Ratings and Reviews by Tabitha

I can certainly see what the intent of this work is, but for me it wasn’t very successful. It wants to humanize the suffering that’s happening in Palestine, but it speeds through multiple generations so quickly and perfunctorily that I never felt like any of the characters were real people. It’s just a sketch of a family, with 100% predictable story beats--a house and land passing down from one generation to the next, young love, an aging parent, a tragic death. The game wanted to elicit emotion from me, but it didn’t do enough to earn that. If it had slowed down and developed its characters as individuals, and really explored the circumstances they find themselves in instead of skipping from one major development to the next, I think it would have been a lot more effective.

A confession: I’ve only ever read one Agatha Christie novel, and it’s the Poirot-less And Then There Were None, so I went into this game with absolutely zero knowledge of the characters or their circumstances. But fortunately, that didn’t matter. There was enough context provided that I could easily pick up the backstory, and I was charmed right away by both the writing and the setup--a bachelor and a widower sharing a flat and co-raising the latter’s children together. The homoerotic potential of this arrangement is high, and the game doesn’t disappoint there; I loved the results of repeatedly examining Poirot and the response to telling the PC to kiss him.

As other reviewers have mentioned, the biggest hiccup I encountered was the mystery bit; I spent a fair bit of time re-examining everything I’d already looked at, which was kind of tedious, and when it came time to make an accusation, the game’s multiple layers of “Are you sure?” made me chicken out the first time--but at that point the game wouldn’t let me reload a save, so I had to quit and restart. But that was the only rough spot I encountered; overall, this was a very enjoyable experience.

This one resonated a lot with me. I was glad to get to follow all the threads of Yancy’s thoughts, feelings, and reactions about/to their mother’s death; there are a lot, and some of them are contradictory, because this is a situation where of course their feelings are complex and messy, and the game did a great job exploring that. While initially I thought some of the conversations with the friends felt too neat, too pat, the game itself called this out, with Yancy’s sort-of diary entries reflecting that while they may have told their friends they agreed with their advice or found it helpful, really they just said what their friends wanted to hear while knowing things aren’t actually that simple or easy.

There’s also a meta element where Yancy talks to us, the players, about the fact that they are the main character in a game. They wonder whether they’re really a person, and essentially ask us to treat them like one, because there is a real human behind their existence, who created them and has given them some of their (the creator’s) own trauma and complex emotions. This made me think about the vulnerability of sharing a work like this, and how it’s reviewers’ responsibility to take care with how we approach writing about it, because when we judge the characters or emotions on display, we could very well be judging a real person.

This is one of my favorite games of the comp, which I say having both tested and recently replayed it. The presentation is gorgeous, with the designs and colors of the backgrounds adding to the mood of each scene, evoking a storm-beset sky, light from a distant lighthouse, a closeup of a lighthouse lens, a solar eclipse. The writing is rich and clever, with coinages like “lightmare” and brief poems where clicked-on words transform, “loathsome” for instance becoming “lonesome”.

The setup is a fantastical student/master conflict, a sorcerer-in-training forced to study under a proud, power-hungry teacher who insists that his way is the only way, dismissing the student’s ideas out of hand. Raekard, the master, views the demons they’re capable of summoning as tools rather than people, deserving only of subjection and control. Finnit, the student, refuses to participate in a system that he recognizes as cruel, seeing these supernatural entities as fellow sapient beings. The tension of these competing viewpoints is brought to a head when Raekard demands that Finnit complete a seemingly-impossible trial at a cursed lighthouse (the titular Pharos Fidelis); faced with this challenge, Finnit turns to a demon for help, putting both of their beliefs to the test.

While Vosphar, the demon Finnit calls upon, does have the potential to be dangerous, he comes across as the more vulnerable party of the two, having been previously used by Raekard as a demonstration of the complete control sorcerers are capable of exercising. Finnit’s treatment of him is a complete contrast, and results in him choosing to trust in Finnit’s good intentions: “The master summoner’s circle had felt like a steel clawed hand grasping his heart and shredding him through the fabric of reality itself. This summoner’s circle felt like fingers too soft to even grip his tattered sleeves.” As the two settle in to working together, Vosaphar provides a new perspective on everything around them. He’s able to communicate with the strange, seemingly-menacing creature that lingers around the lighthouse, revealing that she doesn’t want to hurt anyone, and he sees the beauty of the place where they’ve found themselves rather than viewing it as an obstacle to be overcome:

Grim though Finnit alleged the environment to be, the devil found it much more inviting than the calciferous wastes. It was full of energy. Full of life. The wind was ferocious, sending his dark hair aflutter. Torrents rushed around him, forming and reforming in ceaseless rhythm. Filaments of lightning painted the sky in dazzling colors. It was astonishing to witness.

If this was—as Finnit insisted—the result of a curse, Vosaphar wondered why anyone would want to end it.

These themes are mirrored in the history of the Pharos Fidelis, whose backstory unfolds over the course of the work; it’s a layered narrative, with historical records interspersed with the present-day story. In a site of every-stormy seas, the original inhabitants found a peaceful way to live, having “fine-tuned their relationship with the island to keep things running”. “Relationship” is the key word here; these residents worked with, rather than against, their environment. But then empire arrived and did what empire does, dominating, subjugating, and killing. When the lighthouse, a marvel of engineering, was finished, it only continued the pattern: “It drank and drank the soul of the sky, but its thirst never sated. It found other souls to imbibe, betraying enough light to pierce the mantle of misery it maintained. Commerce resumed.”

Finnit and Vosaphar bond as they investigate the present state of the lighthouse and study its history; the historical documents are presented with both Raekard’s annotations and Finnit and Vosphar’s commentary, with the latter demonstrating the rapport between them and showing the development of their relationship. There are other lovely, understated moments, like this one where Finnit turns Vosaphar’s frequent address of “[adjective] one” back on him:

“I should look at your shoulders,” the devil said.

“Later?” Finnit turned over on his bedroll. “It’s not that bad. I appreciate the thought,” he mumbled. “You’re sweet. Sweet one.”

Vosaphar stared into the crimson flames for a long while after that.

Raekard insists that demons are evil; that overpowering them and using them as killing machines is perfectly appropriate because, he claims, they are inherently monstrous. But as we witness Raekard’s viewpoints versus Vosaphar’s reality, and the full history of this place, we have to ask who the real monsters are here. The records relating to the Pharos Fidelis reveal a history of human atrocities: a werewolf is listed as a “proscribed entity” that’s been “lawfully destroyed by hunters”; demons were summoned solely to be burned on the pre-lighthouse pyre (to which Raekard’s only comment is, “A senseless waste of ritual components”). And in the earliest recorded history, we see the seeds of all this, when an outsider who sought to understand the islands’ inhabitants rather than conquer them is put on trial:

JUSTICIAR:
At what point did you realize this entity was a vampire?

ACCUSED:
Not until after, when…

JUSTICIAR:
When what?

ACCUSED:
When you killed her. Robbed us of her wisdom, kindness, perspective, heart, all she contributed to her community. And for what? Some ash? Dust? Is there not already enough collecting between the folds of your ◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆?

JUSTICIAR:
Cleric, strike that last term for obscenity.

ACCUSED:
What, you’re more scandalized by me describing your dust-crusted ◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆ than your violence?

Finnit and Vosaphar’s relationship shows the transformative power of approaching the Other with kindness rather than aggression. Early on, we learn of Vosaphar’s wounds, for which Raekard is to blame: “They had become so central to his existence, for so long, that they had infested his identity.” But later, this changes as a result of his bond with Finnit. “His slash wounds scabbed over more readily, healing further with each attempt. […] From his back spread wings wrought of fire, eldritch blue roiled with red and magenta—the colors of Finnit’s own magic, now intertwined with Vosaphar’s.” In the end, the two discover the secret that let the indigenous residents live peacefully in this fraught environment, which results in a shattering of the cursed lens, destroying the symbol of subjugation and colonial power.

I mentioned earlier that this is a layered narrative, and there’s a final layer that I haven’t addressed yet. The story is told in third-person, with moments where the player can choose between two impulses for Vosaphar to heed. It’s a different way for the player to shape the story than the typical IF approach where you’re playing as one of the characters, but it doesn’t feel jarring or out of place. (Spoiler - click to show)But then hints creep in that something more is going on, until a moment that was literally jaw-dropping for me, where it’s revealed that we the player actually have been a character in the story all along—one who is entwined with the Pharos Fidelis, with Vosaphar, and with Finnit, and has been watching and shaping the events for our own purposes. But in contrast to the Raekardian approach, we’re only able to exercise influence, not control, and there’s even a point where Vosaphar may reject your choice and make his own decision.

At the story’s end, the choices you’ve made are summarized in a way that makes it clear which ones took you away from the ideal path, and you have a chance to change any you’d like so that you can reach the best/most satisfying ending. But there’s value in seeing the worse outcomes; the choices play off each other in different ways to make quite a few ending variations. It’s a very rich work, as evidenced by the length of this review. The whole thing rings with resonance for our present moment. As those in power cast marginalized groups as dangerous Others who don’t deserve basic rights, we always have a choice of whether to fall in line with this ideology or to resist it.

What’s the purpose of IF reviews? Why do we write them? Is it to point out issues in a work to help authors improve? To point out issues in a work to warn potential players away? “Too buggy, don’t bother.” I’ve written reviews in an effort to better understand a work; to encourage others to play it; to give hopefully helpful feedback to the author. I’ve written reviews to call out harmful content in a work, solely for the purpose of “I want it on the record that this is in here and I don’t think that’s okay.” I’ve written reviews that were overly harsh and nitpicky, reviews I wouldn’t write today.

This game doesn’t need any more reviews saying that it needed testing. One of those is enough; it’s a statement that doesn’t need repeating. But I don’t think we can ever have too many reviews engaging with the content and themes of a work. And if reviews get written that only engage with the technical side of a game, why not one that only engages with the story?

I played this one back at the beginning of the comp, and it’s stuck with me. “A baby is crying. His baby. His baby is crying. And you are him, your baby is crying.” The PC’s weariness, helplessness; how can you take care of another human being when you feel so exhausted and broken? Dragging your aching body around the bed. You care about your child, of course you do, but in this moment you don’t know what to do for them. You’re a single parent, living in relative poverty. Can you give this being you’ve brought into the world a good life?

You feel your own vocal cords contracting and stinging, as if you are the one who has been crying all this time.

You try to comfort the baby, rocking it and shushing, but the baby keeps crying despite your best efforts.

There’s an added layer revealed at the end, that the PC, George, is a trans man. He asks his child:

"Will you grow up to be trans, like me? Will I influence you? Can you be trans if you don't get an assigned gender at birth? I certainly haven't assigned you anything...assigned basket at birth only. I hope the fact that i am raising you on my own won't like...scar you in any way. Isn't that what people say too, if kids only get one gender role parent instead of two, that turns them gay? Well, if you do turn out gay at least I can help you. Maybe if you turned out straight that would be the real issue, we would have no common ground and slowly grow apart...well, that would be very silly of us. Let's not let that happen."

These reflections on being a poor, trans single parent without much of a support network are moving. And I love seeing George maintain a sense of humor despite the circumstances. I think the answer to my question above is “yes”; George clearly loves his child and is determined to do his best for them, despite his fear and uncertainty.

"I want to give you so much more than I have, now. I don't know what I'm doing. I haven't known since I found out you were coming. One day I was just going about my life, and the next I was going to be a parent. [...] i still feel like it will not be enough, like i will not be enough."

You/George manage to briefly soothe the baby, but when they start crying again, the game ends with you doing what’s needed, pushing through the weariness and pain for the sake of the brand new human who's now in your care:

Only that bottle will do now, probably. You lay it back in its basket, and prepare to get up.

This game was submitted to the 2024 Queer Vampire Jam, and while on the surface it’s not about queerness at all, vampirism is a clear metaphor for queerness in the story. It centers on a family gathering, where the Vietnamese protagonist’s parents, grandparents, aunt, and uncle have all come together for the yearly Tết celebration. The topic of vampirism comes up at the dinner table, and when the relatives begin to disparage this disruptive new “cult”, your options are to laugh along, stay silent, or try to push back. Efforts to do the latter are brushed off, and sentiments like “Just imagine if that happened in this family!” and “I wouldn’t mind it if only they would just be quiet about it” continue.

It’s soon revealed that the protagonist, Nha, is herself a vampire—and that her parents are aware of this, but rather than defend their daughter, they’d prefer to maintain a charade of being normal, respectable people in order to avoid any embarrassment. This comes to the fore when Nha, called out for not eating anything, is coerced into taking a few bites and immediately feels sick and retreats to the bathroom. Her father comes to the door and reminds her that he and her mother just want what’s best for the family, that everyone has to compromise and make sacrifices and this is no different, that Nha owes this to her relatives because of all they’ve done for her.

Internally, Nha acknowledges how much it hurts to have the people she loves be unknowingly bigoted toward her, and how unfair the situation is. She pushes back on her dad’s demands, but is only met with more of the same arguments. Ultimately, she gives up and gives in, ending the game by yanking out her fangs with pliers. Her painful, bloody removal of this vital yet socially undesirable part of herself is a painfully visceral image that echoes the real-world pressure some queer people face to change who they are for the sake of others.