of a line of thought, I flick to one of the other tabs. It’s a reflex at this point, one I don’t completely feel capable of controlling. I struggle with the fears that Nicholas Carr described in his Atlantic piece: “Is Google Making Us Stupid?”

Over the past few years I’ve had an uncomfortable sense that someone, or something, has been tinkering with my brain, remapping the neural circuitry, reprogramming the memory. My mind isn’t going—so far as I can tell—but it’s changing. I’m not thinking the way I used to think. I can feel it most strongly when I’m reading. Immersing myself in a book or a lengthy article used to be easy. My mind would get caught up in the narrative or the turns of the argument, and I’d spend hours strolling through long stretches of prose. That’s rarely the case anymore. Now my concentration often starts to drift after two or three pages. I get fidgety, lose the thread, begin looking for something else to do. I feel as if I’m always dragging my wayward brain back to the text. The deep reading that used to come naturally has become a struggle.

…Even when I’m not working, I’m as likely as not to be foraging in the Web’s info-thickets’reading and writing e-mails, scanning headlines and blog posts, watching videos and listening to podcasts, or just tripping from link to link to link. (Unlike footnotes, to which they’re sometimes likened, hyperlinks don’t merely point to related works; they propel you toward them.)

These are serious areas of concern for me. I am often struck by the sudden fear that I’m not developing as a writer, because I’m nowhere near the reader I used to be. I use the same couple sentence structures and the same “go to” turns of phrase because I’m no longer capable of noticing things like sentence structure, or hearing the way a particular choice of words can change the texture of a thought. My eyes dance to and fro, the nouns, verbs, and modifiers strobing like runway landing lights in the expanse of the page. The general meaning of a paragraph quickly becomes clear. Its particulars are vanish as my attention moves on.

Engagement has become more a fight than it used to be. I sometimes feel like I’m living in “Harrison Bergeron”, unable to form a complex thought because something always happens to break my concentration. Right now, for instance, the Twitter tab shows a (5). Five tweets have appeared on my feed since I last checked it. I badly want to go see what they are, even though I’m not really interested. I’d rather stay here and keep writing.

To an extent, Facebook is my line in the sand. I fear its endlessness, and the social economy that drives users to toss notes and gifts at their friends, exchanging daily updates with people that they are not particularly close to. With my prestigious collection of insecurities, and my predilection to get addicted to just about anything, I can almost guarantee that my relationship with Facebook would grow unhealthy. Add Facebook gaming to that mix, and I’ll end up with another perpetually open tab on my browser. Another drain on my already atomized attention, potentially worse than the others.

When I play a game, I don’t want to be “sort of” playing a game and sort of chatting with my acquaintances. I want to be playing the game. When I get back to my apartment tonight, if I still have enough energy left, I’m going to clear my desk, hook up the racing wheel, and do a Formula 3000 qualifying session at the Brno circuit. The only thing in the world that I’m going to care about for a half-hour is my car and the racing line. Everything else will be gone.

And when I’m done with that, I might turn off my computer and sit down with the novel I’m reading, or perhaps continue with the organizational history of Napoleon’s Grand Armee. If I keep playing, I might lose myself in Clear Sky some more, or I’ll try to salvage my Prussian campaign in Napoleon: Total War. Perhaps MK will want to continue our game of Sins of a Solar Empire. But whatever I do next, I will be all in.

The Myth of Progress

It may be that the days of this type of gamer are already numbered, and have been for quite awhile. But inevitability isn’t synonymous with desirability. Rabbit may be correct when he says that people have already voted for Facebook gaming and microtransactions with their dollars and quarters, but that doesn’t mean they actually want a future where that is gaming’s dominant form. But by their very nature, these little casual games and microtransactional models can give rise to the tyranny of small decisions. We’re about to change the course of an entire industry and a young art form based on nickel-and-dime whims, and I think there’s a huge danger there that should worry people who love videogames.

Nor am I convinced that having millions of new gamers taking up the hobby is a good thing. It depends. If I thought the rise of free-to-play models and Facebook gaming were going to bring a flood of new players into gaming as it exists right now, I’d be more excited. But I think this might be a Chinatown situation: we can’t bring new players to gaming, so we bring gaming to new players. We redefine what “gaming” means, and then call the new people who like this easier, more accessible activity gamers, and we say what a great thing it is for the hobby. But nothing has really changed. We share little in common with the newcomers, and their games have little in common with ours. What has changed is that our market share just got smaller. That rarely means anything good. Just ask Ensemble.

Now Rabbit mentioned that a lot of the counterarguments resemble the anti-console arguments that PC gamers used to make. That the rise of Xbox would spell trouble, and would hurt gaming. And obviously, the industry has survived and flourished even as the PC has receded as the dominant platform and consoles have moved onto more and more of what used to PC turf.

Or has it? I don’t find myself wanting for good games to play, but I also can’t deny how much I identify with this comment that Ken Levine made on Twitter: “Innovation wise, the aughts didn’t really hold a candle to the 90s.” I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the decade of the PlayStation and the Xbox was also a decade of slowed innovation. We were right to worry ten years ago, and many of our fears came to pass. That we’ve learned to live with the new reality doesn’t mean it was all for the best.

As we consider what might turn out to be the most significant change in the game industry since the Famicom, we should ponder the ramifications, and what we stand to lose.

Reviewed – Napoleon: Total War

My first-ever review is up at GameShark, and it’s a fairly positive one for Napoleon: Total War. This assignment was something of a treat, and is probably a poor representative of the reviewing experience as a whole. Napoleon: Total War is a good and very enjoyable game, and I’m still wrapping up some campaigning in it even though the assignment is over. I was happy to have an excuse to plow over 40 hours into the game.

I am sure I’ll jump onto the “I hate reviews” bandwagon the moment I have to review a real dog of a game. But for now, it’s a fun change of pace.

As I was in the process of assigning a score to this game, I found myself thinking about the kind of reviewer I want to be. It would be nice to have a reputation for being tough but fair, but somehow I think most reviewers probably aim for that. It’s maybe more important to have come to terms with how I react to games.

On the Three Moves Ahead before last, or maybe it was during the after-party, Tom made the comment that he got the feeling there weren’t too many games I hated.  On reflection, that’s very true. I actually like most games I play. I’m the sort of person for whom a lot of things just don’t get old. Sometimes, when I’m putting my car key into the ignition, I still kind of marvel at the fact that I can drive. I got my learner’s permit ten years ago, but the feeling of privilege hasn’t entirely gone away. I feel the same way when I sit down to play videogames, especially when I can say, “It’s for work.”

So it takes a lot to make me dislike a game. Huge disappointments, like Rebellion, Rome: Total War, or Empire: Total War, can usually get me there. Pissing me off is another good method. I thought GUN was a good game until it all went to shit in the third act, and that final act erased just about every ounce of goodwill. I’m a little allergic to hyperbolic praise and self-importance. I enjoyed Far Cry 2, for instance, but I can’t say I really like it. It was a beautiful and exciting open-world shooter, but it was also murderously repetitive and kind of shallow. I end up judging the game more harshly because of how it was received, and for its own very limited ambition. I have not been kind to Modern Warfare.

But for the most part, I love gaming and like most videogames. I just don’t think many of them are excellent. I really loved playing Napoleon: Total War, and really do think it’s probably the best Total War title in quite awhile. But when it was time to consider flaws that really bothered me, I didn’t have to look hard to find them.

I’ll have more to say about Napoleon. I really did like it quite a bit. So I’ll close with the reviewer’s typical request: read the text. The score doesn’t perfectly reflect how I feel about the game, or how I personally weigh the game’s elements. It reflects a slightly more cold-blooded assessment.