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Greg Costikyan has picked up on what Ed Heil and I have known for a while — My Life With Master is very cool. Greg’s not approaching the game steeped in narrativist RPGs like Ed and I, which gives him a fresh perspective.
Ed linked to it before me, but I think Greg’s taken aback by more than just the fact that MLWM is narrativist. It’s the predetermined structure of the narrative that fascinates him. He conflates the significance of the game’s narrativism and its determinism, though:
In a standard RPG, player action is tightly constrained on a moment to moment basis . . . In Master, by contrast, there are no literal constraints on action, on a moment-by-moment basis; there are no systems to resolve the success or failure of actions, so that the only real constraint is gamemaster acquiescence, which is unlikely to be withheld unless you are doing someting inappropriate from the perspective of narrative coherence. On the other hand, the narrative is highly constrained; inevitably, Master will die, and each character will achieve or suffer one of five possible outcomes.
Everything but the last sentence is true of any game with a narrative, low-mechanics focus, and will be intimately familiar to fans of games like Amber or Nobilis. It’s the last bit that makes MLWM unusual — whether or not the word “groundbreaking” is appropriate here, I’m not sure. I can’t think of another RPG that consciously frames the entire plot arc of a story and leaves only the characters and details to the players.
. . . it is true that a power gamer will find little to like in this style of game, where outcomes are essentially predetermined, with minor fluctuations allowed. But if I were to sit down with a group of 13 year-olds who had never played any RPG before, I don’t know that I would have any more difficulty getting them into this type of game than D&D… It requires a somewhat different mindset, is all. Improv rather than dungeon-crawling.
All this could easily be applied to any narrative-oriented game, though it holds even more true for MLWM. But Greg’s right — those thirteen year-olds can take to a storytelling game just as easily as to a conventional, task-and-rule oriented one. I saw it happen all the time when I ran demos of Once Upon a Time for Atlas Games.
I have one rules thought on MLWM itself. Greg assumes that the game only allows for three different types of scenes: the Master gives a command; the minion carries it out (or doesn’t); the minion makes an overture to one of the townsfolk. Whether these are, in fact, the only types of scenes, and in what order they should come, is one of the things that the rules don’t adequately explain. When we played the game at Gencon we ran into situations where the ongoing story called for scenes to happen that didn’t fit nicely into that framework. If I were going to run this game at some point (and I hope I get the chance), I’d loosen things up considerably in terms of types of scenes while still maintaining a clear structure for who gets to call for scenes when.
Anyway, though Greg has stumbled across narrativist RPGs via their oddest possible example, he finds his way to an intriguing analogy:
. . . I wonder if this is an example of the “photography > abstract art” phenomenon. By which I mean that once photography was possible, painting was forced to respond by finding something to do other than producing realistic images of real-world things: photography could do that better than someone daubing in oils. I’m sensitive to the criticism that I’m a technological determinist, and I’m sure there were other cultural forces–but really, it seems so obvious.
In this case, I wonder whether the advent of MMGs, which do a pretty good (far from ideal, but not bad) job of satisfying the same jones as classic RPGs–with really pretty graphics, albeit much inferior storytelling–is forcing tabletop RPG designers away from the classic RPG style and toward styles that reward real storytelling, which nothing digital (despite Chris Crawford’s best efforts) can provide as tenth as well as a skilled GM.
It’s an interesting theory, but I’m not sure if it’s really happening, though. The advent of story-focused roleplaying, whether you place that with Ars Magica or Amber or wherever, happened a long time before the advent of MMORPGs. It’s still going strong now, but I haven’t noticed any shift in the number of narrativist games or players since the rise of Ultima Online and Everquest. (If anything, the only recognizable dynamic there is the familiar complaint that “Evercrack” is distracting lots of people from all the other games they used to play.) MMORPGs got big right around the same time as third edition D&D, which was an exuberant and explicit return to the good ol’ dungeon crawl, not a push toward story-oriented play.
While MMORPGs (or just computer RPGs in general) may replace tabletop RPGs in the sense that gamers spend time playing computer games instead of gaming face-to-face, they are not really the same “type” of game, don’t exercise the same muscles, and are, in the most important ways, a fundamentally different experience. This is true even if the tabletop game in question is a highly structured dungeon-crawling affair where the players are mostly concerned about leveling up. Even in that situation, a couple factors will make the tabletop gaming different. First, the fact that there’s a human GM means that the narrative is literally open-ended — new material can be generated on the fly, and rules can be adjudicated and changed as necessary to describe or account for, literally, anything imaginable. Second, the actual act of roleplaying, of behaving (or at the very least speaking) in character around people who are right there with you, is something that MMORPGs don�t duplicate. (I don’t want to say “can�t” because I know from my old NarniaMUSH days that text-based online roleplaying can, in theory, sustain a very strong performative element. But that sort of thing was predicated on virtual worlds where there were no respawning goblin lairs at the end of the path — description and performance were their entirety. Certainly the addition of graphics and a 3D environment, at least at the current stage of the technology, makes virtual role-playing harder, not easier.)
So: I don’t think people will turn to narrativist games because computer games fill the “dungeon-crawling” gap; I think they’ll always turn to tabletop roleplaying to fill a niche that computer games don’t, and within that niche some will prefer the narrativist style and others won’t.
I�m finding myself in deep water here, since there’s the fact that MMORPGs do engender community and interpersonal reaction in important ways. But I’ll have to leave it for another time, or just leave it entirely since I’m not playing any MMORPGs at the moment so I don’t have any direct experience to speak from.
In the last section of his entry, Greg brings up his own ludological perspective and the ways that My Life With Master refutes his argument on the subject. I think he’s on to something in that, by constraining some aspects of the narrative, the game allows for more freedom in telling the story at the scene-by-scene level. In an ideal narrativist world, would the players agree on the narrative constraints and not need rules or dictums to help enforce it? No, I think the rules have some intrinsic value as well — there’s art in the artifice of providing a context for group storytelling and shaping the story in a particular way.
And it’s also not at all evident to me how you go about “enforcing narrative consistency while permitting freedom of action in other spheres” in digital media.
I can’t see how it would work either. I think this is One of Those Things that make tabletop RPGs a whole different kahuna. While I realize that Greg was talking about MLWM specifically here, I think it speaks to a particular kind of flexibility that’s unique to traditional RPGs.
There are lot of other tangents to consider from here, but I’ll save them for another day. One quibble: I’m betting Czege has read Castle of Otranto. Suffice it to say: Greg, glad to hear you think this game rocks, too.
UPDATE: More talk on this subject can be found in Part II, here.
Endless Nights seems to be getting an awful lot of attention. Dirk Deppey refers to it as the “Neil Gaiman media juggernaut.” Why all the press? Here’s my theory: the throngs of sensitive English-major types who adored Sandman while they were in college are now the mid-30′s editors and writers churning out the bulk of the nation�s media content. They’ve got some pull, so when Vertigo launches a strong publicity campaign, they respond. In droves.
And a good thing, too, I say. On second reading, I liked Endless Nights even more, though that’s not to say that I don’t have quibbles. Let’s have a look at each of the stories in turn.
“Death and Venice”
Art by P. Craig Russell
The first three stories are clearly the top three of the bunch, though I’m hard put to pick a favorite among them. This one is the longest, and of all seven the one that holds tightest to its subject — that is to say, it’s about not just Death, but death. I loved the depictions of Death herself, as well as the different styles in which Russell draws the present day, the Duke’s court, and the soldier’s memories. This story is classic Sandman: it takes a mythological conceit (the Duke’s court cheats Death, who waits for them outside the gate but cannot enter enter until another opens the way for her) and fleshes it out with the mundane and the personal (our protagonist and his understated listlessness and doubt about life as a soldier).
The story goes on for exactly one page too long. The bottom of page 33 is a fine stopping point; everything after is just overdone moodiness. Here’s the last line: “I shiver, and hurry from the square, as the darkness of the city closes over me like canal water or the grave.” Pick your metaphor, dude. This is not the prose of the guy who wrote American Gods.
“What I’ve Tasted of Desire”
Art by Milo Manara
Say it with me now: it’s not about the nekkidness. It’s not about the nekkidness. OK, maybe a little about the nekkidness. Certainly Manara is a master of the erotic, and his art fits perfectly in a story about Desire. There’s a great folk tale at the core of this one, even if Desire herself is somewhat tacked-on. The facial expressions on pages 52-53 alone are worth the price of admission.
Friendly tip: if you’re reading this story in your favorite coffee shop, take care about who’s watching over your shoulder. Otherwise ‘bound to have to do a lot of explaining to the innocent young person who works there and now thinks you’re some kind of perv. “But, see, it’s Sandman! It’s art! Really!”
“The Heart of a Star”
Art by Miguelanxo Prado
Unlike the first two, you really need a familiarity with Sandman to appreciate this story. It’s one for the fans, providing glimpses of the early manifestations of the Endless: a rare glimpse of Delight; the first instance of Desire tampering with Dream’s love life. The premise is the sort of thing few besides Gaiman would think of and still fewer could pull off: a conference of stars at the near-beginning of the universe, to set boundaries and rules. Making Sol the awkward kid of the bunch warmed my heart.
The weak spot was Death’s entrance on page 66, for reasons that go beyond that particular scene. Consider the common literary topos, “Death will come for each and every one of us in the end.” Gaiman wrote a beautiful story about that: “The Sound of Her Wings,” Sandman #8. The first I ever read. He’s felt the need to repeat himself a few too many times since. On page 66, the whole thing could have been handled much better with fewer words and more innuendo. The facial expressions of the stars say plenty by themselves.
“Fifteen Portraits of Despair”
Art by Barron Storey and Dave McKean
I’ve never liked Despair. Duh. What I mean is that, unlike the villain that you love to hate, I’ve never even wanted to see Despair or read stories that involve her. Even in that I’m probably not alone, and maybe it’s even intentional. The best of the portraits are number three (harrowing in its simplicity) and number thirteen (so sad it’s funny, so funny it’s sad). I have no use for the ones that try to just describe Despair, rather than evoking her with a story or something else concrete. These need to be sustained primarily by the art, and none of that is particularly to my taste.
“Going Inside”
Art by Bill Sienkiewicz
This story is almost impossible to understand on first reading, which, considering that it’s about Delirium, may be appropriate. Great lettering keeps the five different crazy people straight. Gaiman is showing off here, with his ability to juggle the internally consistent, stream-of-consciousness monologues of five different madpeople. Good stuff. We have another perfect matching of visual style to theme (page 119, for example, is just fantastic.) Even the resolution — what exactly do they do to rescue her? — remains somewhere just beyond the realm of the understandable. Here, as with Dream’s tale, it helps a little to have some context and know why Delirium disappeared into herself in the first place. It ends with both a miracle and a happy ending, giving us a touch of delight amid the madness.
“On the Peninsula”
Art by Glenn Fabry
This story recycles the “the Endless are irresistibly fascinating to mortals” schtick again, which is one time too many in a single volume. In the first two stories, the person enthralled — the soldier, the chieftain’s wife — have a particular connection to the the Endless that they meet. What’s our archaeologist’s affinity with Destruction, though? Or maybe that’s the point — he’s turned his back on his calling, and no longer embodies his domain. In any case, it’s a pretty good story. The best thing about Fabry’s panels are the subtle hints of characterization, like Stanley checking out the other woman on page 127. I think I prefer his people as drawn at a distance to his close-ups.
“Endless Nights”
Art by Frank Quitely
This story was the one big disappointment of the batch. Not because the drawings aren�t beautiful — they are. But there’s no story here. All we have is a recyling of the whole “this is Destiny; this is what he does” bit that has already appeared in at least two Sandman issues that I can think of. It would have been great to see an actual story involving Destiny: someone strange visits his garden, maybe, or something tries to steal his book. What we get isn’t so much a story as as an extraneous epilogue.
So the good stuff is definitely frontloaded, but that doesn’t mean it ain’t great. I was a bit too harsh when I said earlier that it was only the art, not the stories, that made Endless Nights a great book. The stories of Death, Desire, Dream, and Delirium rank up there with the best of Gaiman’s comics work. Here’s hoping this isn’t the last time he pays the world of Sandman a visit.
Earlier today, I turned to my friend Nick and said: “I feel like an anthropologist encountering a bizarre new culture.”
He replied: “You mean, American culture?”
We were at his house, watching the sport of foote-ball on a Sunday afternoon, something I hadn’t done in . . . well, I’m not certain I’ve ever done it, really. Mind you, this was Nick?s house, so it wasn’t the normal, wussy sort of foote-ball-watching that I assume most patriotic Americans engage in on Sunday afternoons. Nick has a refrigerator in his basement with a spigot on the outside connected to a keg on the inside. For the watching of the foote-ball, he puts a second, smaller TV underneath the big one in the entertainment center. Both of them are hooked up to DirecTV, so that they can be tuned to any of the games that are playing nationwide. Naturally, he also has a TiVo so that the big TV can be rewound when necessary and is constantly recording content on two different channels. Then there’s the laptop, wirelessly connected to broadband, which sits on the coffee table. It’s hooked up to a DirecTV website that constantly updates stats on the running football games, and flashes red under games when exciting things are happening or are about to happen.
The result of all this is a constantly shifting and (to me) utterly baffling parade of football footage across the screen. Without a mind trained and weathered by years of foote-ball, I quickly lost track of which game was on or whether what we were watching was live or, thanks to the TiVo, occurring at some previous point in the timestream.
The games themselves were interesting enough, but the lead-ins, lead-outs, and pre-game hooplah were another matter entirely. It appears that television sports execs actively seek out all the producers and directors that MTV has rejected for being “too frenetic” and “too busy.” (These must be the same people that boldly pioneered the use of animated gifs in web design in the 90s.) No stat, picture, or sidebar is complete without one of the several thousand different whooshing sounds that the networks have at their disposal. By far the most disturbing sight, though, was the pregame practice of having the commentators reenact a play from some previous game on a little make-believe football field in their studio. Now, I’ve watched enough of the foote-ball in my life to know that this practice has got to be relatively new. Who in Sam Hill thought this up? It’s not like these guys actually redo the play, because they’re all ex-jocks with joints primed to crumble into dust at a moment’s notice, so they lurch around awkwardly like poor saps from the audience dragged onto the stage of an improv show. Fortunately they lighten the moment by making wise cracks about touching each other’s butts — oh no, wait, that actually makes it infinitely more disturbing.
All that aside, I still enjoyed myself, though I have grown envious of foote-ball fans. Clearly they possess a special, extra compartment in their brain devoted to storing foote-ball trivia and statistics. I assume this must be the case because if I had to retain the amount of lore they are able to draw upon at a moment’s notice, it would quickly edge out other important data such as the complete lyrics to “It’s the End of the World As We Know It,” the fact that Thundarr the Barbarian’s sidekicks are named Ariel and Ookla, and how to brush my teeth.
I can’t say I’ll be back every Sunday afternoon. OK, probably not even intermittently. Maybe for the Superbowl. For the commercials. But in the meantime, I wish all foote-ball watchers and players the very best. Wear your gloves proudly and keep your eye on the puck!
Baltimore Comicon was great fun, though for me it was the fun of a tourist and sometime comics reader, not an aficianado or collector. I expected a bit more in the way of costumed attendees, but the only one I managed to get a picture of was browse bins of used comics, I spent my time on the other side of the floor, where the artists were hanging out, signing comics and often doing sketches. It struck me that the artists, much more than the writers, tend to be the icons of comics fandom. Part of that must be convention-driven, in the sense that an artist can do a sketch and sell his or her artwork, whereas a writer could sign stuff and chat but probably couldn’t, say, churn out a quick snatch of dialogue on spec. But it clearly goes beyond that. In a mental tally of Big Names in Comics I’m familiar with, the cause celebre artists easily outnumber the writers. Historically, this is as it should be – it’s not like Golden and Silver age comics distinguished themselves with rich, original plots and nuanced characterizations. But as someone who is far more sensitive to subtleties in the writing than in the drawing, I would have liked to see Brian Michael Bendis there in the booth alongside Michael Avon Oeming. (It would also be nice to see them spin off their pretentious third names and give someone named Michael Avon a shot at fame, but that’s a different issue.)
By far the best time spent at the Con was the long hour waiting in line with my dear friends Joe and Julia so Joe could get Michael Kaluta to sign a couple books and do a sketch. Everything I know about Kaluta I learned in that hour, but I quickly got the picture – here was one of the old greats, a superlative artist who had been working for decades, but far from being jaded, was still a great sport at the cons. It was (to Joe’s mind and, consequently, to mine) a travesty that only a handful of folks were waiting to see him while the line for Jim Lee (young punk!) snaked on and on and on.
It was tremendous fun watching Kaluta (here’s what he looks like) turn out sketch after sketch for the people in front of us. He’d take fifteen minutes or so for each one, all the while chatting amicably with the people in line. The casual, almost careless way he turned out the sketches belied their grace and precision.
For the most part I kept my mouth shut, because, though I am by no means shy, I suck when it comes to making chitchat with strangers – especially strangers you’re a fan of, which I was by the time we got around to the front of the line. Here’s me trying to make small talk with Michael Kaluta:
NB: (blurting at an inopportune moment) Hey, uh, we met your brother – oh, uh, I mean, we were talking to Steve Conley and how he met your brother at this coffee shop in Arlington. Common Grounds. You’re, uh, from Arlington, right?
MK: (smiling politely) Yeah, I heard about that.
(awkward silence)
Now here’s Joe (I’m replacing actual names and terms that I didn’t jot down with comparable stand-ins):
JP: You know, I’ve always felt that the art of Varn Flarn was influenced by Tringo Wiskbasket in a way that reminds me of your work in the Book of Foo MgGoo.
MK: Yes, yes, absolutely!
JP: In light of that, what do you think about the future of Quantam Colorific ZingZang in the work of Quaffle, Biddy, and Wort?
MK: Well, it seems to me that . . . (talks for ten minutes about all sorts of interesting stuff that goes way over my head.)
I didn’t know who impressed me more – Kaluta for the amazing Galadriel sketch he turned out while talking a blue streak, or Joe for always having something insightful and relevant to say or ask to keep Kaluta talking. By the end I was snapping a picture of Joe, Julia, and Kaluta looking for all the world like lifelong friends.
I had been aware of the existence of a librarian action figure from the news, but took little interest. My sole purchase of the day, however, was a librarian action figure on a whole ‘nother level.
Coming some time this week: actual video footage of the legendary Steve Conley being funny!
The modest “crack” of last night turns out to have been masking a much bigger catastrophe: two magnificent trees, whose upper branches were even with the ninth floor, both fallen. One is laying on top the other now, and I’d be tempted to say that the first knocked the second down, except that both of them tipped over right at the base, where the roots failed to hold. Here are some pictures:
- This is the view of the first tree through the apartment window.
- This is the same tree from the ground, facing the building.
- This is the base of the second tree.
- Here’s a shot where you can see both of them.
I’m fairly bummed about this, because they were big, beautiful trees that made for a pleasant view. There’s still plenty of foliage across the way, but we now have a much nicer vantage point with which to observe traffic on Route 50. Whoopee. There’s an up side, though: once they get the trees cleared out and landscape a bit, that lawn will be perfect for bocce or croquet.
That was the sound the huge tree outside our eighth-story window made as it went down.
I think it’s safe to say that the storm is here.
OK, bluster aside, I knew that I did in fact respect this storm when Suanna and I were heading outside for a couple minutes. I pressed the button to call the elevator, but then we thought better of it and headed for the stairwell. Outside the air was drizzling and charged with energy; it felt surreal, but this was as much due to the absence of traffic sounds on Route 50 as it was the wind. They’re saying on the news that the worst is an hour or two away yet. (Not even 2 inches of rain let — much more on the way.)
Fortunately, the mail did arrive today, and with it a new batch of Netflix DVDs to pass the stormtime with. Castle in the Sky: gorgeous and bizarre, like you’d expect from Hayao Miyazaki. I didn’t think it was in the league of Spirited Away, but I was partly annoyed that he borrowed so much from his own Nausicaa. Children of Dune: only one episode in so far, but man, is it good. Better than Sci-Fi’s original Dune series so far; like that one, its biggest strength is the script, an elegant adaptation that uses Herbert’s own words and dialogue as much as possible. Looking forward to seeing the rest — or reading Finder if the power goes out. Win-win.
Isabel must have done all her ass-kicking somewhere else, ’cause round these parts, it’s done tuckered out. Our windows are wide open at the moment so we can listen to the lively wind, but there’s no rain. Haven’t lost power yet, though some parts of Maryland apparently have. Still, it feels — aw, man, there it goes! Earlier today I was poo-pooing the weather and this huge wind kicked up. It just happened again as I was typing this. Ah, maybe that’s the trick!
Bring it on, Isabel. What you got? This isn’t a natural disaster, it’s a natural footnote. Come on!
. . .
Hmm, I guess it only works went I’m unconsciously disparaging the weather.
Man, it’s nice to have more Sandman. Neil Gaiman’s Endless Nights just came out: seven stories, each about one of the seven Endless. (Death, Desire, Dream, Despair, Destruction, Delirium, Destruction, and Destiny, for those who don’t know. Tut tut. Get reading.) None of them are completely mind-blowing – or maybe it’s that I’m not a freshman in college any more, actively wanting my mind to be blown, stumbling on A Doll’s House at Schuler Books, and reading it all at once, standing up. Sandman has always spoken best to people juggling equal measures of adolescent angst, sensucht, and a love of historical miscellany and mythological trivia.
Endless Nights is going to accrue awards and sells lots and lots of copies, but I hope people don’t overlook the fact that it’s the seven artists that make it truly superb. Each is well-suited to represent the subject of his story, especially Milo Manara’s lush tale of Desire and Miguelanxo Prado’s ethereal Dream. They’re the ones who raise the roof in terms of quality; the stories are all right around Sandman-par, thought that’s still pretty darn good.
Much more to say, but I don’t want to self-censor to avoid spoilers, so I’ll save it for later.
Last night’s episode of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy lends credence to my previous assertion that Jai, the “Culture” expert, is deadweight and needs to be fired. Let’s review his activities:
- Rather than say clever things himself, Jai laughs at and/or responds to the clever things said by the rest of the Fab Five.
- Jai has nothing whatsoever to contribute to the early, “Evaluation” stage of the show, other than to assist Thom in piling up useless furniture in the middle of the room. The producers throw him a bone by letting him utter the “let’s roll!” speech before the commercial, which falls flat.
- Mid-episode, Jai takes the guinea pig of the week, Tom, to a toy store to get some stuff for his kids. It’s obvious that Jai hadn’t known about the store beforehand. There’s some halfhearted footage of the two of them seeking out constructive, group-activity sorts of toys. It all comes to nothing, because when Tom’s son does show up that evening he breezes over the new purchases and instead wants to play Candyland.
- Just prior to the big night, Jai gives Tom some tickets to a Broadway show, hoping he’ll be able to use them to get a date with the single lady who’s coming to his little soiree. Not that Tom had expressed particular interest in that sort of thing. Or that the tickets represent anything that he can do that night. No, it’s straightforward bribery, Jai’s own, desperate call: “Let me be relevant!” As it happens, Tom never even whips out the tickets, and the lady leaves early.
- Final nail in the coffin: the end-of-show advice. Jai cheerfully that even when a show is sold out, it’s sometimes possible to get in. He recommends standing-room-only or same-day tickets. Really? Wow. That would be exciting if it wasn’t the most obvious advice ever.
Sadly, my quest to eject Jai may be over before it’s properly begun — not because he’s deserves to stay, but because the show has done two things to drive me away as a viewer. First: Wasn’t the incidence of Conspicuous Product Placement markedly higher in last night’s ep? I know it’s been a part of the show all along, but there was a point about two-thirds of the way through when it seems like every word out of the Fab Five’s mouths was a brand name. This has got to stop. Second: while the Five are watching events unfold on closed-circuit, Carson makes a snide comment about Candyland. “Well, you know why they’re called board games. BO-ring.” This sort of blasphemy cannot stand. Carson is now on probation. We may have to whittle the show down to just Ted, the food guy, because he’s clearly the smartest and the wittiest, and Thom, the interior design guy, because he’s the one who actually makes impressive changes that will probably stick.
Note: I wasn’t planning on keeping up with my anti-Jai campaign, but I took heart when I discovered that other bloggers also rant about silly reality TV shows.
