Dysfluent by Allyson Gray
A few years ago I had a student who talked extremely slowly. He didn’t stutter, he just took a very long time between words. I admired the fact that he nevertheless frequently asked questions during class – even if the class had to wait five minutes for the question to be finished – and, although adding this should not be necessary, they were good questions too. (Indeed, he was one of the best students in that class.)
Later on I did supervision sessions with him which were, well, long, because he wasn’t just asking questions, but explaining his ideas and goals for the thesis at the same very low speed. I had a lot of time to reflect on the experience during those sessions. There were certain weaknesses on my side that I needed to work on; e.g., my mind tended to wander, which was something I had to combat; and some annoyance sometimes crept in, especially as I saw the clock ticking towards the moment I had to start doing something else, which I needed to suppress too. But I also wondered whether there was anything I could do to help him. Sometimes he seemed stuck on a word that was obvious to me. Should I help him out and say it? I decided against this – it seemed more rude than helpful, possibly even just adding a source of stress. With even more time to reflect on it, and being spurred to do this by playing Dysfluent, it now seems rather obvious that I should have simply discussed this with the student. Or not? To be honest, I find it difficult to choose between the “I’m not even going to mention this thing because it would be rude to imply that something about you is not the way it should be” line and the “let’s discuss this so I can do things in a way that is most helpful to you” line. But I suspect that the first line, the line that I in fact chose, is too much just me being afraid of embarrassment, and not enough me being helpful. I can probably use some advice on this from people with more experience being on the other side of that table.
The relation between all this and Dysfluent should be obvious. Allison’s game is a very effective piece that puts you into the role of someone who stutters, as they get through a day in which they need to perform several tasks that involve talking. Interactivity is key. By giving you the choices that the protagonist faces, and letting you live through their successes and failures, Dysfluent does more to generate understanding of what it’s like to stutter than a non-interactive story does. The use of slow timed text, usually a big no-no, is actually something you are not allowed to complain about in this case. To complain about it would be to refuse to put yourself in the protagonist’s shoes – and while that’s fine for, let’s say, some random horror game, it’s not fine for a piece that is all about generating understanding of a real-world phenomenon.
I love the use of colours in this game: green dialogue options are easily said, yellow ones will come out with some difficulty, red indicates a full-on block. I assume that it’s a good reflection of how the protagonist experiences their stuttering. It’s not a complete surprise; there’s some premonition of what you’ll be able to say, and what you won’t be able to say (as easily). And it generates some excellent dilemmas. The best of those is during the job interview, where you can choose fluency (green) or accurateness (yellow). Of course you choose accuracy. And then you get another choice, but not fluency is green and accurateness is red. Ouch. What do you do? It’s a tough call, and of course that’s precisely the point. (I also enjoyed the sense of dread when, after telling the game what my favourite food was, I also had to tell it what my least favourite food was…)
If I have any criticism, it might be that the way the world reacts to the protagonist is so insensitive that it strains incredibility. Especially the flashbacks are all just straightforwardly horrible. I hope they weren’t taken from real life, though they have something of the autobiographical about them. It seems to me that even when I was a kid, stuttering was explained to me in terms that were far more nuanced than those used by the supposedly professional specialist we meet here in the therapy scene.
But overall, I think this is simple a very good piece of interactive fiction. It’s solid as fiction, built on smart design decisions, and it’s effectiveness as a tool for generating understanding boosts it further.