Mike Russo's IF Comp 2025 Reviews

Re: your review of Fable,

Spoilery comments, goodness!

In-universe, Jamie is a separate character from Ronan who has taken over his body. But I think the idea of Jamie lends itself to a more metaphorical reading of an internal identity conflict. The story invokes hero’s journey type tropes, the idea of going on this big quest that changes you (Ronan) and returning to your hometown no longer able to relate to it in the same way.

The performance of doing the quest, slaying the dragon, rescuing the princess, being the hero, is a lot of masculine heterosexual pageantry capped off with a wedding. But Ronan cannot live up to really any step of this quest, it is at odds with something deep within him. It is not going well, even prior to the body-snatching. On his quest, away from the social pressures and trappings, “Jamie” represents to me a coming-into-awareness of queer potentiality in his identity, a side of himself that he is afraid of, that could be allowed to flourish or could be suppressed. The bodysnatcher is a queer self fighting for the ability to exist.

It reminds me in a way of going off to college, having new experiences that you couldn’t have imagined before, then returning to your hometown as someone uncanny who perhaps looks the same, but has an emergent otherness roiling within them. Some will encounter that as deeply monstrous, others will encounter that as desirable, which for Kel depends on the choices of the reader, I guess. The conflict that erupts in the narrative perhaps is a way of representing how being queer/realizing queerness is almost inherently disruptive to social relationships built on a “compulsory heterosexuality” foundation.

One way the society in the story responds to the bodysnatcher is to drag Ronan away “to the High Court for purification.” Is that not conversion therapy, the institutions threatened by queerness working to straighten everything back out so the wedding can proceed as ordained? Another path allows for the identities to diverge, Kel’s queer yearning transferred away from Ronan to a different person whose body gets stolen (Tristen), and the piece of Ronan that still wants to be the archetypal hero can proceed on that path. Also a troubling solution, but an interesting one.

So yeah, I think while it is fair to draw out the murky morality of siding with the in-universe bodysnatcher and Kel’s betrayal of Letta (if you choose to do that), the representation of an emergent queer identity as a monstrous/social threat in the context of a repressive society is something that resists easy solutions to moral dilemmas, and that made it an interesting piece for me to read.

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Thanks for the review Mike!

Really enjoyed reading your transcript, BTW.

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Us Too, by Andrew Schultz

It’s fun to look at old sci-fi and see which of the things they’ve envisioned have become reality, and which are still the stuff of imagination. Take Star Trek: warp drive remains a physical improbability, matter replicators are sorta getting there with 3D printers, ditto with the holodeck given improvements in VR, and we’ve already got a version of the voice-activated computer that responds to whatever you say though there are uh some unanticipated issues with that. The Universal Translator is looking pretty good, thankfully transporters are still pretty far off, and the Vulcan Mind Meld? I’m ready to declare that one checked off. You see, I’ve been playing Andrew Schultz’s wordplay games for about five years now, and while I remember my brains leaking out of my ears when I realized what the first few were demanding of me, I managed to sail through most of Us Too, firmly vibrating on its wavelength. As far as I can tell, playing his games year after year has expanded my consciousness until I see the world the same way he does, decomposing words into their component phonemes if not effortlessly, then at least with an intuitive appreciation for the logic at work. Just as in the show, it’s a disorienting experience as well as an enlightening one – but it does mean I had a thoroughly good time with Us Too.

For those who haven’t played one of these games, a bit of explanation is in order. Every installment in the series hinges on a particular kind of wordplay that transforms a seemingly-nonsensical word or phrase into another, often-similarly-nonsensical one. While there is an inventory and compass navigation, these vestiges of traditional parser games are just there to support the word puzzles (most items are used and collected automatically – or at least, automatically once you’ve solved the appropriate puzzle). The gameplay loop involves going to a new place, noting that it’s got a weird name and maybe one or two other weird objects, and then typing in what you think those names translate to (note for prospective players: I always forget that you don’t need to type SAY first, just type the solution!) As for the nature of the wordplay, it shifts between games – I think most of the ones I’ve played have involved substituting the initial sounds of an alliterative phrase (like, “Chevy chair “becomes “heavy hair”), though memorably and kinda-painfully, there was even a pig Latin one.

Us Too’s distinctive move is admittedly easier to grasp than these somewhat outre pieces of linguistic dexterity: here, you need to move the space in a two-word phrase to make a different two-word phrase, for example THINK WELL can become THIN QUELL (this is an example from the game, but it’s given to you to toggle a help option rather than being an actual puzzle). It can definitely be tricky – there were some puzzles that I stared at for a long time, babbling demented syllables until they finally cohered by trial and error – but it’s a reasonably bounded problem, and I found I got the knack pretty quickly, which made the pacing satisfying: I tended to make good progress, then run into a couple tricky puzzles that slowed things down, before getting unjammed and zooming ahead again. This is especially the case where I’d figured out the later stages in a puzzle-chain before the first: as mentioned, Us Too isn’t just a series of isolated tongue-twisters, there is an inventory and state tracking, so sometimes you need to have the right item or otherwise satisfied a prerequisite before the puzzle can be solved. Helpfully, though, the game remembers if you’ve stumbled across the right phrase before you’re able to deploy it properly, and it’s very satisfying to solve one puzzle and realize in a flash that it’ll let you work through a half-dozen that had been left tormentingly half-solved across the map.

Much like the other games, Us Too in fact is helpful to a fault. There are tutorial messages, cheat items, and diegetic hints a-plenty. A challenge is that these all use the same linguistic tricks as the rest of the game, so they might be tricky for someone coming to the series fresh to figure out – which is too bad, since of course those are the people for whom they’ll be most important, and they’ll need them most at the very beginning, before the player’s figured out the main trick. And sometimes the game provides so much detail that the forest can get lost for the trees (there’s a hint item that looks like a pair of eyes that has something like three different potential uses, all giving slightly different feedback). But there’s also a full walkthrough that talks all the puzzles through, so really, there’s a lot of support to allow players of all experience levels to have fun here, once they get over that first hurdle.

As for the plot – well, Us Too makes an interesting contrast with Monkeys and Car Keys, which I just reviewed and noted that it doesn’t really bother trying to diegetically justify its puzzles. Despite their bizarre nature, Us Too’s puzzles are all integrated into its narrative, which makes the whole thing quite phantasmagoric: in theory, you’re tasked with exploring a mine to satisfy the conditions of an eccentric great-aunt’s will, but while the mine does have some of the stuff you’d expect, there are also restaurants, oceans with boats and islands, plenty of other people to meet, and odder situations still. Oh, and you’re collecting ingredients for a recipe while you’re down there. I admit that I have a hard time correlating all the different strands of the plot; the opening is pretty coherent, presenting the great-aunt as an appealing presence in the protagonist’s life and featuring a rare sighting of lawyers in IF who aren’t jerks, but after that it gets pretty fractured – I did find it funny, but the various jokes I pasted into my notes don’t really work on their own, you kind of needed to be there.

Outside of the narrative, the gameplay also departs from its key mechanic a few times, and while they can provide a welcome change of pace, I did get stuck on one of these because I was expecting to solve everything with wordplay, rather than messing around with items (I’m talking about the bit where you can boost your speed by examining a particular item, and depending on how much gas you’ve got left in the tank, going south at a specific intersection will take you to one of three different destinations). Admittedly, there is a lot of signposting that something weird is happening here, but the challenge just felt very out of context with what the rest of the game had been training me to do. I guess that just means there’s a bit more work required on the mind meld – once Andrew wraps that up, maybe he can start in on the space communism bit of Star Trek next?

us too mr.txt (192.2 KB)

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Backpackward, by Zach Dodson for Interactive Tragedy, Limited

As I’ve mentioned in a couple of previous reviews in this thread, I’ve been getting back into Star Trek lately, for reasons that are probably not too hard to guess if you look around (I remember finding the idea that the central event of the mid-21st Century would be “the Eugenics Wars” incredibly funny back in the day). As I’ve been tiptoeing into the last decade’s worth of franchise effluvium, I’ve heard a lot of people recommend Lower Decks, which is an animated comedy that makes fun of the tropes of Star Trek, but folks say also clearly has a lot of affection for them too, and adds solid character work to boot. Sounds great! But I bounced hard off the one episode I watched, because while the substance was indeed as advertised, the style was incredibly off-putting to me – the characters are all yelling at each other all the time, there’s a lot of intentionally-unpleasant visual jokes based on nudity and body fluids, and a strain of stoner-humor runs through the whole thing. I can see how the cocktail could work for some – this is pretty much exactly the aesthetic that made Rick and Morty super successful – it’s just not my bag.

So yeah, Backpackward.

This choice-based game is working in a classic genre (in this case, portal fantasy, where an unwitting protagonist is transported to a fantasy realm), with a solid density of funny jokes (the very first one – your dead-end job of choice is working in a smoothie shop named “Jack of All Fruits” – took me a minute to get, but is legit clever; the fact that they sell a smoothie called the “Mango-Carta Madness” made me disappointed I couldn’t read the full menu board), and a fun mechanic to boot: there are occasional options along the lines you typically see in a choice-based game, most hinging on whether you’ll release your bottomless rage at your marginal existence, or try to keep it bottled up, but they mostly seem to have only cosmetic effect. No, the real interactivity isn’t based on what you do, but what you have. Per the title, at key junctures you’ll have a chance to snatch a potpourri of items and try to cram them into your backpack – stealing a page from action-RPGs like Diablo, this involves playing inventory-Tetris and making hard decisions about what to leave behind, since the available space is strictly limited. And it’s the presence or absence of key items like a light source, a lucky die, or a can of Febreze that impacts how well you navigate the myriad challenges of trying to storm a castle in the fantasy world, and find a place to crash after you piss off all your friends in the real one.

This is all pretty well done – the backpack especially is cool, with lovely graphics making the process of agonizing over what to take feel nice and tactile. But it does all the same stuff I found so grating in Lower Decks: the main character is an aggrieved and aggressive jerk, the game can’t let go of running jokes like how funny it is to step in sheep dung, and yeah, one of the items you can prioritize is a bong. I don’t mean to knock the folks to whom this stuff appeals at all – everyone has their own taste in humor – but I just don’t find it that funny, and in fact running “gags” like the protagonist’s extended flirting with the wife of the one peasant in the fantasy world who’s nice to him feel grating and unpleasant to me.

Often I don’t mind a narrative aesthetic that’s not to my taste as much if the gameplay is grabby, but here Backpackward runs into difficulties because the item-collection mechanic is also pretty random. The game does signpost a few of the items that will be most useful – it’s pretty clear that you’ll want a lighter and some explosives for the endgame, and you’d have to be intentionally sandbagging not to wind up with them – but for the most part, your choices of what to bring are made blind, which makes them feel either inconsequential (I kept a DnD miniature figure through the game because it felt like it had to pay off somewhere, but all it wound up doing was open up a couple opportunities to shove it in people’s faces) or incredibly weighty (by the time I realized that a broken shield would be super helpful to have, I was half the game away from the one moment when I could have grabbed it). Sometimes this can pay off – a half-eaten pack of Cheetos I’d stuffed in the backpack and forgot about wound up being the key item I needed to save my peasant “friend” when we were menaced by attack dogs – but fortuity only takes you so far, especially since there appear to be noticeable negative consequences if you don’t happen to have the right item on you (another issue is that I know this because the ending text I got seemed buggy and didn’t realize I’d used the Cheetos – it told me the peasant had died).

Speaking of the ending, Backpackward isn’t a complete story unto itself, ending on a cliffhanger, and while that can be annoying, in this case it makes me optimistic. See, if there is a sequel, it’s a chance for the characters and world to bed in a bit, develop some nuance now that the basic contours are established. The various setbacks suffered by the main character might also get him to gain a little self-awareness, which would be very welcome. I am planning to take another run at Lower Decks after the Comp, since I hear that it calms own after the first episode – here’s hoping the same is true here!

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High on Grief, by Norbez (Bez) Jones

I’m turning 45 in a couple of months, and while I like to think of myself as having maintained an admirable flexibility of mind and try to at least be aware of broader cultural trends even though many of them aren’t especially relevant to me anymore, there are times when I play a game and sure do feel an age gap separating me from the author, and the one I experienced when finishing High on Grief was especially acute: how in the name of all that’s holy does this game, whose inciting incident is the main character’s decision to take drugs laced with their parent’s cremated remains, fail to acknowledge that the Rolling Stones’ Keith Richards did exactly the same thing? OK sure in his case it was snorting the ashes with some coke rather than baking them into pot brownies, but still – High on Grief’s protagonist, Yancy, makes a point of emphasizing how uniquely bizarre their actions are, when there’s an incredibly famous precedent exactly on point, at least for those of us of a certain age! This would be like having a game where the main character rides naked on a horse to protest taxation and everyone’s like, never heard of that one.

Admittedly, the reason for the omission is likely that High on Grief doesn’t take place in our reality; I think it’s only adverted to in the cover art this time out, but from playing previous games featuring Yancy I’m aware that they live in a world where everyone’s an anthropomorphic animal, and I believe there was a zombie apocalypse not too long ago. Still, there are points in common with the real world – Yancy’s deceased mom, for example, was a Christian, and she used her religion as one element in a relentless campaign of verbal and emotional abuse against her queer and autistic child. The game doesn’t get into much in the way of details here, beyond noting that she continually misgendered Yancy, but I think that’s a reasonable choice, since the focus here isn’t on rehashing specific incidents; instead, it’s about how Yancy comes to grips with their complex feelings about their mom, and her impact on them, now that she’s gone.

The particular way this plays out is, again, via a non-health-code-compliant pot brownie binge; as Yancy starts to get high, questions start bouncing around their brain about why they’re doing this (they’d originally mentioned the idea as a dark joke in high school, but that only takes you so far), what their mom’s death means, and more. Depending on how you answer these questions, you wind up phoning one of ten different friends for support in your dark night of the soul. Or rather, you wind up phoning all of them – after the conversation the game ends, but the blurb and ending text are very clear that you’re intended to play through all the options, and the game crosses out choices you’ve already picked to make sure you call the last friend as you eat the last piece of brownie. Oddly, this is phrased as “rewinding”, despite the fact that Yancy’s table accumulates notes from the previous conversations and previously-eaten pieces of brownie don’t reappear, which is a violation of causality not nearly as jarring as the fact that Yancy knows they’re a character in a piece of IF and occasionally addresses the player, speculating on what the author is up to.

Despite the apparently simple setup, then, there’s a lot going on here, mirroring the roiling stew of emotions Yancy is experiencing. For all that they’re clear that their mom was terrible, and terrible to them, they acknowledge that she could be kind to others and there are a (very) few positive parts of the legacy she’s left them. But their overwhelming feelings are angry ones; there’s very little actual grief here as most would recognize it. The dialogues provide an avenue to unpack all this, since each friend provides a viewpoint on one particular angle: one friend who’s a parent themselves has perspective on the ways parents influence their kids, while an autistic one commiserates by talking about their own struggles with people who are intolerant of the neurodivergent.

These are all written screenplay style, and generally work well; there’s a preponderance of therapy-speak, and again, Yancy often speaks in generalities, but those seem like plausible choices given the scenario. But ten may have been too many – it’s hard to add too much variety to the dialogues since they cover pretty similar ground, with many of them starting with the friend saying some slight variation of “I heard your mom’s funeral just happened, must be rough from what you’ve been saying on the Discord”. It’s also hard to get a sense of such a big supporting cast, especially since the game doesn’t provide any real context for who they are. I dimly remembered a few from earlier games, but for the most part they’re distinguished only by one or two obvious traits, without much room for nuance; again, I think what’s here works fine, but I wonder whether the game might have hit harder with half as many characters, but deeper dialogues that granted them more personality.

The other element that didn’t have as much payoff for me was the meta flourishes. There is a payoff of sorts for them, engaging with what exactly the player is doing when they make choices on Yancy’s behalf and how that relates to the mom’s domineering approach to her relationship with her kid, but this felt more like an intellectual connection than an organic, emotional one. Instead, it’s Yancy’s authentic confusion and defiance that stuck with me; devouring a parent is a highly symbolic act, and not one undertaken lightly, after all. I’m not sure Yancy was entirely justified to do what they did – but then, I don’t think Yancy is sure they were entirely justified, either. Even for those in much less extreme situations, it’s easy to recognize the need to move past your parents and let go of their influence on you, but easy too to feel ambivalence about that.

Except for Keith Richards – to my knowledge he’s never said he felt bad about snorting his dad, he just thought it was awesome.

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Frankenfingers, by Charles Moore

The fact that you play a severed hand scuttling about scenes that would be right at home in a Hammer horror movie is only the second weirdest thing about Frankenfingers – and let’s be real, it’s a distant second, especially after the two Rosalinda games proved jockeying around dismembered limbs could even be cozy. And you’re the special kind of hand with all five senses, so basically you’re just a standard IF protagonist minus some height, the ability to hold more than one object at a time, and the gift of gab, which are no big deal in the grand scheme of things. No, the weirdest thing is that it’s almost entirely in verse.

There are of course many pieces of IF that are written as poetry, but the list is mostly choice-based games – and while there are other examples in the parser space, like Portrait With Wolf and Nelson’s Shakespeare’s Tempest, they’re generally not structured along conventional medium-dry-goods lines, for the understandable reason that this sort of thing is beyond silly:

You feel a vibration beneath you, a rumble transmits through the floor,
The wall to the north slowly rotates, and now serves as a passable door.

Let me be clear: I enjoy things that are beyond silly. I think the idea here is to lean hard into the cheesy-horror vibe and make it seem like Vincent Price is narrating proceedings, and if that’s the case, the occasional misstep into doggerel just adds to the mood; as long as innocent villagers are being chopped up, I guess the meter can be too:

The damage the innocent suffer, is needed but quite unintentional.
But digging up graves and killing the locals for parts seems a bit unconventional.

There are times when it feels a bit intimidating to have to page through five stanzas of description plus some dialogue to figure out what’s going on in a location, and there are places where the game does resort to unadorned prose (those most of these, like listing moveable objects that have been dropped, are entirely forgivable given the number of variations that would be required). But overall the verse thing works surprisingly well, communicating a sense of place as well as all the quotidian bits of parser functionality like where the exits are, shifting location descriptions when you change state (like noting that a hatch is either opened or closed), and even making some fun shifts into alternate genres of poetry on occasion.

While the verse is the standout feature, Frankenfingers’ design is no slouch either. This is a reasonably big game with a bunch of puzzles, but the clueing is elegantly done; even if I didn’t know exactly what I was trying to accomplish beyond escaping the castle (since that Dr. Frankenstein definitely doesn’t seem nice), there are usually clear sub-objectives to work towards, with new chunks of the map opening up at dramatically appropriate times. The puzzles are very well integrated, with many hinging on your unique abilities and limitations as a hand, and hitting just the right level of complexity and difficulty to feel satisfying to solve without throwing up too high of a hurdle to progress. Getting detected by the good doctor or his servants can lead to a game over, but it’s easy to UNDO, and figuring out how to elude them made me feel very clever. And the horse-riding set-piece makes for a funny enough mental image that it’s easy to overlook that it’s got the one maybe slightly-underclued puzzle of the game (in retrospect, feeding her the apple makes sense, but the messages about why she was refusing to move could have been a little clearer about what the issue was, since at first I thought she wanted a blanket to keep the rain off). There’s an effortlessness here that’s very, very hard to achieve in a parser puzzler, again leaving aside the additional difficulty imposed by the use of poetry – it’s impressive stuff.

As for the plot, it’s a silly horror pastiche, but one that doesn’t tip too far into zaniness. Once you accept that you’re a dismembered hand trying to escape Frankenstein’s castle, everything you encounter is entirely logical, and the protagonist has clear, if not poignant, motivations – while it’s hard for a hand to have too much personality, he does have an appealing impulse to help those in need. Actually, one of my few small kicks against the game was that it felt slightly mean to have to keep typing HIT HORSE WITH CROP, except when I slightly mistyped it once the parser error revealed that actually I should have just been TAPping instead, meaning that actually I was the asshole on that score.

When it comes to classic formats like the comedy parser puzzler, often success is more down to execution than novel ideas. Frankenfingers is the rare example of succeeding on both fronts – the alternately super clever/deeply awful verse provides the razzle-dazzle on top of rock-solid implementation and design.

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You’re only one year older than I am, Mike, and I think of the Rolling Stones as being before my time? In fact, I can’t even think of more than three of their song titles! Paint it Black, which I know through a cover by Inkubus Sukkubus; Sympathy for the Devil, which I know because it was covered by Guns N’ Roses and, rather exhaustively, by Laibach; and I Can’t Get No Satisfaction, if that is even the title of the song? I’m sure there are some others that’ll ring a bell. But this is hardly stuff that ‘our generation’ is supposed to know! You are supposed to know all about the Spice Girls and Five and horrible 90s eurodance! Or Nirvana and Radiohead, that would also be fine (in fact, I suppose, more fine).

Wait… this is you pulling our collective leg, I hope? I’ve never heard of someone riding naked on a horse to protest taxation. :rofl:

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…Lady Godiva? Even I know that one, and I’m abysmal at history.

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Looks like you’re right! I guess I should have gotten the complete rather than merely the selected poems of Tennyson…

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I actually also don’t know much of the Rolling Stones discography beyond what you’ve got here (Wild Horses is a fun ballad I know mostly because of a cover used in Buffy, and my wife really likes She’s a Rainbow); they’re definitely before my time and I never went back to get into them the way I did with Dylan or the Who. But the interview with Keith Richards where he talks about snorting his dad’s ashes was in 2007 and I feel like that blew up fairly big, since it was about someone most people had at least heard of and was obviously kinda morbidly interesting? But that’s the thing about generational markers, they’re never as universal as people like to claim!

And just to prove the point, though I check the other boxes I have no idea who the Five are supposed to be here :slight_smile:

(The Lady Godiva thing is I admit slightly more obscure, but I was trying to come up with something that communicated “one specific person has done this, rather famously, but no one else ever has” but wasn’t quite as aggressive and old-dude-rock coded as Ozzy Osborne biting the head off a bat, since it would have felt lazy going with that after talking about the Rolling Stones. Among my vices is that I sometimes I workshop the silly intros more than the actual reviews).

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Backstreet Boys, N Sync, Five, Boyzone, Take That, Westlife – I couldn’t for the life of me tell you which was which, they’ve all fused into the basic concept of ‘boy band’ for me. :sweat_smile: But I take it it wasn’t exactly your favourite genre either.

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I think pub trivia is the glass to view this thing through in terms of ‘who can be expected to know what and when, a lot of the time’.

Pub trivia, with its cross-generational audience, would not expect most younger people to know about the Rolling Stones in detail. It would still expect they could know something about the Rolling Stones, because Stones are big canon, so they stretch generations.

However, a question about Keith Richards ashes thing, which is bigger than Rolling Stones knowledge per se and more generally folkloric, would be considered pretty viable for most generations. Even if it had to be framed as multiple choice. So I think Mike is more right than you are, Victor :slight_smile:

I am slightly older than both of you and I also know about the Spice Girls, Five and 90s eurodance.

-Wade

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Uninteractive Fiction 2, by Leah Thargic

My son has just turned four, and one of the gifts he got for his birthday was a board game. He hadn’t really played them before, so it was a fun novelty – nothing too complicated, it’s more or less Candyland; you spin the spinner and go ahead whatever number of spaces it says, collecting cards along the way, and whoever’s first to hit the final space with a sufficient number of cards wins. He played it a couple times with my wife – she treated the rules as completely optional, so he won every time. Then I played it with him, and treated the rules as mostly optional – so while we almost tied, it came down to one last spin and I wound up winning.

Four year olds, as it turns out, don’t like losing – actually, it’s pretty well known that games with one winner and several losers aren’t strictly speaking developmentally appropriate in his age bracket, which I feel like the “ages four and up!” on the box failed to communicate. Anyway as I was trying to console him (and wishing I could go back in time to educate my oh-so-naïve past self who just a few minutes ago had been thinking “playing by the rules is important, and losing can teach you a lot!”), I told him “buddy, why do you care about winning? We were having fun playing the game until the very end, and the winner doesn’t get anything. If a 3 or higher had come up on the spinner, you would have won, but you got a 2 so you didn’t – but those are just words, really the only difference between a 2 coming up and a 3 coming up is how you decide to feel about it.”

This didn’t convince him, you’ll be shocked to learn.

Uninteractive Fiction 2 is the sequel to Uninteractive Fiction 1, except instead of it being a one-note gag where you click the play button and it says “you lose” (while playing a sad-trombone musical cue), this time you click the play button and it says “you win” (while playing a happy fanfare musical cue). This simplicity invites us to contemplate what “winning” a piece of IF means – is it just reaching the end of a game’s narrative, or is there something more? Is it a simple binary, or are there degrees? Do we feel different for having been told that we’re a winner, than if we had a nearly identical experience but are told we lost?

But just as I didn’t find UF1 that compelling, so too did UF2 fail to move me. These are somewhat interesting questions, I suppose, but UF2 is so stripped down that it doesn’t provide much of an engaging entry point onto them – there’s more to think about in the example of my son’s board game, to my mind. Meanwhile, the fanfare is objectively much less funny than the sad trombone was. So yeah, after finding the joke in UF1 kinda meh, I’m of the same opinion about the sequel. Maybe the third one will complete the thesis/antithesis/synthesis trifecta and wind up providing new insights into how to reconcile the basic elements that constitute a game with an IF tradition that plays a bit looser with the concept – and while it’s at it, maybe it’ll teach my son that losing is fine. But that’s for next year: for now, if you’ve read a review of UF2 you probably don’t need to also play it.

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Ah, but it lacks the philosophical implications of Candyland, where you only shuffle the deck once before starting, and from that point on, every step of the game is entirely predetermined! As long as you don’t cheat, there’s no functional difference between a deck of cards and dice or a spinner—and yet one feels like you’re actually participating, and the other doesn’t. What does this tell us about game design—or about the problem of predestination?

(Mostly it tells us that a group of math grad students finding an old Candyland game and deciding to try it on a whim will have to find their own ways of making it entertaining.)

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I had to look up Candy Land, but there’s got to be something in there about it being both truly uninteractive and seeming to take place in a similar setting to the Bubble Gumshoe games…

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Well, the difference is also that in the card version you’re guaranteed to get the full range of results eventually; a spinner or die could just land on one color over and over and over…

(Though the example is somewhat moot, since Candyland has had a spinner for at least as long as my nephews have been alive – looking it up, they made the shift in 2013!)

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Pharaoh’s Heir, by smwhr

One likes to think of oneself as an independent thinker whose opinions are all entirely rational and timeless, standing athwart the tides of history unmoved by their eddies and undertows. But alas, even (especially?) those who proclaim that their views are unbiased and objective are downstream of crass, material considerations like marketing. Thus, as someone who was born in 1980 and experienced a certain series of promotional pushes during my formative years, I can tell you that to me if adventure has a name, it must be Indiana Jones. The fantasy of delving into lost tombs, solving puzzles steeped in archaeology and mythology, and punching-out Nazis is fantastically compelling to me. The one fly in the ointment, of course, is that one line, three movies deep, about how all these artifacts belong in a (Western) museum doesn’t do much to lampshade the awkward tradition of colonialism and antiquities-looting into which said fantasy fits.

Pharaoh’s Heir manages to neatly avoid the trap, however. This short choice-based romp has you solving a bunch of Egypt-themed puzzles and raiding secret chambers, but you’re not actually marauding through Giza with capacious pockets and a dodgy export license: instead, you’re uncovering the secrets of Louis XIV and plundering your way through Versailles, on the theory that he was somehow involved with a legacy of Pharaonic mysticism. This is historically risible, missing the actual French Egyptological craze by a century or so, but it sure does defang the plundering-the-East issue, since you wind up raiding the tomb of someone who raided the tombs of the actual Egyptians.

The fact that you’re playing the female “sidekick” also helps avoid the problematic patriarchal politics of the genre (let’s not dwell on how old Marian was meant to be when Indy had his first fling with her) – you play as Layla, assistant to so-called “intrepid archaeologist” Herbert Tapioca, but his brains are of a piece with his surname. Oh, he’s pleasant enough, and can even be helpful in his bumbling way, but you’re the one actually responsible for unveiling the various secrets on offer.

The other novel element of Pharaoh’s Heir is its nonlinear nature. The story is told in flashback, as a police official questions you about your role in destroying some national treasure or other; in your replies to him, you can jump back to a morning consultation with Herbert, a later visit to Versailles, or the climactic moment when you breach the hidden sanctum, and recount your explorations to your interrogator. These start out fairly straightforwardly, with only a couple of choices each, but they intersect in a nonlinear fashion: there are clues in Versailles that help you make sense of what to try in the morning, for example. None of the puzzles are that complex – there’s a lot of pointing mirrors and putting things in holes in the right order – but the fact that you’re unbound by chronology helps lend an extra air of intrigue to proceedings.

As for those puzzles, they’re fun enough to solve, though I admit that I still don’t really understand how the last one is meant to work, despite having found all the clues and looked at the walkthrough that lays out the answer; you need to correlate two separate lists of objects, but I can’t quite figure out the logic for the order in which you’re meant to do so. That final puzzle is also sufficiently involved that trying to solve it in a choice-based interface, where it takes a dozen or so clicks each time you want to make an attempt, wound up a bit frustrating (thus the recourse to the walkthrough). But up until that point I was having a grand time; again, this sort of thing is my jam, and the writing is zippy enough to keep things moving, with the police inspector livening up proceedings with the occasional arch comment as well as oblique hints as to which time period to which you might want to focus your attention. That time-hopping is eventually explained with a minimum degree of diegetic plausibility, which helps prevent proceedings from feeling too gamey as well as pointing toward potential sequels – if there are more Layla Roccentiny games to come, sign me up, albeit given precedent I might get a bit worried come installments four and five.

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Penthesileia, by Sophia Zhao

The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there. Take Achilles, for example: pride of the Achaeans, the premier warrior of a heroic age, one whose divine blood destined him for glory, and a glorious death – and, if you read the Iliad at age 11 with only a weak understanding of the cultural context, a giant douche who gets his best friend killed because he’s sulking about not getting to assault the sex-slave he’s got his eye on.

It’s this Achilles about which the plot of Penthesileia revolves: although the setting is a modern neo-fascist state reminiscent of the Handmaid’s Tale, he remains much the same, an egotistical tyrant anxious of his status and with a taste for nonconsensually dominating his paramours. That paramour, however, is not the Iliad’s Briseis, but instead the eponymous Amazon, who comes from a now-lost sequel to the canonical epic (it’s not just the MCU that doesn’t know how to let a good ending alone), where she’s slain by Achilles as the interminable siege of Troy wears on. Unlike her mythological counterpart, though, the game’s Penthesilieia – the viewpoint character – is brought back to life after being killed in a raid on the resistance, resurrected to perform a robotic mimicry of wifehood. Some of the most effective parts of the game allow you to either accede to, or resist, the pageant of matrimony Achilles has constructed: you’re meant to start each day by waking him and asking “has anyone ever told you how handsome you are?”, then busy yourself in pointless housework – you rearrange the furniture twice in one day – before greeting him again and performing gratitude as he brings you a gift as he returns from his important work serving the Prefect (the gifts are all, of course, slinky dresses). The prose is simple and concrete and fillets Achilles’ pretensions without pity, appropriate for a story centering on the brutalism of tyranny:

Achilles fills the twenty-minute car ride with the sound of his own voice. Electronic billboards flash past. They leave stars in your eyes, the vague impression of children laughing and women dancing.

Penny (as he calls you) is an appealing figure, but she’s a bit of a cipher, suffering from the double-whammy of being an IF protagonist whose actions are dictated by the player, and an amnesiac who only slowly understands the nature of her existence. The choices are engaging, but your resistance is guaranteed: what’s up to you is the extent to which you play along publicly while pursuing your own agenda sub rosa, versus making your dawning revolutionary consciousness visible to Achilles (I mostly kept quiet: this is praxis). While the general shape of what’s happened is clear from the get-go, the game hits its thriller beats effectively, marrying Bluebeard-style domestic horror to righteous fight-the-dystopia sci-fi. And Achilles is a compelling figure throughout, dangerous but also petty and pathetic in his obsession with small slights, the way he takes his anxieties out on you because he thinks you can’t fight back – given the times we’re living in, I especially appreciated this portrayal of a fascist whose position certainly allows them to inflict harm, but who is obviously a craven and contemptible piece of shit.

That modern resonance, though, is what makes the ending I got unsatisfying: After walking a high-tension tightrope, I was able to uncover some of Achilles’ secrets and broadcast them to the nation, triggering the downfall of the regime. But these secrets were just the quotidian brutality in which authoritarian regimes marinate their subjects – the fact that the tyrant’s flunkies gun down innocents in their efforts to suppress dissidents surely isn’t any sort of surprise to people. True, sometimes one incident among many others can be the trigger for mass uprising when the conditions are right (witness George Floyd or the Woman Life Freedom movement in Iran), but the way that Penny’s single act of rebellion catalyzes such large scale consequences smacks of wish fulfillment. Would that it weren’t so, but sitting here eight months into the Trump presidency, I don’t buy that the reason we have fascism is that people just don’t know what’s being done in their name.

With all that said, it’s hard to complain too much about a game with such an effectively withering portrayal of the sad, flaccid excuse for masculinity that powers the backlash against equity. If the ending feels too pat right now, God willing in a few years we’ll be able to look back on it and say yes, that’s exactly how it was, that’s all it took to overthrow these people who pretended they were invincible warriors, whose heels were the biggest targets you could hope for.

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Thank you for the thoughtful review. I want to thank my beta-testers who pointed out some remaining hints of colonialism and cultural appropriation that I managed to dim in this version.

A sequel is in the making, drawing other nonsensical connection between french figures and unrelated historical artifacts. When it’s out I’ll be sure to advertise it near you :slight_smile:

There’s a wheel of color on the bed canopy (listed clockwise), and the same wheel with symbols at the back of the medalion (listed in reading order). Granted, that’s a little convoluted.

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The Reliquary of Epiphanius, by Francesco Giovannangelo

I went to Italy for my honeymoon, and when my wife and I were reviewing our photos after the trip, we realized that other than posed pictures where I was smiling into the camera on command, I only ever had two expressions in the candid ones: either I’d be looking down at the guidebook (shoutout to the Blue Guides, whose writeups boast incredibly detailed art-historical analyses, religious and cultural context, and the kind of passive-aggressive condescension that means you understand that if they call something “popular”, it’s meant as a withering insult), or I’d be squinting up at an inscription in Latin and trying to puzzle out its meaning based only on my increasingly-vague memory of two years of middle-school classes in the language and whatever I managed to pick up by osmosis from studying law.

So when I tell you that The Reliquary of Epiphanius is a parser game where you squint at Latin inscriptions and try to puzzle them out, and where you’re also subjected to overly-detailed lectures about which saints and which local patrons are depicted in a series of friezes, what I am saying is that I was in heaven. Oh, there’s other fun stuff about this mystery – most notably, it’s implemented in Vorple and has a really cool map of the Italian village where your dad has gone missing while searching for a lost ecclesiastical treasure. And it’s got a couple of rough spots which meant I had to start over after getting into an unwinnable state right at the end of the game. But the authentic, detail-oriented way the core premise is realized is just so entirely my jam that none of the bells and whistles or occasional implementation stumble really mattered to how much I enjoyed it.

When I say it’s detail-oriented, I don’t meant that it’s plodding; Reliquary is actually pretty zippy, with puzzles that generally aren’t too challenging and not much time spent between important plot points. And it’s not that there’s overdetailed rococo scenery or anything; it’s just that the relatively-standard parser structure is fleshed out with just the right level of research and verisimilitude. This is the kind of game where if you examine the random photos in city hall, you’ll learn about how the local dam was constructed, down to the year when it was completed, and where a big payoff is learning that you might have discovered Italy’s first depiction of Mary’s Assumption. Like, I’m a pretty big nerd about this kind of stuff, but I had no idea that the Saracens launched raids on Italy’s Adriatic coast in the 11th century until I learned about it in the game. And yeah, as you’re exploring the various churches and historical sites that make up the game’s setting, you come across a bunch of Latin, none of which is automatically translated so far as I recall. Obviously in this day and age a quick google is all you need to figure things out (and the game was originally released in Italian, where the assumption that the audience would be able to get the drift without too much trouble is probably on firmer ground) – plus these are usually just adding a bit of context or at most a helpful but superfluous clue – but still, I respect a game that rewards a player who knows stuff or makes an effort to learn, rather than just having the player character do all the work.

Speaking of the fact that this is a game translated into English, I felt like this added a unique quality to the prose, too. As you explore the first few locations in the village, you’re told that the “pellitory of the wall grows spontaneously in the cracks between the stones,” which is a syntax that feels unfamiliar to English, and also matter-of-factly drops the technical name of a weed that would typically just be called a weed. True, there are places where the translation feels overly polished into blandness – we’re told of a barmaid that “her lifeless eyes and weary expression give her an air of boredom and age her beyond her years,” which is prose only an LLM could love – but for the most part the writing is a highlight.

The puzzles are pretty good too – there isn’t anything notably challenging, but they’re satisfying to solve, and reward you for paying attention to all the things you learn. They also feel organic: it’s reasonable to need to get oriented to the landscape before you can start wandering around looking for the ruins of a church, for example. There are one or two that may not hold if up if you think too hard about the plausibility of various millennium-old mechanisms still functioning in contemporary times, but that’s part of the suspension of disbelief the genre requires. As for the various NPCs, they aren’t especially helpful or deeply implemented, but there’s sufficient narrative justification for this so I didn’t mind.

Reliquary does have some old-school elements: most notably, its tracking of time and insistence that one move equals one minute, combined with the battery-powered (though at least rechargeable) flashlight, got me in trouble in my first playthrough, since my light source ran out just as a got to a hidden location that I couldn’t leave until I solved a puzzle that I couldn’t see well enough to even begin to address. But I was having so much fun I didn’t mind retracing my steps. Similarly, I ran into a couple of small syntax issues, one of which sent me to the hints before realizing I had the puzzle solved (in a particular place, UNLOCK DOOR tells you that you can’t see any such thing, which is odd because UNLOCK MARBLE DOOR allows you to proceed).

But as I said above, I can’t bring myself to care about any of that – I can’t think of many other games that satisfy the fantasy of uncovering lost secrets by knowing a lot about religious art and Latin as Reliquary does. The fact that when you reach the ending, it actually has something to say about Italian society’s relationship to its past is just gilding the lily; for a particular kind of traveler, this game is about as good as virtual tourism gets.

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