Repeat the Ending handily includes its own faux history, its own imaginary criticism, and its own projected audience reactions. The majority of these are fictional.
The work offers numerous prefab opinions of itself. Outside discussions of the work generally read like amplifications of ideas seeded by the author's own self-supplied analysis. In effect, the work talks so much about itself that it leaves room for little that is new.
To engage with the work at scale means going through two parallel fictions (the interactive work and the faux historical transcript) plus a third orthogonal fiction (the imagined history of the work and its invented public response). That's a pretty high bar to clear in terms of hours spent just to survey the whole.
One can turn this work round-and-round in one's head for quite some time, trying to find a perspective that makes its various parts line up into a coherent picture. This is tremendously complicated by the constant self-contradiction of the work as a whole. A thing given in one part of the work is most often modified, opposed or canceled by something in another part, leaving the reader always asking: Is depiction A or depiction B the truth, or are both or neither? That can become tiring when no unambiguous answer is on offer.
The total work as presented is akin to a piece of wrinkled origami paper. It's clear that it has been folded into something before -- even unfolded and refolded according to a different design, potentially more than once. The implicit task for the reader is to refold it, but which of the existing creases are clues? If the reader ends up with something that looks vaguely like a frog, is that what it was supposed to be?
Perhaps unsurprisingly, the work itself has something to say about this idea. In the (theoretically fictional) voice of "Drew Cook": "I want people to wrestle with it, to decide for themselves what it means. Wouldn't it be ungrateful of me to interfere? To prevent anyone from honoring my work with their time? I'd never do that. I'd never deny them the freedom to interpret my writing as they see fit." Also, as a point of general philosophy: "[the reader's] interpretation is more important than [the author's] intent".
Clarity and self-consistency are not interference when attempting to communicate. It would be ridiculous to believe that Cook does not know that -- so what is the corollary? Is Cook really not trying to communicate, to generate specific ideas and understanding in the mind of the audience? Is the reader supposed to invert or discount these passages because it was "Drew Cook" speaking, not Drew Cook? Or are those passages supposed to be treated as true reflections of the author's thinking in real life, despite the work's insistence that "Drew Cook" is at most partially representative? Is it supposed to be a panda or a koala?
Is the reader supposed to use outside knowledge to validate or invalidate the fiction's assertions? Does its intertextuality extend to reference works? Should one consult the dictionary definition of bipolar disorder (the protagonist's stated ailment), look up the psychiatric usages of lithium in the 1990s, and notice that the list of the protagonist's symptoms is a much closer match to the dictionary definition of schizophrenia ("A severe mental disorder diagnosable by some or all of the following symptoms: blunted emotionality, decay of rational faculties, social isolation, disorganized speech and behavior, delusions and hallucinations.")? Should one then go on to re-evaluate the narration's reliability in the context of what could be an intentional clue in a work that masquerades as a puzzle game and contains a plethora of subtly significant detail? Hey, look -- I made a giraffe!
The above is not intended to disparage origami, nor texts without clear answers, nor authors who seek only to prompt questions, nor the mentally ill. Highly convoluted works are often favorites of writers, and this work is certain to be satisfying for those who like to grapple with them. Trying to untangle a Gordian knot can be a pastime in itself, even enjoyable if the act of untangling some portions (though it be at the cost of retangling others) is seen as its own reward.
If you're looking to play a game as entertainment, however, you won't find one here, and the star rating I'm giving it is reflective of that. (I won't even bother to lay out a dissection of the pseudo-game; what would be the point? There's every indication that the parts I don't like are there by conscious and well-considered design.) Fortunately, the current version includes a "story mode" that is basically an integrated walkthrough giving the grand tour, and I would personally suggest just starting with that since it allows one at any point to stop and explore for as much or as little as one likes. Rest assured that the significant puzzles to be solved in this work aren't encountered at the command prompt, and if you're worried about completionism you'll end up reading the source code, anyway. I don't do literary criticism, and I don't come to IFDB looking for works of literature, but I will say that this work would make one hell of an assignment for an English class.
The orthogonal fiction looks to be squarely aimed at writers and critics, and it may hold greater interest for those in that more restricted audience than it does for the average player; no doubt one could make a convincing argument that the pseudo-game and transcript are best viewed as supplemental materials to that portion, in effect acting like very elaborate feelies for a printed work -- an argument strengthened by Cook's having added additional paratext since the initial release while leaving the "game" essentially unchanged (other than the addition of story mode). For the record, despite my negative reaction to the pseudo-game, the orthogonal fiction convinces me that the actual Drew Cook is a very capable author.
Because of the total work's many self-contradictions, the ratio of reader to author in any message "discovered" within will be highly variable. It wouldn't be fair to call this aspect a failure in a work so exhaustively honed, especially when there is good reason to believe (via the real world statements of the actual Drew Cook) that the author is not counting the successful communication of any particular message as part of what will define his own evaluation of its success. One could say that the work as a whole offers something for everyone, and also nothing to anyone. Make of that (and this review) what you will.
Despite its fame, The Edifice is a fairly rough-edged affair, and I seem to have bumped into just about every one of those rough edges.
As winner of IF Comp 1997 (the third ever), this game looms large in the early post-commercial history of the form. It has what may be the second-most famous puzzle in the history of parser games, the first being the climax puzzle of Spider and Web. I had tried The Edifice a few times before and never got very far, but this time I was determined to stick it out.
After an hour of mucking around in release 2, I took a look at the walkthrough. This is where I discovered that something I'd tried to do before, specifically (Spoiler - click to show)>SHARPEN STICK, will work, but you need to be holding something else in your inventory. The default failure message gives absolutely no clue about this, nor any clue that the verb in question can take an indirect object.
In the second scenario, I promptly managed to crash the game in a manner similar to what the release 2 notes say had been fixed. The same bug did not recur after a >RESTORE, and I was able to get to the part that makes this game notable. Author Lucian P. Smith took advantage of some rarely-used affordances in Inform 6 to create an NPC with his own language, which the PC (and by extension you, the player) must learn in order to communicate.
This puzzle is brilliant, and nearly unique. The only other game I know with a comparable task is Absence of Law. The constructed language used for the NPC consists of a relative handful of words -- only 25 are recognized by the game -- but the amount of interaction that is supported is surprisingly large. The "foreign language" parser takes a few shortcuts to simplify its implementation, which can result in confusing replies on occasion. It's not necessary to completely understand every word in order to solve the puzzle, and, in fact, even a complete understanding is not sufficient to do so.
Smith has been extremely open about his design and implementation of the puzzle, having provided an extensive overview of the former in XYZZY News issue #16 and an analogous implementation of the latter's code (using a different invented language) after the game's release.
For all of the effort that has been put into NPC conversation over the years, what's achieved here feels the most "real" of any that I've seen. The effect is almost totally an illusion, one created and maintained by the player's own slowly dissolving ignorance, but the breakthrough moments are extremely satisfying in a way that few puzzles based on comparably complex systems manage to achieve.
Unfortunately, the rest of the game isn't on a par with the centerpiece, though the apparent gap is substantially widened by relatively minor issues. As always, bringing a modern perspective to an older game results in certain small flaws being much magnified -- what was once an easily overlooked oversight can seem like a gaping hole in the interaction today. It's easy to forget that modern standards are informed by many years of lessons learned, and that a series of small improvements can result in a subjective improvement that is more than the sum of its parts. That said, my instincts run toward both two stars (for the numerous small issues) and four stars (for the brilliant centerpiece), so I'm splitting the difference.
By current standards, some of the frustration that a modern player might feel is very much not the player's fault, so for those trying the game my advice would be to seek hints as needed without worrying about spoiling the experience. Those interested in the game purely as an item of study might prefer to go straight to the materials linked above; these are undoubtedly worth the time to examine in detail.
I had heard about this game as one which has the conceit of being "unfinished" by design, as in taking place within a game whose construction was still underway. That is technically the setting, but that's not really the important part.
This game placed 10th of 34 in the 1997 IF Comp (only the third one held at the time), and what strikes me most is that this game ended up in the top third! The development of the form has come a long way since those days, and games like this are the proof.
The plot of this one is very strange. It feels like the core concept came from a Stephen King story, weirdly injected into a story with the plot of an action thriller. The implementation is quite limited in scope, leaving not nearly enough time to develop either angle into something intriguing over the course of a typical play experience.
Beyond its undue brevity, the game's puzzles and their solutions make little sense. The saving grace is the built-in hints, which allow one to get past obstacles that feel contrived, uninteresting, and in places just plain nonsensical -- yes, the basic design exhibits all of the worst habits of the old school era. One of the hints gives advice that does not work in the current release 3; I'm not sure whether this is intentional as part of the game's "meta" nature or the result of a programming error.
While A New Day verges on a 1-star rating, I can't say that it has no redeeming qualities at all. The seed idea could have potential, though it seems close to impossible to engender a genuine sense of threat to (Spoiler - click to show)you the player from any in-game character or events, as this game seems to attempt to do. Also, the initial "finished" portions gave the impression of at least decent quality.
This game has little to offer the typical modern player but offers a genuine challenge to the would-be author: imagining other ways to run with the core ideas on which this game was built.