Reviews by EJ

The Tempest of Baraqiel is a game in which the protagonist, military linguist Kel Shem, must decipher the settings on an advanced alien weapon so that humans can figure out how to operate the weapon and make a show of being able to hold their own against this superior foe.

Kel is also dealing with hostile superior officers, a lack of information they need to do their job, and the legacy of a famous mother that they’re struggling to live up to, and before you get to the translation stuff, you have to go through quite a lot of scenes of them trying to navigate interpersonal interactions around these things. Although the POV is exclusively Kel’s and they are unquestionably the main character, the player is often expected to select dialogue options for both Kel and their hostile superiors or skeptical team members, a design choice that I found somewhat odd and disorienting. I’m not sure what effect it was intended to have; for me it made it harder to fully identify with Kel and feel the pressure and frustration of navigating the situation they were in, and felt a little bit like I was playing both sides of a two-player game.

The translation sequence was absolutely the most compelling part of the game, and the part where I most felt like I knew what my goal was and what effect my choices were having. Even if you sometimes choose options for other members of the team in this section, at least you’re playing as members of a team with a unified purpose, not two people who are supposed to be clashing. Unfortunately I’m enough of a linguistics nerd to be bothered by how incredibly tidy and logical the language was—more of a code designed for puzzles than an actual language—and by the technobabble by which the characters sometimes reach realizations. I do understand that an accurate simulation of the process of deciphering an unknown language would take several years for the player to complete and be impossible to beat if you didn’t have a team of academics in relevant fields helping you out; I like to think I cut translation games some slack here. (I do love Heaven’s Vault!) But (Spoiler - click to show)“every word is exactly four phonemes and each position corresponds to a color and each phoneme corresponds to a number” is fully into “this is something I would expect to see in a puzzle hunt rather than while reading about real languages” territory. Even for aliens it seems like a bit of a stretch.

The game is definitely doing some intriguing things and some people seem to have gotten a lot more out of it than I did. I will confess to not being in the most charitable mood while playing most of the game, because I tried to play it in two sessions but, due to the faulty save function, ended up having to replay the first 1/3 and then rush to play the rest of the game in one sitting. But in the end I think it was not really for me.

Accessibility note: Due to the lack of light mode I had to use Stylebot to be able to play this game, so it was ultimately no more of a problem than a well-designed dark mode would have been, but I have to say the option buttons making the text darker and the background lighter was not a good choice. Once again I feel obligated to beat the drum of “please use a contrast checker!” (Some things pass that shouldn’t, so it’s not a guarantee you will not have problems, but it is the bare minimum.)

(Note: I was originally going to skip this game due to the “flashing images” warning, but others who had played it said they encountered no flashing images, so I gave it a shot. To the best of my knowledge, I explored 100% of this game’s content, and I also found no flashing images.)

Retrograding’s blurb states that its protagonist, the cyborg Ioanna, works in “waste management”—quotation marks and all—and I have to say I expected that to be a euphemism, but this is indeed a game in which you collect trash, and many of the key choices involve what pieces of trash to collect.

In fact, Ioanna is the best trash collector in this whole dystopian future (run by a single interplanetary Corporation, which is so monopolistic that it doesn’t even appear to have a name). She could be promoted, but prefers not to be because she prefers dealing with trash to dealing with people.

Unfortunately for her, doing your job with unusual skill and efficiency can get you saddled with responsibilities you don’t want even without the promotion. In the game’s first major route split, she is offered a choice of two unenviable waste management jobs, each of which includes an aspect of essentially baby-sitting a problem worker. The first is Raven, a death-row inmate who is scheduled to be executed at the end of the job, and the second is Zinnia, a nepo baby who keeps trying to rebel against the Corporation and being demoted (and brainwashed, it sounds like?) each time.

Due to this very early route split, Retrograding is functionally two games, one very good and the other distinctly underbaked. I spent about two hours seeing everything the game has to offer; a little over half an hour of that was Zinnia and the rest was Raven. His route has more variation, more endings, better pacing, more convincing relationship and character development, and more information about Ioanna’s backstory and the worldbuilding. Zinnia’s is elliptical and confusing, with a somewhat unconvincing romance and dialogue options that often change at most a word or two in the response. Also, one of Raven’s five endings is a solid happily-for-now, while Zinnia’s three are all different shades of downer.

Also, I have to say, the Raven route had a weird toxic horny energy (complimentary) that was completely and totally absent in the Zinnia route. (To be clear, there is nothing spicier than kissing in either route, but the Raven route ramps up the tension via things like Raven rummaging around in Ioanna’s internal robot parts and Ioanna making Raven suck on her gun, and one of the requirements for the best romantic ending is to be consistently kind of mean to him, which he seems to enjoy.) I understand that the two routes were written by different authors who have different styles and interests, but Zinnia's route just felt a little bloodless to me and I wanted it to be about 50% more unhinged to better suit the energy of the rest of the game. (I am also personally less interested in male/female romances than in any other gender configuration, so my bias here is that if the genders of the two romanceable characters were swapped, I would be obsessed with this game and would talk about nothing else for weeks regardless of its structural flaws.)

Regardless, I enjoyed Ioanna as a protagonist, and the setting in the Raven route is very atmospheric with some interestingly off-kilter concepts. The character art is loosely sketched, but appealing, and the music and backgrounds chosen mostly do a good job of setting the mood (it’s a little distracting that some of the photos of places that are supposed to be abandoned have people in them, but I understand that when looking for free-to-use photos you get what you get). I also liked that each character you meet and each bit of trash you pick up adds to a database labeled “Records”, which provides you little extra scenes to attempt to piece together with the larger story. (Some players may find this annoying or distracting, I think, especially in a game that already gives you a lot to take in and doesn’t explain much of it fully. It’s possible I was simply brainwashed into liking this mechanic through exposure to the When They Cry series’ similar “Tips” mechanic at an impressionable age. But whether or not it’s objectively a good idea, I enjoyed it.)

Even leaving my personal preferences aside, the clear disparity in attention given to the two main routes is noticeable and awkward, and makes Retrograding cap out at merely good when I think a fully fleshed out version could be great. More content for the Zinnia route could also help with the larger setting feeling ultimately kind of underexplained. But there were a lot of striking moments and interesting character beats here that I think I will find particularly memorable. For those who only checked out the Zinnia route and left with a somewhat lackluster impression of the game, I do think the Raven route is worth a try.

This is a short, lighthearted puzzle game in which you play as Layla, the so-called assistant to star archaeologist Herbert Tapioca (who is actually useless on his own). You are being questioned after apparently breaking into Versailles and engaging in some property destruction in pursuit of ancient Egyptian artifacts hidden there. (The lack of direct tomb-raiding and the fact that Layla is half-Egyptian herself seem like an effort to make this classic adventure-archaeologist tale reasonably guilt-free—your claim to go messing about with these artifacts may not be impeccable, but it’s better than the late French royals’, probably.) Amusingly, the police only seem concerned with whether you are giving an internally consistent account of your actions and not whether that account exculpates you in any way (it doesn’t); you've just got to get the right events in the right order.

I had a bit of difficulty getting started before realizing the central conceit; that the (Spoiler - click to show)time travel elements are treated as a twist at the end is a slightly awkward decision given that you can’t make progress without figuring out that there must be some, and I wonder if flagging that a little more specifically up front (without giving all the details away, of course) might be helpful for people.

Once I got to grips with the way the game worked, though, I had fun figuring out the secrets of Versailles/the pharaohs. The puzzles weren’t too hard but provided satisfying “aha” moments, and the game employs a few tricks to make them brute force–proof that I think make sense under the circumstances. I also appreciated the way the interrogators’ comments point the player towards segments where there are unsolved puzzles remaining. There were just a couple of pain points:

In general, though, I had fun with the puzzles and the little interactions between the hapless Herbert and bold and clever Layla, and I found this a nice little diversion!

The Secrets of Sylvan Gardens is a choice-based fantasy game featuring a PC who has been feeling a mysterious draw to the titular house and grounds. They resolve to learn more about Sylvan Gardens to figure out why they keep finding themself there in the middle of the night; in the course of their research they solve some puzzles and uncover some hidden pieces of the town’s history. The puzzles were pretty well constructed and I generally enjoyed them, although sometimes it strained credulity a little that no one else had ever figured out a particular riddle.

The PC also meets a variety of characters who have curses or other problems that can be solved only by particular magical plants; they can befriend all of these people and choose to romance one. I appreciated the range of ages that these characters spanned and the varied exploration of the impact that their magical difficulties had on their lives.

I did have some issues with the fuzziness of the worldbuilding. The game revolves around the historic home and gardens of a figure who’s positioned as a sort of early-Enlightenment proto-naturalist; she lived three hundred years ago. At any rate, attitudes to magic vs. science are definitely post-Enlightenment at this point. And yet in terms of tech levels, we seem to still be at the ren faire; you don’t so much as see a typewriter. When you go stargazing, the constellations are the same as the ones in the real world; it seems there’s Greek mythology, although it’s unclear if there’s a Greece. There are also multiple fantasy races here; there are some more unusual ones that get a lot of time and focus devoted to how they fit into this world, but some of the more “standard” fantasy races, like elves, just get some gestures in the direction of discrimination against them by humans possibly existing and not a lot of examination of what that means, even if you’re playing as an elf. But it’s pretty clear we’re not really meant to think about any of this that hard; I’m just a nitpicker.

Sylvan Gardens is created with Ink but with a good deal of customization, including a history function that was very helpful to me in some puzzles (I didn’t take notes and maybe should have). It has an appealing visual design and watercolor illustrations; along with the soundtrack, these create a gentle, pleasant ambience.

All in all, the game may not be quite to my personal tastes, but it’s substantial (it took me two hours and will probably take most people longer) and highly polished, and will likely appeal to fans of character-focused cozy fantasy.

There’s a subgenre of Japanese portal fantasy/isekai in which the main character finds themself in a fantasy world transformed into some sort of non-human being. This started out reasonably enough with monsters and animals, but in the endless pursuit of novelty in a rather crowded genre, somewhere along the way it got weird, and now we have series like Reborn as a Vending Machine, I Now Wander the Dungeon (no, I’m not making this up). The focus is often on how the MC circumvents their limitations or even manages to turn them around into advantages, inevitably becoming super powerful and probably impressing some cute girls.

This tale of waking up in a fantasy world as a rock seems like it would fit right in—except that instead of unlikely power-leveling, you solve everyone’s problems with plain old social skills. (It is possible that the PC being a rock makes people more likely to open up, though—it seems safer as they’re not a humanoid creature and don’t live in the town, perhaps?) Also, while there are cute girls, they’re more interested in (Spoiler - click to show)each other than in the PC, which is refreshing to see. (One of them is a tough woman who secretly loves cute things, which is a classic anime character beat, but I like it better in this context.)

The main substance of the gameplay has two parts: one is successfully navigating conversations with characters, and the other is figuring out which characters to talk to in which order so as to nudge people towards those who might be able to help them. The latter worked nicely; the former was mostly good, but there were times when the conversation options were fairly similar and I couldn’t tell if there was a meaningful difference and if so, what it was.

The game also has a lot of endings, and the way they're presented as unlockable achievements on the final screen gives the impression of this being an "ending chase" game in the vein of Insomnia; I've since learned it's not meant to be, but as we players are easily led astray by "here's a list of things to unlock", I feel compelled to note that actually chasing those endings winds up feeling unrewarding because they're somewhat repetitive. They can have amusing moments (I think the one where you get thrown in a lake is my favorite, even if it’s mostly kind of an expanded version of the “forgetting you’re a rock” joke that gets made in a number of other contexts), but the majority of the non-ideal endings are “someone takes you somewhere and you just have to sit there because you’re a rock”.

A related issue is that there is, as far as I can tell, exactly one non-ideal ending that you actually need to see to make progress, so you have a bit of a “doing X is not useful except in the one case where it’s essential” problem.

These hiccups aside, though, it’s a charming game with cute characters and most of its structural choices are solid, and I had fun playing it.

Pure is a fairly short parser game in which the player goes through a gauntlet of challenges in a dungeon in pursuit of an unclear goal. There’s some suggestion that whatever it is will grant you some sort of increased legitimacy; there’s also an indication that the PC doesn’t really want to do it but is being forced to by a couple of brutish guards. But what you are pursuing is not really explored beyond this.

The author’s note is quite explicit that this is a metaphor for the trans experience (or a trans experience, at any rate). The dark, disturbing imagery naturally invites comparisons to Porpentine, but what came to mind most for me was A Trial, a surreal satire of the process of getting a legal name change. While Pure’s tone is very different, it similarly seems to be concerned with the hoops one has to jump through to legitimize one’s identity in the eyes of mainstream society.

That being the case, it is interesting to me that the trials as you proceed deeper into the dungeon are primarily about willingness to hurt others, not about hurting yourself or bending yourself into a particular expected shape. You’re compromising yourself morally, of course, but it’s not your own hand you’re cutting off. I don’t really know what to make of that, metaphorically. Does it imply that to legitimize oneself, one must turn around and sacrifice other vulnerable people? But what should we make, then, of the fact that some of the people you’re forced to harm are those who forced you into this situation in the first place? I can’t quite get a cohesive reading out of it, but it is interesting to consider.

Another interesting figure in the game is the Heir, the PC’s love interest, who is sort of the carrot to the guards’ stick. Rather than threatening the PC in some way if they don’t go through the ritual(?) that they’re participating in, the Heir coaxes them, lovingly encouraging them to commit terrible acts because the reward will be so good for them and the Heir is so proud. Given how the guards end up, it seems like perhaps the Heir is the real driver of the whole thing, like perhaps the promise of love and respect (and power? Since the Heir seems to be some kind of prince/ss/x?) is ultimately stronger than the threat of force. (It does feel a bit odd thematically for it to be possible for the Heir to be nonbinary, as the metaphorical representative of cisgender hegemony, but that could just be me.) The Heir was an intriguing and unsettling presence, and doesn’t necessarily need to be fleshed out very much more since their primary role is as a symbol rather than a character, but I did wish it were possible to interact with them a little more.

Before the player gets to any of this meaty stuff, though, there’s a basic medium-dry-goods puzzle and a set of riddles to solve. It may be meant to sort of frog-boil the player into the more disturbing aspects of the game—you think this is a normal text adventure, and then stuff gets weird!—but for me the shift was so abrupt and total that it just sort of felt like two different games pasted together. I liked the latter half much more than the former half; the actions the player must take to continue are better integrated into the narrative and the distressing descriptions are very striking. But of course, this being "part 1", just as you're starting to sink your teeth into this part of the game, it's over.

I did notice a number of polish issues with the game, including typos, missing paragraph breaks, missing spaces, stray extra punctuation marks, and places where the Heir is referred to by a particular pronoun regardless of the gender chosen for them. This was a little distracting, but it's still an interesting work with a lot to chew on.

There are, of course, a lot of surreal and highly metaphorical games about trauma, and there are probably many reasons for that, but one of those, I think, is that the subject matter really lends itself to that approach. Trauma loves symbolism. Trauma revels in taking an ordinary everyday object and turning it into an emblem for the worst thing that’s ever happened to you. And because it’s an ordinary everyday object, it can lurk around every corner waiting to ambush you in the middle of a perfectly good day and remind you that you’re still not over that thing.

Slated for Demolition represents this experience by having its protagonist, as the blurb says, “haunted by a relentless marinara pasta demon”. (It feels slightly inappropriate in this context to say that that turn of phrase delights me, but it does.) There’s something bathetic in this, to be sure, but again, that seems fitting in a way. It’s not really funny to be having a panic attack because you saw a regular everyday object, or something that isn’t even that object but kind of looks like the object, but on some level you grimly recognize the absurdity of it. In practice, I didn’t find the silliness of the concept too distracting; the game mines the pasta imagery for some surprisingly effective horror scenes, and a sequence in a grocery store where the words of the description start to be replaced by types of pasta is legitimately disorienting. Given that most objects in the game have some kind of emotional significance tied to a key memory, I was a little bit surprised that this ended up not being true of the pasta, but at the same time the pasta is positioned within the text as something destructive of meaning—not insignificant, but sort of anti-significant—so perhaps that's appropriate as well.

The game has a world model of sorts, and a list of objects to collect, and at least one actual puzzle; all of this works well enough, but it’s mainly in service of getting fragments of text that you can piece together into something resembling a picture of the PC’s past and present (albeit not a complete one, and deliberately so). In addition, although I’m one of those people who’s always complaining about timed text, I thought it was well-used here—it’s not the default or used very frequently, so when on occasion a phrase appears word by word for emphasis, it has the intended impact.

I was quite absorbed in the specific, sharply drawn if disjointed details of this one person’s life, so it really threw me to reach the ending and (Spoiler - click to show)suddenly be asked to insert myself into the game instead. That’s not a thing I generally find rewarding in games and I especially did not like it as a swerve from inhabiting the consciousness of a very specific person who was not me (and occasionally also a very specific marinara pasta demon). But there’s precedent in this kind of game for reaching out to the audience this way and making them think about their own lives, and it’s hard for me to tell if it’s not well executed here or if it’s simply not to my tastes.

There is a mystery of sorts to solve in The Little Four, a pastiche of Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot novels, but that’s not really the point. Instead, it’s a gentle slice-of-life piece showing a rainy day in the life of Arthur Hastings, Hercule Poirot, Hastings’s four children (whom Hastings sometimes refers to as “ours” rather than “mine”), and their dog.

The writer has massaged the timeline of the books somewhat so that Hastings’s wife’s death both occurs when his children are young and is not closely followed by Poirot’s, and so that Poirot and Hastings are the same age. The premise is that the widowed Hastings has moved in with Poirot—ostensibly to another flat in the same building, but as the game goes on it becomes clear that Hastings really lives in Poirot’s flat rather than the one that is supposed to be his. Poirot cooks for the family and has taken an interest in the education and general well-being of the children.

The casual intimacy between the two men and their domestic life together are easily read as romantic, especially with Poirot being described as a “confirmed bachelor” (although, as the author’s blog of sources shows, the portrayal of their relationship is thoroughly grounded in the canon). Certainly, at any rate, something is being concealed by Hastings’s initial insistence that he is merely staying in Poirot’s guest bedroom rather than living in Poirot’s flat. Whether this is denial on the part of Hastings, a veil of plausible deniability for the friends for whom Hastings is writing, or just an attempt to avoid the appearance of impropriety where there actually is none is ambiguous. Romantic or not, they are partners of some sort, in life and not just in crime-solving.

The piece mainly consists of exploring the two flats, examining objects (which helpfully appear in boldface if unexamined and in italics if examined) to get reminiscences about Hastings’s life, ruminations on his hopes for his children and the vagaries of middle age—and, of course, thoughts of Poirot. The writer’s imitation of Hastings’s narrative voice is spot-on, and the portrayal of all of the relationships involved (including that of Hastings and his late wife) is natural and sweet without being cloying.

There is one puzzle, a minor mystery that Poirot engineers to entertain Hastings’s eldest child, but it isn’t very difficult. The point is merely to revel in this moment of quiet domestic happiness for two men, four children, and a dog, all of whom have seen some hard times before (even the dog has been a murder suspect!) and, as the frame narration lightly alludes to, soon will again (this is an inter-war story, but Hastings is writing it down post-World War II).

In this hybrid parser/choice game, you play as a dog in the Hittite Empire (ca. 2000 BCE) whose owner, the village wise-woman, is under a mysterious curse. You cannot, yourself, cast spells, but you can absorb them and transfer them to other objects, and you must use this ability to save your human companion. Mostly, as it turns out, by stealing everything that is not nailed down and selling it so that you can buy magical trinkets that will let you do more things with your spell repertoire. (It’s lucky the black-market dealer assumes you’re doing business on behalf of your owner—well, you are, sort of—and doesn’t seem fazed by this!)

You can only carry one item and one spell at a time, which gets a bit fiddly, but ITEMS and SPELLS commands that let you automatically retrieve things from wherever you left them are a big help. I also appreciated the THINK command telling you what currently-unsolved puzzles you currently have the ability to solve; the map is big, and it can be easy to lose track of things you encountered when you didn’t have the ability to deal with them yet.

The spell-based puzzle gameplay is satisfying, and the eventually-acquired ability to spells is a nice twist on it (unlocking something that lets you modify spells has been a feature of this author’s work before, but I think this particular iteration is new?). The canine PC is also fun, and their concern for their human is quite sympathetic.

But the greatest joy here is the setting—an unusual historical milieu that has been extensively researched and brought to life with vibrantly described locations and a host of lively NPCs, including a shady copper merchant, a world-weary black-market dealer (who is not too happy about fencing stuff from the temple for you, but she’ll graciously do it anyway), assorted townsfolk worrying about their taxes (which you can help them with), and many more.

There are also extensive footnotes explaining the historical basis of many of the things in the game (house layouts, clothing, food), and giving additional context on the political and religious background. You can probably enjoy the game perfectly well without reading any of the footnotes, but I love learning random facts, especially about history, so for me their existence was a huge plus.

In short, the game was fun, well-designed, highly polished, and even educational, and I really enjoyed it!

This is a one-room wordplay puzzle game; the conceit is that it’s a sort of audition for the titular job. To get the job, you must escape the room using five machines that transform objects in mostly word-related ways. A talking rabbit stands by to offer assistance should you need it.

The number of objects available to manipulate is very small, and in most cases the machines won’t work on anything they don’t actually need to work on. On the one hand, this means you can’t learn the rules of the machines by throwing stuff at them; on the other hand, the fact that something being possible to do almost always means it’s useful to do provides helpful guidance in the early portion of the game, which otherwise doesn’t give you much direction.

Once I got past that point, though, the puzzles flowed smoothly, and I enjoyed figuring out each step in the chain of transformations.

While the game is certainly puzzle-forward, the writing is also solid, with fun stage-magic flavor and often entertaining descriptions of the items you create. There are some good jokes (I enjoyed the business with the drawer that you create being basically ontologically closed even though it’s not attached to anything), and the talking rabbit companion, Weldon, is an endearing hint-dispenser (in a somewhat sarcastic kind of way).

I wouldn’t say the ending felt abrupt or unexpected (it’s pretty clear what your final goal is), but it does feel like you don’t get a lot of time to revel in using the mechanics to solve puzzles after the initial stage of figuring out what they are. I think this game would make an excellent intro to (or prequel to?) a longer game set in this universe, and I would happily play such a game if it were to exist.