Reviews by OtisTDog

The intriguing title and premise of Crystal and Stone, Beetle and Bone seem to draw a fair amount of interest (with over 50 people having put it on their wishlists), but not many people seem to complete the game (only 10 people having marked it as played). The first and only work published by author Jenny Brennan, it does an admirable job of avoiding first-timer foibles and presents itself as a fairly lush setting complemented by above-average coding (especially considering that it is written in Inform 6).

In this work you play a deity -- a much-weakened monotheistic deity with fairly limited powers. In fact, the bulk of your influence on the world comes via your lone remaining follower, Lornedei, whom you granted certain abilities at birth which are now coming to fruition. You must guide Lornedei in her quest, which is oddly unspecified despite the fact that you are the one bestowing it. As the player, you are told only that the people of the world do not see a "coming darkness," so discovering and addressing this becomes the natural goal.

The world is presented in a rich, multi-sensory manner, and locations are lovingly described in terms of light, color, sounds and smells. There is lore to be found, and artifacts of the past, which together slowly tell the story of a catacylsmic change and a world left out of balance. There are many creatures with whom Lornedei will interact, helping or hindering her in her journey.

As play progresses, it turns out that you are not the only influence on the world... or on Lornedei. In her travels she can come under the sway of a malign entity, or simply become distracted with worldly matters. Interestingly, the work allows completion of the story under these altered states, with corresponding consequences for the fictional world. As the player, playing god, you will make the ultimate decisions.

CSBB is extremely player-friendly, with an in-world hint system (in the form of a summonable talking firefly) that provides strong nudges via ASK/TELL interaction. There is also a complete walkthrough available in-game, delivered in segments upon request, which describes how to reach the multiple endings. The limited lore divulged in the story hints at a deeper structure that is not made explicit. This grants a dreamlike quality to the work, which is enhanced by the intuition-based logic governing many puzzles. The author's voice is slightly inconsistent, occasionally breaking through with bits of detached and/or denigrating humor. An examination of decompiled code suggests that many possibilities(Spoiler - click to show) (e.g. your death at Lornedei's hands, her willing self-immolation, or surrender to and cooperation with the forces of darkness) are possible for the player who does not wish to see a conventional happy ending.

Although this game was enjoyable and interesting in its "standard fantasy" mode, it does have some flaws. There are bugs to be found, even in version 4, as well as various typographical errors. None of them are very serious, though it is possible to crash the game via stack overflow when (Spoiler - click to show)messing around too much with pouring water on things, so save often. Some objects seem to be red herrings. The largest flaw is that it seems slightly incomplete -- truncated in certain aspects, whether due to the author's weariness or wariness. It is compelling enough to recommend to those who aren't disappointed by loose ends, and it is worth study by would-be authors for its implementation style, which provides a smooth gameplay experience.

Balances is labeled as a demo for Inform 6 (originally developed for Inform 5), and was distributed as such along with its source code when the language was in its early stages of adoption. Magnus Olsson notes in his review that discussion of the game (for it was widely regarded as a small game instead of a demo) produced "the first big flamewar of rec.arts.int-fiction" due to the "enormous" debate over the fairness of its puzzles.

It is interesting that the copyright notice for the game lists the years 1994, 1995 and 1996. I assume that release 1 made its debut in 1994. The following year saw the release of Nelson's influential essay "The Craft of Adventure," which includes his famed Bill of Player's Rights.

What I'm finding most surprising is the contrast between the two. I wonder how much the debate over this not-quite-game directly shaped Nelson's views about what constitutes fairness. There are several direct contradictions between the game itself and the Bill, namely:

2. Not to be given horribly unclear hints -- (Spoiler - click to show)The historical note from Olsson suggests that this one is arguable. I can't cite anything that qualifies unambiguously, but I can say that I did not find the "critical puzzle that hinges on a pun" to be "delightful."

3. To be able to win without experience of past lives -- (Spoiler - click to show)This may be technically true about Balances, but it seems extremely unlikely in practice. Showing up at the temple and learning after the fact that each cube should have been marked on acquisition (specifically, with their circumstance of origin) was not amusing, though in theory I could have marked them then and then taken 100+ moves to try all combinations. Perhaps those more familiar with Spellbreaker would have found it natural to do this immediately.

4. To be able to win without knowledge of future events -- (Spoiler - click to show)See #3 above.

5. Not to have the game closed off without warning -- (Spoiler - click to show)I hope that when you read 'Now the furniture is matchwood...' in the opening room you decided to >X FURNITURE instead of >X MATCHWOOD, or you might have gotten the impression that no such object was implemented, as is the case for just about every other scenery object. If you didn't, and you later >RIDE HORSE, then congratulations -- you have closed off the game! It's possible to get back to the starting location after the horse only if one has done this, in which case there is no need to do so.

6. Not to need to do unlikely things -- (Spoiler - click to show)To get the most difficult cube, one must take pains to win a stuffed pink elephant, then use a reversed spell on it to try to make it dangerous. Why would anyone be motivated to do that except by metalogic? Also, there is a sharp contrast between the Bill's advice that 'If you intend the player to stay somewhere for a while, put something intriguing there.' and the need to wait an indeterminate amount of time on an empty road to get a key item.

9. To be allowed reasonable synonyms -- (Spoiler - click to show)See #5 above. Also, I spent a frustrating span trying to figure out how to refer to the numbered tickets, which must have the form >TAKE TICKET 1234 instead of just >TAKE 1234.

Notably, at the tail end of the Bill, Nelson admits via footnote that "[L]ike any good dictator, I prefer drafting constitutions to abiding by them." Perhaps the disagreement between theory and practice was intentional. (I can't quite buy into the "it was only ever just a demo" argument; compare and contrast with other early Inform demo programs such as "Toyshop," which make no pretense of being games.)

In the context of its original release, Balances was surely a marvel -- a vignette of Infocom-level quality IF demonstrating techniques that recreated classic gameplay and which would become widely emulated. Olsson's contemporary advice to "current and future IF authors," which urges them to "not to use this spellcasting system in their games," is ironic in view of the numerous Infocom-style spellcasting games that were released in the wake of Balances, many of which no doubt cribbed from the example of its source code. Nelson's Bill of Player's Rights also became hugely influential, shifting trends in the direction of the modern "player-friendly" style very early on in the hobbyist era. My two-star rating reflects the very uneven quality of Balances as a game, which is handily surpassed by any of Nelson's better-known titles. Though I'd recommend this work as an object of study for its historical significance (and for its source code, which is beautifully direct and compact), its value as a game is dubious.

[Side note: Balances release 5 was constantly crashing for me under Gargoyle (i.e. the Bocfel interpreter), though admittedly my version is a bit out of date. I had to play it in Frotz, which produced several error warnings but did not crash.]

This is an enjoyable short puzzle game with an interesting mechanic, but it doesn't do much to realize its author-declared inspiration.

One can't discuss details without spoilers, so...

(Spoiler - click to show)
Per author Leonard Richardson's post-mortem, the original inspiration of this game took the following form:

"I had a silly idea which I was just about to start experimenting with, when I came up with an even sillier idea: a game which changed its version number as you played it. As I conceived it, you would start at the latest version, and as the version number slid inexorably downwards, objects would disappear, typos would pop up, and previously fixed bugs would come back like Jason back for another try."

The concept is intriguing! However, the author elaborates that: "It took about thirty seconds for me to connect this idea with the 'world in decay' scenario often seen in fantasy games."

I don't personally see the connection, and while I think the plot that Richardson invented for the game is clever and compelling, it doesn't quite jibe with the core mechanic of steadily reducing the version number of the game as it is being played. "Going back in time" in the game universe means something very different than "going back in time" in ours, so the metaphor doesn't really work.

There is certainly room for exploration with respect to themes of disintegrating reality (see Shade, for example, or the works of Philip K. Dick), but the regression of the protagonist's world to bare Inform 6 object implementations doesn't do this. The protagonist has no ability to understand it, and the player's understanding has no bearing on gameplay. The two conceptual schemes just seem totally divorced from one another -- not even books on Logick and Algorisms (or tomes on Conceptes Metaphysickal) in the baron's study to create a tenuous bridge.


Taken on its most basic terms, this is a relatively quick experience that makes for a fun enough bite-sized adventure. I only found one small bug: an issue with looking under an arm-chair that seems to be the result of a backwards condition in the logic that produces the response. A rather large amount of work went into what amounts to an extended Easter egg(Spoiler - click to show), or perhaps in this case an Easter Ham. It's definitely worth playing the game and examining its source code, which the author has graciously supplied.

[Update: As the author points out in comments, this review is based on an early release of the game, which has since been substantially revised. Also, I did find the game to be likable overall in its earlier form. Readers are advised to take both of those facts under consideration. I've removed my rating from the game's average.]

Inform 7 makes it easier than ever to code a game. It remains difficult to make a good game.

This is very clearly a first effort. Michael J. Coyne's list of "First-Timer Foibles" remains relevant, and this work earns a CQ (Coyne Quotient) of 6 for items 2, 9, 11, 12, 14 and 15.

It's hard to take this game very seriously on its self-proclaimed merits. The functional plot (i.e. what you experience as a player) seems more concerned with offering guided tours (especially around Ohio) than being a spy thriller. (I will admit that I found this to be something of a saving grace; some interesting facts are presented, which will probably be among the most memorable parts of the play experience.) The game also seems pre-occupied with paying homage to Infocom, Star Wars, Narnia, and various (presumably real) food establishments, to the detriment of its focus and continuity. In fulfilling the PC's mission and/or scoring all points, you will: (Spoiler - click to show)visit a pun-oriented maze; build a bonfire using flint, steel and 69,105 leaves; visit a privately-owned (and ostensibly secret?) space station; fly to Africa to retrieve a MacGuffin from a villain conveniently hanging out in one of the handful of locations there (using a weapon retrieved from the Oval Office, no less!); craft a lightsaber; enjoy a parade of junk food and sweets; visit several architecturally-significant buildings; make use of a divinely-delivered laser; find, wear and use a magical pendant; and do something else worth 2 points that I never figured out. Are you intrigued? If so, read on.

There are many "puzzles" that are pointless. They qualify for the term only because they are things one must do to score points; their impact on the world state with respect to the ostensible plot seems to be zero. These appear to originate solely as artifacts of the process of learning to code, and not as part of an integrated design of puzzle and story. (In fact, the points awarded for following the mission are a small fraction of the intended total.) While anyone new to coding can appreciate the thrill of victory felt when overcoming early technical challenges, such learning exercises are generally not appropriate to include in the final game. The adage "Be ready to kill your darlings." applies. (An aside: My final score was 352 out of a possible 214. There is a scoring bug in which a 10-point award can be repeated indefinitely.)

Certain other "puzzles" are classic examples of poor puzzle design in the vein of mind reading and/or guess-the-verb. The very worst offender here is the command needed to reboot a computer: (Spoiler - click to show)>CONTROL-ALT-DELETE. A close second is the command required to get out of a VR simulation: (Spoiler - click to show)>BLINK RAPIDLY. (Technically, there's something that might be counted as a clue -- by British puzzle fiends only -- for the latter. The VR environment seems totally optional, anyway.)

I note that the >CREDITS list "TBD" as beta tester. Obtaining beta testing is almost universally regarded as a prerequisite for a serious-minded public release, and its lack is keenly felt. I get the strong impression that this game was originally written for private circulation (in large part because it seems to contain a cryptic marriage proposal -- (Spoiler - click to show)"The display says: '01101101 01100001 01110010 01110010 01111001 00100000 01101101 01100101'" [which for the lazy translates into ASCII as "marry me"]). Based on the blurb, it's now intended to serve as publicity for the author's novels set in the same universe.

The fictional world presented borders on absurdist in its outlook. Here is the description of the President of the United States: "President Bridget O’Connor is a wise leader. She was formally the head of the NSA. The President is aware of Quotient’s operations." (Yes, "formally.") And here's that of the Prime Minister (presumably of the UK): "Prime Minister Jason Stevenson is a skilled martial artist in addition to an ingenious political leader." I could not help but interpret items like these as comedy.

All that said, I'm giving this work two stars, which I will note translates roughly as "has some positives but needs improvement." It is exuberant, yes, and silly -- but I still found myself liking it more than not. Your mileage may vary. I wish the author luck, and we can all hope that the recipient of the marriage proposal said yes.

The King of Shreds and Patches is the only published work by author Jimmy Maher, who is mostly likely familiar to readers as the author of The Digital Antiquarian, a blog about the history of videogames. His sole contribution to the form has faded somewhat from the popular consciousness after generating significant buzz at the time of its release 15 years ago.

Other reviews highlight the game's standout features for its era, notably its size, its included tutorial, its astounding level of quality for a debut work, its success in crafting a gripping player experience (being frequently labeled a "page turner"), and most especially the unusual sense of freedom that the player feels when directing the protagonist's actions. Many also mark its >THINK command -- which produces something akin to a quest log -- as a notable innovation in the world of IF even though similar features had long been a part of computer games in general. Few take note of the game's lingering minor bugs, or its inclusion of a music puzzle (which was perhaps the first of its kind). This review will focus on the techniques used by Maher to create the work's much-lauded sense of freedom.

Maher's fundamental achievement in producing this game is that The King of Shreds and Patches is a marvelous translation of the essential RPG experience to an IF format. The essence of the RPG play experience is that the players exert continuous influence on the simulated situation, and the game master judges how this influence (and also typically random influence from dice) affects the simulated situation in ways large and small. This RPG-style approach is the basis from which the game's sense of freedom derives, which I would argue is actually in part the mislabeling of a sense of agency.

Before proceeding a brief aside about Call of Cthulhu (aka CoC), the RPG on which King is based, is in order. The design of this RPG is unusual in that its mechanics undermine the pattern of campaign play with enduring characters. Rather than being focused on the growth of characters' skills and abilities as they surmount various challenges, a key principle of CoC is that player characters degrade over the course of play, their brushes with the supernatural causing their sanity to fray and eventually dissolve into madness. This mechanic subtly shifts the central focus of the experience for the table-top player in that satisfaction comes less from the reward accumulating to their avatar and more from the personal pride in having run the gauntlet to resolve the mystery plot presented by the game master. (Spoiler - click to show)(And it is always a mystery -- though of course not too much of a mystery, since one can be pretty sure to find guttural languages, malevolent cults, and plenty of tentacles on the other side of the veil -- because that's the only kind of plot well-supported by the mythology of CoC's inspirational source material.) Luckily for the player, Maher basically ignores the core mechanic; should the PC go too far in courting madness, the player is treated to one of the game's many possible deaths, but the PC never accumulates impairment.

If "mystery" is the noun, then "investigate" is the verb, and it's of interest here that what other RPGs call "characters" are referred to as "investigators" in CoC. King recounts an investigation conducted by the PC, which begins with the unexpected discovery of (Spoiler - click to show)the corpse of a friend recently returned to town and, after unraveling a tangled web of malevolent intrigue (as is typical for Lovecraftian stories), culminates in an event of potentially worldshaking proportions.

Framed as an investigation, King makes use of the kinds of tropes common to police procedurals, film noir, murder mysteries, and political thrillers. Scenes come in three basic flavors: forensic, in which the PC must explore a physical site to uncover clues about what has occurred there; interrogation, in which the PC must evoke information from other characters and try to correlate their potentially unreliable statements; and action, in which the PC's life is threatened by the forces with which he is interfering or physical forces that oppose his investigative action. King interweaves these three types of scenes in a seemingly loose manner that slowly but inexorably constrains player freedom in order to accelerate the pacing toward the climax. The author's website for the game claims that the plot is driven by "a sophisticated drama management system." The exact nature of this system isn't clear, but in a very recent interview, Maher implies that it relies heavily on Inform 7's scene mechanism. In broad strokes, at least part of the drama management seems baked into the structure of the scenario's plot itself.

As an RPG scenario, there is (as with IF) an expectation of a certain degree of latitude in the manner in which the investigation is conducted by the player, and the design of the scenario must accommodate that. As a narrative, there are (as with a novel or film) expectations that the action will rise, key tensions will be resolved in a climax, and elements receiving focus will be meaningful to the story being told. The basic incompatibility of these goals is the bane of both RPG scenario design and interactive fiction design, because freedom of action means freedom to dawdle, requiring the author to surrender some control over pacing -- and pacing is one of the most essential elements of any story. As noted elsewhere, horror is especially dependent on pacing, and this makes horror IF very difficult to do well. I agree with edgerunneralexis's review that the pacing of King is all wrong for Lovecraftian horror, and that the exposition in that first forensic scene is too much, too soon. The King of Shreds and Patches is less horror than it is a kind of supernatural noir, and it is well-paced for a noir story, undergoing a slow transformation from open-ended exploration to purposeful goal-driven action over time.

While the ability to dawdle is a form of freedom, it is not a meaningful freedom because exercising it amounts to not actually playing the game. Instead, the sense of freedom is enabled through offering multiple meaningful avenues to explore in the game's early parts while at the same time keeping careful track of the PC's actual trajectory through the possible story space. Maher has done a tremendous amount of work to not just accommodate but actually leverage the combinatorial explosion of world states that such freedom necessarily entails.

It is easy to underestimate the magnitude of this task. Sure, a human GM must juggle all of the facts emerging from the player's choices, but as a static program King must anticipate many possible paths. As Maher himself puts it in the recent interview, the original CoC scenario was "written for a game master who is sitting there at a table with the other players and can improvise all of that stuff. Well, there’s no improvising going on in a computer game. You have to hard code everything." This is in no way a new problem for IF, but I think that Maher did achieve a genuinely new solution to it. Through his innovative approach and the hard work that he put in over the two years plus of the game's development, he implemented a plot that feels extraordinarily elastic compared to typical interactive fiction. In effect, he ensured that the game can act as a virtual game master of a quality in some ways comparable to a human, preserving the flexibility that enables players to feel free.

King eschews puzzles for puzzles sake. The hours of gameplay experienced in King are almost entirely taken up by participation in the plot, which unfolds over several in-game days, each day being concluded after achievement of a plot goal. Later goals are dependent upon earlier ones being completed, but their structure is convergent instead of linear, so while players have a large degree of freedom in choosing which order to pursue early goals, the line of investigation will naturally and inevitably lead to the scenario's single focus: the apex of a pyramid of goals.

The daily day/night cycle of narrative time works in tandem with that pyramid. Time management is usually a factor in any tabletop RPG adventure, with time being treated as a resource that can be misspent as any other. King imposes a sleep requirement on the PC, similar to that of Anchorhead in that after a certain amount of plot advancement (in this case, achievement of one of the available goals) time advances to the end of the day. The daily cycle very naturally creates chapter-style breaks in the play experience, each of which immediately follows a significant plot development and so makes a good time to save the game and put it aside for a while to ruminate. These pauses are a real benefit to the player in a long work such as this, but, as the player and protagonist begin to understand the forces at work behind the scenes, they also begin to understand that those forces are moving even while the PC sleeps.

After a few game days of apparent freedom, the drama management begins to kick in: (Spoiler - click to show)The PC receives a note from a former love interest asking for help. This is a key inflection point in the plot -- the moment when events outside the protagonist's control will begin to drive the pacing. The day/night cycle is also cleverly used to accelerate the plot in the mid-game, when (Spoiler - click to show)the protagonist oversleeps through most of a day after his trials in the Act II climax, the fictional premier of Hamlet. At this point the player knows enough to know that time matters, will still have a substantial checklist of to-do items, and will know that (Spoiler - click to show)the loss of a day means a significant opportunity cost. The effect of this light touch in ratcheting up the tension is brilliant, a masterful method of achieving rising action for Act III. Time is now working against the protagonist and by proxy the player, forcing both into a reactive mode as events proceed out of sight but far from out of mind.

While these two technical aspects, the goal system and the day/night cycle, support each other in creating a well-paced rising action story, the third pillar of the game's illusory freedom (and semi-illusory agency) is its knowledge tracking system, which is very well done and fairly detailed. The game frequently interjects bits of past experience into the conversations with NPCs -- a form of exposition that hovers somewhere between showing and telling the player about connections to be made. More importantly than its expository function, however, is that it in doing so the game affirms the player's choices even if only by simply acknowledging what has gone before. These are the "ways small" by which the game acknowledges the human player's influence, and they are the key to the illusions of agency and freedom.

Though the freedom is illusory, the choices are not, and King does offer players a wide range of choices. The game is inflexible about the protagonist's involvement with a key NPC, but it is extremely flexible about how the player chooses to conduct the PC's side of the relationship. (Spoiler - click to show)There is support for stances ranging from the bare minimum required by the honor of a disinterested gentleman to ardent hope of rekindling romance to bitter indifference to her ultimate fate. Even the final segment feels fluid, and according to Maher there are "a dozen or more paths through the end game in particular." Although some endings are "bad" endings by conventional standards, in the context of the scenario many of them are satisfying. In this aspect the game is similar to a typical RPG scenario; the player feels like a complete story was delivered, one in which events played out in response to a balance of forces of which the protagonist's actions were only a part.

King also reflects the tabletop RPG style via a carefully calibrated "cruelty" (in the Zarfian scale sense). In the recent interview, Maher indicates that he was critical of the trend toward "merciful" games that prevailed at the time of King's development and has since become the norm: "By the 2000s there were a lot of games that would not let you screw up... I remember at the time it struck me as 'wrong' somehow. If you wanted to do something blatantly stupid, then I would let you do it. Because my idea was that this was an interactive game. I want[ed] it to be responsive to what you were doing." The freedom for the player to "screw up" is a core aesthetic of tabletop RPGs, and GM advice to let players make mistakes is frequently proffered in introductory materials. In TSR's The Keep on the Borderlands what is surely one of the most widely read versions of this advice is found (emphasis in original): "Just as the referee of a sporting event, the DM must be fair. He or she cannot be 'out to get the players', nor should he or she be on their side all the time. The DM must be neutral. If a party has played well and succeeded, the DM should not punish them by sending more and more monsters at them or thwart their plans; on the other hand, if the players have acted foolishly, they should get their 'just rewards'." The same source stresses (emphasis in original): "The players must be allowed to make their own choices. Therefore, it is important that the DM give accurate information, but the choice of action is the players’ decision."

Although the work presents an investigation driven by narrative time, it is quite possible to miss significant pieces of evidence. This, too, conforms to tabletop RPG play patterns. To quote again from The Keep on the Borderlands: "Information should never be given away that the characters have not found out - secret doors may be missed, treasure or magic items overlooked, or the wrong question asked of a townsperson." King is happy to oblige for the first type of mistake during forensic scenes (though the output of >THINK will warn the player that something has been missed), but is much less so for NPC conversations during interrogation scenes, and this may be one of the work's significant faults. The prompted ASK/TELL system in use keeps the player from having to play guess-the-topic, which is good, but it also tends to promote an exhaustive approach (aka "lawnmowering") that doesn't really feel fun to play. I was quite pleased on a couple of occasions, namely (Spoiler - click to show)Moore's attempt to kill you and Dee's obvious stonewalling, in which this pattern was broken up -- in the first case by cutting short the conversation while topics were still available, and in the second by keeping the most important information out of easy reach of the lawnmower. Since the game's design is careful to ensure that the minimum information needed to progress can be obtained multiple ways, it might have added to realism and/or replay value to have an interviewee's time and attention be limited in more cases, or to have some responses to significant topics that weren't prompted.

Maher takes pains to create an atmosphere for the city setting, but once past the introductory sequence players are likely to begin ignoring these in-between places. The sights, sounds and smells of the city are well-described, and a sizable number of random flavor events occur as the PC moves about, but the rule is "look but don't touch" except in a handful of plot-relevant locations. The graphical map provided for the game in some ways seems superfluous; the game provides >GO TO navigation which makes it non-essential. Still, it is handy for fast direction-based navigation, and the way in which it expands as the game progresses subtly reinforces the idea that there's a whole city out there which you just might get to visit at some point -- provided that you have a reason. (Again, there is a parallel to tabletop RPG play. It's not uncommon for players to go looking for a certain type of establishment which, whether pre-planned or improvised spontaneously, becomes a functional part of the RPG world only at the moment of relevance.)

I had originally ranked this game as four stars, but on reconsideration I am bumping it up to five. It's not the best horror game, but it is certainly a landmark investigation game, and its exceptional sense of freedom models an ideal rarely approached in practice. While the work's pyramidal goal structure and linked daily time cycle are techniques that can be achieved by any dedicated author, these can not by themselves create the sense of agency that The King of Shreds and Patches produces. It's the third pillar -- the intensive state tracking and modification of event descriptions based on the order of events experienced by the player -- that does this, and there is no technological shortcut to the careful analysis and design that Maher must have undertaken. I heartily recommend this work to anyone who finds the idea of "supernatural noir" to be intriguing, and to any author contemplating a long-form work who wants to observe some masterful pacing in an IF context.

Released in the early days of the Amateur Era, this work achieved some notoriety by taking a definitive if hesitant step away from puzzle-focused interactive fiction. As the author states in the >AMUSING response at the end: "This game was an attempt to see if a serious and interesting story could be merged with traditional IF 'puzzle' elements without one overshadowing the other."

The work consistently presents itself as a morality tale, and the majority of contemporary and subsequent reviews categorize it as such, which presumably reflects most players' experiences. However, the author denies this description of the work in the associated walkthrough (emphasis mine): "...TAPESTRY may seem to be centered on morality and 'proper' choices. This was not my intention. There is a grander scheme going on (which the opening quote alludes to, and which, I hope, the epilogue makes clear)..."

The opening quote of the piece is from a book by Neil Gaiman: "Those who believe they must atone inflict this place and its tortures upon themselves... Until they realize that THEY, and only they -- not gods or demons -- create their hell; and by this they are freed, and take their leave... This place is evil, Timothy, but perhaps a necessary evil." The obvious reading is that hell is solely in the mind of the beholder, a self-inflicted torture that is ultimately unnecessary, serving only as a waystation for those on the path to enlightenment (or at least some other destination).

The author's use of the term "the epilogue" is interesting, however. This is program-mediated text, and although the final words of the game exhibit a dry, detached tone that is in stark contrast with the melodrama of the rest of the text -- a tone which on first reading implies that this is the "real story" of the PC's life -- the final text does, in fact, change depending on the course taken by the PC. The single identity referenced by the noun "epilogue" is therefore all three versions of the text. In two versions, the objective facts are consistent but what changes is the subjective narrative weaving them together. In the third (the one in which the PC successfully changes his past), the objective facts themselves differ.

I think it is fair to take the author at his word that this is not a game about morality. The ostensible moral dilemmas presented are almost parody in their contrived framing, and the story is not very subtle in its feedback that doing the "right" thing by changing the past to accord with commonly-held standards is in fact wrong. The encouragement you get in this path is from an "angelic being" who is (as the work will confirm if prompted) not a good guy. It soon becomes clear that the PC's attempts to do the "right" thing are at root just attempts to escape guilty feelings. What is not clear is whether that the guilt is even genuine -- the more closely one inspects the PC's thoughts, feelings and actions, the more he comes off as immature, narcissistic, and even sociopathic.

The most "winning" path (as implied by the tone taken in the text) is the path of (Spoiler - click to show)Clotho. In this path, the facts of the PC's life don't change -- only his attitude about them does. Though the work describes the transformative change as the PC "facing" his pain and guilt, in practice the change comes about via the PC simply denying all agency in his decisions as well as their negative consequences. (Spoiler - click to show)Regarding his absence from his mother's deathbed: "...you tell the Wraith ... how you wished you could have been in two places at once... only to find out it was too late." It is made unambiguously clear during that vignette that the PC should have been doing this work much earlier, and that he chose to go to City Hall knowing that it would preclude making it to the hospital in time. Regarding his "mercy killing" of his wife: "You tell [the Wraith] of Sarah's sickness, of her suffering. You explain that you wished to free her from all of it, that she herself found living impossible. You tell the Spectre that your act was one of love." In the vignette, the player must decide to kill Sarah before finding her note, and, as another reviewer notes, there does not seem to have been any discussion between them about this drastic decision beforehand. Moreover, on the path in which the PC ensures that she is given a new experimental treatment, she is cured! No matter how the PC prefers to tell it, a jury privy to the same evidence we are would have grounds to convict. Regarding the fatal car crash that ends his life as well as an innocent bystander: The PC makes no attempt to put a spin on this matter, but driving around late at night for no reason in a sleep-deprived and emotionally-unstable state is in no way responsible behavior. One might also note that his sole concern seems to be that he killed a woman, since he exhibits no dissatisfaction if the outcome is revised such that his victim is male.

Additional support for the author's claim comes from the design of the player interaction. The player gets, in effect, only two choices: whether to attempt to change all three "crisis" points in the PC's life as a group and whether to contest the accusation that he has done wrong. The former requires active effort on the player's part to search out the combination of events that will result in a changed history, while the latter is forced upon even the passive player since the game will interpret inaction as a choice. Very strangely, this second choice can be imposed even before the player makes any move that looks or feels like an intentional selection. (Spoiler - click to show)It is possible to leave the first and second scenes without resolving either. After being railroaded through the third, the player will be taken to a fourth location, where the Wraith will accuse the PC with three simultaneous questions: "Will you face me? Have you hubris enough to commit the breaking of your Moira? Are you fool enough to face your crimes?" (Apparently, in the author's mind, all three of these questions should be served by the same answer.) Simply saying "no" at the first prompt (the essence of denial) results in a choice being recorded -- from that point onward the player is only allowed to follow the script. Crucially, when the Wraith accuses the PC of being "a fool and a coward," an attempt to agree is rejected by the game: "You are about to concede defeat, when you realize that you cannot. You MUST fight this creature ... to the bitter end." To the PC, admission of any responsibility for his actions is tantamount to defeat.

The best support for the author's claim that this is not a morality tale is the endgame. (Spoiler - click to show)No matter which path is taken, the final result is oblivion for the PC; the choice truly does not matter for him. In the end, it seems to be a game about Nothing.

[A final note: This observation didn't fit well in the above review, but one item of interest about this game from an historical perspective is the surprising similarity between the climax of the third panel's vignette and that of Adam Cadre's Photopia (i.e. (Spoiler - click to show)being the driver in a fatal car accident that the player is powerless to stop despite being forewarned). This work predates Photopia by two years. As Paul O'Brien observes about the efficacy of the device: "[T]he feeling of not being able to (Spoiler - click to show)control the car despite what you order the character to do is an extremely chilling one, and it is an effect that would not pack the same potency were it attempted in static fiction." Cadre and other authors would experiment with limiting player agency more directly in later years, even to the point of replacing entered keystrokes with others to enforce pre-set commands in some cases, but the notability of the device in this work suggests that it may be the first time any author tried to limit player agency in a story-relevant way.]

Choice games are not my usual cup of tea, but I have taken the opportunity to play several of them as part of the Free IF Playoffs. As many other reviewers have noted, this ostensibly choice-based work offers surprisingly few choices. Although the reading experience requires quite a few clicks -- a design choice that works very well given its format and the PC's characterization, as noted in Rovarsson's review -- not very many control a decision that affects the PC's actions. I, too, counted a "handful" of these (five or so) over the course of the work, an average of less than one per chapter. The number of story-significant choices seems even fewer.

The writing is very good at the small scale, though CMG's pointed critique of the overall structure is accurate. I would add that what I thought was one of the story's major strengths, its pacing through the first six chapters, is abruptly abandoned around the midpoint, and the remainder of the story feels rushed by comparison. This does much to undermine the contemplative mood that prevails in the first half.

Nonetheless, I thoroughly enjoyed my encounter with this work. It could easily stand on its own as a straight-up novella. I found myself quite absorbed by the Lovecraftian feel of the opening act and the various intriguing references to real-world utopian literature. I was not prepared for the sudden shift of tropes to H. G. Wells territory when the protagonist (Spoiler - click to show)discovers that the "gateway" built into the Astrolith is a time portal, but it did change the significance of the story in interesting ways. (Spoiler - click to show)I was particularly stricken by the portrayal of the modern era as a utopian dream come true by the story's villain. That was clever misdirection.

I did like the Windrift interface more than that presented by the average choice engine. Perhaps its biggest drawback is that it lacks an "undo" feature. It would have been nice to be able to go back and explore the other ending that I didn't pick, but since it will require another entire "playthrough" I probably won't be doing it any time soon. The story is interesting enough that there's a good chance I'll circle back around to it sometime in the future, though, especially after reading some of the novels that it cites.

Playing Zozzled was a very strange experience. Because it was an IFComp winner, my expectations of it were set relatively high. These expectations were not met. Contrary to what many people seem to have seen, my own experience of the game was that it was a rather pedestrian puzzler notably hampered by a lack of integration between its story and design.

At that time that this was written, author Steph Cherrywell had already shown that she was able to put together a very competent and engaging scenario with Chlorophyll. Zozzled starts out well enough with an inciting incident that primes the player to explore a mystery and introduces some promising-seeming NPC characters. However, placing the player in the role of Hazel ensures that the player both begins and remains fundamentally outside the presented mystery and its associated story, which exclusively concerns the introductory NPCs. The tone wobbles significantly as the action moves from introduction to mid-game; the PC will have a (Spoiler - click to show)paranormal and/or hallucinatory experience in the men's changing room that introduces a brief horror feel, but this is quickly left behind (and in all likelihood forgotten by the player) as exploration continues in a light-hearted and jokey mood.

It's certainly OK for a work of interactive fiction to feature a PC with whom the player does not fundamentally identify. Still, the player is expected to adopt the role presented, and to work in good faith toward helping the work's protagonist reach his, her or its goals. I was prepared to do this for Hazel, the game's PC, whose main motivation seems to be to as quickly as possible recover the state of inebriation with which she began the game, but Hazel's "progress" is played as neither pathos nor comedy -- indeed, other than occasional asides concerning her satisfaction at having obtained another dose, it feels more like checking the boxes of a scorecard than anything else.

Checking off each box requires solving a small set piece puzzle of a form generally familiar to experienced players. These puzzles are decently designed and implemented, and my complaint does not lie with the puzzles themselves. Neither is my complaint with the story; it's a bit melodramatic but in a manner that's stylistically consistent and engaging enough to hold the player's interest. Where this game falls short is that the puzzles do nothing to synergize with the main story, leaving the game and story feeling only incidentally and artificially connected.

What is the story? (Spoiler - click to show)[No, seriously, these are major spoilers, so turn back if you plan to play the game.] (Spoiler - click to show)A married teetotaler falls in love with a young thug in training. She has what is secretly his daughter. Fifteen years later, in a moment of celebration as the thug decides to go legit and be a family with her and their child, the teetotaler agrees to a celebratory drink of champagne but ends up poisoned because it is adulterated with denatured alcohol. The thug turns out to be the owner of the speakeasy in which the game takes place. The daughter, unaware of her paternal parentage but believing that the thug intentionally killed her mother, grows up to be the Prohibition agent raiding the speakeasy. The mother, unaware that the poisoning was accidental, remains in residence as a spirit at the hotel, attempting to get her apparently long-delayed revenge. The protagonist can collect enough "ghosts" -- really pieces of the essence of the poisoned teetotaler -- to restore rationality to the vengeful spirit during a final showdown. At that point, the PC learns enough to set everyone straight, which yields something akin to a happy ending. None of that intersects meaningfully with the PC's given motivations, which are solely to get drunk and get out.

I can imagine a version of this game that plays up the humor of an increasingly intoxicated PC -- perhaps with puzzles whose solutions change and become more difficult as the protagonist gets closer to her goals. That sounds like a lot of work. I can imagine a version of this game in which you play the Prohibition agent raiding the place, featuring heavy interaction with the key NPCs introduced and placing the PC near the center of the existing story. That, too, sounds like a lot of work. I can also imagine a version of the game with a different PC whose motivations better mesh with the story -- perhaps the protagonist would be a 1920s "ghostbuster" hired by the hotel, and the ghosts' backstory would be adjusted accordingly. That sounds about the same in terms of work but with a somewhat more serious tone. Any of them would be better integrated than this work.

There were a few aspects of the implementation that caught my attention. The use of room descriptions to portray a tight fit inside the (Spoiler - click to show)scale model of the hotel was interesting; the technique of using room text that portrays ongoing action is generally frowned upon but works well enough here. The ability to finish the story without locating all of the ghosts, though it leads to a less "happy" ending, is a good design choice for a comp game, allowing casual players to finish the game and be satisfied. At several key points in the plot, the game switches to a choice-based mode; at the beginning and end of the game this is effectively just a more elaborate version of "PRESS ANY KEY TO CONTINUE" since there are no choices of consequence, but in an early tutorial-like scene the choices presented are effectively parser commands. The intent seems to be to keep the player from becoming stuck while also ensuring that the essential command for progress is discovered, but the same could have been accomplished with appropriately heavy-handed hints in the text; the current formulation results in something lacking the better aspects of either parser or choice interfaces.

This is by no means a bad game, and I don't regret playing it -- it just seems like the realization of a flawed vision that could have been something more than it is. It is a fun game to play around Halloween, and the overall difficulty is slight enough that it is suitable for those new to parser games, but I would suggest Chlorophyll as an example of Cherrywell's work that offers a more coherent design. I look forward to trying Brain Guzzlers from Beyond by the same author. [EDIT: ...which turned out to be great -- Cherrywell's best work in my experience.]

This is a throwback-style, very easy, old-school "text adventure," just as it claims to be. It is apparently a group effort, and it bears the mark of first-timers at work, earning a Coyne Quotient of 6 according to Michael Coyne's First-Timer Foibles (for items 4, 7, 9, 10, 12 and 14).

You play someone committing industrial espionage at a company that apparently uses time travel to make accurate predictions for purposes of wealth management. That's not really important, though -- your job is just to collect several items of information or artifacts containing them and get out. The stand-out feature is the collection of yesteryear's computer technology on display in the simulated office.

This game could use a lot more polish, but it's quick to play and comes off as sincere in the Charles Schulz sense. If you're a fan of Scott Adams games or magazine type-in games, then you might find the exercise of solving this to be a welcome diversion. (It took me about 30 minutes to finish with a full score.) For anyone else, you would probably be happier with a more developed "light heist" game... perhaps Inside the Facility?

This game was the insipid edutainment experience that I had feared when I was preparing to play Junior Arithmancer.

When I first loaded this up and got through the short introductory segment, I thought that I was going to be treated to an extended version of the experience provided by the core mechanic seen in the author's other notable math-themed game. I was envisioning a game of "magical" powers rooted in mathematical operations that would phrase key breakthroughs in the history of mathematics as puzzles to be overcome, with an emphasis on the expansions of conception as opposed to the mechanical operations. Having enjoyed the optional puzzles and just playing around in the number space of Arithmancer, I thought I was looking at the fun and compelling core of that game turned up to 11.

The presentation and the setting were quite similar, and the first few segments (constructing and extending the set of numbers) seemed to support the title's implication that this game would be about learning to appreciate the "cold and austere" beauty of the vast and interconnected web of concepts and reason that is mathematics. Since Arithmancer was so unexpectedly fun, I was looking forward to the experience -- I even hoped that I might learn something.

Unfortunately, the game quickly devolves into something else entirely: an old-school-style puzzler with frivolous mathematical theming that seems almost totally at odds with the implicit premise. Although *A Beauty Cold and Austere* appears to be the author's sincere love letter to the beauty of mathematics, it singularly fails to communicate that beauty. Fundamental and important conceptual breakthroughs are handled at a remove of one or more degrees, via puzzles that for the most part pointedly avoid the crux of the mathematics themselves. The entire puzzle structure is crafted in the old school style, and at times the game almost seems a parody of it.

The actual reasoning required to make progress is typical for old-school puzzlers, and the game does little to explain or reinforce mathematical concepts. I frequently found myself imagining young players of this game huddled around an Apple ][ in a 1980s school computer lab, too interested in the novelty of a "talking" computer to notice that they weren't learning anything useful about math from overcoming the game's obstacles.

To be fair, it's hardly this work's fault that it wasn't what I had hoped it to be on the basis of a misunderstanding that it was written after Arithmancer. It was, in fact, written before, and the arrow of causation points the other way; Spivey quite admirably extracted one of the best ideas from this game and crafted a much better experience from it. Perhaps I was reading too much into the title and cover for a second time with one of Spivey's works. However, I was not particularly impressed with this work even when trying to take it on its own terms. The fairness level of many puzzles is debatable, and the only unifying structure is dream logic, i.e. non-logic. The most interesting aspect was (Spoiler - click to show)the roller coaster; with its multiple possible configurations, I had to admire its implementation as either very clever in its design or of impressively large scale in execution, if not both.

I think I would recommend this game to someone who really enjoys the old school puzzle sensibility of wanting to solve a puzzle "because it's there," and I imagine that there would be some appeal to mathematicians in the fact that many props and setting elements come from the history of their field. If the idea of Zork with math-themed puzzles appeals to you, then by all means proceed directly to playing. If what you want is fun with the math itself, then you may be better served by Junior Arithmancer from the same author.

With Inform's core code having grown so much that only the smallest scenarios produced by it will still fit within Z-machine, one might wonder whether that venerable format is destined for the dustbin of history. Sure, there are still people actively using Inform 6 with the PunyInform library to make Z-code games for retrocomputing platforms, but that's a niche within a niche. With this work, author Daniel Stelzer proves that the Z-machine is still a vital platform when used with the relatively new but sophisticated Dialog language.

Miss Gosling's Last Case plays very well. Puzzles are meticulously designed and well-suited to appeal to those who would be attracted to the murder mystery genre -- requiring an active imagination that takes careful notice both of what is said and what can be imagined about the scenario being depicted.

Only basic verbs and simple commands are in use, a constraint imposed by the separation of story protagonist from primary actor. By ensuring that there is an in-game reason for preferring simplicity, the player is subconsciously prompted to throw out any ideas for actions that cross a certain low threshold of complexity. It gives something of the feel of a limited parser game without actually being one.

The game's text has an emphasis on providing backstory and characterization, largely eliding physical descriptions of the scene outside of a few key objects. This is done skillfully -- at first I did not notice the style, because room description text provides introductory exposition as the player gets familiar with the situation. Should the lack of detail become noticeable, that is a cue the player should simplify the approach being taken. The object implementation is spare enough that, should imagination fail, even brute force approaches are likely to pay off within a reasonable number of commands.

Quite a lot of work has been put into creating a smooth and seamless play experience. New players will benefit from many "invisible" parts of the system that are designed to support that goal. First and foremost are >FIND and >GO TO verbs that make navigation as simple as can be. Object disambiguation is handled with a numbered selection that makes it very clear how the parser is "thinking," and that in combination with very descriptive error messages will rapidly train a new player in the preferred method of interaction. More subtly, the game design itself ensures a sharp focus on specific goals at all times, even during the middle game when one has a choice of order in which to pursue subgoals. Lastly, the introductory scene offers a tutorial voice that is sure to help total newbies get started with a parser, though it is extraneous to someone familiar with the form.

My initial impulse is to give this game four stars, which translates roughly as "distinctly above average" and/or "highly recommended" in my rating scale, but there are a couple of minor shortcomings that keep it just below that threshold. One of the segments (Spoiler - click to show)(involving identifying a rosebush of blooms with a particular color) does not feel as well-implemented as the others. (Spoiler - click to show)Specifically, although a point is awarded when the correct actions have been taken, the player is not notified about which rosebush is correct and must deduce it from some diagrams. This is not difficult, but neither is it particularly interesting, and stylistically it is out of step with the rest of the work by adding even a speck of unnecessary friction. Also, the multiple locations of the tea garden just seem "deader" than other parts of the house from a writing perspective; they are restricted to repetitive descriptions of largely undifferentiated locations with few objects. Perhaps less important but worthy of adjustment is the pacing in the final scene. (Spoiler - click to show)It took several tries to work out the correct move to trigger a win, and it felt very arbitrary that it should by that move which does so. Repeated barking should be just as effective given the situation, and would be the low-friction option to conclude the game after the real puzzle has been solved. As a final nitpick, it would be nice to be able to turn off the tutorial mode at the beginning. (Note that any or all of these criticisms may have been negated in release 2, which was recently posted.)

I'm going to go ahead and round up a bit for my star rating, though I'll hold off on letting it count toward the average in the hopes of a post-comp release to sand off the handful of remaining rough edges. In the meantime, I do very much recommend this piece to anyone looking for a bit of fun, and I would even suggest it (with reference to the provided hints, if needed) as a first experience with IF for someone who likes the murder mystery genre. My hat is off to Stelzer for creating a first-class introductory work easily on a par with Infocom's best of that type. Bravo!

[Note: It turns out that much of the preceding unintentionally -- but almost exactly -- echoes an off-site review by PB Parjeter, which was written prior to this and to which I've added a link on the game's page here. I guess that's evidence that the observations are well-founded!]

This is another game that I would most likely have skipped if it weren't for the Free IF Playoffs. The moment I see "dating sim" in the description of a game, my interest drops to zero. Still, the intriguing provenance of this game, which was apparently produced by an outsider who has never participated in the online community, was enough to warrant at least loading it up.

With a blithe disregard for the tags on IFDB or other reviews (which I like to read after I've tried a work), I did so. My minimal interest was not increased by the Harry Potter-like feel of the opening chapter. A short time later, the game seemed like it was going to be over before it had even begun. Interest took an uptick when it became clear that what seemed like an end was actually just the beginning.

Here's where we get to the spoilery part, and like other reviewers, I recommend that you play the game before proceeding.

This is a time-loop game, and in terms of story structure it is well done. I agree with Passerine that author E. Jade Lomax has an excellent sense of how to anticipate changes to the player's viewpoint over time in a way that works well, though I felt that it failed to adequately convey how the protagonist must have felt after enough loops to span a normal human lifetime and more. After a period of exploration, one necessarily begins to treat each iteration as a chance to conduct one or two key experiments in how to affect the timeline. (Spoiler - click to show)As a memorable in-game description of science puts it, the player begins the process of "grinding the particles of the world down to answers and making new questions with them." The way that the description of events changes with the growing understanding of the total situation is remarkably smoothly implemented.

It does seem as though the opportunities for significant change are few and far between, but this is something of a necessity in a time loop of such scale. This is Groundhog Day writ large -- a Groundhog Decade or more. The time loop trope seems inherently more powerful in interactive fiction, where the player must guide the protagonist's discoveries and planning instead of being a mere observer, and Lomax explores many interesting ethical questions along the way. To achieve the implicit objective, the PC must become an interloper who lies, steals, commits acts of destruction that likely result in the death of innocents (and certainly result in large-scale destruction of property), and more. (At least, it seemed like that was the case; perhaps there are options to avoid such questionable trade-offs.) Are the "failed" timelines inherently unreal? Do your harmful actions somehow not count in them? Do the ends truly justify the means when trying to "win" the game?

In addition to the big questions, there are smaller ones. For example, a key NPC will more likely than not (Spoiler - click to show)go on a magic-induced rampage at a pivotal event early on, killing several people and possibly the PC. At a "later" point in the game, the player is presented with a choice that effectively asks whether or not to forgive her for something that she hasn't done in this cycle. Are you judging her for who she is in the here-and-now, or what you know she could be under the wrong circumstances? This question isn't new to time travel tropes, but it felt new here, stressing the way that both the player's and protagonist's perspectives shift due to the "outsider" viewpoint being experienced.

The "key scenes only" approach sometimes feels limiting. I would have loved a more fine-grained treatment of the plot -- one that starts to answer the in-game question (Spoiler - click to show)"How much are you changing things, by breathing and walking and sometimes being a little late for breakfast in unrepeatable patterns? How much is just the universe's randomness?" -- but I recognize that the complexity being managed is already quite large. The choice interface seems like an appropriate decision -- it's hard to imagine the same game with a parser. (Hadean Lands is the closest thing to it, but it has no need to implement NPCs.) To be sure, I'm probably underestimating the total complexity -- my own play took several hours but was far from a completist run, since I opted out of every romance thread. (A special hat tip to the author here: I truly appreciated that "none of the above" was an option for the romance subplots.) Since the PC can develop close but non-romantic relationships with various NPCs, it's clear that that the alleged dating sim aspect is driven by the author's diligence in exploring the potential of what RadioactiveCrow's review calls the "human connections" of the situation space.

This game is very good, but I'm going with 3 stars instead of 4 because there are a few places where it slipped a gear (i.e. seemed to be responding to things that had not happened or had happened differently, due to errors in state-tracking). The writing is a bit flat, as well, with a workman-like functional quality that doesn't always do justice to the scenes being portrayed. Relatively small improvements in either of those aspects would have gotten it over the edge. I definitely recommend this game both as an enjoyable play experience and as a rewarding subject of study in the craft of interactive fiction.

[Full Disclosure: I know the author of this work personally, and I served as a beta tester for this game.]

"I don't want to play in a world where I can't kick a pirate using karate." So said Janet Murray, author of Hamlet on the Holodeck, in a 1988 article about Plundered Hearts (MIT Technology Review, May/June 1988, p. 16). Well, Janet... it took almost 35 years, but your cri du coeur has been answered, and answered well!

A Matter of Heist Urgency is an unusual offering. Rooted in a series of silly short stories written for a grade schooler who enjoys horses and superheroes, it was developed into a short game as a fun way of introducing that grade schooler to interactive fiction. Having reached about 25,000 words in size and a level of playability that was very newbie-friendly, it was then further developed to be an entry in IF Comp 2022, doubling its word count in the process. The result is a fast-paced, smoothly-flowing, and very amusing short game that has been favorably compared to a Saturday morning kids' cartoon.

The game is "puzzleless" in the sense that there is nothing intended to impede the story's progression to its successful conclusion. By the same token, it is "merciful" on the Zarfian scale -- the player may be left with varying degrees of satisfaction at the outcome, but the player character cannot die or even really lose. That said, the game does reward engagement, and there is some light thinking to be done in order to achieve the highest rankings, which are issued at the end of the game even though there is no formal score. (To be less ambiguous, I should instead say that the game has no point rewards; it does indeed have a musical score.)

Critical reception in the context of the competition was mixed. The "marketing materials" (i.e. cover and blurb) developed for the game emphasize the word "heist" in the title, which may set genre expectations of a complex puzzling-solving exercise involving tight timing and intricate details. (This perception may also be reinforced by the blurb's claim of a "robust" hint system, though in hindsight that is clearly tongue-in-cheek.) In contrast, the cover illustration depicts cartoon horses and a pirate ship, and the blurb characterizes the game as "a delightfully short action-comedy" with "intense fights with kung-fu llamas," so arguably it delivers exactly what it says on the tin.

The humor of the piece is its strong point, but it is also perhaps idiosyncratic. Players seem to decide whether or not the game appeals to them very quickly, beginning with their perception of the pun in the title. Much of the humor depends on juxtaposition: The illustration of Anastasia as a rainbow-maned equine invites a comparison to "My Little Pony," but the way the plot plays out is closer to "The A-Team."

The game's tone is unapologetically playful, and it works best when approached in a playful mood. The setting is essentially the Land of Make Believe, which you may recall spending time in as a child. Character archetypes are deployed without any consideration for historical accuracy; instead they are chosen to evoke a specific mood and expectations in the player. This creates a fluid version of in-game reality that can subject the player to surprises(Spoiler - click to show) (a pirate with a jetpack??) but still feels consistent in the sense of keeping the scenario and the interaction fun.

Personally, I have found the game to be very enjoyable, even through many replays, because there are countless details in the implementation that reward you for poking around by responding with small jokes. I am especially impressed by one of the new scenes added post-competition (in release 5): It is a very "cinematic" flashback sequence using a method of synchronized music and text that I hadn't encountered elsewhere, though a similar technique was later employed in Little Match Girl 4. (Note that this scene is shown only if you are victorious in the first fight; if you lose, you instead get to play a very funny interlude from the protagonist's early training.)

As you have no doubt gathered by now, this is not a "serious" piece. However, its development was taken seriously by the author, first with the intention of creating a memorable and enjoyable introduction to interactive fiction, then with the intention of crafting a light-hearted and diverting short experience for judges working through a field of entries that generally strive for more literary merit.

Given my involvement, it's not appropriate to let my star rating count toward the average, but I give it high marks due to its very good implementation quality, memorable and amusing characters, and judicious use of sound. I encourage everyone looking for a half hour of pure entertainment to give this piece a try. I also highly encourage use of a sound-capable interpreter, which is essential for appreciating the scene-enhancing music and the special flashback sequence mentioned above.

This work feels much more like a "hacking game" than what would typically be called interactive fiction. The game has a graphical user interface, and the only text entry to be done by the player takes the form of multi-digit numbers. A sort of limited choice-like player input is also accepted via button-clicking to initiate or respond to messages from NPCs. The fact that all significant narrative events are depicted via text arguably places it somewhere at the outskirts of the form. It doesn't feel quite out-of-bounds to qualify as IF to me; your mileage may vary.

The world of the game is a strange one, a kind of alternate 1980s much like our own but in which (Spoiler - click to show)early breakthroughs in computer science had developed truly self-aware AIs. The most far-fetched component of the plot is the idea that such a program could run on a 16-bit home computer.

As other reviewers have noted, the author goes to great lengths to capture the feel of the BBS era despite having no firsthand familiarity with it, even accurately portraying the sounds of the dialup sequence for 1200/2400 baud modems. This work may have some value just as a kind of "living history" display, making it easier for those who grew up with the internet to appreciate its technological roots.

The overall plot is relatively constrained. The early parts of gameplay have a richness to the NPC userbase that rapidly falls off as the main plot gets going. Gameplay options are expanded over time as new programs become available, but their implementation is limited to the need to run them at certain times; fundamental gameplay is not altered. The pacing is rather too quick for my taste after the first act, robbing a significant twist of much of its intended impact. Based on the order in which some messages were received, I may have gone through key events in an unanticipated sequence, so again your mileage may vary.

Despite these significant flaws, I admire the work done on the interface and did find it to be an enjoyable short play experience.

Note that although this game is tagged as "queer" on IFDB, that seems to have no relation to gameplay. Although an interpersonal relationship is an important part of the plot, it is handled in an entirely abstract and non-sexual way.

Although choice-based games aren't my usual fare, this work by Victor Gijsbers was loads of fun to play. In turns humorous and serious, grandiose and self-deprecating, the writing quality has an incisive cleverness and ribald wit that strongly reminds me of Shakespeare. (Admittedly, most of my study of Shakespeare was compulsory, but to my high school English teacher's credit, he made us genuinely appreciate the good parts.)

Characters portrayed this well, in the context of a story this absorbing, make it easy to forget that you're "playing" this "game." The main character was not one with which I identified much, but it didn't matter; it gave the work the flavor of attending a play put on by actors so adept at reading the audience that they were adjusting the performance to heighten the drama and the comedy. I laughed out loud many times -- especially at the jokes portrayed via the presented options -- and lingered at several points to contemplate various items of philosophy espoused by the figures on the stage.

I don't think I agree with the style of morality advocated by the protagonist and princess, but to be sure they are hardly depicted as virtuous! I rather wonder whether the ending (Spoiler - click to show)prefigures bliss or tragedy for the main characters. Regardless, this is an extremely well-done bit of writing and a thoroughly enjoyable and recommended experience.

Parental advisory (in case you missed the author's warning): It does get NC-17-esque in its content at some points, so it's not well-suited for kids.

It has been 15 years since Textfyre released this work, the first in its intended lineup of introductory interactive fiction targeting a young adult audience. Although at the time it was shipped with a novel graphical user interface for playing it, the technology stack on which it was based has since aged into obsolescence, making it hard to experience the work as originally intended. Fortunately, the work itself is not lost, as David Cornelson, the moving force behind Textfyre, decided to release the game to the public in normal Glulx format after its day as a commercial offering was done.

It took me some time to pin down the reason why I was so disappointed by this game, which is that it systematically reneges on its implied commitment to the reader/player at every stage of the story. Let me explain: I believe that a well-written story engages in a kind of contract with the reader, i.e. "If you spend the time to experience me, I will make it worth the time that you spend." This is the basic idea behind the dramatic principle of Chekhov's Gun, i.e. that the author shouldn't place a potentially plot-significant item into the scene without making it plot-significant in some way -- by placing it within the fictional world the author cues the reader to think about it, think about its potential uses, and watch with anticipatory tension for which of those potentials will be realized. There are many methods by which a good story cues the reader to certain expectations, with the implicit promise that it will later either fulfill those expectations or deny them with deliberate artistic intent.

Again and again, Jack Toresal and the Secret Letter implies things about character, setting and plot that are simply not followed up or which are flatly contradicted later in the story. Some examples, but in no way an exhaustive list:

* (Spoiler - click to show)The player character styles herself as a top-notch street thief, but she never demonstrates those supposed skills. Every one of her thefts from market stalls is spotted. Is this intended as comedy, i.e. that she only imagines her capabilities? Is she just in such a rush that she's not using her usual subtlety? It's not clear. She later barely manages to pick a lock, seeming unused to the process.

* (Spoiler - click to show)Early characters made to seem important such as Teisha, the baker and the butcher, are never seen again despite substantial conversation menus that invite significant engagement with them. Additionally, at least one of these characters introduces an implicit subplot (the butcher's love interest in one of the PC's caretakers) that is never subsequently mentioned.

* (Spoiler - click to show)The player character's heritage is supposedly a secret, but a surprisingly large number of people in the town seem to know about it -- even the servants of the main antagonist.

The result is that there is no point at which the reader/player can properly "settle into" the story and become part of it, and thus it ultimately fails as both fiction and as interactive fiction.

As other reviewers have mentioned, the gameplay is rather devoid of actual play after the first chapter, which involves the player character escaping from a group of ill-intentioned mercenaries in pursuit in a crowded marketplace. Upon reaching the end and looking back, there were only three things that seemed to count as puzzles in the whole game(Spoiler - click to show): the escape from the market, refinding the secret entrance to get into the ball, and optionally escaping from your bonds in the climax scene. In a work that has about 140,000 words of source code, that's surprisingly few, and of the three, only the first feels properly designed for its target audience. (Spoiler - click to show)(The second is obvious enough to an experienced player, but I would expect some fraction of newbies to get stuck. The solution for the third just doesn't really make sense given the described physical situation. While solving it is technically optional, failing to do so results in a wholly unsatisfactory ending.) The first chapter implies that the rest of the game will be gated with similar light puzzles, but it presents the "hardest" mandatory puzzle of the entire game. Functionally, this makes it the climax of the game part -- which in the long run leaves the game feeling over before it started.

On the plus side, Michael Gentry's writing is very good. At the microscale of words, phrases and sentences, it keeps one's interest and keeps one reading. I doubt that I would have managed to finish the entire game if it weren't for the steady reward of being able to read another paragraph by that very skilled author. The IFDB entry lists both David Cornelson and Gentry (of Anchorhead fame) as authors. I can't be certain, but my impression is that Mr. Gentry was more or less writing to spec for this game, with the story and puzzle design largely originating with Mr. Cornelson.

One very interesting design element was the way that NPC conversations in Chapter 2 imply the passage of time as the player character moves west-to-east through the town for the first time. The earliest conversation with the baker has an out-of-breath tone reflecting the fact that the PC has just escaped the market, while later conversations imply that there has been time for the PC to calm down and rumors of the happenings at the market to make their way along the grapevine to the other side of town. It seems a risky device -- I'm not sure that the conversations are responsive to the actual order in which they occur, so it counts on the human player following the path of least resistance -- but the writing does a great job of guiding the player along the intended path.

On the minus side, the implementation of NPC conversations as a whole is particularly poor in this work, for the most part amounting to little more than the menuization of an ASK/TELL model over a relatively small set of standard topics. Only a handful of choices result in additional context-sensitive branches of the conversation, and this for only one or two successive replies at most. The result encourages a repetitive lawnmower approach that eats up time without offering much in return beyond extensive confirmation and reconfirmation of certain background information. One of my co-players joked that the PC seemed to be secretly conducting political polling for the fictional town's upcoming election.

About that election, which is central to the plot: It is very hard to suspend one's disbelief enough to experience any tension. The ostensible political situation is the fulcrum on which the whole plot balances, but it took me and my co-players quite a while to figure out how it made any sense at all. (Spoiler - click to show)(The PC is the daughter of a well-liked but long-gone regional leader... but so what? Are we really to believe that an unacknowledged, illegitimate daughter would be given the slightest consideration during a vote by an insular aristocracy? Or that mysterious beneficial forces would be content to let the naif whom they are backing wander through the volatile political scene without firm guidance?) Direct lampshading of the plot issues in later scenes doesn't actually resolve them, and in the end the entire plot seems to be chucked aside as irrelevant in a cliffhanger conclusion implying that much deeper political machinations are underway -- leaving the player unsure about what the point of it all was.

This game is historically significant and worth studying, but I can't say that either I or my co-players particularly enjoyed it. Anyone enticed by the premise of young adult interactive fiction in a fantasy setting may be better off exploring another work -- perhaps Textfyre's second release The Shadow in the Cathedral or the relatively recent The Princess of Vestria. (Yes, the latter is written in Twine, but really there is little about this work that leverages the parser.)

Chlorophyll is an almost rock-solid young adult science fiction "light puzzler" that emphasizes the relative importance of writing skill over coding skill when it comes to creating memorable and intriguing IF. Even though it generally sticks to the most basic verbs and object types, it is a thoroughly enjoyable work that adroitly blends story and puzzle in a carefully-crafted balance. The result is a rare treat to experience as a player.

This the second piece that I've played from author Steph Cherrywell, following her better-known Zozzled. To me, this work is far superior to the celebrated 2019 award-winner. What Chlorophyll has in spades that its successor lacks is a fine-tuned thematic unity, which is essential to creating a compelling and engaging play experience.

The setting is rooted in the idea that, somewhere in the universe, vegetation has developed mobility and sentience, then subsequently evolved into a humanoid form. The player character is such a humanoid, but other than the green skin and attendant consequences with respect to metabolism, she is portrayed as a pretty typical pre-teen. This is possible because the culture of the plant people, who are called Xylloids, is more or less indistinguishable from the modern Western lifestyle.

Does this sound like a failure of the imagination on the part of the author? It is not -- very clearly the sci-fi aspect is just window-dressing for the narrative half of the game, which is an adventure story caught in that awkward stage of being halfway grown into a coming-of-age story. See Emily Short's review for more on this; the more substantive craft here pretty much escaped me since I wasn't the target audience. Nonetheless, the adventure story hooked me easily and got me to engage with the game half of the story.

It's there, in the game part, that the sci-fi premise shines. Who wants light puzzles and hunger puzzles in games today? Cherrywell's inspiration to combine the two as a natural consequence of the premise is nothing short of genius in my view, showing off a Plotkin-like ability to reinvigorate old tropes. As the review by Sam Kabo Ashwell notes, this novelty does not overstay its welcome, and its retirement from the player's list of concerns is very skillfully combined with a significant story beat. (This is an example of the highest-quality craft in that it was perfectly invisible to me as a player. It's only in retrospect and after having it pointed out that I am admiring this brilliant touch.)

Cherrywell's instincts with respect to exposition and characterization are laudable, as well. As others have noted, these are delivered on a steady drip-feed that rewards the mundane exploration required to find and take the measure of the puzzles. There's not a text dump in sight, and although another reviewer found the introductory sequence to be too long, I gauge it to be just about right for a beginner player -- enough turns to experiment with basic verbs like >EXAMINE and >INVENTORY without devolving into >Z.Z.Z. I particularly liked the way that the base comes into view and then is briefly out of view again -- a tiny touch that injects an element of dynamism into a scene serving primarily to characterize the protagonist's mother. (That characterization is a building block needed to enable the incipient crisis to create any tension at all, and I am again admiring in retrospect how deftly Cherrywell juggles competing needs in this sequence.)

None of the other reviewers seem to have noted that there are two winning paths through the game: one "bad" (i.e. rule-breaking) and one "good" (i.e. rule-following). The game is scoreless and has only one significant ending, so it doesn't really matter which path one takes. (The situation is such that the required rule-breaking is justified, in any case.)

This game isn't perfect. I agree with reviewer Tristano that the climax was a bit too abrupt, especially after the apparently false foreshadowing of (Spoiler - click to show)the Polithea action figure armor vest accessory and the option for a "tough" leafcut at the salon. A better action sequence for it would have been an improvement to me, but again I don't think I was the target audience. There were also some minor bugs, most notably (Spoiler - click to show)a >USE verb that is non-functional and text spacing issues of the type that Inform 7 is prone to create, and some other small issues, e.g. a lack of exit descriptions in places and a critical path puzzle solution that requires a command that smacks of the era of two-word parsers. (Spoiler - click to show)(For replacing the fuse in the underwater area, it's only necessary to (Spoiler - click to show)>UNSNAG FUSE after having brought it along in the tunnel roller.) These flaws are vastly outweighed by the overall execution. There are also a couple of bits of adult-oriented humor, but these are done well in that they are likely to go over the heads of small kids and to be only half-understood by savvier older kids. If you have concerns about these, then avoid (Spoiler - click to show)the encrypted file on the mother's computer and the engineer's calendar in the engine control room, but they are no worse than PG-13.

I recently waxed poetic about Alias, 'The Magpie' as an avatar of the subconscious Infocom ideal. This game is also an exceptionally good expression of that style, and I agree with Mathbrush that Chlorophyll would have made an excellent addition to their beginner line. Works like this are strategically important for introducing younger generations to interactive fiction, and this work is certainly going into my file of games to recommend to newcomers.

Just as a side note: I give rankings based more on a power law than a bell curve, and 4 stars means truly excellent on my scale. If you are considering playing this work and are in the mood for something in the sci-fi YA zone, I definitely recommend that you try it.

As the title promises, this game begins with the player character about to engage in a sword duel. As soon becomes clear, the word "duel" is perhaps the wrong choice, because the PC is vastly outmatched by the opponent, known as The Countess. I came close to quitting at this point, because the work presents itself as a "one move" game. However, within a handful of cycles it is revealed that the PC has certain abilities that make it possible to evade certain death.

This game serves up thin slices of rich world-building with its vivid and evocative prose. The universe vaguely resembles ours with notable exceptions. First, everyone seems to be a hermaphrodite in the vein of Ursula K. LeGuin's 1969 novel The Left Hand of Darkness. Second, magic of some sort is real, in that the protagonist is able to perform impossible feats such as (Spoiler - click to show)flying to the moon. Third, the PC has the extraordinary capacity to move about in time as well as space, which is the core mechanic by which the story progresses.

Despite a limited range of locations and significant actions, this piece presents many contemplative and memorable moments to the player, and also many interesting experiments to the would-be author. In particular, a variety of NPC conversation styles are implemented, including a unique menu-driven interface with options phrased around question words (e.g. who, what, when, etc.) and a stripped-down enter-the-topic prompt that I found to be a remarkably smooth improvement over ASK/TELL. A very large number of endings are possible, too, giving it some replay value, which is welcome in a game this short.

Regrettably, the story is at certain points needlessly transgressive, apparently for no purpose other than shock value. It's rather a shame, because it limits my ability to recommend this otherwise exceptional work. Even though it is not suitable for young adults, it's well within bounds as fare for grown-ups, so if you're comfortable with NC-17 movies, you probably won't blink at this. For a more widely recommendable work by the same author, see Toby's Nose.

I admit: Everything about this game's packaging and presentation turned me off. The cartoon scroll, the Harry Potter font, the word "Junior" in the title -- all of it screamed "edutainment for kids" to me. I saw that it had picked up a XYZZY in 2018 for Best Puzzles, but I didn't give that much credence. I figured the voting crowd had a soft spot for kids that year or something -- a lot of math people seem to like IF, after all.

I am pleased to say that I was wholly, categorically wrong about this work by Mike Spivey. While it is a game rooted in math, it's math of the most basic sort, with nothing beyond late grade school level required. The crux of the game is purely logic-based and more closely resembles assembly language programming than anything else.

One has to give credit to Spivey for his design skills here. The simple setup quickly hooked me with its engaging "commentary" from the evaluating professors, and quite a lot of effort was put into showing the ropes to the disoriented new player in a seamless manner that is embedded in the fiction. Once I began to catch on to how the game is played, I was well-hooked by the combination of new "spell" rewards and acerbic commentary on erosion of academia in the game world -- an aspect by which the art reflects life in modern times.

The most impressive thing about the design is how smoothly the difficulty curve escalates, with appropriate variation in the challenge level as new capabilities are unlocked. This is just great game design, and it does an excellent job of leading the player ever onward to greater and greater challenges. In a concession to IF Comp's design criteria, the player is able to end the game at any time, with the most natural exit points being after having passed the exam either by majority or unanimous vote of the three-person evaluation committee. This also acts as a courtesy to the player, leaving those who aren't inherent point maximizers able to walk away with a feeling of accomplishment.

I'd recommend this game to anyone who likes a mental challenge, and I'd very much recommend this game as an introduction to IF for the type of person who enjoys the puzzles that one would find in Games magazine or the like. It makes an easy stepping stone to other games like Suveh Nux or any of the many games that adopt the Enchanter spell system.

Every so often I come across a work that plays so well that I think to myself: "This is the kind of game that Infocom secretly dreamed of producing."

To be sure, it really wasn't possible to produce a work like Alias, 'The Magpie' in Infocom's time. For starters, the game file is several times larger than would have been viable back then -- with the Glulx executable taking up just shy of 1.6MB, it wouldn't have fit on a standard 3.5-inch "floppy" for PCs, let alone on any of the various 8-bit micros in use during the mid-80s. That's not to mention that the Glulx virtual machine and Inform 7 are both light years beyond their historical counterparts (the Z-Machine and ZIL, respectively). However, I'm convinced that a text-based play experience like this one is the half-conceived ideal that lurked in the back of the mind of everyone working in the games group there, as well as the mind of every player of their products. It is, as Christopher Huang puts it: "damn-well near exactly what I come to IF hoping to find."

I'm having trouble expressing my appreciation for what author J. J. Guest has achieved with this piece in a manner that doesn't repeat observations from other reviews. Shall I extoll its high-quality writing (mentioned by 5 others), how polished and well-implemented it is as a program (4 others), its exceedingly fair puzzle design (4 others), or how just plain funny it is (4 others)? How it's like being in a Pink Panther movie (3 others) or a Wodehouse novel (3 others), or how it made me laugh out loud (3 others)? This game is truly remarkable! It's a perfect example of what parser games can be when done well: cleverly-conceived, nearly flawless in execution, engaging, entertaining, player-friendly as can be, threaded throughout with restrained but deft humor, and featuring a puzzle structure that emerges unobtrusively from the situation presented and is responsive to real-world logic. So much thought and work has gone into the kinds of small touches in writing and programming that are practically invisible unless one is watching carefully for them, but which collectively (and expertly) snare your attention and draw you in to become part of the story instead of a mere observer of it. I've heard it said that the mark of a true master is that they make what they do look easy; Guest does that here on a nearly constant basis, and this work places him firmly among the ranks of the New Implementors in my mind.

In particular, I agree with the praise from Ade McT, Sam Kabo Ashwell and others regarding the implementation of NPCs. NPCs are hard, and these are superbly done. Their actions and conversations react to the environment and situational history in myriad ways that together do a much better job than average of presenting them as other actual characters in the story, and which grant the setting a "sense of the place being alive," as Ashwell expressed.

If you know someone who doesn't "get" interactive fiction, this work would be an excellent introduction to the format, assuming that the newcomer likes witty writing and slightly absurdist situational comedy bordering on slapstick. This work is a welcome addition to my "great first game to recommend" list.

There are a few places where the implementation is not quite as polished, and even (to my surprise), a genuine bug or two. (Spoiler - click to show)(The only one that leaps to mind is an error when interacting with Leghorn; the game reported that he had left, but he still appeared in the room description after that... though it didn't seem possible to interact with him.) These are so surprising by contrast that they become the exceptions that prove the rule -- in a work as sincere as this one, such minor imperfections serve only to accentuate its excellence everywhere else.

As those who follow my reviews know, I am unusually stingy with my star ratings. It takes a *lot* to rank as a five-star game in my book -- it means that the work is the best in its category or otherwise qualifies as a landmark in the form. Despite its minor flaws, I have no reservation granting a five-star rating to Alias, 'The Magpie' which is surely destined to be considered a classic for many years to come.

It has been many years since I played the first installment of the Earth and Sky series. That episode seemed to do perfectly well as a standalone entity. Although certain mysteries were left open at the end of episode 1, it is, after all, consciously modeled after comic books, which are usually designed to be satisfying as single installments while leaving various plot elements unresolved.

For comic books, the desire to sell interested readers another issue is a clear motivation for this style of story-telling. For freely distributed labors of love, the style's purpose is less clear. Given that the original did not seem to require any continuation in order to accomplish its narrative goals, I wondered why author Paul O'Brian went on to create two sequels. Having finally played all the last installment, it's apparent that the story arc of the three epsiodes was planned out from the start as a single, integrated whole. There is evidence for this both large and small. A cryptic note found in the opening scene of the first episode makes perfect sense in the context of knowledge gained in episodes 2 and 3, for example, and the flow of pacing and action works much better for the two sequels when they are considered together instead of individually.

I agree with Mr. Patient's review that this work was not quite as satisfying of a conclusion to the series as I had hoped for, and for the same reason that this work feels incomplete. The perfunctory puzzle structure is so lightweight that it often serves only to slow down the action; it's certainly not meaty enough to satisfy someone who wants real puzzles. It almost seems as though O'Brian was trying to reconcile fundamentally incompatible objectives by including them at all, i.e. trying to balance the basically puzzle-free style of the first episode with the more traditional style of the second. A part of me wonders how the story would play if it had been created as a single large game instead of three shorter works -- such a structure certainly would have granted license for an obstruction-free ending sequence in which the story is carried to its dramatic conclusion, while still satisfying puzzle-seekers with part two's exploration of the planetoid. (It would probably also have been too large for IF Comp, so in that case it may never have been made at all.)

Looking over the awards-and-honors data on the series, I find it very interesting that episodes 2 and 3 each took first place in their respective IF Comps, while the first episode managed only 8th place. In part, this seems to be a function of weaker competition -- many leading lights of the IF world sat out both the 8th and 10th IF Comps. However, it's also clear that O'Brian's skill as a programmer and system designer improved noticeably over the course of the three episodes' development, and this third installment was a genuine achievement in the Inform 6 era. As other reviewers note, it is essentially bug-free, and O'Brian put in plentiful good work to support the technical innovation of being able to freely switch between the sibling protagonists. (Spoiler - click to show)(Regarding bugs: I did note a very minor one during the fight with the "simian hunters" -- after "freeing" one of them, the text produced while freeing the other seemed to assume that the first still needed to be freed and repeated the actions.) Perhaps surprisingly from a modern perspective, the second installment (which I found to be the weakest as a standalone episode while playing it last year) received the most enthusiastic community response, being nominated in six categories and winning Best Use of Medium. The third installment received more muted treatment, garnering only two nominations and no wins. I'm not sure what to make of this, other than to note that the second installment is the most traditionally puzzle-oriented of the three -- perhaps it's primarily an artifact of the old school bias that puzzles are a central measure (even the central measure) of quality in a work of IF.

I originally rated the game as three stars, but I'm upping that to four stars in recognition of this episode's context within the series as a whole. I do think that the trilogy achieves something notable by popularizing fast-paced action sequences and excelling in its design of player affordances for the type of story that it tells. I would recommend it to anyone as a decent introduction to IF suitable for older children (or just the young at heart). I would recommend to players starting the series that they plan to enjoy all three episodes in quick succession over a few evenings -- it's easy to forget details that are occasionally relevant to dialog in later installments.

Heroes is a delightful old-school fantasy-style work that took 3rd place in the 2001 IF Comp (following All Roads and Moments Out of Time) and received XYZZY nominations (but not wins) for Best Setting and Best Use of Medium. Much has been written in other reviews about what motivated these nominations: the game's novel mechanic (the ability to play through a scenario as five different PCs) and the quality of the writing, which captures the feel of an RPG like Dungeons & Dragons while structuring gameplay via tropes common to Infocom's works.

The prose and puzzle design are both of very good quality, working together to draw the player into the mindset of each PC and develop the story in a nonlinear fashion as the player moves through the sequence of roles. The framing story is more suggested than explained, and on careful review it doesn't seem to quite hang together as a unified whole; certain facts gathered through direct observation and hearsay are in contradiction with each other. It hardly matters, anyway, because the back story largely concerns two characters that are known by each PC but who share very little "screen time" between them. On the whole the framing story feels grafted on, but it can be ignored in order to focus on and enjoy the various vignettes.

The variety of play styles presented are in general well-supported by the mechanics of the implementation in addition to the writing. Of the five stories, I found the story of the enchanter to be the most well-designed in terms of puzzle structure. It feels the most "meaty" of all of the scenarios, too, and I wished that the other four had been developed to that level of depth. From a technical standpoint, the story of the thief was also quite interesting -- a strict but game-appropriate inventory limit is offset by the fact that the PC carries various items of equipment tucked away on his person so that they are always available for use. As another reviewer noted, the premise of the "royal" PC's scenario is quite funny; I actually laughed aloud as the gaggle of mostly useless sycophants began to accumulate. This does end up being among the weaker scenarios, however, presumably because developing proper puzzles for it would have involved a substantial subsystem around NPC interaction and knowledge.

Although Barrett's The Weapon (released the same year) is one of the most polished and bug-free games I've come across, Heroes is not crafted to that standard. I encountered several instances in which reasonable synonyms for commands were not implemented (e.g. (Spoiler - click to show)you can >GET X WITH Y but not >PICK UP X WITH Y), and a few bugs of the type that should have been caught with testing (e.g. (Spoiler - click to show)the stomachful of acid that can be dropped and picked up like any normal item). Twice I resorted to the walkthroughs; once was for a guess-the-verb/syntax scenario, and once was for a puzzle whose fairness is arguable. ((Spoiler - click to show)The barrel in the pawn shop is made of metal. Only one of the five PCs will notice this, and not the one for whom it is the most salient fact.)

Despite these rough spots, I found this game to be very entertaining. The effort of keeping the "same" scenario fresh through five different versions of the key events was not trivial, but the work paid off. After completing any two of the scenarios, you are likely to be compelled to play the rest. Perhaps the enchantment of the key McGuffin -- a gem which engenders a "compulsion beyond what its mere beauty should produce" -- works upon we players as well as the PCs.

(A technical note: A slight bug can cause the initial text after "[press any key]" prompts to be overwritten by the status line. This significantly impacts the epilogue text at the end of the game. The bug is negated by the Bocfel interpreter included with Gargoyle, so I recommend that interpreter be used to play this game.)

OK, technically it's a house, not an apartment, but Moments Out of Time is one of the most interesting "my apartment" games that I've encountered. You play an AFGNCAAP "StreamDiver," someone authorized to conduct research into the the past via time travel. As the game begins, you are preparing for your "dive," which will be to a typical suburban home in the not-too-distant future from our player perspective, in order to collect what data you can about the inhabitants and their lives. The opening does a very good job of selling the setting, orienting the player to the goal, and instilling some urgency in both the short and long terms.

The prose is above average. The PC's clinical, semi-academic perspective on objects in the house serves both as exposition about the world of the far future and as commentary on modern life. The clinical tone does an excellent job of making the player feel both somewhat alien and at home at the same time, and its punctuation by occasional restrained eagerness characterizes the PC in a way that promotes player identification with the role. The technique creates an excellent pacing for the exposition, moving naturally in tandem with the player's own curiosity.

The high-level design of the setting is very well-conceived, and it creates many fortuitous excuses for the constrained gameplay. Causal contamination is a paramount concern for StreamDivers, but since the study site is about to be destroyed in a war, worries about such minor issues as the location of objects in what will soon be a pile of scorched rubble are alleviated. The greater fear is contact with inhabitants of the local time, which justifies limiting your interaction with the past to the house itself -- even looking out windows is off-limits, on the off chance that you are seen. NPCs are almost nonexistent, and the one conversation featured in the game is a no-nonsense debriefing of your mission that lends itself well to the clipped, keyword-driven responses that will be required of the PC.

Although the environment is mostly static, there are some dynamic elements that add interest over the course of the 12-hour study period being allowed. There is a good chance that when (Spoiler - click to show)a nearby explosion seals off an area or (Spoiler - click to show)a looter shows up and makes off with various items you will find yourself unexpectedly locked out of a portion of the residence, inhibiting your exploration and sealing off some details needed to get a full picture of what's going on. Although we, as players, are of course able to restart the game whenever we like, in-universe this will be the only chance to visit the site for the protagonist, who is constantly aware of the dwindling time remaining -- a limit enforced both by the fictional technology and an impending nuclear attack.

The mid-level design is also excellent. The techno-gadgets that the PC is allowed to bring along are interesting and well-implemented. The fact that only some of these toys can be taken with you into the past is a very artificial constraint that, as other reviewers have noted, serves primarily to enforce the need to replay the game in order to get a complete understanding of the situation being studied. (My advice is to bring the (Spoiler - click to show)autokey and the scan chip along on a first attempt.) The fact that the "rule of thumb" scoring system applied by the PC as the game progresses only loosely correlates to the "official" score based on the PC's performance in the final interview is clever, and neither is particularly well-correlated to the subjective satisfaction level obtained by the player. It does not seem possible to score the implied maximum of any of these in a single playthrough.

The low-level design suffers from numerous flaws. Object implementation is not as rich as it could be, and certainly sparer than expected given the apparent level of craft put into higher levels of design. In certain places, objects in rooms are not mentioned in the description; I found out about them only through console functions or unexpected disambiguation prompts. In many cases, specific verbs are required for interaction in a manner that I frequently found non-intuitive. Although it's true that the story provides a justification for everything to be well-secured (the house having recently been evacuated), the number of locked doors still seemed excessive, and the "treasure hunt" aspect of finding keys was (to me) unrewarding. The number of encrypted messages encountered, while partially justified by the associated character's personality, also seems artificially large; most teenagers would simply not write down anything they were so worried about someone else knowing. There also seem to be lingering significant bugs -- for example, I found that I could not (Spoiler - click to show)get access to one of the computers without the interface chip, even though the game supposedly lets you discover the password.

As another reviewer notes, the level of drama exhibited by the family under study is surprisingly high, with a convincing "reality TV" feel to the glimpses given. Willing suspension of disbelief is strained in places by the over-exuberant deployment of certain tropes (e.g. (Spoiler - click to show)boy genius inventor). My interest sharply peaked after encountering (Spoiler - click to show)evidence of another time traveler who potentially originates in an alternate future than yours, but (Spoiler - click to show)this seems to have been only a red herring (or possibly setup for the sequel, which I have not played). The rest of the story (Spoiler - click to show)ultimately doesn't amount to very much other than titillating teen drama.

Jeremy Douglass wrote in "Command Lines: Aesthetics and Technique in Interactive Fiction and New Media": "[T]he preemptive understanding of interactive works imparted by criticism is almost unavoidably destructive, both in the aesthetic sense and in the way it excises the experiences of ambiguity, exploration, and frustration. Where works are constituted by what the player does not yet know, as with mystery and suspense, this prevents the work." I have used extra spoiler tags in this review for just that reason; the whole point of this work is the experience of exploration. This game is one of the best I have seen at shaping the "ambiguity, exploration and frustration" that will constitute the player experience in an intuitive but subconscious way, via selection of mutually-exclusive tools to be taken along on the dive. By trusting your gut in choosing the loadout the first time, you automatically customize the play experience to minimize the kinds of interactions you don't like while leaving a level of challenge that you will find acceptable. This is the most brilliant part of the design, and my hat is off to author L. Ross Raszewski here.

The work makes use of limited multimedia in the form of sound and music. For the most part, the sound effects detract more than they enhance, and the only instance of music (played at the start of the game) seems to be a cover of the theme from (Spoiler - click to show)Terminator 2; hearing it is not essential.

While this work earned a very close second place in the 2001 IF Comp (removal of the single lowest-scoring vote would have changed history) and received more 10s from players than any other score for the first time in comp history (per the research of Greg Boettcher in "IF-Review" -- see above), it was completely ignored during the 2001 XYZZY Awards. How can this be reconciled? Personally, I would say that it's because, while many aspects of this game are very good, none of them are the best. (For example, it becomes clear at some point that in the future, humanity (Spoiler - click to show)is part of an interstellar civilization along with many races of aliens. If this were the case, one would expect the cultural impact to be of a magnitude that would manifest as more than footnotes and encyclopedia entries; the better writing choice would have been to excise this extraneous distraction.)

This work is highly recommendable as a player experience, and worth studying for its strengths and weaknesses by would-be authors. The three star rating means "good, not great" in my book, but it had the potential to score much higher. As a special note to anyone preparing to play: This game uses the Z6 format, which is the least well-supported of the Infocom formats. For the complete author-intended experience, you will need a sound-capable interpreter. At the time of this writing, Frotz is the best choice (though you may have to build the sfrotz executable yourself), but it is still playable using Gargoyle, and the experience using that interpreter should be improved in post-2023 releases based on a recent bug fix. Although I did not test it under WinFrotz, I would expect that interpreter to do a fine job, based on past experience with its excellent standards compliance. Use of one of the zblorb files available for download will avoid the need to put z6 and blb files in the same location in order to get sound.

Mother Loose is one of those games that was developed as a labor of love and then subsequently released to the world. Its public debut was via IF Comp 1998, only the fourth such competition at the time, where it placed 6th of 27. This first effort by author Irene Callaci is now largely forgotten -- its more subtle charms lost in the glare of the multiple novae (Anchorhead, Spider and Web and Photopia) that dominated the public's attention in that year.

Ms. Callaci seems to have been something of a natural in producing interactive fiction. For a first effort, especially one that the author claims was produced while learning not just Inform 6 but object-oriented programming in general, Mother Loose is a remarkably high-quality result. It has a rich level of object implementation that encourages exploration and delivers plenty of vividly descriptive prose but which nonetheless does an excellent job of focusing the player's attention on those few things that are important. It makes use of a compass display in the status bar and has a built-in menu supplying author credits, an introduction to playing IF and in-game hints. There were essentially no bugs at the coding level, and I don't recall any misspellings or typos in the text.

This work includes several NPCs reflecting various levels of programming effort. Taken together, they are practically a guided tour of the major implementation styles, ranging from the practically inert and lifeless (a lamb) to the mute and command-ignoring flavor element (a kitten) to the comic relief chatterbox (a wolf) to the well-crafted exposition vending machine (an egg) to something occasionally engaging in life-like social interactions (a little girl). Ms. Callaci's successful efforts here were recognized; this work was nominated for both Best Individual NPC and Best NPCs in the 1998 XYZZY Awards.

Puzzle implementation is by contrast much sparer. There are only handful of obstacles in the game's dozen or so rooms. However, these have multiple solutions, and the greater difficulty in solving them comes from minor guess-the-verb issues rather than from deducing what must be done. (Of particular note here is one solution to a puzzle involving the well: (Spoiler - click to show)If you try to communicate with the stuck cat, be aware that it does not understand generic commands; one can only speak to it like a real cat. Commands that specifically work include (Spoiler - click to show)>SAY HERE KITTY or >CAT, COME OUT.)

The game's greatest innovation is the way that it gently mocks standard IF tropes by categorizing all significant PC actions as either naughty or nice. It's quite funny how certain actions yield both points and disapproving remarks. In addition to the running commentary provided by the narrator, the player's choices become significant at the end of the game. It's clear that the author intended the game to be enjoyable either way, and it definitely adds some richness to the limited scenario -- I couldn't resist replaying it to try out both paths.

A minor but still interesting novelty was the way that certain NPCs seem to "take over" some of the parser's responses when they are around. Where a command like >ASCEND TREE will normally result in a message about an unrecognized verb, when the wolf is present, the game instead responds "'Huh?' The wolf raises an eyebrow." This type of interaction does not seem to have much function and may be only a side-effect of the implementation of one particular puzzle, but it has a subtle though definite effect, reorienting the player's attention to the NPCs' presence in response to fruitless experimentation.

If there is a notable weakness to this game, it's that it takes some poking around to figure out what kind of game this will be and what kinds of goals are suitable. If one lacks the old school sensibility of wanting to solve puzzles just because they're there, it would be easy to walk around for a while and then give up in frustration. (This is especially true in light of the inclusion of several prominent objects without much apparent function. Some of these may be simple flavor elements, but others suggest the leftovers of abandoned lines of development.)

With a little guidance, this work is a very good introduction to IF for children. Even without guidance, the built-in hints will probably be enough, if they are necessary at all. Modern kids may need to be introduced to the very idea of nursery rhymes before any of it starts to make sense, but, as others have noted, nothing about the gameplay requires any deep knowledge of them in order to make progress. The more kids introduced to interactive fiction early, the more players there will be in the future, and games like this are essential to creating a positive impression of the art form in young readers.

Deep Space Drifter is another historically-significant game that has aged very poorly. Its place in history seems to be roughly akin to Curses, in that it was produced by the author (Michael J. Roberts) of its development system (TADS), presumably motivated by the twin goals of producing a game of the type the author liked while also serving to exercise said system.

The first time I played this, the PC died from explosive decompression after opening the hatch that apparently connects the cockpit directly to the outside. (It was not clear from the skimpy description that yours is a single-room spaceship.) The second time I played it, the PC died of sudden asphyxiation after the ship runs out of air in 20 turns. OK, then.

There are only two meaningful actions to take in the opening vignette -- pressing two buttons. In doing so, your ship will be automatically docked to a space station that serves as the first half of the setting. Since there's nothing of interest to do on your ship, it seems that, as a matter of design, one might as well have started the story with the docking sequence already accomplished.

Within the first few turns, hunger and sleep "puzzles" announce themselves. The problems to be solved consist only of locating food items and a place to sleep. You cannot sleep in your pilot's chair pre-docking because you're too worried about your survival, but you can take a nice refreshing nap on the couch in the "main room" of the exploding space station. The primary purpose of requiring sleep seems to be to deliver a dream that will serve as a clue later on. There is no purpose to requiring food.

I guess I should have trusted my gut feeling and just abandoned this game, but I wanted to see it through, so I started to consult the walkthrough. Most everything that counts as gameplay involves overcoming simplistic "tab A in slot B" obstacles, in a setting whose realism is limited solely to creating challenge-less difficulty (such as an inventory limit, and the need to lug around a single heavy power source). As Rovarsson's review notes, even keeping hold of your inventory is an annoyance in itself. Most old school games in this vein interject plenty of humor as a consolation for the frustration created by the arbitrary roadblocks, but the humor here is restricted to a long series of "___Master 2000(tm)" jokes. (Ironically, one line that I thought was an amusing throwaway joke about a fuse being "conveniently" located on the roof of a space vehicle turned out to be an accurate description of the situation. It stopped being funny.)

I'm generally OK with the old school style, which is often exclusively composed of this type of interaction. However, the network of interlocking tasks and obstacles that present themselves are usually intertwined with a narrative progression, such that advancing through even simplistic puzzles rewards the players with a steady progression through the story. That's not what happens here. Quite often, there isn't even a non-standard response to indicate that a significant action was special in some way.

The few puzzles that require thinking seem very much under-clued. (Spoiler - click to show)Can you guess that the red square is the one that controls the landing shuttle, or that it's the one you need to modify with the mysterious computer? Can you guess that you need to provide the security robot with the vacuum cleaner (hope you brought it along!) in order for your program switcheroo with the cleaning robot's tape to have a useful effect? Do you care to decode the black box of a reactor control system whose buttons are unlabeled but apparently execute nonsensical functions?

This game's writing style seems close to that of a Scott Adams game. (I've never played those, so I'm making this comparison based on second- and third-hand knowledge.) Room descriptions are so brief and unevocative that they don't even count as thumbnail sketches -- they barely meet the minimum functionality of listing the location's general type, exits and key objects (if any). Object descriptions mostly serve to confirm that the object exists as something interactable.

Lest you think my treatment above unduly harsh, allow me to quote a passage from the TADS 2 Author's Manual that describes the development of the game:

"After formulating the basic plot of the game, and mapping out the portion that takes place on the space station (roughly the first half of the game), we started implementation. We had a basic idea of the second half of the game, but it wasn’t even mapped.

Implementation went well for a while, but as we got further along, we started to run into details in the first half of the game that were dependent upon details from the undesigned second half. We improvised some details, and left others for later. As we did this, a strange thing happened: we started to realize that there were holes in the plot, and weird little inconsistencies that hadn’t occurred to us until we needed to think about details. As a result, we started to change our basic ideas about the second half, which led to even more inconsistencies and plot holes. It was like digging in sand, and before long we decided to throw out the entire original plan for the second half and start over.

However, we had so much time and effort invested in the space station that we didn’t want to throw it away. Instead, we tried to design a new second half that fit in with the existing first half. From this point on, the battle was lost. We went through a series of essentially unrelated plots for the game, trying to fit each new plot to an even larger set of existing implementation. We’d plan a little, implement it, then discover that the plan wasn’t working and would have to go - but the programming work we did would have to stay. The swamp, the cave maze, and the shuttle represented so much work that we couldn’t contemplate throwing them away, so whatever we came up with had to include them somehow; for a brief time, we were actually going to make the swamp a 'Swamp Simulator' because it was the only way we could make it fit.

In the end, we were totally sick of writing Deep Space Drifter, but refused to let the project die before it was complete for psychological reasons. To me, this attitude shows through in the last half of the game; I think there’s a room on the planet whose description is something like this: 'This room is very boring; you can leave to the north.' In fact, I think the entire game reflects its history: the space station is full of things to do, it has some nice running jokes, and it’s stylistically consistent. The planet, on the other hand, has an empty, barren feel; it’s spread out and there’s not much to do. The only parts that are interesting are essentially unrelated to each other and to the story in general, a reflection of having been forced into the game whether they belonged or not.

I’m not saying that Deep Space Drifter is a bad game - I like the space station a lot, and the puzzles on the planet are very elaborate and elegant. But the game has some serious flaws, most of which I attribute to the long, chaotic process of design and implementation."

Having gotten to the end via the walkthrough, I can't even begin to imagine having fought my way through this piece without "cheating." Can you guess your reward for having worked out a ridiculous "puzzle maze" that takes over a hundred moves to complete in the walkthrough? (Spoiler - click to show)The villain is chased away by a space beaver. You get to learn through dying just when is the best time to launch from the planet in an escape ship. Then you are picked up by the space highway patrol and thrown in the brig for operating an "unspaceworthy" vessel. Nice.

The amateur historian in me feels compelled to give this work at least two stars for recognition of its landmark status in 1990; in the aftermath of Infocom's demise and amid the general collapse of the commercial market, this game surely demonstrated that it was possible to produce large-scale, programmatically-complex works comparable to those that had set players' expectations in the preceding decade. However, there is nothing to recommend this work in terms of entertainment value, and the bulk of the educational value that can be gleaned from it is more easily obtained from the quote above than from the work itself.

Scavenger is the only game listed on IFDB from author Quintin Stone. Over 20 years old now, it made a notable splash when first released, placing third in the 2003 IF Comp (after both Slouching Toward Bedlam and Risorgimento Represso) and garnering nominations (but not wins) for Best Game, Best Puzzles and Best NPC in that year's XYZZY Awards.

Although the author cites Planetfall as an inspiration, the more obvious influence would seem to be that of Fallout. The setting is strongly remniscent of that franchise's early installments, minus the more fantastical elements. I could practically hear the soundtrack of that game as I played this one. Per commentary from the author, it is officially based on a setting called "Night's Edge" that was the basis for a total conversion mod for Unreal.

I had tried Scavenger a couple of times before, but each time I gave up after getting stuck. Since the style of this game's puzzles are clearly rooted in "real-world" logic, I was loath to resort to hints. This time, however, I decided to use them if necessary -- and I soon found out that the reason I was getting stuck was less to do with me and more to do with some lurking significant problems in the implementation. (Note that there don't seem to be very many of these at all; it was just my luck to encounter some of them.) To get the resulting gripes out of the way, I will list them:

1. This is the kind of game where looking under and looking behind things is important. OK, fine -- it's justifiable in this setting -- but it's not great to add a guess-the-verb layer to that sort of interaction. For one crucial bit of progress, it is necessary to >MOVE an item that can't be >PUSHed or >PULLed. Although many puzzles have multiple solutions, I don't think the one depending on this command does.

2. There is a computer interface requiring a login (with last name and password) to obtain another piece of critical-path information. Should you enter the incorrect name, there is no way to back out of the infinite password prompt that results. Even though the terminal explicitly says you can type "CANCEL" to restart the login process, this does not actually work.

3. This is not necessarily a game-breaking bug, but it's still a small issue potentially affecting the end: If you (Spoiler - click to show)decide to rescue the little girl on the way out of the military complex, it's easy enough to get her to follow you. However, if you subsequently talk to her while (Spoiler - click to show)wearing the raider jacket (which you probably are because you need to do this to escape), she will "dash out of the shack" -- apparently becoming afraid on a much-delayed basis.

I agree with Lipa's review that this game delivers solid entertainment, and on the whole it seems to be very well constructed. The issues listed above wouldn't loom so large in my mind if the rest of the interaction wasn't so smooth and polished. The NPCs are well-done, seeming sufficiently life-like without doing anything too fancy by way of implementation. Forewarned is forearmed, so don't let these quibbles deter you from trying out this work, which is one of the better sci-fi scenarios I've played.

Anyone interested in the history of interactive fiction will sooner or later come across references to this relatively famous piece from the "dark ages" of the genre, i.e. the period after the collapse of the commercial market and before the "renaissance" triggered by Graham Nelson's release of Inform 6 and the publication of the Inform Designer's Manual, 4th edition. In this period, the most prominent tools available to would-be authors were TADS 2, a C-like language of considerable power, and AGT, a less flexible and capable system designed to be easier to use for non-programmers.

Critically, the author of AGT sponsored contests (with at least the first prize paying money) for the best game written in the system, which surely served to spur the completion of many works and began the tradition later continued by the annual IFComp. Shades of Gray is among the works submitted to these AGT contests, and it won in the year that it was submitted. It was constructed by a group of seven disparate authors, one of whom was Judith Pintar, author of the well-regarded CosmoServe. Notably, the seven contributors cooperated exclusively through contact via the CompuServe platform, to which they all subscribed.

Based on the final result, it's not clear that there was much in the way of overarching design concept. As others have noted, the game's separately-developed segments vary in quality, but overall they are well-implemented by the standards of the time, and I must say that this was the highest level of command parsing quality that I have ever encountered in an AGT game. (AGT parsing is quite limited compared to TADS or Inform, based on word-for-word pattern matching instead of attempts to identify parts of speech. This creates a much higher burden on the author to ensure smooth interaction, and it also reduces the transferability of learning about what counts as proper interaction. For example, when trying to use a shovel -- of which there are a surprising number in this game -- the player will find that the correct syntax changes across different segments, reflecting each contributing author's own preferences.) In general, the quality of the interaction seems to go up as one progresses through the game, with its disjointed (and somewhat irritating) opening giving way to large portions of relatively smooth sailing.

What the work lacks is any sense of true coherence. While individual aspects can be picked out as high points for quality of implementation (e.g. the (Spoiler - click to show)tarot reading scene that is the structural backbone of the first half of the middle game) or writing (e.g. the various interactions with (Spoiler - click to show)spirits from voodoo mythology that are the backbone of the second half), the narrative is something of a mess -- layers of unmotivated and unedifying twists abruptly transform the story from gothic horror to lazy psychological drama to magical realism to Civil War survival story to medieval adventure tale to cheap political thriller. It's a ride that keeps the player guessing, which keeps up interest, but looking back from the end of it the question becomes: Why?

The title suggests that the theme is intended to be the difficulty of achieving strong moral clarity in the messy real world, but the gameplay does little to support this. The most direct treatment is in the climax scene, in which the protagonist must choose between (Spoiler - click to show)delivering some incriminating documents to either those incriminated by them and (Spoiler - click to show) delivering those documents to members of a law enforcement agency. This is... insufficient. As a clever person to whom I described the plot quipped: "Nothing says 'shades of gray' like a binary choice!" To the extent that this choice presents any kind of quandary to the player requiring thoughtful reflection, the game subsequently undermines itself by assigning one more point to (Spoiler - click to show)turning the evidence over to the CIA assassins threatened by it than (Spoiler - click to show)handing it over to the FBI, whose interest in it may be more about inter-bureaucratic infighting than bringing the conspirators to justice, which implicitly makes the former the "right" choice after all. (To be fair, the denouement section that describes the long-term effects of various events does not seem to put its thumb on the scales this way, and the various interludes of history supernaturally revealed to the protagonist present multiple perspectives... but in the long run that just makes the score's coded commentary less excusable.)

Other aspects of the game relate only weakly to the supposed theme. Robin Hood is a good guy fighting against abuse of power! No wait, he's a forest-dwelling thief and thug who must be punished for breaking the law! (I didn't bother to use spoiler tags for those because the two segments involved seem ultimately irrelevant to the main plot.) The protagonist shouldn't feel bad about (Spoiler - click to show)his father's death; he was just a kid, and it was an accident! (That's ultimately irrelevant, too.) It's probably OK that the protagonist (Spoiler - click to show)has a dalliance with a voodoo love goddess; it was a rare honor, and she'll (Spoiler - click to show)grant protection to him and his (alleged) true love forever after. I get the distinct impression that there were some last-minute adjustments made after the title was selected, in an attempt to better justify it.

Although there are frequent guess-the-verb and guess-the-syntax issues (as is typical for the era and the development system), these are offset by the very good integrated hint system, to which I found myself resorting frequently when my patience wore thin. Hints are graduated, so it's not necessary to completely spoil the puzzles in order to get help, but I recommend that the modern player make liberal use of them -- for the most part, the obstacles that I used them to bypass were not the type likely to be considered as rewarding to overcome unaided. I also strongly recommend that any player reaching the voodoo-themed jungle section reach for David Welbourn's excellent map of the area (available in the download links) -- this whole zone is a nasty and pointless old-school maze, and the game doesn't even have the good graces to provide sufficient objects to use as markers. On top of that, two rooms that are different enough from the others to not seem to need markers both have identical descriptions but are, in fact, different -- a design choice that comes across as pure spite. The hour that I spent trying to navigate the maze "properly" was completely wasted time. (The author of this section most definitely anticipated the difficulty being created; there are three tone-breaking "comic" cameos of other people wandering through that zone that are encountered if one spends enough time there.)

On the whole, I didn't find much to recommend about this piece. It does remain historically significant, and it clearly stands out from the pack when gauged against its contemporaries, but these qualities do more to justify its place as an exhibit in the museum of the history of interactive fiction than they do to earn it a place in the library of classic works worth playing today. One can point to it as an early example of collaboration-at-scale such as would later produce Cragne Manor or note surprising similarities between one of its segments and Adam Cadre's Shrapnel, but if one is not interested in deliberately evaluating it within its historical context, there is little reason to spend the time playing it.

The original Pascal's Wager is a "proof" that following the Christian faith is a rational thing to do. It is a fundamentally flawed and reductionist approach to a major philosophical question, which tries to make an arithmetic problem out of concepts that do not translate well into quantitative terms. Put simply, it is: "If there's any chance at all that God is real, then worshipping him is the smart thing to do, since going to heaven is infinitely rewarding."

This is not an argument that should be taken very seriously. Even granting its conceptual framework, the god in question is hypothesized to be omniscient and not particularly well-disposed toward hypocrites. It's also questionable whether "infinity" is a valid term to use in an expected reward calculation, or that the probability of a god's existence can be meaningfully established.

Pascal's Wager, the game, presents itself as an extension and criticism of Pascal's Wager, the thought experiment; specifically, it challenges Pascal's implicit assertion that the Christian God's existence (P) or non-existence (not-P) together cover the full range of relevant possibilities. This is a pretty good concept, and a pretty good hook -- the premise creates (as Emily Short's review puts it) "an invitation to explore or express one's own personal morality through the player character, by choosing and acting out an alignment." However, this work makes no attempt to grapple with the deep metaphysical questions inherent in its premise and instead seems to target the very concepts of religion and morality themselves.

Pascal's Wager treats each of its six chosen religions equally negatively in that every one of them is conveyed as shallow and simplistic farce. Want to be a good little worshipper of Hanuman, the "Hindi god of strength and fitness?" (Spoiler - click to show)Disobey your parents and hit a baseball! Join a sports team instead of doing homework! Escape from prison on a rowboat to prove you are strong! How about a worshipper of Bacchus, the "Roman god of intoxication?" (Spoiler - click to show)Pop a Valium instead of caring for your infant sibling! Smoke a joint plucked from a urinal instead of doing homework! Inject yourself with an overdose of morphine instead of bothering to escape from prison! These are laughable misrepresentations of what are (or were) serious beliefs for many people, and the treatment of other religions is no better.

The ludicrous and over-the-top portrayal of these faiths may be intended to be humor. It does not strike me as funny. It seems mean-spirited ("mean" in the senses of both "cruel" and "petty") and anti-human. Perhaps the worst part is that its mockery is so lazy -- I learned more about several of the religions portrayed in a half-hour's reading on Wikipedia than the author seems to have ever researched in the course of writing this piece. (For example, in some traditions the infant Hanuman mistook the sun for a fruit and tried to eat it -- a metaphor that seems apt to mention in this context.)

Emily Short's very evenhanded review suggests that this game has only minor flaws. In my opinion, it has major flaws. It verges right on the cusp of 1-star territory for me, but I am forced to recognize that programming it was not a trivial effort, and -- again -- as a concept, the premise is solid. To the extent that I would recommend this game, it would be as a warning to would-be authors about the amount of work required to even begin to fulfill the expectations set by such an ambitious premise, and the disastrous outcome certain to result from massively underestimating the scale of one's chosen subject.

OK, so you're a police officer. A cross-dressing police officer who likes the styles of the 60s. (And a werewolf, but that's not important.) And you have a sidekick: the creepy, giggling pyromaniac Donald McRonald, who is technically not a trademark violation. And you have a gun, which: "Sometimes you shoot folks with it, other times you just point it at folks." And a boa -- the constrictor sort, but that's really more of a deadly prank played by your fellow police officers than anything you can use.

And you are investigating a disturbance at the cemetery. A cemetery where the locals buried all the members of an "evil circus" that once terrorized the town, an incursion handily repelled by the trigger-happy constabulary to which you belong. And there are jelly doughnuts.

So... this is the kind of situation that, as a player, one has to embrace wholeheartedly in order to get any enjoyment out of the game. If the wacky, goofy, random and bizarre doesn't amuse you, then you may find yourself blinking in incomprehension at this enthusiastically off-beat work by J. J. Guest, noted author of To Hell in a Hamper. Personally, I found it to be about 90% amusing. There were some wrong notes that didn't jibe with my own sense of humor, but it was generally an entertaining and engaging short play experience. (Note that I played the expanded Inform 7 version, not the original ADRIFT version.)

However, I got really, really stuck. A lot. So much was going on in terms of joke delivery that it was almost hard to pay attention to what serves as the plot on a mechanical basis. Implementation is very spare with respect to NPC interactions, many of which are required to advance the game. With so many generic negative responses to various attempts, the modern player is quickly trained to stop trying -- it takes a concerted old-school style brute force approach to discover certain possibilities(Spoiler - click to show). I'm thinking specifically here of the gorilla, which must be threatened for no good reason to obtain the cigar, and the fact that escaping the first encounter with the main villain can only happen at a certain point. This results in guess-the-verb situations that are always offputting in such an otherwise polished work, and the very constrained implementation of interactions leaves little to do by way of experimentation when one doesn't have a clear idea of what to do next. (Although there is a hint system, it's very vague and, as MathBrush notes, occasionally non-functional.)

The thing that impressed me the most about this game was the soundtrack. Guest assembled an interesting ambient score from various bits of free-to-use music and sound effects, and the game cycles through them over time. (It's actually one giant 17 1/2 minute track; the length keeps the repetition below the threshold of obvious notice.) The soundtrack plays extremely smoothly, and unlike many attempts at background music which I've encountered, this one does not begin to grate in short order. In fact, rather than searching for a way to turn it off, I found myself turning it back on whenever it was automatically stopped by an >UNDO command.

This work gets high marks as a concept, but the execution falls a little short of what it needs in order to be truly recommendable to the general public or the novice. For those who like "weird" humor, there is plenty to like about it as is, and for those who don't, well... Guest provides occasional laughworthy quips that don't rely on weirdness at all. (Example: "For the record: Alligator breath smells like people who wondered what alligator breath smells like.") I'm putting it in the "good, not great" category, which means I think it's worth taking the time to play and study, and I would gladly revisit an updated version.

A Flustered Duck starts out seeming promising enough: The PC, a downtrodden pig-boy working on the farm of the tyrannical Granny Grabby, has somehow scrimped and saved enough to finally buy the diamond ring that he needs to propose to the girl of his dreams -- but, he is thwarted in his designs when the farm's duck, a favorite of Granny's, ingests the ring during an unlikely accident.

It's a fanciful setup, vaguely remniscent of Lost Pig, and after 50 moves or so (enough to get out of the prologue and off the farm), I was well-primed for the series of mildly-comic obstacles that would surely stand between the protagonist and his goal. What I was not prepared for was being plunged into a nonsensical world of odd vignettes connected only by the most tenuous moon logic.

I don't really have a problem with the classic "pastiche" style of Adventure and the Infocom canon. Nor am I opposed to humor based on silliness. This world, however, just fundamentally didn't make sense, often veering past silly to a level of weirdness that was so unexpected as to be disconcerting. I and the two people with whom I was playing lost our ability to suspend disbelief within a few hundred moves, but we persevered in order to give the game a fair chance to recover.

Unfortunately, it never did. Though we did finish the game, we did so only after receiving plentiful help from the integrated hint system, which is context-sensitive and well-implemented. There was no occasion on which we regretted having consulted it. Even after having run the gauntlet of puzzles, all three of us were fairly horrified by the actual retrieval of the ring -- instead of being triumphant this moment was more than a little repugnant, as it involved (Spoiler - click to show)hacking into the duck with a knife and pulling the gore-covered ring from its torso. Although this act has no lasting physical consequences due to a magical countermeasure, I think the experience would leave the duck in a state better described as "traumatized" than as merely "flustered." After delivering the ring and mentally reviewing the activities of the PC that day, I cannot say that I was left thinking that he and his love interest would share a happy future, which rendered the end unsatisfying.

On a technical front, this piece was put together pretty well. Aside from a scoring bug (explained below), the only other one that stands out is a repeated message on picking something up (Spoiler - click to show)(the television) that doesn't make sense after the first time. The prose is very serviceable, and I can't recall any typographical errors.

Although this game didn't work for the three of us, your mileage may vary. For the edification of would-be authors and to advise potential players, following are some specific gripes that we had with the game. Many of these are generic gripes against the "very old school" style, but I will still call them out here because the introduction of this game falsely suggests the more player-friendly style of later eras.

(Spoiler - click to show)
1. Information given about the observable environment is deliberately incomplete. Objects in plain sight of the PC (Spoiler - click to show)(e.g. a penny on a table) go unmentioned unless the supporter on which they sit is examined. In some cases, objects in unobstructed view must be located with specific >EXAMINE commands. In an early and egregious case, even the presence of objects comparable in size to the PC (Spoiler - click to show)(furniture objects in the living room, including the penny-concealing table) are omitted from the initial description of a room.

2. Numerous objects are hidden inside or under objects described vaguely, often things whose existence and/or reason for being in that location are unhinted. While >EXAMINE and >SEARCH are generally equivalent, in at least one case (Spoiler - click to show)(berries on some bushes), >SEARCH gives no indication of a critical object's presence while >EXAMINE does.

3. The game implements a novel mechanic in which, upon taking an object for the first time, it is automatically examined... if it has not yet been examined. This is a neat idea, but it does not work well for a particular object (Spoiler - click to show)(a surfboard), which provides more information when examined while holding it. This critical extra information is easy to miss as a result. The effect is particularly off-putting in the context of a game including many objects that serve no specific purpose.

4. The game implements a hold-all object, but the logic controlling automatic shuffling of objects into it has faults, such that sometimes the object-juggling fails, causing the intended action to fail. It's not clear whether that's due to a bug affecting the "player's holdall" type of object in Inform 7 5U92 or due to an issue with custom code. While this would normally be a minor annoyance, this bug interacts with another bug related to scoring (Spoiler - click to show)(a point awarded for putting the poodle into the correct object so that it can be smuggled past its owner), such that the correct command will result in no score increase the second time it is tried. The combination of bugs creates an unintentional (and extremely irksome) last lousy point scenario.

5. Some actions must be repeated multiple times in order to trigger progress, even though the response to earlier attempts are failure messages that logically discourage additional attempts. This is particularly problematic in the game's opening vignette, in which the PC must try to >CATCH DUCK no less than four times to cause it to fly away, which allows the PC to leave the farm. (This was, incidentally, the first circumstance prompting use of hints -- an ill omen.)

6. In one miniature scene, the PC must select one of several items being offered by an NPC (Spoiler - click to show)(the gnome wizard). In reality, only one of the items can actually be selected, though choosing an "incorrect" one results in what seems to be a YES/NO prompt to confirm the choice. There doesn't seem to be any gameplay purpose to the frustration created for the player here; the scene would work just as well if the NPC just handed over the only allowable item.

>SHOOT THE PIRATE

This is the first line of Plundered Hearts. It is not a player command, but it looks like one. I don't know of any other earlier interactive fiction that begins this way. The text that follows looks like a response from the game, which is followed by a pause captioned with "[Press RETURN or ENTER to begin.]" After that, the game proper commences. The opening paragraphs give every appearance of being an in media res beginning, but they are not -- another actual beginning, also in media res, supplants it after the game's banner is displayed.

Whence that opening interlude? It is never explained within Plundered Hearts, and the scene portrayed, which is clearly not in the same continuity as the rest of the game, is most likely quickly forgotten by the average player. The game comes full circle at the climax moment, however, at which point this very command is the winning move leading to the "best" ending.

My first thoughts were about its similarity to the start of Wishbringer, which opens with the player character's daydream about fighting a dragon. Later, I considered that it might be an extended transition from the instruction booklet's sample transcript, perhaps doubling as hyper-abbreviated tutorial for those who had skipped reading it. Still later, I speculated that it was an excerpt from an alternate version of the scene depicting the player character's first encounter with her love interest, written earlier in the game's development.

According to the game's Invisiclues, the segment's origin is more prosaic: "You are asleep, dreaming this when the pirates attack.", "It's a preview of things to come.", "It's a sample of the writing style of PLUNDERED HEARTS.", and -- perhaps most importantly -- "Romance novels always have teasers of this sort." These are four answers, suggesting four separate purposes. In some ways it seems an echo of the Dreamtime of romance novel genre conventions, deliberately and skillfully inserted straight into the player's subconscious by Briggs (who has studied both psychology and narrative). Based on the Invisiclues answers (which evidence suggests were prepared by Briggs herself), it seems like an attempt to simultaneously reassure the player while preparing them for something different. For the player already familiar with text adventures, a sketch of the protagonist's relatively strong characterization and the game's atypical subject matter. For the player well-versed in romance novels, an illustration of the alien but essential interaction with the parser.

Plundered Hearts is commonly known as Infocom's first (and last) interactive romance novel. Released as the company was leaving its best days behind, it suffered disappointing sales and was widely panned in contemporaneous reviews. Although the marketing department had hoped it would be the bridge to a new market of women players, it sold only about half as well as a typical game. Author Amy Briggs, in an interview with Jason Scott, is blunt in relating that at the time she considered the game to be a failed experiment.

... and yet, here it is in 2023, three and a half decades later, and Plundered Hearts suddenly makes a strong showing on the Interactive Fiction Top 50, placing (alongside others) at a respectable 18th place, where it outshines even Trinity, which was long considered by the community to be Infocom's apex. The game has not changed at all in those years -- so what has?

I can point to Aaron Reed's 2021 analysis of the game as a possible contributor, but I note that Jimmy Maher's broadly similar treatment from 2015 produced no comparable shift in public opinion. Is it just that there's something in the air this year about nautical themes?

Let's look a little more deeply.

Plundered Hearts is remarkably different from most earlier Infocom games. Another review describes it as "story-forward," a useful term to differentiate it from both "puzzleless" and "puzzle" games. There are puzzles here, but they are lightweight by Infocom standards. Every puzzle is eminently fair. Solutions are rooted in the reality of the story world and standard genre tropes -- there is no "moon logic" here, nor anything that comes off more as riddle than as cause-and-effect. In short, these puzzles are not designed to stump; they are designed to engage. Although it is possible to get into an unwinnable state, it is not very likely if even the slightest prudence is exercised. The style of play is very close to the modern norm in which it is simply not possible to become stuck.

Almost shockingly in the context of an Infocom game, several of the significant puzzles have multiple solutions, and by this I mean genuinely viable and effective alternate options for surpassing obstacles. In some previous Infocom games there are false solutions which allow limited progress but will ultimately require restoring or restarting to win (or at least to achieve the maximum score) -- in effect, what looks like an alternate solution turns out to be only a promising-looking dead end, because the story structure takes the form of a maze with only one correct path. Here there is much less of a maze, and the available choices send the player character on separate but equal paths through the story space, enabling different players, using different methods, to finish the story in their own style.

The most direct consequence of this player-friendly design is a total play time on the order of 2 to 4 hours. This is extremely short by Infocom standards, and it seems that many players and reviewers mistook kindness for weakness -- complaints that the game provided too little entertainment for the money were prominent. But in an interview from the Winter 1987 issue of Infocom's marketing publication "The Status Line" (cited by Aaron Reed), Briggs is clear that she designed "a game that [she] wanted to play" -- the kind of experience that Infocom's marketing had been promising to the world on every box with the claim that their games were "like waking up inside a story." Jimmy Maher sums up her success in this endeavor well: "Plundered Hearts might just be the best expression — ever — of the Infocom *ideal* of interactive fiction... There’s a plot thrust — a narrative urgency — that’s largely missing elsewhere in the Infocom canon, coupled with many more of the sorts of things the uninitiated might actually think of when they hear the term 'interactive fiction.'... Amy Briggs took interactive fiction as Infocom preferred to describe it and made her best good-faith effort to live up to that ideal."

There are four "winning" endings to the game. Each of them yields the full total of 25 possible points, but three of the endings inform the player that "There are other, perhaps more satisfying, conclusions." I can't help but draw the parallel to Inform 7's "end the story" vs. "end the story finally" statements; what is standard convention now was something unheard of in 1987. This was an arrow in the sand, pointing the way to a broader definition of interactive fiction. Even Steve Meretzsky's boundary-breaking A Mind Forever Voyaging doesn't escape the straitjacket of convention calling for an endgame puzzle with a single solution, but Plundered Hearts takes a big step into new territory by granting all four endings equal scores, regardless of the outcome of the climax scene.

The game would fit very well in this year's IFComp if it weren't somewhat underimplemented by modern standards. I hasten to point out that the "under" part of that statement is rooted in a perspective influenced by 35 years of evolution of the form (and its supporting technology) since the game's publication, and that the reduced level of implementation is almost certainly entirely a consequence of 1980s technical limitations. The game file is 126K, which is at the absolute limit of size for Infocom's Z3 games. In the same interview with Jason Scott, Briggs describes the need to edit the original version of the game down to a size that would fit on the microcomputers of the era and says that it took months to accomplish. Despite the implication of drastic editing, production notes show that at its most expansive the compiled game was only about 2.5K larger than its final size. Briggs may be referring to cuts to the design on paper, ideas that never made it to code in the first place.

The decision to stick with Z3 (which in particular seemed intended to preserve access to the Commodore 64 market) meant that Briggs had very definite constraints on the realization of her vision. Perhaps the central challenge in designing this work was that by its nature it calls for extensive characterization and character interaction. According to Briggs, Meretzky warned her not to try this story as her first attempt -- while she does not say what specific challenges were anticipated, the most obvious stem from the difficulties inherent in developing characters. Undeterred, she plowed ahead, placing herself into a position where necessity became the mother of invention (mayhap following a brief dalliance with desperation).

Briggs partially solved the problem through the use of cliche. I do not say this as criticism, because I do not think that significant characterization for so many different characters is achievable within the limits of Z3 except through heavy use of cliche. (If you want a character to be different, you have to illustrate the difference, and that takes text.)

The plot is similarly a collection of standard tropes and beats, but I note that the use of cliche does not preclude effective entertainment. Many of the same elements are present in that other famous pirate adventure game of the era: The Secret of Monkey Island. (In a twist of fate that sounds too good to be true, it turns out that Amy Briggs used to babysit Ron Gilbert, the lead designer of Monkey Island, when she was a young lady. See the video interview of Gilbert cited on Briggs' Wikipedia page.)

Conversation was exceptionally dangerous territory; it was always weak in Infocom games due to the ASK/TELL model. The Achilles heel of ASK/TELL is that the frequency distribution of possible topics has a long tail. An NPC with just a few significant responses seems less like a person and more like the virtual automaton that it is. It takes scores of responses to make a suitably "lifelike" NPC (even assuming that responses to a given topic do not vary), and while some players will delight in an NPC that has a wide range of responses, most players will give up quickly after drawing a few generic replies in a row.

Although later non-commercial works such as Galatea, Anchorhead or Lost Pig show that ASK/TELL can work reasonably well, they also show that it requires large amounts of text to be dedicated to conversation. (Compare Lost Pig's single NPC and 279K file size.) The standard dodge was (and often still is) to create an in-game reason that serves as an excuse for an NPC's poor conversation skills -- and indeed this method is used for the characters of Cookie (who is nearly deaf) and the "butler" (who exhibits a stock combination of quiet menace and bland formality).

In the context of ZIL and Z3, where every byte matters, devoting substantial text to responses that have a low probability of being discovered by any single player is simply a bad bet when weighed against the other needs of the game. It is unsuprising that Plundered Heart's ASK/TELL conversation doesn't fare any better than the Infocom average, but Briggs makes use of a new invention for the most critical interaction with NPCs: the YES/NO conversation model, in which the PC must respond to yes/no questions from the NPC. Only an embryonic version of the technique is on display -- fewer than a score of these interactions occur -- but they demonstrate a way to add characterization to both PC and NPC in a very economical manner from the perspective of the programmer. Although similar code can be found in other Infocom games, the technique is generally used to conduct humorous and/or snide metaconversational exchanges between the parser/narrator and the human player; the exception is A Mind Forever Voyaging, where in a minority of instances the technique is deployed to interact with other characters. Plundered Hearts seems to be the first to use YES/NO responses primarily to drive player character actions. (Andrew Plotkin would later use the YES/NO conversation model to great effect in Spider and Web.)

Another innovation worth noting in passing is the game's implementation of clothing -- and layered clothing at that. Though the layering has little functional significance, it seems that the clothing system was a substantial development effort with its own module of about a thousand lines of code (around 5% of the total source by line count). Changing clothes is more than mere disguise, it is a social act within the game, and NPCs frequently react to the PC's outfit -- providing a way of squeezing a little more characterization out of the limited interaction that was possible.

In a further departure from contemporary Infocom norms, hallmarks of the house style of humor are conspicously absent. As pointed out by Jimmy Maher: "There aren’t 69,105 of anything here, no 'hello, sailor' jokes, no plethora of names that start with Zorkian syllables like 'Frob,' no response to 'xyzzy'..." The only whiff of that vein of humor to be found is in the player character's family name of Dimsford, and it is soon forgotten if it is even noticed in the first place. (Exhaustive interaction with the environment will yield a smattering of other jokes in the Infocom style, such as the motto on the Jamison family ring and the name of the piece being played by the band in the ballroom, but these are exceptions that are easy to miss.) The game's playability today is much improved by this choice.

It is very interesting to wonder about what the game would have looked like had Briggs been given the freedom of the Z4 format with its expanded capacity. There are hints due to the release of the Infocom hard drive, such as: the name for a fifth ending called "Femme Fatale," which an associated comment describes as "You desert -- Lafond dead"; a spyglass with a special interaction from the crow's nest of the ship; the possibility of the protagonist injuring her ankle and approaching the mansion along the road north of it; a number of interactions involving Lafond's hat; snipped objects such as a bent key, a candle, and hoops for your frock; and suggestions of a somewhat more lurid style in certain places.

We know that Briggs wanted to do more. In the Jason Scott interview, Briggs recounts her reaction to seeing "Pirates of the Caribbean" for the first time: "*That's* what I was trying to do. That *movie* is what I was trying to get my game to play like -- that whole experience." She wasn't the only one who wanted more action, in a separate anecdote she recounts: "I remember one reviewer just lit into the game because she was trying to karate chop and to do tough guy stuff, and the game wouldn't let her." It simply wasn't possible to do much more than she managed with the materials at hand in 1987.

In the end, the collapse of Infocom and the shift to graphical games was a turning in the tide of history, and Briggs' arrow in the sand was washed away... but not before it was noticed, not before it turned eyes to the horizon and kindled dreams of what distant shores might lie beyond it. Now, in a time when those shores have been charted, pirate-themed interactive fiction continues to be produced in a steady stream -- but has any of it managed to do better than this pioneering first?

From time to time, Andrew Plotkin has written works that are more about demonstrating what is possible from a technology standpoint than they are about delivering great stories. Lists and Lists is one of this type, and it certainly makes a deep impression when one finds oneself interacting with a Scheme interpreter instead of a normal command prompt.

The provided plot is the flimsiest excuse for presenting a test of programming skill in a language that few people are likely to be familiar with. The difficulty curve of the challenges is not linear, and it increases sharply toward the end of the series.

I don't normally recommend IF that is purely about the logic puzzles, but this piece is such a unique achievement that I think it's a must-see for anyone interested in IF as a whole. Arguably, at its core it is not so much IF as it is INF (Interactive Non-Fiction). Equally arguably, it is a stand-out example of puzzle design featuring a consistent, discoverable logical framework with very fair hinting and considerable challenge -- though I think any such argument would be disingenuous because none of Plotkin's genuine games are so derivative of the work of others. In any case, it is worth reviewing as a notable experiment, and as a bonus you'll learn something about an historically-significant programming language!

(Note: My scoring rubric implies that this work should earn a five-star score on the basis of its introduction an entirely new technique. However, although it was enjoyable and remarkable, I can't honestly say that it feels like a proper game to me, nor do I think it was truly intended to be thought of as one.)

There is something deeply endearing about the Frenetic Five franchise to me. If there was anyone out there long-awaiting another episode of this series, I was that one.

What do I love about the series? It's not just that it hits the superhero satire sweet spot better than anything since the Tick animated series, but that it does it in such a clever way. Author Neil deMause's sense of humor is both shallow and deep, running from playful one-liners such as

> QUIT
You can’t actually quit, since as an independent contractor you’re not technically employed.

> QUIT
Oh, *that* kind of quit.

Are you sure you want to quit?

to the refrigerator logic perfection of the fact that even though the superpowers of the main characters seem foolish, they truly *are* superpowers in the context of an interactive fiction game. (To wit: Improv is the player avatar whose "power" is to come up with improbable solutions with at-hand materials. Lexicon knows all the words in the game's dictionary, defeating guess-the-verb and guess-the-noun issues. Pastiche can violate the physical world model's containment rules at will, so no locked container is a barrier -- plot requirements of this episode notwithstanding. Newsboy's awareness is not bounded by scope; he can theoretically see anything happening in the game universe. Clapper's power bypasses visibility and concealment rules, obviating any lightweight "puzzles" that are based on objects being hidden in a room.)

This prequel is written in Inform 7, a departure from the TADS platform used for every previously-released episode. The author's notes indicate that writing it was partly an exercise in learning the new language, and the oft-noted bugginess of release 1 is undoubtedly in part a reflection of this fact. (As relevant background, a certain level of bugginess can be found in the author's TADS-based works, as well.) The presence of bugs (even the serious one noted by other reviewers) was not enough to prevent me from enjoying release 1, and in any case they are substantially addressed by release 2.

I found this episode to be as good as any installment of the series, in that the plot was just as flimsy (in a manner entirely in keeping with the superhero genre), the jokes were just as funny (in a manner entirely in keeping with the author's trademark style), and the writing was just as entertaining as ever.

For a newcomer to the series, this may not be the best first episode to play, because much of the strength of the series comes from the interaction between the PC and other members of the team. That kind of interaction in this game is almost entirely lacking -- the relationship between characters is (appropriately for an origin story) that of newly-introduced co-workers instead of familiar friends (and even roommates) as seen in episode 1. There is still enough to entertain in the way of deadpan comedy, unexpected puns and puzzle cussitude, but it just doesn't have the same feel of being a dynamic situation full of active and interesting characters.

The puzzles were more enjoyable in this episode, though I'm not sure how much of the difference is attributable to improved design vs. better alignment of my expectations. There is automatic hinting for several of them when no progress is being made, so I assume that an effort has been made to be "fair" in the strictest sense, even if necessary actions don't always make sense at first blush. Sometimes it may be necessary to stumble on a solution through experimentation, and it certainly appeared to be the case that involving NPCs was not optional in some places. As a result, there doesn't seem to be any reason to refrain from calling for help early and often.

The ending is somewhat anti-climactic, and the "post-credits" scene will make little sense unless the player is familiar with (or goes on to become familiar with) the chronological sequel: The Frenetic Five vs. Sturm und Drang.

The author's notes claim that he "will absolutely be writing more games sometime in the next two decades," and I hope that is true because I definitely look forward to whatever else he might publish. Welcome back, Mr. deMause!

After finishing this game, I was surprised to learn that it placed a respectable 4th of 27 entries in the 2007 IF Comp. This is remarkable -- it clearly demonstrates how much higher the average quality of comp entries has climbed over the course of the last decade and a half.

This game is very competently programmed in Inform 6 and presented no bugs during various playthroughs. The writing is serviceable, and I noticed only a handful of typographical errors (all of which were misplaced homonyms). The story, however, is a mish-mash of unrelated elements that create essentially no synergy.

In terms of "marketing materials," the game patterns itself after the Infocom style -- and especially after Planetfall. As with that game, feelies include a military service ID card and various documents relevant to the PC's new career. The feelies also imply that this game takes place in the same universe as that commercial-era classic, with the player character being the sibling of Planetfall's recently-enlisted Ensign Seventh Class who serves aboard the S.P.S. Feinstein. The most innovative item among the feelies of Across the Stars was the sample transcript, which covers the player character's experience when first joining the crew of the ship aboard which the story begins. (This is a departure from Infocom's practice, which presented sample transcripts from stories that were similar but unrelated.) The ostensible background provided by the feelies is wholly irrelevant to actual gameplay, though, and they can be skipped without losing anything of value.

The game itself is difficult to describe, because it mixes several elements and styles without committing to any of them enough to warrant a strong categorization. The basic segments of the plot are as follows: 1) (Spoiler - click to show)sabotage your ship while avoiding the occasional search by pirates who have captured the rest of the crew, 2) (Spoiler - click to show)explore an ancient temple from an alien culture to learn about their culture and history, 3) (Spoiler - click to show)defeat some dangerous creatures and rescue an NPC, 4) (Spoiler - click to show)get to the NPC's ship and activate its emergency beacon so that you can both be rescued. One or two of these segments might have served as the whole plot of a modern comp game; here, each is treated so breezily that it feels like four half-stories and zero complete ones.

In terms of richness of setting, most of it is found in plot segment 2, which -- oddly -- seems almost wholly optional. In fact, the IFDB-linked walkthrough (which seems to have been for an earlier version of the game) pretty much skips this part. It appears that much of it was grafted on later, and complications to the main plot added to require engagement with these new pieces.

If this was the development strategy, then it is easiest to explain the game's shortcomings as simply the result of it not reflecting any integrated vision of a whole. However, this is a fatal flaw, because in its final form the plot basically requires the player character to (Spoiler - click to show)secure the primary magical artifact of an ancient world religion solely in order to use it as a light source!

At first I thought that this aspect of gameplay was the result of the authors allowing plenty of freedom in the path that the player takes through the game, such that being a good guy is optional. I would have respected that, but review of the source code suggests that this is part of the critical path to reaching the end. I found the overall experience to be somewhat distasteful.

The authors themselves seemed to have trouble coming to grips with the game as a whole; the subtitle of "the Ralckor Incident" seems an odd choice, as the subtitular creature really only figures prominently into plot segment 3. If tasked with naming the game, I might suggest (Spoiler - click to show)"the Taking of the Supalace" (segment 1) or (Spoiler - click to show)"Prophecy of the Protector" (segment 2) or even (Spoiler - click to show)"Escape from Brakis VI" (segment 4). The pacing and structure of the game made it seem to me as though the proposed segment 2 title would fit best, but given the resolution of that segment it would really only do so in an ironic manner.

Playing this game may still be worthwhile as an exercise for the would-be author, because on the local scale of individual rooms, objects and actions there is much to admire about this work. I would not really recommend it to players as entertainment, however. If you want action-adventure, a rich fictional history with layers of meaningful symbolism, engaging and purposeful NPCs, and epic quests to save a world, then you will likely be disappointed by this work that seems to offer all of these things but ends up delivering none.

Another Earth, Another Sky, the second installment of the popular Earth and Sky series, is a significant step up from its predecessor in terms of technical sophistication. Object implementation is complete but not very deep, matching a relatively spare descriptive style for locations. What stands out most is the "situational implementation" -- the game's bug-free logic is prepared for a wide variety of actions that the player character (Earth) might take, or might ask the key NPC (Sky) to do.

This attention to scenario detail was atypical at the time, and the game was exceptionally well-received. Not only did it win the 2002 IF Comp, it received 2nd place in the comp's Miss Congeniality rankings and was later nominated for five XYZZY awards (winning only Best Use of Medium). This last is almost certainly due to the use of comic-book style graphical elements (title cards and onomatopoeia-based "sound effects"), an affordance of the Glulx virtual machine that was still little-used at the time.

Unlike the first installment, which sweeps the player along quite quickly, this episode has a slower and more contemplative pace. The bulk of the action occurs in three parts: (Spoiler - click to show)a short investigation at an abandoned cabin, a much longer investigation on an unusual artificial planetoid, and a brief climax and denouement. The second portion will take up the bulk of the playtime, consisting of one long puzzle about gaining access to the endgame. The scenario is designed such that you must explore the entire area to find the pieces that you need, creating a "travelogue" type of experience that encourages you experience the sights, sounds and smells of the various geographical sections. Sprinkled through this are various optional discoveries that let the thorough player unravel the mystery that serves as a plot, but a full explanation will be provided before the cliffhanger ending in any case.

The game does not stand very well on its own, since the plot continues the events of the first game and seems largely designed to supply backstory for the third episode. The climax encounter with a new NPC is disappointingly short, especially when contrasted with the earlier interaction with the PC's superhero sibling. Rather than attempt this as standalone entertainment, it is probably best enjoyed as part of the series.

One minor item of interest is that the startup menu allows the player to optionally specify details of the resolution of key events that occurred during his or her playthrough of the first episode. The answers have a small impact on the introductory text, but I did not notice any other consequence.

I downloaded An Act of Misdirection many years ago, having seen it mentioned in passing in a positive way. The only thing that I remembered about it when I loaded it up this morning was that you play the part of a stage magician, and that you had to figure out the steps of the performance.

"Well, this should be interesting," I thought after reading the run-up to the first command prompt. Imagine my delight as I found that the way had been carefully prepared for my bumbling first attempts, that hints and nudges were craftily placed within every turn of phrase of the interaction. These hints began small and subtle but escalated to large and glaring when needed to get my attention, and rapidly taught me both to follow their lead and to take advantage of the breaks in the action to "work the crowd" for a response.

I have noted in the past about certain games' ability to follow the player until the player can learn to follow them. This is accomplished so expertly here that it seems effortless. The only point where I got stalled too long was a place where a little thinking about the logic of performances of this type would have sufficed. (Spoiler - click to show)Specifically, having used a blunt instrument for its intended purpose, it makes sense that it can be disposed of thereafter. (Spoiler - click to show)A hint from your assistance about which item he expects to catch would have smoothed the way here; if there was one, I missed it. The correct move was apparent enough when I stopped to consider it... it just took me a while to do so because I was swept up in the urgency of keeping the show going. The author, Callico Harrison, should truly take a bow for this achievement; not many games manage to instill this sense of immediacy.

Having come to this game mostly "cold," I wasn't even aware that there was a horror component to it. I would imagine that this situation has been relatively rare since the game's initial release -- this IFDB page, for example, clearly labels it as such -- but knowing about it is a massive spoiler! If you have already played the game you can imagine my own shock, echoing that of the fictional audience, as the performance reaches its culmination. The first act had been an Act of Misdirection, indeed.

Moving on from there, Ms. Harrison demonstrates a surprisingly rich and deep command of language in painting the scenes of the protagonist's origin story. Many people seem to find this second section to be inferior to the first; I did not. The same craft and skill is used to keep the action moving with clues, now less blatant in their prompting of the right command. The parser is fairly free in its interpretation of your input at this point, redirecting your intent when you are "close enough" in order to keep the scene moving briskly. Call it "railroaded" if you like, but I prefer to think of it as the game urgently requesting your cooperation to play along so as not to ruin the intended pacing. I found myself eager to catch up as the game led me through a chaotic situation, glancing this way and that at glimpses of Victorian life before being tugged along to a more contemplative setting where the horror begins in earnest.

Here Ms. Harrison shows that her command of the psychology of horror is as great as that of her command of language -- indeed, I found this section to be a master class of the technique for "showing, not telling" in the context of interactive fiction. I expect to spend much time scrutinizing the writing here to better understand how she so expertly conveys key knowledge indirectly; important realizations suddenly appear in your mind at the center of a flourish of well-chosen connotations. A second bow in encore is called for here.

If there is anything to criticize about this work, it is that it is over too quickly, and that certain details of the scenario are not clear after a first playing. I am glad to see that other reviewers almost universally recommend a second playthrough, and I look forward to doing so... preferably with other players who don't know what to expect.

As a final note, I want to point out that this game was written in Inform 6, and it is a remarkable feat to achieve such a level of polish with that toolset. Very few games of the era are its equal in this respect, though nowadays Inform 7 makes it easier (if not exactly easy) to build scenarios of comparable quality.

Ms. Harrison does not seem to have ever produced another standalone work of IF (though she did contribute to Cragne Manor), but if she does she will find me among those waiting "in anticipation of something magical" to try her next work.

Back to Life... Unfortunately is an entertaining but significantly buggy game. I played version 3, obtained from the IF Archive. (At least, I think it was version 3. The game banner claims to be version 2, but the response to the command >BUGS implies otherwise.)

As noted by another reviewer, the game's humor starts well but doesn't hold up for long; there are really only so many ways to tell the same joke. However, by the time the humor has worn off, you are likely to have achieved several "successes," so you will be well-motivated to finish the game on the basis of wanting to complete the remaining puzzles. Regrettably, you are likely to run into trouble while doing so.

Many of the issues stem from the use of ADRIFT to write the game. As I've noted elsewhere, the most frustrating thing about ADRIFT as a player is that it lacks a proper parser and does not differentiate well between errors that are caused by failure to understand the arrangement of words vs. the failure to understand the words themselves. The game's gravest errors are where it provides inaccurate feedback, giving the player the perception that certain required commands would have no effect or would be unrecognized. I got hung up for quite a while on the syntax required to mark boxes on a form; since the need to do this is immediate and obvious, it is no spoiler to relay that the correct syntax is of the form >TICK BOX 1. (Just >TICK BOX is treated as a totally unrecognized command -- a disambiguation message would have helped tremendously here.) The worst offender of this class was (Spoiler - click to show)(see numbered hint 3 below). Attempting to use any other direct object results in a message instructing the player to say which of several indirect objects is intended. Specifying the correct indirect object in the command via its typical adventurese abbreviation (i.e. color only) will not work and falsely claim that there is no effect.

There is a built-in hint system, but it is not very extensive and does not help with guess-the-* problems. (Even here there is a significant inconsistency: While >HINT works as a command, the response to >HINTS claims there are no hints in the game.) (Spoiler - click to show)If you get really frustrated, there is a command >CLUES that will point the way to 100% spoilage. Since the game is enjoyable and worth playing, I offer the following hints:

1. Handling an intruder: (Spoiler - click to show)After exploring a bit, you will hear the sound of an intruder in your chambers. (Spoiler - click to show)You should immediately >LISTEN as soon as you are notified of this. Should you fail to do so, it will seem as though the noise was a false alarm. Go back to the Throne Room and >LISTEN to trigger the next part of the sequence. (Spoiler - click to show)An assassin! Oh, no!... but wait a minute, don't you want to die? (Spoiler - click to show)As the game hints, you don't want to die at the hands of this particular person -- once was enough.(Spoiler - click to show)You can't handle the intruder alone. He will kill you.(Spoiler - click to show)The guards can help here. (Spoiler - click to show)You have to call them -- but it only works correctly from the Laboratory. (Spoiler - click to show)If you don't do things this way, you will miss two opportunities to die.

2. Dealing with the problems of the kingdom: (Spoiler - click to show)You don't want to rule anymore. That's someone else's job. Someone specific. (Spoiler - click to show)Your High Chancellor is very... effective, shall we say, but he can't do the job alone. (Spoiler - click to show)Your layabout son is the proper ruler at this point. You will need to "encourage" him. (Spoiler - click to show)Did you know that you can >CALL GUARDS from the Throne Room? (Spoiler - click to show)They will provide you with a ring allowing telepathic communication. Pay attention to its introduction. (Spoiler - click to show)Examine it carefully before putting it on. (Spoiler - click to show)Your son isn't eager to take up his duties, but he is eager to avoid any displeasure. (Spoiler - click to show)Especially pain. (Spoiler - click to show)>SMASH RING -- but only while wearing it in the Throne Room, for inexplicable reasons. That will get his attention. (Spoiler - click to show)Then >TALK TO TOROMIN again -- but only somewhere other than the Throne Room, for inexplicable reasons.

3. An optional death: (Spoiler - click to show)If you have handled the intruder correctly, you will get two items that he was carrying. (Spoiler - click to show)One is easily applied to your goal. The other requires some work to use. (Spoiler - click to show)The leaf has an odor that reminds you of something. (Spoiler - click to show)Your lab has something that can help. (Spoiler - click to show)You want to heat it up. Which potion is best for this? (Spoiler - click to show)For inexplicable reasons, >PUT LEAF IN PURPLE won't work (and falsely claim that nothing happened), but >PUT LEAF IN POTION or >PUT LEAF IN PURPLE POTION will have a result.

4. A required death: (Spoiler - click to show)As you have discovered, your minions are quite adept at bringing you back to life. How can you stop them? (Spoiler - click to show)You need to be not just killed but obliterated. (Spoiler - click to show)Earthly methods are insufficient here; you need divine intervention. (Spoiler - click to show)Divine is not the same as infernal! (Spoiler - click to show)You probably found a scroll discussing "words of power" in the Laboratory. (Spoiler - click to show)Oh, darn -- the words are missing. But this was your scroll, supposedly, so maybe you already know them? (Spoiler - click to show)You can just say >WORDS OF POWER to use them -- in the right place. (Spoiler - click to show)The right place being someplace open to the sky. (Spoiler - click to show)No, not the balcony. (Spoiler - click to show)The Throne Room needs to be prepared before it will work. So do you. The scroll is specific about this. (Spoiler - click to show)Holy water is the tool for the job. (Spoiler - click to show)You can drink some to prepare yourself, but you need a way to get some to the Throne Room. (Spoiler - click to show)The only container that can be used for this must be ordered using the mouldy scroll (obtained via >CALL GUARDS in the Throne Room). (Spoiler - click to show)The genie in a bottle is a red herring. (Spoiler - click to show)The fiery potion won't kill you but does provide you with a container. (Spoiler - click to show)You can >FILL VIAL in the Laboratory and >SPRINKLE WATER in the Throne Room.

Although the goal is to reach a score of 10, the way to achieve this best score is, unexpectedly, to forego one of the opportunities (Spoiler - click to show)(see numbered clue 1 above). Doing so provides the PC with needed items that can't be obtained any other (legitimate) way. Sharp-eyed players will note that the score (measured in "successful suicide attempts") goes up even when the PC chooses not to die here, and that this mysterious extra death is needed to get to 10. The reason for this is not clear; it seems to be a bug.

The least bothersome issues encountered in the course of play were several misspellings that looked like the result of depending on a spellchecker instead of human proofreading. Of particular note were two phrases: "the semi-literature Toromin" (instead of "semi-literate") and "full extent of the water" (presumably instead of "of the law"?) -- the remainder were sound-alike errors that are easier to miss.

The problems were frequent and severe enough to sharply reduce my opinion of the gameplay experience, which is why I've given it two stars. However, I did like this game, and I encourage people to try it out. Its premise is solid, and the writing is above-average. It ended up being the first of a series, followed by two sequels that received respectable rankings within the competitions in which they were entered. With some corrections in place, this game would definitely warrant three stars. Until that happens, don't hesitate to use the clues above as a way of smoothing out the roughest parts.

Wisher, Theurgist, Fatalist is a short game with an unusually ambitious scope. It is intended as an homage (self-described as "fanfic" in the game's banner) of an RPG system proposed by Jenna Moran (the outdated URL for which is also shown in the game's banner; the Wayback Machine has an archived version).

I had never heard of this RPG, and a cursory review of its rules suggests that it was proposed as a game mostly in jest. Rules are frequently written in a joking manner, such as the following passage: "Don't play WTF when operating heavy machinery. Use caution when playing WTF while tired, drunk, or punchy, as it may increase the chance that the shadow lurking beyond the edge of the world shall immure you all in timeless misery. If you are or think you might be pregnant, talk to your doctor about playing WTF." Even the RPG's acronym (WTF) implies that it is not intended to be taken seriously.

However, the author of the RPG has published other commercial role-playing games, and the part of the WTF rules that are not in jest describes a collaborative story-building RPG system. That system as described appears to be at least 90% satire. I don't have enough experience with this type of game to comment on WTF's playability, but I assume that it is possible with the right set of participants. (A word of warning: The rules' example of play, from which the title of this review was drawn, might give you pause.)

The remaining 10% of the non-jest portion appears to be an outline of the RPG author's philosophy and/or methodology for creating fantasy stories (and/or possibly for living), which is interesting but is not the point of this review. The only part that is relevant is the prescribed gross structure of a game of the RPG, which begins in the the Civilized Lands. (Per the prescribed outline, the story is intended to progress from there to the Savage People and the Fairies, then on to the Ur-Toads -- optionally first attempting to reach the Dragons of the Deeps -- and thence to the Conclusion. Understand that these segments of the journey and their names are in some sense composed of mythic archetypes, and would seem to be highly fluid in their execution. The only requirement is that certain types of narrative challenge are overcome at each step.)

Xavid, the author of the work of interactive fiction which is the point of this review, seems to have been inspired by the RPG's more poetic sections to create a parser game rooted in the RPG ruleset. This is a goal that on the face of it seems manifestly impossible, as the ruleset is unapologetic about its massive ambiguities, and computer programs don't do ambiguity well. As a consequence, many (indeed, most) of the mechanics of the RPG are simply ignored by the IF. Perhaps unexpectedly, what remains seems, in fact, to be a pretty good adaptation of the intended play experience to the parser medium.

The human player takes the role of the player character, who is the Wisher, and indirectly takes the roles of the Theurgist and Fatalist, who are both non-player characters that become obedient to PC commands after minor puzzles are solved. Each of these roles has the ability to influence certain in-game objects by injecting those objects with a quality that is associated with the role. For Wishers, this is "valence," the relevance of that thing to the narrative. For Fatalists, this is truth (as judged within the story world). For Theurgists, this is "mechanical support," ostensibly referring to RPG game mechanics (but rather significantly re-defined in the IF).

Each of these qualities will be discovered in the course of play and can be used by the appropriate character to invest objects with supernatural influence for the purpose of solving the IF's puzzles, all of which offer multiple solutions. In addition, the Wisher and Theurgist characters have a limited ability to use other special influence, by affecting the thoughts of creatures and physical qualities of things respectively. (In the RPG, the Fatalist's special power is the ability to declare what is true about the history of the world. It would be difficult to implement in a meaningful way, so in the IF this character is largely reduced to the source of in-game lore.)

The events of the game cover the characters' travails in the first part (i.e. the Civilized Lands segment) of an RPG game, in which they must obtain the (vampire) queen's blessing to set out on their quest for the Jewel of All Desiring. This portion is very sparsely implemented, largely composed of single-sentence room descriptions and "You can't see any such thing." parser errors. However, mechanically the game performs very well, implementing some relatively tricky things without any noteworthy bugs. The built-in hint system is available if needed, which goes a long way toward keeping player interest from getting derailed by guess-the-verb and/or guess-the-noun frustration. The writing, limited though it is, is well-focused on what is necessary to create a minimum of atmosphere and adequate context for the game's puzzles.

The conclusion of the game is quite unexpected... and very thought-provoking. (Spoiler - click to show)Having reached the object of the quest, the player must wish the world into existence. (Spoiler - click to show)(In accordance with the rules of the RPG, this will be the world that the characters experienced -- yes, it's very meta that way.) The game asks a series of questions about the actions taken by the characters, soliciting your -- as in you, the player's -- input on the matter. Questions are phrased such that they ask whether or not you agree that aspect of the story. At the end of the ten questions, your score is given, and the maximum score accords with answering yes -- answering yes honestly -- to all questions. If the player does not like their score, they are implicitly invited to play again to find other solutions to the puzzles.

This game left me with mixed feelings. On the one hand, the concept behind it is compelling, and the implementation reflects insightful and inventive design in adapting the more ephemeral aspects of the RPG as written. On the other hand, everything about the game's text and interaction is so bare-bones that on the whole it feels flat and empty -- in stark contrast with the tidbits of evocative and compelling text pulled from the ruleset and delivered via the Fatalist. Ultimately, I decided that this flatness is what would matter most from the perspective of the average player, which is why I've given this work only two stars.

I remind the reader that, in my book, two stars is not a bad rating. I certainly think that this game is worth experiencing and contemplating -- it doesn't take long. Perhaps Xavid will return to this project and expand it to the point where it better fulfills its potential. If not... well, perhaps someone else will come along to take another shot at realizing the vision shimmering in the distance here.

(Note: Would-be players are well-served by other reviews; this one is for would-be authors.)

There aren't really that many works of horror IF. Well-known works are fewer. Award-winning works pretty much come down to a handful, with Anchorhead being the first and only for at least a decade.

What makes it so hard to write horror IF? My usual argument is that it comes down to the problem of controlling pacing, which is critical to building the player's mood, and which is extraordinarily difficult to manage with the toolkit of interactive fiction. Control it too much, and the player is likely to feel "railroaded" and thus cheated of the promise of interaction. Control it too little, and the player will inevitably dawdle and poke about in the world you've built, which has the effect of constantly draining away the tension that you're trying so hard to keep on the rise. The player may enjoy bits and pieces of the experience but will not come away with the whole you envisioned.

Mr. Gentry seems to have very consciously grasped the challenge here and created a number of subtle innovations that go a long way towards overcoming both it and other obstacles to translating the methods of horror into IF. It is well worth examining these innovations in detail to try to understand what they solve, how they work and how they might be improved.

Anchorhead is patterned after the works of H. P. Lovecraft, which typically feature a protagonist who, beginning in a relatively humdrum setting, discovers previously-unsuspected horrors and subsequently struggles (often unsuccessfully) to retain his sanity as he grapples with the redefinition of his reality. In following this formula, it is first necessary to establish a starting point of normality, and Mr. Gentry clearly went to great lengths to do so. The "normal" presented in this work differs significantly from what is typically found in interactive fiction -- it's closer to actual reality in several ways.

First, as Emily Short notes, Gentry's prose offers players a multidimensional sensory experience that is far above-average in its quality, and which is delivered with amazing grace and economy. Not just sight, but sound, smell, touch are all intertwined throughout the room and object descriptions. The work that went into all of this writing was enormous, but with it Gentry achieves an important goal: As a player, you feel much more immersed in the environment than you would in most games.

Second, there are nuances of interaction that faithfully mimic the mechanics of reality in ways surprising to long-time players. Most notable here is the implementation of a model of the PC's hands -- the game keeps track of how she's holding her inventory and interacting with objects, causing failure of some actions when neither hand is free. While this level of realism has the potential to be a major annoyance, Gentry's coding skills ensure that, for the most part, you won't have to worry about it, as the PC will automatically shift things around on your behalf. The mimesis is somewhat broken here by the presence of a "holdall" object with unrealistically large carrying capacity, but since inventory limits are anathema to most players, this is an acceptable tradeoff. From time to time, the lack of free hands or pockets asserts itself in a realistic manner, once again reinforcing an underlying normality that brings you another step "into" the game world.

Third, again surprising, is the implementation of the weather. The game's storms are almost as annoying in Anchorhead as they would be in real life, prone to interfering with your inventory in ways which, though not hyper-realistic, manage to catch the essentials of the situation(Spoiler - click to show). That hurricane lamp you just walked outside with? It's out. That box of papers you had? Well, you still have the box. A well-implemented umbrella, working in conjunction with your hands, deals with most of the hassle, but Gentry has cleverly managed to make it just real enough that you have to worry about it as a player, elevating it above mere background description and again forcing you deeper into the PC's situation.

Fourth is the implementation of NPCs. I agree with Peter Pears that this is an exceptional example of the potential of the ask/tell system in the hands of a good writer, which makes talking to people feel like real interaction. The topic depth here is again evidence of hard work done with great skill; NPCs respond to topics that many players might not think to ask, if they haven't been paying attention to all of the minor details presented elsewhere in the game. This has a positive feedback effect for you as the player in that you are rewarded for making these connections in a way that does not affect the game's playability but once again draws you further "in". (Incidentally, this is a great variation of the "show, don't tell" technique for confirming the player's understanding of the situation, as such connections are rarely noted by the PC.)

Last but not least, the handling of the PC strikes an excellent balance, leaving enough AFGNCAAP-like interaction to allow anyone to project themselves into the lead role while retaining a narrative voice that colors the whole experience in a meaningful way. From time to time, the PC's mentality injects itself unobtrusively into the game, always in a way that reinforces immersion and enhances the player/PC connection(Spoiler - click to show). I am especially fond of the PC's unwillingness to go to sleep with the doors unlocked the first night in the house. Though it means having to get back up, put your clothes on, go downstairs and deal with it, it also makes sense that the PC would be too agitated about the situation to go to sleep without doing so, and I love how it's presented as though you simply forgot to do this -- even though wandering around leaving doors open is perfectly normal behavior in most IF. Again, this is a very restrained and subtle reinforcement of the game world as "real" that is amazingly precise in that it doesn't quite annoy you as a player.

These efforts to enhance reality don't really affect the gameplay very much, but they do affect your experience as a reader. After investing a lot of work to align the player's perceptions and mindset into an expectation of realism, Gentry is able to start introducing the surrealism that is the backbone of Lovecraftian horror. Gentry's success in this effort springs from the insight that underlies the Lovecraft quote which opens the game: "The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown."

Mr. Gentry's first key perception was understanding that the right place to develop tension is in the mind of the player, not the mind of the PC. Despite the trials of the experience portrayed, the PC has almost no observable emotional reaction -- if there is an emotional reaction, it comes from you, and it's achieved because the player/PC identity alignment has been so carefully managed. As the situation becomes more desperate, the PC becomes willing to do things that either explicitly or implicitly would have been balked at normally(Spoiler - click to show). Examples: stealing her husband's faculty card, spying on her husband, "hacking" his computer, stealing the mechanic's key, crawling through sewer pipes. Since many of these actions are necessary to advance the plot, in effect, the way the PC's reactions are modified to suit the mood that has been targeted almost acts as an emotional puzzle structure that ensures you feel the way Gentry wanted you to at each point(Spoiler - click to show). I say "almost" because not all of these actions are necessary to "win" (though they are to achieve maximum points).

Gentry's second vital intuition was in understanding that the way to keep the tension from dissipating is, unintuitively, to build it very slowly. Since no number of exclamation points is sufficient to induce a surprise reaction in the player, Gentry instead uses the technique of scattering numerous small clues to the central mystery throughout the game world. As Peter Pears phrased it you build your understanding "piece by piece" from these brilliantly interlocking clues in a way that makes your uncomfortable comprehension seem to well up from the dark recesses of your own subconscious instead of being handed down from above(Spoiler - click to show). I particularly like how this technique interacts with some of the "red herring" ideas introduced during the library research portion. As a player, you're not sure which to expect to materialize in-game. Notably, there are multiple clues for key information, making these realizations easier to achieve for the player and reinforcing the realism style. Even more notable is Gentry's craft in writing some of them. The "visual" clues (Spoiler - click to show)(i.e. the paintings in the gallery) are so well-written that I can recall them to my memory as though I had seen an actual image.

Overlaid onto the plot is a well-formed "scene" structure that divides the game world both chronologically and geographically. While the division of time into day and evening cycles is a bit too crude to be completely believable(Spoiler - click to show)(see Brian Uri's Augmented Fourth for a similar but more granular and thus more effective treatment), large portions of the game world are only accessible during certain times, giving a very dynamic feel to the story compared to games that depend solely on spatial barriers to enforce the plot structure.

In addition, there are a few timed or "action" sequences sprinkled throughout the game to add variety to the pacing. With respect to these, I found very effective Gentry's technique of giving the player the opportunity to explore certain spaces in advance of action sequences that would take place in them. The first time you are in an area, your exploration (unrestricted by time) advances your understanding of the plot. The second time there, the application of timing restrictions seems perfectly fair, as you've had a chance to develop the knowledge needed to "survive" them and your attention is not diverted by the need to explore the environment(Spoiler - click to show). My personal favorite example is the slaughterhouse scene, in which the two modes occur back-to-back in the same area. It is a vividly cinematic sequence, though it is marred by the rather ludicrous (if effective) presence of the crayon drawing and inconsistent use of the verb "hide".

As a last note of praise, I admired the way that the author found a couple of interesting ways to discomfort long-time players via subtle manipulation of expectations(Spoiler - click to show). Example: The fly in the real estate agent's office is a persistent presence in the prose, but can't be interacted with as an object. It's irritating and disquieting since generally for IF prominence in the text equates to prominence in the object structure. Example: The inability to explore the house due to darkness on the first night. A touch of pseudo-realism that doesn't quite fit in the typical IF experience -- having gained entry to the house you, as a player, expect to get to check it out. I think it is small details such as this that left me not quite knowing what to expect from the rest of the story while still feeling grounded within it. This slight disorientation is the mark of encountering something new (which is very, very rare for long-time players), and that, more than anything else, is what makes this work stand out in my mind.

All of the above is not to say that Anchorhead is perfect. I actually felt that the introduction (pre-arrival at the house) was quite poorly done. I had tried this game before and put it aside after 50 moves a couple of times, but this time I gritted my teeth and powered through it -- and I'm very glad I did. In addition, there are quite a few small bugs and places where the polish wears off towards the end of the game(Spoiler - click to show). For the nitpickers interested in a tour of these inconsistencies in the otherwise very high implementation quality:

* There seems to be an unintentional "last lousy point" issue due to a sensitivity to the order-of-events between researching birth and death dates and reading about the Verlach family in the library book. If you read the dates first, you make a connection and gain a point when you read the book, but not the other way around.

* Messages about flute resonance can sometimes call both columns the "right-hand column" in the mound.

* The madman in the asylum mimicking your voice doesn't seem to work correctly. I got garbled text that I am fairly sure should have been repeating back what I had typed.

* The way the magic word "ialdabaoloth" is handled is problematic; quotes don't work and the failure of commands like "say ialdabaoloth" and "door, ialdabaoloth" make it an unintentional guess-the-syntax puzzle.

* Examining the lighthouse after it is destroyed shows it still "there" from multiple vantage points.

* Trying to push William off the bridge gives a default politeness-based refusal that definitely does not fit with the situation.

* The bum's corpse still seems to be treated as animate after his death; you get default NPC responses for many interactions.

* Michael's corpose seems to be absent as an object.

* The luggage default message stays the same no matter how crazy the situation gets. So does taking a bath.

* Automatic key logic doesn't take into account keys not on the keychain -- very noticeable in the madman chase scene.

* There are a few disambiguation issues in conversation topics, e.g. "the book" or "the professor".

Beyond these, there are some places where design choices seem antiquated today even though they are closer to the norm for 1998:

* gratuitous mazes, though small and at least one can be bypassed

* darkness in the hallway during the madman scene; this turned into an annoyance for me and screwed up the pacing of the scene because I didn't have a light source, though this doesn't seem like an intentional "puzzle"

* the torn square of canvas being semi-hidden though it would clearly have been visible to the PC is strange and requires a careful search in a sequence otherwise oriented around a fast escape

* the climactic puzzle with the mirrors has many problematic details (Spoiler - click to show)(Why can you only mess up a replacement? Why doesn't Michael/Verlach notice the label on the replacement mirror? Why can't you "touch mirror" with an oily finger to get the same sabotage effect?) and definitely took a walkthrough for me

. Most likely, this is due to the scale of the work being so large that a) Gentry's skills in writing and coding improved over the course of its development and b) playtesting to perfection would take more hours than were available from volunteers. Space constraints may also have been a factor -- this work was developed pre-Glulx and must have stretched the limits of the z8 format.

Perhaps the greatest criticism I can muster is that Anchorhead very nearly succumbs to the pacing problem that kills so many attempts at IF horror. This is most obvious during Day Three, where I wanted STORY, not puzzles, and my patience for them was wearing thin enough to start consulting the walkthrough.

My natural rating for this work would have been 4 stars, or "exceptional" by my scale. I'm compelled to give it 5, however, because, in my experience, it is the king of the genre, far surpassing its Infocom-produced cousin, The Lurking Horror.

The author of this short adventure bills it as "an old-fashioned 1980's style text adventure" and notes: "[T]his isn’t modern IF, it’s an old-fashioned puzzle game with a wafer-thin plot and dated concepts like darkness, And, yes, there are a couple of things you can do to make the game unwinnable, although I’ve tried to make these somewhat obvious." It was also apparently produced as a first attempt of using the PunyInform library (version 4.0), and officially left beta status last month.

The premise seems intentionally absurd: You are a duck -- a toy plush duck -- living in a world that seems to be made of a combination of toy building materials, natural caverns, and occasional technology ranging from antique to futuristic. If that bothers you even a little, then you will find little to enjoy about this game. If the idea of a mashup between "A Bear's Night Out," "Planetfall," and a generic Scott Adams game sounds fun, however, then keep reading.

The PC wakes with amnesia and does not seem to understand why he/she is a plush duck. The "wafer-thin" plot consists of trying to escape an abandoned research complex by summoning help from the associates that left you behind while evacuating. To do this you will need to solve a series of arbitrary puzzles. So far, so good.

The gameplay experience rapidly breaks down, however, because many of these puzzles are significantly underclued. This is aggravated by the fact that there are numerous red herrings. It is further aggravated by the presence of what look like serious bugs that can lock out a win state without explanation or warning. (Spoiler - click to show)I don't know for sure what is causing these, but they seem to be related to lighting conditions. Key objects and object components can "disappear" either intermittently or permanently. Make sure that you have light when conjuring vegetables, and try turning the torch on and off if anything seems to be missing an essential component.

The essential flaw of the design is a failure to provide feedback to the player regarding partial progress on puzzles. This is absolutely critical for any complex puzzle requiring an extended series of actions, so that players can understand that they are on the right track. The most egregious example here is the puzzle involving retrieval of a piece of paper wedged under a heavy desk. Despite understanding the basic idea of needing to lift the desk to free the paper, this was not easy to accomplish even with a found item that seemed perfect for the task. (Spoiler - click to show)The actual solution requires use of multiple objects stacked onto one another in order to get the jack high enough to work, but there is no indication that the reason it doesn't work is that the jack is not high enough on its own. Multiple items must be stacked under the desk to get it high enough. (NOTE: The first version of this spoiler said that the need to turn one of these items over was "inexplicable," but it is in fact quite explicable and consistent with a similar item. I just wasn't paying very close attention to the default game output about this object. My apologies to the author!) There is no indication that the player's plan could work if conditions were adjusted. I had to resort to decompiling the game file to get the solution here.

Another flaw, arguably one that is stylistically appropriate for 1980s works, is that certain events occur "off-screen" as a result of your actions without any indication that this has occurred. The key example here involves obtaining a head of celery; the player simply won't know when this puzzle has been solved. In fact, the feedback given when the correct action is taken implies that the task failed. The player must wander to another part of the complex to find that the celery can now be obtained (with a little more work).

The last serious flaw involves a failure to communicate important in-game information to the player. I'm thinking here of a snake that prevents access to certain areas. Although the PC claims to remember something about the species, the essential information (Spoiler - click to show)(what it eats) is not provided, even after a puzzle has been solved that the game states should improve your memory. Good luck finding the solution here via anything other than brute force.

This game is littered with what look like author in-jokes, or possibly references to sources (like cartoons) not made explicit. A mysterious "ethereal" voice that harangues you every so often has no explanation, but it seems to be linked to a red herring that can be found. An even more mysterious event that happens at move 37 seems to have no bearing on the plot or in-game explanation. The ending makes no sense at all, as far as I can tell.

Despite the above, I basically wanted to like this game. The author clearly put a significant amount of work into the implementation, and the main set piece puzzles (involving a blender and an automated surgeon) are competently executed. There are some clever bits here (like a light puzzle not based on batteries running out), and the oddball humor appealed to me where it was accessible. The two-star rating that I'm giving it means "almost there" in my ranking system, and it would rate three stars (aka "good, not great") with better focus and the cleanup of game-threatening bugs. I'll keep an eye out for a release 2.

The Lost Islands of Alabaz has been out for more than a decade now, and, while it did make a splash by winning the Spring Thing 2011 competition, it seems to have faded into something like obscurity in the years since.

This is a grave oversight.

Michael Gentry's overlooked gem is an exquisitely well-planned introductory adventure for children (or, indeed, for adults sufficiently young at heart). Developing it in the years after his work on Jack Toresal and The Secret Letter, he seems to have been prompted to write this piece as a test of his own insights about how to craft a kid-friendly IF experience.

In the same way that his genre-savviness elevates Anchorhead above the pack, his deep intuition about children's storybooks serves him well here. The very first interaction, the simple device of asking for the protagonist's name, is a remarkably-effective hook for young players, especially as it is phrased ("What is your name, brave Knight?"). Immediately, the player is invited to either enter his or her own name (thereby stepping into the story with an actual identity) or to invent a heroic-sounding name (creating an avatar to embody an archetypal persona). From there, the target player is deftly drawn into the fairytale world that will be the story's setting while at the same time being shown the ropes of interactive fiction. The spare text style of just a few lines to describe each room is appropriate to the genre, won't tax even intermediate readers, and leaves plenty of room for the imagination to fill in the details -- especially after it has been sparked by a few carefully-chosen adjectives. The tropes at play are simple, and the story progresses with a light-hearted sense of fun that is both charming and compelling. In the first few moves, during which the tutorial mode is active, I was powerfully reminded of Infocom's Wishbringer, but it is important to note that this isn't an "old school" style game.

Once again, the author's talent for integral design of the play experience is evident; a few careful changes to the mechanics of interaction do much to set the mood for those familiar with interactive fiction, while smoothing the way for newcomers. The world model is somewhat simplified from the standard: Only four cardinal directions are supported, and objects never leave inventory once acquired. NPCs are talkative enough within the game's ASK/TELL model, which can be daunting for beginners, but implementation of a "topic-prompting" system (similar to that of Lost Pig) and functional combination of the verbs ASK and TELL make it very easy to get started. The SHOW and GIVE verbs also can also be used, a discovery that new players seem to make intuitively once they have had a few interactions with people in the world.

Trig, an almost ever-present sidekick who is the most prominent NPC, arrives early and takes over as the game's tutorial voice after the first few moves. By the end of the first chapter, he stops dispensing tutorial advice, and from that point on he doubles as a hint system. Repeatedly asking Trig about an active problem (as identified in the self-updating journal) will yield increasingly larger hints. It's quite intriguing how this plays out psychologically with young players -- they seem naturally resistant to asking him for help whenever they think it is something that they should be able to figure out themselves, even when stuck. Perhaps this has to do with the way that Trig's personality is implemented; he is somewhat dull, in the style of Trent/Tiffany from the Infocom canon. (The logic seems to be "If even Trig can figure it out, I should be able to!")

NPCs are an integral part of the game. In addition to Trig there are two other crew members, Javier and Zoey, that the protagonist is nominally in charge of as captain of a ship. These at first seem to be information-dispensing cardboard cutouts (the dominant but wholly-appropriate style used in the game), but at several points the protagonist needs to gain cooperation from one of these team members to complete a puzzle. This is a small but important touch, moving them out of the realm of background decoration and into the realm of supporting characters. At least one of these occasions requires issuing a command to Trig, an affordance that might not be obvious to new players but which Trig himself introduces as an optional interaction during one of his last tutorial voice comments.

Although the hint system is in place, it is rarely needed because the puzzle structure is masterfully designed. It works marvelously in conjunction with the game's "journal" system that serves in place of a score. Reading the journal lists achievements that have been accomplished as well as the pertinent puzzles to be solved at that point. The effect of reading over the list is much like a FULL SCORE command without any numbers attached, and it's interesting how over time this creates a sense of progression through the story's highlights without implying a precise measure of how much of the game remains.

Initial puzzles barely count as such, with solutions on the order of opening a container or walking between rooms, but the difficulty level slowly increases over time. While even the most difficult puzzles in the game are on the easier side for experienced players, several are clever in their construction and require small leaps of intuition that are just the right length for kids. Using Andrew Plotkin's definition of a good puzzle as being one that makes the player feel smart, these are very good puzzles indeed. There is also quite a bit of variety to the types of puzzles, including a superb racing sequence that makes for a very memorable action scene (and adds a new companion NPC: the mount, which the player must name). Wonderfully, the puzzles dramatically reduce in difficulty as the plot reaches the top of its arc, allowing for a quick denouement before the sense of victory is lost.

The story's pacing is also excellent. Its structure involves exploration of several islands, each consisting of a small number of rooms (generally 3 to 10) and each relatively self-contained. Access to each island is granted by obtaining one of ten magical pearls, and much of the functional plot revolves around obtaining these. As the range of traversable locations expands, more and more interactions between locations become possible (and necessary to progress). Although the central mystery of the plot remains a mystery until near the end, the player is rewarded with snippets of history that are revealed through exploration. These snippets contrast with the expectations set by the game's well-crafted "feelie" (an almanac of the kingdom written 50 years previously), giving a sense of deep dynamism to a world whose present is generally static. The command GO TO assists in navigation on each island, but it is not 100% reliable, suffering bugs in certain places(Spoiler - click to show) [confused by basket-o-vator, or presenting occasional malformed disambiguation questions] and outright refusing to cooperate if the destination is too nearby. This is another of Gentry's bits of subtle genius; it frees players from long sequences of navigation commands while still encouraging them to create a map of their own, in their heads if nowhere else.

One feature that I particularly liked about this work was that it includes some strategically-placed red herrings in a couple of places. These are items that seem like they could have a use somewhere, but which never actually do. Players are left to mull over these and deduce which items among them are the ones that can actually be put to use. Their presence does quite a bit to vary the pace of the story (allowing for thoughtful, slow-paced experimentation phases) and to engender the sense of a world of possibilities, even when in practice there are few options for progress. They also contribute to the satisfaction of working out the relevant solutions by sorting trash from treasure.

Although a version 2 was released to correct bugs, there are still a noticeable number of typos and a few issues with the interaction. These are minor, and they do not detract from the story. Perhaps these will be addressed in a future release, but most players will probably be more interested in seeing the sequel that is promised at the game's end.

There's something in the alchemy of this work that may particularly appeal to those who enjoy games in the old school style. It manages to retain the heart of some of the best elements of that style while adopting (and adapting) several innovations that inarguably improve the play experience. I'm not sure how well playing this would prepare someone to try older games, which might seem primitive in comparison to this work, but it certainly seems likely to encourage young players to view interactive fiction as a category in a positive light, and that aspect alone makes this a valuable contribution to the field.

This game earns five stars for me, as it has become my first suggestion whenever someone asks for a recommendation for a children's game. If you are looking to introduce a grade school child to interactive fiction, this is definitely the one to try. Even middle school aged children may enjoy it if they can get into the proper mindset -- especially if they are teamed up with younger kids and can help them think through the puzzles. The same applies to parents: It's sure to be fun if played with kids, even if it's not the kind of thing that you would choose for just yourself.

Having very much enjoyed Risorgimento Represso, I was eager to play this sequel when it was first released in 2018. It didn't manage to grab me the way that its predecessor did, so I put it aside and only got around to trying again recently. It was definitely enjoyable for someone who appreciates the old school style of play, and it is a solid sequel to a well-regarded first episode.

One of the hallmarks of the old school style -- found abundantly in the most popular games of Infocom -- is a kind of wacky comedy to interactions with the presented world. Plenty of more modern works offer the same, but this is not mere imitation. Instead, the technique survives because it is a relatively easy way to deliver entertainment to the player that is of particular value within interactive fiction because it doesn't rely on proper pacing. After all, "brevity is the soul of wit," and bite-sized jokes fit neatly between command prompts.

Although this piece frequently incorporates that type of comedy, it takes the form of more than one-off jokes. Instead, it is the framework for an extensive comedy of errors, a genuine farce growing like rich ivy over the cottage of the game's simple action plot. Jokes build on one another and escalate over time as the player, in the typical old school PC style, conducts a minor crime spree in pursuit of purely personal goals.

It should be noted that knowledge of the original is wound throughout the sequel, though not in ways that make that knowledge required to finish the game. If you happen to have played Risorgimento Represso recently, Illuminismo Iniziato will feel like an unbroken continuation -- following almost as directly as Zork II follows Zork. (In theory, quite a bit of time has passed between the two episodes, but it's not clear what the player character has been doing in the duration. You don't seem to have changed, and you begin with a few familiar items.) In the first half of the game, the setting will be Blumph, a city mentioned but never visited in the original. In the second half, the scene will change(Spoiler - click to show), and you will return to the town of Vechlee, revisiting many of the same locations and objects from the first game.

Several characters appear in both episodes, albeit in different capacities. Ninario, the centerpiece NPC of the first episode, barely appears in this one, and he is never on-stage. Instead, pride of place is given to Crystal, a talkative companion that serves up continuous "color commentary" on your actions. Much of this takes the form of reminders/exposition about events in Risorgimento, but over time this slowly morphs into observations that help to focus attention on the central thread of the plot.

Crystal is an extensively-implemented sidekick(Spoiler - click to show) who develops into a G-rated love interest. She has a ton of things to say, quite a lot of which is non-essential. This creates a life-like presence, but the drawback is that players expecting typical goal-directed expository interaction may find themselves stuck in a morass of verbiage with no end in sight. [In fact, the reason that my first attempts at playing didn't grab me is that I found myself standing in the first room talking endlessly to Crystal about seemingly inconsequential topics(Spoiler - click to show). After her insistent introduction, I assumed that speaking with her was important at that point. Perhaps a device such as her refusing further conversation by saying "We can't stand around all day." after a certain number of interactions in the same location would have served well here.] She is explicitly cast as the "talks too much" type, and one humorous innovation is that her replies for unrecognized topics often take the form of anecdotes about unrelated matters, each of which eventually ends with the acknowledgement that she didn't really hear your question.

Once one realizes that conversation with Crystal is entirely optional, the rest of the game beckons. Although the player is warned by the opening sequence that Big Things Are Afoot, the protagonist's quest begins as the simple task of picking up some dry cleaning. This task is quickly derailed, and in the "natural" course of events (i.e. initiation of the aforementioned crime spree) the protagonist and Crystal catch up to what the player already knows: The villain from the first episode is trying to widen the interdimensional rift that brought the PC to this world. Although it might not seem like this would be a problem to solve, it is(Spoiler - click to show) because, as it surprisingly turns out, the returning villian is some sort of vampire who plans to suck the life force out of students back on Earth. That this was never mentioned in the first episode -- and that this changes my earlier metaphor in a way that suggests the ivy is the only thing holding the ramshackle cottage together -- is beside the point. As with the first episode, the emphasis here is on having fun, not making dramatic sense. This becomes clear through the use of "tyromancy" (a hallmark of the series), which is the art of using cheese for divination. Tyromancy works somewhat differently in this episode, functioning as a series of dramatic cut scenes while also occasionally reprising its previous role of inciting curiosity through clairvoyance of yet-to-be-visited locations(Spoiler - click to show). Most of the cutscenes take place in locations that seem copied word-for-word from the original, which is probably useful for those who haven't played the original for some time but is less effective for those who have recently replayed Risorgimento.

The puzzle structure is a little uneven. Some solutions are quite obvious by virtue of being repeats of tropes from the first episode. Others involve repetitive use of the same objects for similar tasks. Few mysteries are present, and none of them seem exceptionally difficult to resolve, with discovery of the function of the hoop(Spoiler - click to show) and its interaction with the satchel being the most obscure. (The major clue to its use cites the zifmia and aimfiz spells from Infocom's works without mentioning what they do, which are to summon a target person to the caster's location and to send the caster to the location of a target person, respectively. This is a minor unfairness to someone not familiar with those works, but there are other clues available to make up for it.) It is worth taking particular note of how Coyne varies between playing some solutions "straight" while others have surprising and delightful twists.(Spoiler - click to show) The bit about the grappler and the gate of the estate that one plans to burgle is especially funny. These shifts in tone play well with the dual nature of the plot's "unseriously serious" core, with the balance heavily weighted in favor of light-hearted amusement.

Coding quality is improved over the original, with the "graphical" map and continously updating front page of a magical newspaper being the most apparent results. I don't recall encountering anything that seemed like a significant bug, though there are some quirks of interaction that I'm not sure were intended.(Spoiler - click to show) (For example, it is possible to solve the vault puzzle while retaining both the hoop and the satchel, which doesn't seem right given the setup.) The play experience is quite smooth, and the use of sound livens up the occasional sequence without being a functional requirement.

All in all, this work does exactly what a sequel should, namely to deliver more fun with familiar elements. It is well worth playing if you are a fan of Risorgimento Represso, and if you're not familiar with that work, consider this as an invitation to check it out.

Barry Volain, the author of Myth makes no secret that the puzzles in this work are grounded in well-known Greek and Roman mythology. In the "readme" file accompanying the game file, he even goes so far as to recommend reading Bulfinch's Mythology (which is out of copyright and available via Project Gutenberg and at this web site) as a primer. In the era of Google and Wikipedia, such preparation is probably not necessary.

Myth is austerely minimalist. Descriptions are short for both rooms and objects. Many words mentioned in the text aren't recognized by the parser. It falls victim to a few First-Timer Foibles, including laconic locations, oral offenses (though only mildly), and close-mouthed characters. Yet somehow, this work did intrigue me, and I felt compelled to play through to the end.

I wish I could say that my patience paid off. Instead, it wore thin. After making about 100 points worth of progress, I hit something of a wall. As I could find no hints other than the walkthrough, my only choice was to read it and hope I didn't get too much given away.

Of course, I saw several things I didn't want to, including some things that I had tried to do but hadn't used the right word for. Once I realized synonym sickness was one of the first-timer foibles I was up against, I was a lot less willing to sit and puzzle things out when I was stuck. Doubly-so when I realized there were areas you could only visit once in a game with an inventory limit.

It's really too bad, because there were quite a few puzzles in the "hard but fair" category that I ended up missing out on this way. In the interest of letting others avoid that, here are my own hints -- restricted to extreme guess-the-verb problems and things that are basically impossible to figure out without mind-reading:

#1 (Spoiler - click to show)The sapling (yes, it's important)(Spoiler - click to show) - you need to get it(Spoiler - click to show) - with something sharp(Spoiler - click to show) - it's for making a weapon(Spoiler - click to show) - a spear(Spoiler - click to show) - like the ancients made them without metal(Spoiler - click to show) - "sharpen sapling" is part of it(Spoiler - click to show) - they were also treated some way(Spoiler - click to show) - for hardening(Spoiler - click to show) - "put sapling in <fire source>"

#2 (Spoiler - click to show)The grapes (yes, they're important)(Spoiler - click to show) - you need them to make wine(Spoiler - click to show) - you'll know how to make wine when you find the right equipment(Spoiler - click to show) - it's not the oak bucket, it's something with purple stains(Spoiler - click to show) - put the grapes in it(Spoiler - click to show) - how can you squish them? can't get in with them or stand on them or crush them or press them(Spoiler - click to show) - "step on grapes" is the magic phrase here

#3 (Spoiler - click to show)fighting things(Spoiler - click to show) - at least one critical battle appears to be semi-randomized, save before fighting and try again if you die, if you don't die the same way every time, keep trying

Don't worry, there are multiple layers of spoiler tags in the above, so you will have to click multiple times to be completely spoiled.

The size of this game surprised me. There must be around 75 locations. You will want to create a map for this one, complete with notes of the objects found in each location. It's probably too big to fit it all in your head.

Some of the puzzle designs in this work are clever. While in some cases the cliff notes of mythological texts provide virtual step-by-step instructions, in others the author takes license with the mythology to make you think a little sideways. This work would have benefited tremendously from a more literary touch and more thorough programming.

It's unfortunate that the scoring is implemented in such a way that necessary and irreversible steps don't always award points. It's a bit unnerving, leaving you wondering whether you're on the right track or heading for a dead end. Although I believe you can get this game into an unwinnable state, it's generally safe to assume that anything that appears to make things happen is a step in the right direction -- there is little interactivity that isn't directly aimed at the conclusion.

Another note about scoring: The walkthrough seems to indicate that its author got less than the maximum points. I got more than him, but less than the max. Out of curiosity, I decompiled the source code to look for those last lousy points, but it seems that they should all be awarded if you win the game. It looks like some actions may award points if you use one verb but not its synonym, so I wouldn't worry about it if you finish with less than 300.

Maybe it's because Halloween is coming up, or maybe it's because I just read Jimmy Maher's analysis of Transylvania at The Digital Antiquarian, but when I saw the announcement on IFDB that release 7 of this game was available, I decided to give it a try.

According to the author's own description of the game's origin, it was inspired in large part by a carnival ride of the same name. My own experience with such rides is very limited, but the ones I've encountered all seem to suffer from at least two common failings. First: In their quest to create a suitably "scary" setting, the makers heap image upon image until they have far overshot the mark, resulting in a panoply more bewildering than frightening. Second: The production quality is usually so low that suspension of disbelief is impossible for anyone but very small children. Unfortunately, Ghost Train seems to reflect both of these qualities, leaving the player with sense of having run into something that had the potential to be terrifying but didn't quite pull it off -- an encounter with Cabbage Man instead of the Creature from the Black Lagoon.

Although I give this work 2 stars, it does show some promising elements. The thing that impressed most me was the author's attempt, for at least the first half of the story, to keep the setting alive and vibrant through the use of transitory events and details happening "in the background". This isn't easy to do well, and it shows a dedication to polishing the player experience that is very much to the author's credit.

However, this level of polish is not consistent, and it is most noticeably absent in some key scenes(Spoiler - click to show): as an example, the encounter with "The Demon" that opens the final act. Here, the challenge is not pulling the player's attention to the background to give the illusion of a broader world, but focusing the player's attention on the foreground and (ostensibly, at least) forcing a plot-critical choice. It's quite odd that the player can dither about for as many turns as he or she likes while the antagonist waits patiently for a keyword.

Coding quality was, in general, good enough, though there is definitely room for improvement in those cases where the author feels compelled to clumsily spell out the correct grammar to achieve certain actions. The only thing that looked like a true bug to me ended up helping instead of hurting(Spoiler - click to show), when 'x parchments' was interpreted as referring to an object named parchment due to Inform's word length limit.

This game would benefit significantly from additional attention to proofreading and editing. It is rife with errors in spelling, punctuation, capitalization, and other aspects of grammar, and it suffers from an irritating tendency to repeat the same adjective, phrasing, or information multiple times in quick succession. In some cases this is probably not desired by the author (as when an object is mentioned both in the location's description text and via default room description rules(Spoiler - click to show), e.g. the clock in the abandoned station), but in other cases it appears to be the result of simply not re-reading what was written(Spoiler - click to show) (e.g., in the opening sequence: "On silver moonlit track it races clear" followed shortly by "The steam engine 'Bluebell,' races fast and clear").

As I've said elsewhere, horror is an exceptionally difficult genre within interactive fiction, and this piece is another example in support of that claim. I would expect most players would find it about as entertaining and diverting as the carnival ride that was its namesake -- amusing enough if you're in the right mood for it. Outside of those rare occasions, its main value is in challenging the aspiring author to ponder how one might improve on the original.

On that note, I point the reader to Michael Coyne's list of First-Timer Foibles as an evaluation guide for this work. I spotted #2, #4, #8, #10(Spoiler - click to show) (most bothersome in situations where multiple locations are used when one would suffice, such as the signal booth area), #12, and #13(Spoiler - click to show) (e.g. the spelled-out instructions for certain actions, the prompt encouragements like 'Tell me what to do.' that aren't set off as being separate from normal story text).

This slightly silly (but highly enjoyable!) piece by Ryan Veeder is perhaps inspired by Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, as its story is built around the escapades of two minor characters from his previous work, Taco Fiction.

I came across this work first, then later played Taco Fiction to compare. The two are not related in any meaningful way, so perhaps it's not really appropriate to think of Dial C for Cupcakes as a sequel. Certainly, this piece works well on a standalone basis.

The first act of the story seems almost conscientiously designed around exercising some of the latest features of Inform 7, specifically the ability to do floating point math and to switch the perspective and tense of rendered text. Once the exposition is done, however, it settles into a more typical style of interaction, in a scenario that poses the question: Just how far are you willing to go for friendship, justice, and/or frosting?

The second act is well-paced and entertaining, and it does a good job of demonstrating how careful design of NPC interaction can provide an appropriate level of satisfaction to the player without demanding too much from the author.

With a semi-realistic setting and a story that gives license to be somewhat mischievous, this is one of those pieces that probably has broad enough appeal to hold the interest of casual mainstream players -- or even those new to interactive fiction. I'll be adding it to my short list of recommended pieces for those just trying IF, and I would definitely point it out as a great seasonal piece around Halloween. While it might not quite be kid-safe (since an understanding of certain adult motivations is necessary to complete the story), it's certainly no worse than PG.

I'm not a huge fan of one-room games, but, as others have noted, this game turns what is normally an artificial limitation into a natural extension of the premise.

The start of the game is, aside from its unusually long length, a textbook example of how to provide immersion, orientation, and urgency all in one go: The initial diary entries set the humorous tone and sketch the broad outlines of the main characters' personalities, the problem to be overcome by the player is both clear and logical, and the first steps on the path to winning are almost immediately apparent.

Most importantly, this game was fun! The mounting tension had me both typing and reading faster as the game progressed, with just enough comic relief thrown in to keep me grinning.

Though I did find some bugs, they were not enough to seriously impact the playing experience. Definitely worth checking out if you've missed it so far.

Simon Deimel's Enigma starts out like an off-kilter version of "Hello, World" for Inform 7.

You start in a room frozen in time, and the whole game plays out as the protagonist's experience of a single moment oriented around one decision(Spoiler - click to show): to shoot or spare your best friend. Starting with only immediate sensations, you must build a chain of association between memories and perceptions that let you come to a realization about the truth of the situation you are in.

Exploring a memory may let you perceive things more clearly. Exploring a perception may trigger a memory. On occasion, a threshold can be reached that allows a kind of breakthrough into new conceptual spaces. Sometimes memories or perceptions will be enhanced, providing a more connected impression over which to mull, so you must return to a topic to see how new scraps of information fit into it. The text is delivered in a fast-paced, heart-hammering style that seeps into your attitude and keeps you rapidly typing until you arrive at the conclusion.

There are really only two verbs that make a difference(Spoiler - click to show): 1) "examine" and 2) "remember" or "think about". If you somehow get lost, the "hints" command will offer specific topics for introspection. This is probably not a good thing to use as a first resort, but it's helpful on a second run through.

It's really quite remarkable that Mr. Deimel has managed to create such a compelling experience out of such a small range of action, and the extent to which he has achieved this speaks to his creativity in developing and executing the concept. While he notes in the post-game INFO block that the basic concept is not new, it was new to me.

From a technical standpoint, the execution is good but could use a bit more refinement to reduce repetition of certain topics and smooth the experience. As a player, it's sometimes clear that you have hit a dead end, but it's also difficult to ascertain which topic will advance the situation without resorting to hints. Perhaps a routine that would "auto-associate" previously-explored topics that have been updated due to new information after a certain number of turns?

On the other hand, the sense of urgently and repetitively reviewing bits of experience very much conveys the mindset of the PC, and perhaps it enhances rather than detracts from the play experience overall.

From a writing standpoint, there are opportunities for improvement(Spoiler - click to show)-- for example, it's not made at all clear what drove Tim over the edge, and this leaves the whole scenario feeling a bit forced. Then again, it's not always clear in real life, either, so perhaps that's intentional.

In addition, although I liked the writing style, some additional work to smooth out the line breaks when reviewing the scene would have greatly improved the impression of a fully completed and polished work.

Overall, a good comp entry and an enjoyable short work. I look forward to more from Mr. Deimel in the future, and will be interested in exploring some of his past works.

This decade-old SpeedIF entry takes only a few minutes to complete, and is not a fully-developed work by any means. Still, it seemed worth it to put together a quick write-up, since it demonstrates a narrative device from which would-be authors can learn.

The interaction here is done in the style of a combat scene in a typical war movie, though the setting is a strange blending of fantasy and modern (or possibly sci-fi?) tropes. The action starts in media res, with you pinned down, low on ammo, and basically doomed.

What's interesting here is the way that you, the player, are not given a complete description of your environment; instead, significant new elements are injected serially over the course of several turns.

This is a clever trick, in that it takes advantage of the deeply-ingrained player's instinct to examine everything new to encourage him or her to "play along" with the developing narrative. (A similar "pointillist" style can be seen in Ashwell's Ugly Chapter, but in that case it is used more for the background than the foreground.)

While this piece is almost over before it has begun (it only lasts 10 turns or so), and there doesn't seem to be any possibility for meaningful interaction with the scene playing out, I was struck by how cinematic the sequence feels. Forcing the player to constantly reorient to the PC's situation this way seems similar to the technique of fast panning used in cinema to draw the audience "into" the action.

If you're a long-time player of IF, you might have skipped this work by Andrew Plotkin, which is typically billed as an "introductory" piece for those new to the genre. If you approach The Dreamhold with this mindset, that's almost certainly how you'll experience it, but that is not all that is offered.

Upon first completing this game many months ago, I found it to be a typical Plotkin work in the sense that it almost flippantly demonstrates the power of top-notch prose and programming to revitalize otherwise stale conventions in the genre, but I didn't see much else to recommend it. The most obvious innovation is the "tutorial voice" (well-covered elsewhere) which earns the work its status as one suitable for novices, but this held little magic to me: first, because I'm not a novice; second, because its success is questionable based on the various online reactions of actual newbies; and third, because this approach has been pushed even further since The Dreamhold was released, rendering it no longer state-of-the-art.

I gave an up-vote to Brian Campbell's IFDB review, decided I had nothing to add, and moved on... until the next day, when, still puzzling over the somewhat cryptic ending and the various loose ends, I started playing again with a walkthrough nearby for reference. Before long, I had experienced many of the hidden nooks of interaction and seen the alternate ending, which was equally cryptic and not particularly more satisfying.

Over the ensuing weeks, however, I slowly came to realize that this alternate ending is not your typical example of branching narrative structure, and that realization is what eventually drove me here to write this.

Most interactive experiences with multiple endings very explicitly present the choices relevant to shaping the outcome as choices; that is they are framed as mutually-exclusive, either-or options that can reasonably be expected to alter the outcome in a significant way. For many games, some or all of these choices are illusory, as multiple branches of interactivity will converge on the same situation again later, but generally at least a few will genuinely change the outcome.

In addition, most games that have multiple "winning" endings are quite careful to remain neutral or ambiguous in the guidance they offer about which branch to take. The signposts are up indicating the forks of the road, but there is no author influence about which direction to take. One reason for this may be that, given the amount of work required to implement the different branches within the game, the creators don't wish to do anything to discourage players from exploring them all in separate playthroughs.

In The Dreamhold, Plotkin does not follow these conventions. Challenging them seems to be one of the key experiments of this work.

With respect to determining which ending the player will see, the important branches in the action are not explicitly framed as choices for the player. Only one branch of action is even implied by the prose, and that path is framed not as one of two binary choices but as the single solution to a particular challenge. These are well-designed puzzles in the sense that they are well-hinted without the solution being immediately obvious, but, for clarity, I will term these the "obvious" paths.

Here is the part that I find fascinating: (Spoiler - click to show)The obvious path (i.e. hinted puzzle solutions) is often dependent on a particular linear mechanic, meaning the solution is driven by moving a world state in a specific direction(Spoiler - click to show). Examples that spring to mind are the puzzle about finding your way in darkness and interacting with the hot springs. In each case, however, there is a corresponding solution using the same linear mechanic, but requiring that the player push the world state in the opposite direction from that needed in the obvious path. I'll call doing so taking a "non-obvious" path.

"Non-obvious" is perhaps not strong enough of a description -- "obscured" might be better. The prose does not hint at this option in any way I detected. The only hint is found in the very nature of the underlying linear mechanic; there is no reason, in the abstract, that the mechanic should not be reversible.

On the somewhat less abstract plane of writing code, the very fact that the author has to program interactions in both directions means that any theoretically invertible game mechanic will normally only have one "interesting" (i.e. story-relevant) direction. Not so in The Dreamhold, where Mr. Plotkin has taken the trouble to create what almost amounts to a secret game accessible only to those who discover the uniquely reversible nature of the puzzle structure.

I want to be clear: I don't think I would have known anything about this "other" side of the game if it weren't for the walkthrough. I feel confident that most of the people who play through this (especially novices!) would not hit on even one of these non-obvious solutions. (Spoiler - click to show)To hit on enough of them to see the pattern, to grasp the... meta-puzzle? meta-mechanic? and work all of the alternate solutions through to the end is asking a lot. In a piece with a significant number of intentional red herrings and dead ends, offering only the slightest and most indirect indications of the existence of the alternate solutions or the fact that associated prizes have any significance (via the mural) can be fairly called unfair. But then again, asking a lot from players is par for the course in much of Mr. Plotkin's work.

So, given the lack of a direct explanation, what's it all about? (Spoiler - click to show)Having mulled over both endings at length, the overarching theme seems to be about the choice of how to use power. The PC has reached the extreme of power within his current plane of existence, and the player's actions drive him towards one of two paths. In the first, via the "obvious" path, the PC continues his attempt to dominate the entire plane. This is perhaps a more dubious endeavor than the PC believes, given that it was an error during a previous attempt that left him in the state in which you find him at the start of the game. In the second, via the "obscured" path, the PC turns that power inward and transcends to a new plane of existence -- beginning anew to start the climb all over again from the bottom. This is the path of legend as laid out in the game world, the path that is perhaps more promising for the PC and more satisfying for the player, since it lacks the malevolent and maniacal overtones of the first path. Of course, the preceding is my own interpretation; your mileage may vary.

As a final note, I think it's worth pointing out that, despite the prose's uncanny ability to make you feel "there" (as Magnus Olsson's review puts it) in terms of the game world, it seems to intentionally avoid trying to do the same thing in terms of the PC's mind. True, the PC quite deliberately begins as a blank slate, but surely some of the previous personality should be emerging as the player progresses through either of the two core collection quests? Given the arguably distasteful nature of the obvious ending, adding an ever-more-megalomaniac tinge to the PC's thoughts would provide some players the motivation to avoid it. This, coupled with a some real hinting at the existence of the second path would elevate the overall narrative structure to a true and conscious choice for the player, which I, personally, would have found tremendously more satisfying. As it is, the effect of hiding the second path so thoroughly is to render it invisible in the course of typical play, leaving the average player with seems like half of the intended experience.

Somehow, I doubt this is unplanned. It seems clear that Mr. Plotkin wants you to work for the extras offered, that this other path (and the resulting opportunity for greater insight into the story) is primarily there for elite players. Whether intended or not, hiding one path results in players being directed towards the other; The Dreamhold does not seem neutral here, even though it can be argued that such neutrality is implicit in a game about unguided exploration of an unknown environment. The counter-argument is that players cannot assume that a work of IF is open-ended -- they are at the mercy of authors to provide nudges about which of the endless possibilities of imagination are realized within the work at hand.

Perhaps Mr. Plotkin thought this all out, and perhaps this is The Dreamhold's central challenge to the player: to make the choice to look for a choice, instead of following the obvious path. If so, the unconventional design is very cleverly and subtly executed, but it's not clear to me why this poker-faced approach is superior to offering additional encouragement (delivered in his deftly minimalist style) to players to discover the alternate path.

In conclusion, this is a game well worth your time, but I do not recommend it for novices. Long-time players who have not yet experienced it should approach The Dreamhold with explicit instructions to dig deep and try to think outside the box of how IF typically works; without such preparation you are likely to miss the aspects of this work that separate it from the pack.

The first and only work ever published by author Brian Uri, Augmented Forth is an astounding debut piece. Coded via Inform 6, its half-a-megabyte source code is a testament to levels of dedication and attention to detail that are extremely rare.

I often comment that a game could use more polish -- not here. Augmented Forth may as well be lacquered! Its interaction is extraordinarily smooth and fairly gleams with charm and wit from every angle. I found myself marveling again and again that the author had covered the situation with some special bit of flair, whether it was one of the many small jokes sprinkled throughout or just a simple variation on standard wording to show that you were still "within bounds" of the planned interaction.

I can't stress enough how impressed I am by this aspect of the game, and this alone makes it worth playing to experience. If you've ever tried your hand at writing IF, you know how much work all of these little details add up to, and my hat is off to Mr. Uri here. The only places I found any hiccups in the flow were in cases where there is a vocabulary overlap between objects that causes undesirable disambiguation requests, a notoriously tricky issue to handle using Inform 6's parse_name routine.

However, having spent some time admiring this beautiful instrument, I was a little disappointed with actually playing it. As Emily Short pointed out, there are "irritating patches, mostly related to the design of the puzzles", places where the expected final nudges (or even telling silences in the form of careful omissions) are not forthcoming, even though I had a partial solution.

Thinking about this, I came to believe that, in such instances, the tremendous level of polish actually works against the gameplay. In a typical work of IF, the "shininess" of world interaction is itself a form of hinting: Often, one knows one's on the right track by virtue of the differences from more general default responses. The richly embroidered surface detail of Augmented Forth magnificently camouflages any such hinting, leaving the player sometimes at a loss to differentiate between threads of plot and threads of whimsy.

Most puzzles are relatively straightforward, sometimes of the physics (or silly physics) variety and sometimes along "hey, let's see if this new spell can do that" lines. There were only a few that didn't work for me(Spoiler - click to show):

#1 the fern -- (Spoiler - click to show)The hinting in the description about it is misleading. This isn't one of those "help the plant thrive" puzzles. (Spoiler - click to show)The responses to basic actions are misleading. They give the impression that you shouldn't be dealing with the fern now (but maybe should later) when it definitely is relevant in the immediate context. (Spoiler - click to show)First, you have to understand the basic goal here, which means you should have already visited the other cottage and gotten to understand its inhabitant a bit. (Spoiler - click to show)The framed music gives a strong hint of the goal here. (Spoiler - click to show)If you want these two to fall in love, the first thing you have to do is get them in the same room. (Spoiler - click to show)She's a bit too wrapped up in her book to move, but he is just waiting at her beck and call. (Spoiler - click to show)What will make her call him? (Spoiler - click to show)Well, he's a butler, what do butlers do? (Spoiler - click to show)Yes, they introduce visitors... except here. Yes, they bring food and drinks.... except here. (Spoiler - click to show)Maybe you've noticed he's really tidy? Might he tidy something up for her? (Spoiler - click to show)Now even if you have the right idea, you're up against a guess-the-verb challenge. Try the most basic verbs. (Spoiler - click to show)Not "spill soil" or "knock over pot" or "throw dirt" or "break pot" (another misleading response)... just "push plant" is the magic command. This particular interaction is so antithetical to the rest of the work's tone that I really don't understand how it was left as is during playtesting.

#2 the safe -- (Spoiler - click to show)The basics here are easy enough to understand, you need to get on the platform to access the safe, and additional weight on the platform sets off a trap. (Spoiler - click to show)No problem, there's a spell for that right? (Spoiler - click to show)Only it doesn't work. Even though there's a presumably heavy safe on the platform, and increasing gravity should add quite a bit of weight. (Spoiler - click to show)Put something heavy on the platform instead, like one of the big books lying around. Again, this one just kind of leaves me shaking my head, as it would be trivial to implement the alternate (and, in this game, perhaps more natural) solution.

#3 Moilan -- (Spoiler - click to show)This one can't be solved until you have made some progress gathering music, so stop here unless you've been to all the initially-accessible places. (Spoiler - click to show)He's a gate guard, and you want through the gate, a common type of puzzle. (Spoiler - click to show)So you have to bribe or divert or disable him, of course. (Spoiler - click to show)You should pick up some clues that he has a favorite kind of food from one of many places. (Spoiler - click to show)Where can you find some of that stuff? (Spoiler - click to show)... that he doesn't eat the moment you try to get it? (Spoiler - click to show)No dice on finding any, huh? Maybe you can trick him? (Spoiler - click to show)Anything that looks like fudge around? (Spoiler - click to show)Perhaps something brown with a thick texture? (Spoiler - click to show)Bring him some mud in the cup. (Spoiler - click to show)You might have to make some mud first, using magic. (Spoiler - click to show)It's a bit indirect, but stand in the Center of Volcano and use "Rainy Day" to cause a storm, then gather mud in the quarry ("fill cup with mud"). Here, the design issue is the very weak link between fudge and mud. ANY kind of relevant hint would have worked here, such as an infinite supply of fudge that he never stops eating (to clue you that getting him to ingest something fudge-like might be possible) or changing his food mania to coffee (especially strong black coffee, sometimes referred to as "mud", and which, unlike fudge, is served in a cup).

Also, I encountered only one bug in the game, but it is something of a doozy(Spoiler - click to show): As Levi Boyles mentions in another review here, in Release 2 it is possible to defeat the obstacle of one puzzle (involving learning a difficult piece of music) by removing it from your inventory via a method other than dropping it. In my case, I put it back on the stand and got the same effect -- being able to play the music without learning it.

Inspecting the source code, this appears to be due to the way it is handled programmatically: An array of booleans is used to track whether you can play a particular song, and the relevant boolean is not set to false for all verbs which allow its written form to leave your inventory. Thus this logic thinks you are still holding the sheet music even when you are not.

Since this is only piece that requires any effort to learn (and the puzzle structure prevents you from having both its sheet music and your trumpet at the same time, so it's the only time when the ability to play a non-memorized tune is meaningful), it probably would have been better to just test the world state directly (is the sheet music in inventory when the trumpet is played?) instead of trying to track this state of affairs with the same variables used to track memorization. Oh, well.

These (subjective) flaws left me with a much lower opinion of Augmented Forth as a game, but your mileage may vary.

Finally, I want to point some special attention to the handling of time in this game, which I thought was very well done. (Spoiler - click to show)Rather than being dependent on turn count or the default clock, time in Augmented Forth is plot-driven, with completion of certain puzzles advancing you to the next nebulous period of the day (e.g. "early morning", "midmorning"). Each advancement is coupled with a brief cutscene, filling you in on activity elsewhere in the game world in a plot arc with which your actions will intersect during the end game.

I don't know if this is the first work of IF to use this particular combination, but the well-written cutscenes together with the loose timekeeping produce a powerful synergy. With the cutscenes decoupled from turn count, the player is in no danger of being left behind by the outside events' timetable. With the resolution of time being so fuzzy, it doesn't seem as obvious that external events are waiting for your key actions (an illusion that the cutscene writing, with its indefinite pauses between scenes, is careful not to dispel). The net effect just seems to work for the purpose of telling the story in the IF medium in a way that is subtle, but wonderful.

Other reviewers have commented on the copious spoofy humor, and I agree that it only serves to add flavor for those who get the reference without excluding those who don't. Sometimes, the touch is so light that you might not even realize there was a joke unless you know what it refers to(Spoiler - click to show), such as the casual mention that you're feeling hungry at the start of a game (very topical in a time when the presence of a hunger puzzle was considered exceptionally stale and bitterly despised). Others are so blatant as to be inescapable today(Spoiler - click to show), like the presence of "Mollug" and a very amusingly-described ring.

All in all, this work is significantly above average in quality and sure to be fun to play for most people. Though the few problems I encountered were minor, they seem terribly out of place in a work that gets almost everything right (from an old school perspective). Consistency rates highly in my book, and these missteps knock off enough of a star to bring it just short of 4 star territory.

As a reminder, my ratings are unusually harsh, and 3 stars counts as a very good game. I would eagerly play another piece from Mr. Uri, should he publish one in the future, and old school fans should definitely try this one if they haven't yet.

This short piece received fairly positive reviews upon its release in 1999, and, when judged in the context of what was available then, I can see that it must have compared much more favorably against the field than it does today. By today's standards, it is poorly implemented, weakly written, and lacking enough positive qualities to outweigh its negatives.

My introduction to this work was via an IFDB poll, the very title of which serves as something of a spoiler for Bliss. As a result, after making my way through the implementation problems plaguing the opening scene, there was little surprise in the revelation that (Spoiler - click to show)All Is Not What It Seems.

Ultimately, this twist is all that Bliss has going for it, and a twist by itself can't provide meaning to this story any more than it does in a typical M. Night Shayamalan film.

The lack of greater meaning is what dooms this piece. The activities you (as the PC) engage in are revealed to have quite horrific consequences, so horrific that they demand more than just simple derangement of the protagonist to justify their commission. If I'm going to find out that "I've" done something as awful as (Spoiler - click to show)committing infanticide, the author better have prepared that ground pretty carefully to leave me with anything more than a sense of revilement and disgust.

Unfortunately, Mr. Wilkin does not. (Spoiler - click to show)The protagonist's home life is shown to be plagued by a drunken, abusive father, but, without minimizing the tragedy of such a situation, it must be pointed out that countless people have lived through similar unpleasantness without being driven to a sudden killing spree.

To make this piece work would have required a) much deeper characterization and backstory for the PC, so that the reader is left at minimum with a sense of pity for him, and b) a substantially more well-thought-out mapping of things happening in the PC's fantasy world to reality. The insult of the baby's death is further compounded by the fact that, apparently, it was unrealistically posed by the author as inexplicably unattended on a city sidewalk in the real world.

In my view, everything past the reading room calls for some well-developed conceptual framework to support the PC's delusion as he flees the asylum. I don't care what that framework is, it just has to attempt to make internal sense of the PC's actions. Does the PC know the shopkeeper beforehand? Does he have some unreasoning fear of babies? Is the victim who takes the form of the dragon someone significant to him?

None of that supporting framework is present. It seems that, akin to the "lazy fantasy" setting that frames the game's opening, it concludes on a "lazy psychothriller" note.

I initially gave this piece two stars, but, upon further reflection, discounting the problematic story leaves only the multiple programming errors, guess-the-verb challenges, and weak puzzles to define it. As such, I find myself left with only a lingering sense of distaste that marks this work as belonging to the "better off avoided" category.

This short piece wouldn't be out of place as an entry in IntroComp, because all that really happens is an introduction to a significant new character and plot development in the story world Müller has invented for this series. The attention of Mr. Blask seems to have improved the overall quality of the result, though the final product is still lacking in distinction as a work of interactive fiction.

As with the original entry in the series, what stands out most are the unrealized possibilities present in the setting that has been created. What little exposition there is hints at a sprawling vision of the Clockwork Boy universe in the mind of the author, a vision that does not seem to naturally fit with the mechanics of IF and which would probably be better served as a straightforward written tale.

Throughout both this work and its predecessor, the elements required by interactive fiction seem to have served only to interfere with the communication of the story that the author wants to tell. Puzzles feel grafted on and are not integrated into the telling of the story. Locations remain so shallowly implemented that they are little more than painted stage backgrounds for the intended events to transpire in front of. NPC dialogue is not implemented in depth, and what's there is so terse and direct that it offers neither the sense of discovery nor the sense of a living conversant.

I say all of the above not as mockery of the author's continuing sincere efforts but to point out that the work required to implement this story as interactive fiction may not be worth it. Think how much more story could have been told if the coding effort required to make this IF were simply put aside!

That said, if there is to be a Clockwork Boy 3, I strongly suggest that the author spend some time considering how to make the medium of IF work for the story instead of against it. The challenges are surmountable, and it would be a true shame if the rest of this vision never materialized in any form.

Intrigued by the announcement that a sequel to a story I'd never heard of had been released, I thought it might be interesting to check out the original.

This turned out to be more challenging than I expected, as the provided download link does not function (apparently due to a bad permissions setting on the file). A little online sleuthing led me to a working download link over at IFWiki, however, so I was quickly off and running.

Playing the role of the clockwork boy alluded to in the title, your apparent task is to reunite your "parents" (a human King and a fairy Queen) who have separated during the long period between when the game begins and the last time you were wound up. The introduction led me to much speculation about what I might encounter: a substantial backstory to discover about what happened while the PC was "off", extensive NPC interaction in resolving the royal dispute, strange and subtle differences between the human lands and the world of Faerie, perhaps even puzzles about how to keep the PC from running down. Instead, I soon discovered that there wasn't much to recommend this work, which, although founded on an interesting premise, offers only a simple, mechanical experience as interactive fiction -- one which does not take advantage of the possibilities offered by its setting.

Implementation quality is fairly low. NPC interactions seem to follow the ask/tell/show model, but the only responses provided appear to be for asking about a small number of topics. The handful of puzzles, such as they are, consist of an arbitrary arrangement of interrelated obstacles that make little sense within the context of the story. Descriptions are flat and generally reference many objects that cannot be interacted with.

In a matter of minutes, I had seen the extent of the tiny world (fortunately just 7 locations, as many room descriptions omit the list of exits) and, while I could see what would need to be done to advance the plot by assisting the queen, I found myself stymied while trying to get a critical item from one of the two minor NPCs. I had a strong feeling of what was necessary, but the game just would not respond to any of the expected commands. Frustrated, I looked for some assistance and found it in the form of the ClubFloyd transcript of a playthrough of this piece.

While my hunch about the solution was correct (including the idea, the verb, and even the required syntax(Spoiler - click to show), which not-so-fondly recalls the era of two-word parsers), the command simply doesn't work in the version I found, so I was forced to read through the remainder of the transcript to see how things played out. The few minutes of gameplay that I missed as a result were on a par with what I had already experienced, and the plot winds up so quickly from there that I didn't lose much.

While I can't recommend this piece as worth one's time as a player, it is obviously the product of a sincere (if minor) effort springing from a well-conceived (if not well-developed) seed idea. I remain curious enough about the sequel to try it, especially given the fact that it was produced in cooperation with another author.

Calling this work a game seems to miss the mark; instead, the overwhelming impression I got was that it is the result of the author's studied effort to learn Inform 6.

In a beginner's shop class at school, the focus is on learning to use the tools to create something basic and functional but not necessarily aesthetically pleasing. This thoroughly pragmatic product is in exactly that style -- a simple scenario, solidly constructed.

I would like to add "with no frills" to that description, but that would be inaccurate. There are, in fact, several frills -- a built-in hint system (which is ridiculous overkill in this context), plus several hidden items and joke responses to non-obvious behavior. The thing is, unless you are perusing the supplied source code, you are unlikely to encounter most of these details; clearly, they were implemented more for the author's amusement than the players.

Even though I don't believe this was a serious attempt to create something entertaining, Perilous Magic is instructive for the aspiring author and worth reviewing simply as a case study to compare the playing experience vs. the code supporting it, especially when it comes to deciding which interaction elements matter enough to be worth the implementation cost. That's a design skill (not a coding skill) that seems hard-won for many authors, but which quickly makes itself evident in the best examples of IF.

Baf's guide says this piece "has been called an anti-game." I'm willing to bet it's been called a lot worse.

With thorough exploration, when armed with some knowledge of IF programming and history, this work can be appreciated for some of the nuances of coding and genre that it subverts. However, it is entirely unsatisfying from a narrative perspective, offering only a raw "puzzle" (technically a riddle, wrapped in mystery, inside an enigma) that is disconnected from the story's ostensible premise and any conceivable player motivation other than sheer will-to-complete.

It's really too bad. The seed idea (allegedly: trying to complete an adventure game that has become corrupted and no longer functions correctly) is the kind of scenario that might have actually happened in the nostalgic era of oft-pirated 5 1/4" floppies. It seems like it would be possible to build a surrealist story with clever puzzles on this foundation, and, based on his later work with the Frenetic Five series, I am certain Mr. DeMause had the creativity to do so.

Although I did not like this particular example of the author's handiwork, it is competently put together, and some small part of me does appreciate it how it can be appreciated. As such, I am compelled to give it two stars, though I recommend avoiding it unless you are interested in its historical value as an entry in the very first IF Comp.

"Minimalism," as defined in today's edition of Wikipedia, is a style of design that attempts to "expose the essence or identity of a subject through eliminating all non-essential forms, features or concepts" or "in which the simplest and fewest elements are used to create the maximum effect."

This is the word that kept coming to mind as I played this short piece, which does a fair job of stripping away the non-essentials of a pure puzzler. The player character's backstory and motivation are treated thinly but both efficiently and sufficiently, encouraging just enough thought to allow the player to start ignoring them. This is a good trick, and it is done competently here.

However, once the three challenges are overcome, the pacing falters in that the game does not end as rapidly as it should(Spoiler - click to show) -- a problem exacerbated by a small guess-the-syntax issue with the final command. I think the author was trying to provide a greater emotional impact to the resolution of the story's framing tension, but since that tension had been built up so little, the attempt to embellish it is unnecessary and quickly begins to appear melodramatic.

My original title for this review was "Minimalism and romance don't mix," but, on reflection, I don't think that's true. Cutting away some of the extra elements(Spoiler - click to show) (e.g. the extra location to travel to, the additional actions required to trigger the end, flying off on the back of an unexplained magic tiger) might have made for a stronger and more romantic conclusion.

You're a cow. A zombie cow, which, it turns out, is fully qualified to engage in the standard zombie shtick -- as a cow!

Did I mention you're a cow?

Very silly, very short, mildly amusing and (oddly enough) very likeable. Not bad for something produced in 3 hours as part of the ADRIFT 1st Three Hour Comp. If it weren't for the frustration of dealing with parser limitations, I would probably spend some time trying to find out how to get all 130 points in the author-envisioned optimum bovine undead rampage. As it is, I'll be satisfied with 80 points and a chuckle.

As others have noted, it would be difficult to avoid presenting spoilers for this work unless pretty much the whole review is wrapped in a spoiler tag. So:

To start, I want to make it clear that (Spoiler - click to show)I came across this work as a result of the "Doing things backwards" poll here on IFDB, so arguably I came to it pre-spoiled. I believe that this actually increased my appreciation of it, though your mileage may vary.

I didn't find many other reviews of Keepsake in my cursory search, but a couple of the ones I did see indicated proofreading and/or debugging were needed. The version I played this evening (yes, this is a fairly short piece) was release 3, and I saw no evidence of any such issues. Both the coding quality and the writing quality felt above average within the story's limited scope.

There are two things I really liked that I think speak to the author's potential. Neither of them is the overall concept itself(Spoiler - click to show), which the author makes clear is inspired by the film Memento (from which the title is derived via synonym).

First, the opening sequence does an excellent job of plunging you into the role of protagonist. The leading quote very subtly frames your expectations about the kind of situation the PC is in, and a few deft touches in the details set up the tensions of that situation very well(Spoiler - click to show). I love the way the initial description of the brass casing practically screams that you need to start cleaning up the crime scene, but a few simply-repeated words ("the sirens are getting closer") scream just as loudly that you need to get out NOW. It was a great opening(Spoiler - click to show), it's just not the opening that goes with this story.

Second, the first encounter with the central mystery is extremely well done(Spoiler - click to show). In the alley scene, the author has taken great pains to ensure that descriptions of things and events are precisely ambiguous enough to work whether you do or do not understand what's happening, i.e. whether they are presented forwards or backwards. It quickly becomes clear you are being given a choice, and it's not hard to work out how to make that choice.

Unfortunately, after these first few minutes of gameplay, Keepsake falls apart. Emily Short cuts right to the heart of the matter when she asks "[Do the choices the player makes] matter? What story is told by these details?" Gimmicks are not necessarily bad, but carrying this one through to the point where people would stop referring to it as a gimmick would probably take a mind-numbing amount of work in both the writing and coding departments. It almost seems that the author realized exactly this mid-project then just decided to wrap things up and be done with it.

The only thing that looked like a mistake at a high level was the epilogue presented once the story is finished(Spoiler - click to show). While I appreciate the effort that went into it from a technical standpoint, the effect is similar to playing Memento scenes in their "correct" chronological order... that is to say, it pretty much ruins the story completely. Rather than providing an instant replay of the scenes already seen, some other device (a police report reconstructing the protagonist's actions?) is called for to reveal the mystery. Then again, maybe my perspective here is driven by the fact that it wasn't really revealing anything new to me, due to knowledge beforehand of the story structure.

Again, I remind readers that my rating system is unusually harsh, and the two-star rating does not mean that this piece isn't worth the time it takes to experience it. Keepsake shows the marks of real talent: If what's on display here were paired up with more attention to story construction and consistency of player experience, I would expect to see future efforts from this author perform much better in the IF Comp.

Berrost's Challenge seems to have been released at a point when old-school text adventures were considered thoroughly déclassé by the IF community. It earned 10th place in the 2008 IF Comp -- a respectable showing for a first effort, but far from the limelight shining firmly on Violet.

At first glance, it looked like this game had every reason to simply fade away, ending up consigned to the dustier directories over at the IF Archive where it would never bother sensible people again. What made me explore it further was its one mark of distinction: It was the 2008 winner of the Golden Banana of Discord. (For those unfamiliar with it, the Golden Banana is presented to the work that has the greatest disparity in high and low marks in scoring for the IF Comp. In other words, it goes to the entries that people seem to either love or hate.)

Many of the negative sentiments seem to be rooted in the idea that puzzle games are useless and lame. If you agree with this idea, then read no further because this game is not for you. Another strong sentiment seems to be that this is the wrong kind of puzzle game -- that its puzzles are annoying and offensive relics of an era long gone, not suitable for this enlightened time. If you find no value in the Infocom aesthetic, this criticism makes sense. However, much of that decried by critics (e.g. hunger and sleep puzzles) is really little more than window-dressing. Given how prominent these aspects seem when starting the game and how little they actually impact gameplay, one could almost argue that they function like a insect mimic's protective coloring, giving a false impression primarily useful in keeping casual predators away.

If you do appreciate the early Infocom canon, this piece offers much to love. To me, it feels like something that made it all the way to the playtesting stage there before being put aside for marketing reasons. I give Mr. Hatfield credit for capturing the feel of the Zork-era games so well: Homage of this type is often attempted and only rarely achieved. Deviations from Infocom conventions are handled fairly well, with the "about" command providing a good overview and the menu-driven conversation model neatly intercepting attempts to use the ask/tell model.

Reviewing my own notes, I see that much of what I planned to mention has already been covered by others: the comparison to Wishbringer instead of Enchanter, the guess-the-verb issues, the regular (if infrequent) encounters with spelling and/or grammar errors, the lack of a proper ending. I will limit my remarks to those that seem likely to encourage those on the fence to play this piece.

This game is unapologetically puzzle-based, not story-based, and the puzzle quality is only decent, not extraordinary. What makes this an out-of-the-ordinary puzzler is that (as Merk's review point out) the clueing in this game is exceptionally well-done. In most cases, the author's careful commitment to ensuring that puzzles are fair under old-school rules is evident. Responses can be terse, and, as with many early Infocom titles, close attention to game responses is warranted. Near misses are not labeled clearly; instead of that last nudge in the right direction that most modern titles provide, there is a tendency to offer a reply that feels like discouragement but which, for those with a keen eye for nuance, provides the information needed to guide further experimentation. As with The Meteor, The Stone And A Long Glass Of Sherbet, this information sometimes comes in the form of what's not said, as opposed to what is.

I only rarely ran into anything that felt like a genuine guess-the-verb issue. If a noun or verb didn't work, one of the first few alternates I tried did. It quickly became apparent that this game was picky about terminology, but I did not find it to be unreasonably so. Arguably, in some cases, the semantic precision required encourages the mindset necessary to interpreting game clues. The are only a few instances I considered problematic(Spoiler - click to show), with the only offender that resulted in any real delay being the requirement to use "thumbwrestle" instead of "wrestle", a distinction that makes no sense until it becomes clear that both can occur in the game, and which really should have been handled by friendlier hinting if "wrestle" is used first.

Some significant problems were caused less by verb and noun implementation than by dissimilar treatment of similar situations at the coding level(Spoiler - click to show). The most notable item of this type was the way that the lamp oil and the grease were handled; the same verbs and syntax do not work equally well on both, and the way the oil was presented (always in a container, never spoken of as being in said container when examining the container) never made it clear this would be something you could directly interact with, unlike with the grease. These flaws are forgivable in a first work with no further revisions, but they speak to the value of obtaining proper playtesting before release, and to reserving enough time and enthusiasm to incorporate the feedback received.

With enough additional polish and/or more inventive puzzles, this game could have earned four stars from me. As it is, I give it a solid three stars and a recommendation that old school fans give this piece a try if they've overlooked it so far.

After recently playing The Ghost Train by the same author and noticing the announcement that this work, too, had a recently-revised release, I decided to give this story a try to see how the author's craft had improved. My opinion is mixed.

The structure and flow of the story is very similar to that of the The Ghost Train: a catastrophic opening, followed by a fast-paced journey of exploration along fairly strict rails, followed by a chase, a time-limit sequence, and a couple of strongly-hinted "puzzles" (in function, light-duty obstacles) barring the way to the final conclusion. Less reliance on formula may benefit future works.

The implementation focus is somewhat better, with fewer elements that appear to be vestigial remnants of coding experimentation (though some(Spoiler - click to show), such as the food machine in the ship's kitchen, persist). The writing quality also seemed improved. Imagery was more subdued, and there were many fewer instances of repetition than can be found in its predecessor. However, like its predecessor, this story suffered from a fairly high rate of grammar and spelling errors, so additional proofreading efforts are warranted.

The coding quality seemed to have slipped a notch. I ran into several minor bugs that got in the way of the story, especially situations where two nouns could not be disambiguated(Spoiler - click to show), e.g. as occurs when trying to install the unburned circuit board during the lifeboat escape sequence. Also of note are those cases where critical objects are not mentioned in room descriptions and must be learnt of via other means(Spoiler - click to show), e.g. the CPU "circuit" object in the flight deck, which seemed to have no indication of its existence outside of the response to asking the computer about the CPU, even though it would have been plainly visible to the player character. In addition, synonym sickness is more evident(Spoiler - click to show), as when the lack of the word 'fuselage' as a synonym for 'ship' kept me busy for 20 minutes wandering the jungle and trying to enter through the implemented canopy object because the hatch can only be discovered via examining the 'ship', a word not used in describing the crash scene.

There is a famous quote by Antoine de Saint-Exupery: "Perfection is achieved, not when there is nothing more to add, but when there is nothing left to take away." This is advice that any new author can benefit from, and it seems to be the single principle that best sums up the difference between this piece and its earlier cousin. Applying this maxim more diligently would surely continue the trend of improvement in future works from this author.

The incidence of first-timer foibles is about the same as in The Ghost Train, with #2, #8, #9, #10, #12, and #13 evident (this last being found mostly in out-of-place Microsoft and McDonalds humor sprinkled throughout).

Produced in response to the challenge of Speed-IF 6, this lightweight entry is competently coded and can be completed in short order, but is poorly designed both as a story (the premise and micro-story seem somewhat forced) and as a game (the single puzzle isn't even clearly presented as a puzzle). This speed IF had a particularly odd assortment of seed ideas; it will be interesting to see if any of the other submissions do better.

The deficiencies of this piece are hardly unusual for speed IF, and my one-star rating is typical for the mode. The apparent quality of the coding (written in Inform 6, where haste can easily make waste) leads me to suspect that the author's other works (some of which have good ratings from small groups of players) are worth exploring.

You might need the walkthrough to discover the winning moves, but the game universe is small enough that you will likely find them through brute force with a little patience.

The only reason I started this piece was because I came across The Warlord, The Princess & The Bulldog here on IFDB. I liked the introduction to that so much that, when I discovered it was a sequel, I decided to play the first installment of the series before continuing.

A Spot of Bother has a funny premise, and I liked the humor in the introductory backstory. The absurdist tone fits perfectly with absurdist version of the universe presented in a typical "text adventure." However, the joke started to wear off pretty quickly, because the style of humor in the writing (spoofy one-liners at a brisk pace) is entirely mismatched with the structure of the game (really, really oblique puzzles that bring the action to a grinding halt, and lots of them).

Some puzzles can be bypassed by taking a hit on your lives (you get 5 to start), but others must be solved to make any progress. The limited space to explore in the game between required solutions -- often allowing progress to only one additional room -- means that there's nothing but frustration to be had if you get stuck.

To make progress, sometimes it's necessary to examine things in great detail. The lopsided object implementation -- from items mentioned in room descriptions but not "there" to items with 4 levels of detail description available -- makes this requirement particularly cruel. Couple this with an irksome tendency to require performing the same action multiple times, and any sense of fairness to the player evaporates.(Spoiler - click to show) The final insult is the pure capriciousness of exchanges like this:

> examine metal bar
This looks like a javelin of some kind, although quite why Mrs Moog had it lying around her front garden you can’t imagine.

> throw metal bar at window
You don’t see any reason to go throwing things around.

> x spike
The spike is about an inch wide and an inch tall and has the look of a good poking device to you.

> throw spike at camera
You take aim and throw. The spike hits the bars and bounces back, falling onto the ground at your feet.

So there's no reason to go throwing things around, especially not hard metal javelin-like things, when a softer wooden spike described as a poking device is so much better for the job.

There are several other examples in the same vein, unfortunately.

And believe me, stuck you will be. I have a hard time agreeing that this game is a "puzzlefest" because it doesn't seem to have very many genuine puzzles. If you accept Nick Montfort's argument that a good IF puzzle is like a riddle, the kind of riddles in this work are a lot like Bilbo's "What have I got in my pocket?" in The Hobbit -- patently unfair and likely to drive the one trying to solve them crazy.

It's hard to believe that anyone could have possibly finished this game without resorting to a walkthrough or a decompiler. There are built-in hints, but I found them to be singularly useless -- either referring to puzzles I wasn't aware of yet or confirming the existence of puzzles I was aware of already, and offering no actual hints (i.e. a nudge in the right direction without spoiling the puzzle entirely) in either case.

The game also suffers with respect to quality of implementation. There are guess-the-verb challenges of the most elemental kind. In the first room, a key item offers different responses depending on whether you use "get" or "take." In another place, "examine sign" works but "read sign" doesn't. For one obstacle, "flick switch" but not "flip" or "change" or "toggle" or "turn" or "use" or "press" or "pull" or "push" or any of the others I tried before resorting to the walkthrough. There's even a game-critical NPC that you can't examine but can talk to.

As a side note, I think I like ADRIFT less every time I run into it. What it makes me realize is that the quality of the parser creates a fundamental difference in the quality of the player experience. ADRIFT's parser appears fairly primitive, with the most irritating aspect being that it is often not apparent to a newcomer whether a word has been understood or not -- in other words, one can't differentiate parser failure from referring to an unimplemented object.

All of the above said, producing this piece took a significant effort, and with a higher-quality implementation, I'm sure I would have had a much more favorable reaction to it. I really do like the writing and even found just reading the walkthrough to be an enjoyable experience once I gave up hope of actually working through the game on my own. Perhaps if every puzzle could have been bypassed with an amusing near-death sequence, allowing the story to be completed with few points quickly, reaching the end would have been much more enjoyable, and I would have been more motivated to figure out how to get the highest score.

I still plan on playing the sequel to this piece, but it may be a while before I'm ready to risk that much frustration again.

What this game lacks in plot, puzzles, and punctuation, it makes up with a simple earnestness and a fortuitous brevity. Navigating the simple linear path through 8 or so rooms nearly devoid of implemented objects is an exercise in perseverance and a relatively lightweight one at that.

There doesn't seem to be much here; figuring out the directions linking rooms together seems to be the biggest challenge on your way to the end location. You'll find a few letters of encouragement and an apparently unnecessary lantern on the way, but there are no obstacles to overcome or reasons to care about getting there.

This is an Inform 7 6G60 release, so I'm guessing this is a first time effort by someone who has read the opening chapters of "Writing with Inform." I encourage the author to read the rest of the Inform 7 manual as well as Coyne's First-Timer Foibles, because it's clear that the imaginative seeds of something much grander are already on display here. All that's needed is more patience and polish to produce something worth playing.

I'm generally not one for keyword-driven stories, which emulate the kind of interactivity you would find in hypertext. I've always felt that that type of interaction was inherently limiting; with all the connections drawn out for the reader, there isn't much interactivity to be had other than by exploring the graph that defines the story's structure.

That said, when considered with respect to some of the more railroaded story-oriented IF out there, it actually demonstrates some comparative benefits. No chance for hunt-the-verb, hunt-the-noun, synonym sickness, or many of the other opportunities for failure that "standard" IF offers. Non-interactive NPCs seem less of an affront when the illusion of free conversation isn't even presented. So maybe there's a natural fit between this format and an all-story, no-puzzles work.

As far as plot goes, this piece is short but very interesting. In the minutes it takes to play it, the author managed to interject some surprising ideas about the mindset of the protagonist -- things that I did not expect or consider but which are immediately obvious when pointed out, things which demonstrate that the author has put some time and effort into crafting the fictional world created. (Spoiler - click to show)I especially like the way some of the ideas are revealed through characterization; the response to "mirror" in the exercise room packs a lot into a few words. The short plot and ambiguous ending practically beg for a more thorough exploration of this fictional world.

This was the first work of the author's that I've ever tried, and it left me favorably inclined to try others. Worth the time if you are seeking a quick diversion.

Some people might think from my breathless review of Spider and Web that I am an Andrew Plotkin groupie. This is not the case. While I have tremendous respect for his fearsome combination of seamless coding and tight story-telling*, he is, in the end, only human. Shade is the reminder.

The start of this work exhibits all of Mr. Plotkin's hallmark qualities: his trick of making the mundane seem interesting with inventive prose, his expert sense of how long to keep the player in suspense before providing the next clue about what's going on, his knack for making the story follow you before you can follow it. The excellence of this work set up some high expectations about what would come next.

To me, everything about the first half of the game seemed to be pointing towards a particular moment of revelation, in which the player would literally "wake up" and begin a new section of gameplay. This never happened. Instead, things take a sharp turn towards the weird and abstract, and the story leaves the player in the lurch, confused and unsatisfied about which, if any, of the tensions introduced in the first half were resolved.

When abstraction is introduced, art is always in danger of sliding down the slippery slope from transcendent to incomprehensible. Shade, unfortunately, goes right over the edge. While it is tempting to think that I just "missed it", it seems more likely that Mr. Plotkin's profound intuition misled him here in deciding how to communicate whatever he was trying for. [edit: Turns out there was quite a bit I just missed. (Spoiler - click to show)The studied opinion of IF master Emily Short shows that a careful reading of the text provides plenty of evidence (subtle though some of it may be) to support a consistent and interesting interpretation of the end. I've upped my rating by a point to reflect this.]

This game is still worth playing at least once just to marvel at the genius of its functioning as the story's central mystery unwinds. I can't even conceive of what the underlying code for this game looks like, but it feels like something deeply elegant and beautifully simple. If the story had the same coherence, this might have been another landmark work in the field.

* Or is it tight coding and seamless story-telling?

This is the kind of speed IF that makes the whole idea worthwhile.

This particular competition (Speed IF Jacket 2) seems to have had a looser timeline than most, with license of up to a week given by the organizer and an IFMUD post indicating that entries were still being accepted a month after the official kickoff. I don't know how long Mr. Ashwell (who was the organizer) spent creating this work, but the original poem in the introductory sequence makes it obvious that Ugly Chapter is no rush job from a writing perspective.

This work quickly convinces you that it's going to be something very different and very good. In just a few short moves, Ashwell's masterful writing brings into focus the extremely inventive narrative framework he created in which to tell this story, while outlining enough features of the setting to show that he's invested some thought into making it all hang together.

There's a certain style of writing that I love, in which the author spends little or no time on formal exposition and instead builds up a picture through details. It's a difficult trick, but when done right, this literary pointillism gives the reader the vivid impression that he or she is looking through a window at a complete and consistent universe; the individual dots begin to merge into a coherent whole. Ugly Chapter pulls this off almost offhandedly, while it's busy snaring the player's attention with expertly crafted replies to the usual opening moves, replies that quickly make it clear that 1) this game will not have a "you" in in it in the conventional sense of IF, and 2) that won't reduce your enjoyment of the work one bit.

Ugly Chapter is an excellent use of the interactive fiction medium, conscripting even the parser interface into the service of making clear what's happening as the story unfolds. Once the method by which this story is ostensibly being conveyed starts to sink in, the player is quickly railroaded to the conclusion(Spoiler - click to show), before the novelty of the reader/player simultaneously experiencing "being" both the trapped protagonist and the pathos-inspiring narrator wears off.

I would not qualify this piece as a comedy, it's more like poetry. Perhaps what's most remarkable is the way that this work so dramatically exceeds the threshold of expectation set by Speed IF Jacket 2's structure: Authors were given a set of fictional, out-of-context blurbs -- each created by a different participant and given to one other -- and were supposed to create a work to which they would apply.

It's an interesting variation on the random-seed-ideas premise; instead of X components, authors are given X perceptions. As you might expect, many blurbs were silly. A silly piece in response would be entirely expected and appropriate. A story of this quality in response is astounding; Ashwell makes the pretend blurbs seem silly in an entirely new way.

Without knowing the development time, it's hard to say whether this should truly be considered speed IF. Either way, I'm glad I didn't miss it.

The first speed IF competition emerged as a sort of spontaneous affair, it's genesis on IFMUD (preserved for all time over at IFWiki) looks a lot like a transcript from "Whose Line Is It, Anyway?" Beginning with the ridiculously short development timeline of 15 minutes, it was extended in stages to two hours, at which point David Cornelson, the inventor of the concept, released Coffins. [edit: Yikes! It has been gently pointed out to me that Christopher Huang is the author of Coffins, as should have been obvious to me based on what I linked to above. That's what I get for writing while too tired.] It was the only submission.

This seminal moment might have passed unnoticed, but, about 4 weeks later, on the eve of Halloween 1998, Cornelson organized another challenge like it, and a new phenomenon in the world of IF began to take root. Dan Shiovitz participated in this event, now known as Speed IF 2, and he was one of three people other than Cornelson [edit: Again, that should read "Huang", not "Cornelson"] to submit a finished work.

This piece, with its ridiculously long title, reads like a kind of gleeful, drunken attempt to make up a ghost story on the fly while sitting at the campfire after a long day of hiking, sun, and beer. It's silly, and it's fun, and it's a good time, but it's hard to call the result a story. Nonetheless, it made me laugh, and it only takes a few minutes to play, so I'd recommend it to anyone on the grounds of its historical and comedic value.

Emily Short has pioneered a number of advances in IF, most notably the radically innovative conversation model of Galatea. Galatea was not universally loved; my sense is that many people thought of as too experimental or too "new school" (i.e. all story, no puzzles) to be generally accepted. Not one to turn down the implicit challenge, Emily set to work on Savoir Faire to demonstrate that she really did "know how to do it" in the old school style.

She succeeded dramatically, removing any doubt that she is one of the modern masters of interactive fiction, and joining the pantheon of the New Implementors. Savoir Faire is arguably her most acclaimed work: Too big for submission in the IF Comp, it swept up most major awards in the 2002 XYZZYs and was a finalist for the remainder.

Ms. Short's signature style seems to be daringly huge conception followed by lengthy and intense efforts to bring her new brainchild into being. In this case, the kernel of genius is her conception of the "Lavori d'Aracne", a type of sympathetic magic that allows users to link objects together, entangling them physically and conceptually in interesting ways. Where most authors might go on to write a perfectly delightful game full of special-purpose code to produce the "fun parts", Ms. Short seems to have labored to create an entire simulation system for it -- implementing not just the magic but its very laws.

This has two effects: First, the modeled world seems incredibly rich and deep as a result of your freedom to deploy this new power in just about any way that respects the built-in laws. It is entirely possible to forge links that are useless to the main character, but which nonetheless function in a consistent manner. Second, it sets the bar for coding very high, as the complexity of the game's system soars.

Unfortunately, Savoir Faire seems to have been a bite that was slightly too big to chew from a coding perspective -- though I played version 8, there are still (minor) bugs to be found. These are completely forgivable and do not detract from the entrancingly intricate story, but they did throw some jarring notes into an otherwise grand symphony.

Though this would normally qualify as a five star entry in my book, I'm only giving four stars because of the unfairness of one particular puzzle. Why "unfair"? Because:(Spoiler - click to show)The puzzle with the dancers and the letter was a sharp departure from the consistency of other linking puzzles. You are required to build a link between the two objects, but there is little to indicate that this should be possible according to the laws of linking as I gleaned them in a week of playing the game.

All other links seem to require at least two points of similarity from several categories: form, material composition, color, decoration, or physical relation/relative positions. This is true for both puzzle-related links and general case legal links, but no such correspondence exists for these two items. In my perception, the picture of the dancers would count as decoration on the old letter but must correspond to the physical form of the dancers themselves.

The dancing/encryption idea was very clever but this particular link seems not like the others; I am certain it is enabled by special-purpose code and would not be allowed as a general case. So, even though I knew the letter and dancers were related, even though the picture of one is on the other, so consistent was the negative reinforcement from my many failed experiments in linking that I spent a whole day without it ever occurring to me that a link of these two things might be possible. After all, some puzzle solutions do not directly involve links.

Maybe this incongruence was intentional -- many famous old school puzzles are at least as arbitrary, and there is a mocking undertone running through the game directed at old school fanatics (like me). I suspect this was just an error in continuity, though, and it had a disproportionate impact on my perception of the overall quality of the playing experience.

Then again, maybe I'm just annoyed that I didn't think of the solution on my own, since I was doing so well without hints to that point, and I may have eventually found the right command through brute force (a definite echo of the oldest of old school play). As she mentions in her own hints page, I always had the option of decrypting the letter out-of-game.

These minor flaws aside, there's no question that Savoir Faire is one of the great accomplishments of the new era, and I highly recommend this work to all players. It delivers the best of both the new school (dense story) and old school (great puzzles), and left me with a hunger for more that will no doubt be satisfied by the sequel, Damnatio Memoriae. Allow yourself one hint to avoid getting irritated like I did, and you'll probably end up giving it a five-star rating yourself.

[edit: With the passage of time, my irritation about that one puzzle has faded, and I have come to realize what a tremendous accomplishment this work embodies in its exemplary integration of a simulationist implementation with both the puzzles and the story. As such, I feel compelled to increase my rating to five stars, since it is undoubtedly the pinnacle of that class. Hats off to Ms. Short!]

After reading the fake newspaper provided as a virtual feelie for The Weapon, I was already hooked by the work's fictional universe and eager to see what the story would be. A few turns of experimentation showed that the protagonist had an interestingly different internal monologue, while the fairly convincing NPC who is your main antagonist provided some clues to the situation at hand. Sean Barrett's expert writing subtly (and, if need be, directly) clues you in that this will be a game of cat-and-mouse, that you will be the one providing the misdirection alluded to in the tagline.

At the point where the NPC asks you her first question, I took a cue from the protagonist's apparently close-mouthed nature and tried the command "nod". It was tremendously pleasing to see a realistic response. After the number of clunkier pieces I've reviewed lately, it was refreshing to see a work composed with such forethought and attention to detail.

I won't go into the details of the game, but this was definitely the best "hard SF" piece that I've played since Infocom's Starcross. As with Starcross, the logic of the puzzles was grounded in realism and did not require any feats of mind-reading to solve. In fact, one of the most remarkable aspects of this piece is the number of well-crafted puzzles that the author, Sean Barrett, manages to wring out of the relatively few moving parts implemented. It's like a haiku -- all the non-essentials are stripped away, and what's left really works.

The flipside of this is that the interaction lacks some of the meatiness that would be welcomed in such an intriguing game world. I found myself wishing for the ask/tell model of conversation just so I could pump Cheryl for information about the things mentioned in the feelie.(Spoiler - click to show) While the ending does not leave room for a sequel, I would have been very interested to see another story written in this setting. On the whole, however, I think Mr. Barrett's sense of balance is exactly right; more details might simply have diluted the experience and reduced the level of focus the current writing inspires. It says something about how engrossing I found The Weapon to be that I had nearly reached the end of it before I realized it was going to be a one-room game.

The Weapon took most of an evening of on-and-off play to complete; total length is probably about right for the IF Comp, though it seems this piece was not entered when it was released in 2001. While it made finalist for Best NPC and Best Puzzles in the 2001 Xyzzy Awards, it did not win in either category.

I teetered back and forth between 3 and 4 stars for this and ultimately decided on 4, on the grounds of its exceptionally thorough implementation, nearly frictionless gameplay, and memorable characterization and story. This is a great introductory piece of IF for sci-fi lovers, and I would heartily recommend it to anyone who likes the genre.

So shouts one of your mates as you dash to fulfill your role as a WWII anti-aircraft gunner in Australia's Pacific theater, and up until then, everything was running quite smoothly in this "second runner-up" of the 2008 Intro Comp. Shortly thereafter, the interaction essentially fell apart.

Although I would normally give a game with this many functional problems only one star, when considered purely as an intro (and imagining it in a much more functional state), this piece is compelling enough to earn two. After all, it did beat the honorable mentions on some sort of merit, which I have to assume was rooted in the scenario and the writing. The author makes light use of multimedia (graphics and sound) to add a touch of immersion over and above what could be achieved with text alone, and it seems that with some additional investment of time and effort, this piece could really shine.

Let me preface the remainder of my review with a chunk of the transcript from my playthrough:

(Spoiler - click to show)
The gun emplacement
Crew members scramble to their stations around the tall anti-aircraft
gun mounted here; the drone of the approaching single-engine
Japanese “Val” dive bombers sharpens to a distinctive strum.

Your heart pounds as the routine of countless drills races through your
mind: get a shell from Smith, set the fuse on it to the appropriate time
for the height of the aircraft then pass it to Jenkins for loading.

You wait nervously for Smith as he disappears into the armoury to fetch
a shell.

> look at bomber
You can’t see any such thing as “bomber”.

> look at plane
You can’t see any such thing as “plane”.

> look at sky
You can’t see any such thing as “sky”.

> look up
You see the Japanese “Val” bombers approaching Darwin Harbour from
the northeast at between fifteen and twenty thousand feet. Depending
on air pressure, humidity and wind speed, experience tells you that you
will need a fuse setting somewhere between four and five seconds.
ERROR: In function “eachturn_gun_emplacement”, reference to
undefined container “FIRST”.

Smith returns from the armoury with another shell and stands beside
you.

Smith ducks back into the armoury.

> x shell
You can’t see any such thing as “shell”.

> ask jenkins about shell
Gunner Jenkins doesn’t have anything to say about the brass
anti-aircraft shell.
ERROR: In function “eachturn_gun_emplacement”, reference to
undefined container “FIRST”.

Smith returns from the armoury with another shell and stands beside
you.

> take shell
You take the brass anti-aircraft shell.

> x shell
The shell is about one foot long and made from brass. Around the nose
cone of the shell is a series of rings that form a complex powder fuse.

> x fuse
The fuse is composed of a series of three rings, each filled with
gunpowder and separated by felt. The lugs on the fuse setting tool are
designed to engage with small holes in the top ring in order to rotate it
to the required time. Markings around the fuse ring indicate the time in
tenths of a second, starting at 20 and finishing at 100. The fuse on this
shell is currently set to the disarmed position.

> arm shell
You can’t use the word “arm” in that context.

> arm fuse
You can’t use the word “arm” in that context.

> set fuse
To set the fuse you need to specify a length of time to set it to. For
example, to set the fuse to three and a half seconds, simply type “set
the fuse to 35”.

> set fuse to 45
You will need the setting tool to set the fuse on the shell.

Shockwaves and dissonance as a bomb explodes nearby.

> i
You are carrying a cricket ball, a steel helmet (being worn), a brass
anti-aircraft shell and your dog tags (being worn).

> x tool
You can’t see any such thing as “tool”.

> x setting tool
You can’t see any such thing as “setting tool”.

> l
The gun emplacement
The floor of the gun emplacement is a circular concrete pad almost ten
metres in diameter. Sandbag revetments, back filled with earth on the
outside, form the perimeter of the pit. The 3.7 inch Vickers anti-aircraft
gun stands bolted to the concrete, its barrel protruding through
fragments of camouflage netting suspended high above your head. The
only exit from the emplacement is a gap in the revetments to the
northwest, while a small room set into the south wall serves as an
armoury.

Gunner Jenkins is standing on the gun by the breach.

Sergeant Thompson is standing on the gun.

Smith is standing beside you holding an anti-aircraft shell.

> ask jenkins about tool
Gunner Jenkins doesn’t have anything to say about the setting tool.

> ask thompson about tool
Sergeant Thompson doesn’t have anything to say about the setting tool.

> ask smith about tool
Gunner Smith doesn’t have anything to say about the setting tool.

Another bomb falls too close for comfort just beyond the camp
perimeter.

> find tool
You can’t use the word “find” in that context.

> search for tool
You can’t see any such thing as “for”.

> look for tool
The sentence you typed was incomplete.

> s
You try to push your way past Smith who drops the shell he is carrying
and grabs you, pinning your arms to your side. “What are you doing,
Davis?” he yells in your ear, confusion and concern in his voice.
Fumbling desperately he relieves you of the fuse setting tool and
recovers the shell from the ground as another bomb explodes nearby...


*Sigh*. There's a spoiler of some sort in the above, all right, but not the type you might think.

The spoiler is definitely not the quality of the writing or the intended structure of the interaction, both of which seem to be significantly above average. Is it something wrong in the Gargoyle layer? Some issue with the JACL 2.5.2 interpreter it uses (which has been updated since the last integration with Gargoyle in August 2009)? Basic problems with the code for The Bloody Guns or with the JACL system itself?

I can't tell. I'd like to know. Because if it's something easily fixable, then it's a true shame that it stood between me and the intended experience.

It seems quite clear that the author, Stuart Allen (who invented the JACL system and is apparently the only one who ever uses it), has something valuable to offer to the world of IF, even if it is not the wonder of a new IF programming language. [edit: I've since come across at least one other game, Prison Break, which uses JACL. Also, the author assures me that the functional problems I encountered were likely due to interpreter incompatibility, making my comments in this and the following paragraph unwarranted.]

My gentle suggestion to Mr. Allen is that he come in from the cold and give another development system (e.g. Inform 7) a try. It has to be less work to build whatever custom extensions you want in Inform than it is to create and document a new language from scratch all by yourself. Releasing the source for a successful work in Inform (along with a JACL version) might even stimulate more interest in your brainchild.

If this piece is fleshed out into a full-length entry, I would definitely give it another go.

The conceptual foundation of Vendetta is a frustrating mix of originality and cliche, embedded in a compelling and often richly-envisioned universe that begs for further development and exploration.

Five minutes into this piece, I was in complete agreement with Dan Shiovitz's assessment: "Stories about supercompetent badasses who have No Time For Love always make me feel a little dirty, like I'm seeing parts of somebody's psyche it is embarrassing to be looking at..." The prose style and dramatic content reminded me of that B-movie kind of adventure fiction where men are men and women are ornaments with incomprehensible emotions. It almost seemed like the style found in pre-pubescent fiction, and my estimate of the author's sophistication -- as well as my interest level -- kept dropping.

Anyone who feels the same way at that point is encouraged to continue(Spoiler - click to show), because shortly thereafter, comes a surprising plot twist. It's revealed that the narrator is an artificial being built for military purposes whose personality has been "modified" (or maybe just mangled) by the removal of key human elements like empathy and love. It's also revealed that the narrator's memory is mostly composed of the memories of another, much older person, which were artificially "written" to his brain. This revelation knocked my judgment for a loop; so many things that had seemed odd and out-of place, from the child-like interaction with Sally to the incongruous use of "young man" to describe others to the casual disregard for recent accomplishments, suddenly seemed appropriate. This sort of resonance between the large and small details is brilliant, but I'm not 100% certain it was intentional. Accepting this premise immediately raises the question of why an artificial being is walking around the world unsupervised in a world where such beings appear to be nearly unique.

The writing style is strange and uneven. Fluid and competent prose alternates with stilted, forced writing sprinkled with spelling and grammar errors. In several places, there is repetition of a word (or variations of a word) that can be jarring. In others, the exposition takes abrupt detours to work in a bit of background that probably should have appeared earlier.

As a work of interactive fiction, it has several weak spots. For the first half of the game, much of the player's time is spent waiting for multi-turn "conversations" to complete. One glance at the walkthrough should have raised red flags; there are far too many z's in it.

While on one level I thought it was interesting to be doing other things while the conversation takes place (like multi-tasking on the phone in real life), the object implementation is so shallow in some scenes that there's not really anything else to do but wait. Eventually, it crossed a line. The sensation was similar to how I once saw someone describe an RPG GM who gets too active with the party NPCs he controls: At some point, the players begin to wonder if they're just there to watch the GM entertain himself.

However, all of this changes (another significant discontinuity) when you get to the second act. Immediately, the player finds himself in the middle of a sprawling map full of interesting scenery objects. It's such a change in the nature of the play, and the depth of object implementation is so spotty, that adjusting to the transition is somewhat annoying. You find yourself trying all of the mentioned nouns, never sure which commands will result in a "no such thing" message, and which will result in two or three layers of irrelevant detail. Most of the object descriptions are done well -- more consistent implementation depth might have made for a very interesting effect(Spoiler - click to show) as you ransack the area while racing the clock. After all, when you're in the unknown, you don't know what's significant at first, and a real office would be filled with plenty of useless objects.

This part feels like a more traditional piece of IF, and it takes a while to explore. Just when my previous irritation at being inexpertly railroaded in Act I had started to fade, the sudden introduction of a CYOA format during the endgame left me shaking my head in disbelief.

The level of realism, like so much about this work, is lopsided in its application. While I was impressed with many details like the "bit player" NPCs in the hotel environs and the changing weather as you venture outside, they stand in stark contrast to the cartoon-like interaction with later hostile NPCs, who seem to be implemented as little more than combination punching bags and bowling pins.(Spoiler - click to show) As an example, I spent several turns goofing around with a locked gate, while the occupant of a nearby guardhouse patiently sat there staring into space, waiting for me to walk in and break his neck.

Vendetta was developed using ADRIFT, which my limited investigation leads me to believe is a sort of point-and-click code generator intended for non-programmers. Perhaps the author, James Hall, had no background in programming when this was written, in which case some of the problematic parser interactions that I encountered are easier to understand. Some choices in verb-to-action mappings, as well as the author's tendency to translate your apparent intent into a series of actions you did not specify, lead to a strange kind of abstraction to what you do. From time to time, it's almost like you're just offering suggestions instead of controlling the PC.

There are also some out-and-out problems with the code or writing, such as:

* an important (if optional) item is placed in scope(Spoiler - click to show) (the cell phone when you kill the first guard), but you are not notified and could easily miss it if you don't "look" again,

* the response to one critical command makes it appear as though the verb is not recognized, when in fact it simply requires an indirect object(Spoiler - click to show) ("reflect laser" vs. "reflect laser at x"),

* some descriptions are misleading, in a way that is out of character with the rest of the work.(Spoiler - click to show) (e.g. "In the corner of the room is the reception desk, which has nothing of interest on it other than a few pieces of office stationery." -- which gave me the impression they were blank pages, though I admit that's subjective.)

If the entire work was written as well as its current best parts, Vendetta would definitely rate three stars. With better consistency and some additional conceptual and thematic development, it could have hit four. I'm left with mixed feelings about this piece, as well as curiosity about what Mr. Hall has been up to for the last 5 years -- it seems like he has not released anything since Vendetta placed 14th out of 26 in the 2005 IF Comp. If Mr. Hall has continued to practice and develop his writing skills, I would expect his next work to realize much more of its potential than Vendetta does.

As you can tell from the length of my review, this piece managed to get under my skin. I want to give it a higher rating than I can objectively justify. For a pure player, there are enough negatives to warrant avoiding it. For new authors, there are valuable lessons to be seen in studying what's done right and what's done wrong. My suggestion: Decide which camp you're in, and choose accordingly.