Reviews by EJ

The Galaxy Jones games are a pulpy sci-fi series starring an action heroine with a super-suit, some sort of an energy weapon, and the grit necessary to take on any space-age threat. My experience with the first game was a bit of a mixed bag. I remember the delight I felt whenever I got a point and got the ASCII logo, but I also remember a certain amount of wrestling with the parser.

In this entry, our heroine is on a mostly-deserted space station that the Siriusians, a group of alien cyborgs, is about to use to launch Phobos into Mars (I think?) to strike a blow against the humans in what appears to be an ongoing war between them. This at first makes the Siriusians seem like straightforward villains, but documents you find throughout the game add nuance—once you can read them, that is.

I enjoyed running around the space station, hoovering up Siriusian text for my translator doohickey, and then going back to reread things as the words gradually filled in. I also enjoyed the first few door puzzles, which are an unusual variant on the “Lights Out” puzzle type—I have never loved Lights Out, to be honest, but it turned out that (Spoiler - click to show)instead of being about spatial reasoning these were about math, which I found easier to get to grips with. I took notes, I figured out patterns, I felt smart.

Then I ran into a door that required something else entirely, and that I didn’t manage to figure out. What I needed to do just wasn’t really intuitive to me, and I would have liked more of a nudge in that direction. But you can use literal brute force to bypass any door, and so I did that just to keep the game moving… only to immediately get hung up on a new type of puzzle that couldn’t be bypassed that way. That one I managed to solve on my own after sleeping on it, but having my momentum killed that way such that I had to walk away from the game for a day was a bit of a downer. At this length I much prefer to play a game in one sitting. So I really wished there were somewhere I could have turned, not to have the solution handed to me, but just for a bit of a hint.

The portion after that puzzle also went smoothly and I did win the game (although with so few turns to spare that I didn’t try for the two optional non-door points, which I might return to later). On the whole I would say that I had a good time, especially with everything up to the blue door, and the implementation was very smooth—at no point did I think “I know what I need to do, but I don’t know what I need to type to do it.” But while I understand the diegetic hints of the previous game may not work in this context, a hint system of some sort would have taken this from very good to excellent.

Backpackward is about a put-upon wage slave who finds that when he wears his trusty backpack, the cellar at his neighbor Jan’s house turns into a portal to a medieval fantasy world. The main mechanic is inventory management, with the unusual-for-IF twist that this is basically a spatial reasoning puzzle; there are pixel graphics for the backpack and all the things you can put in it and you can rotate the items around to try to pack them in as efficiently as possible. It’s distinctive and smoothly implemented and the graphics look nice.

The writing, though, I have mixed feelings about. The game’s blurb promises a PC with “anger management issues” who experiences “no emotional growth”, so it feels a little gauche to then complain about him. I have looked into the bag labeled “Dead Dove: Do Not Eat”, and guess what, there was a dead dove in there. But look, it’s not that I’m against comedies where the point is to watch terrible people suffer the consequences of their own actions, it’s just, did it have to be a stereotypical nerd who’s weird about women and a little bit casually homophobic? I’m kind of tired of that guy as a protagonist, even when he’s mostly the butt of the joke. Maybe I would feel differently if the main fantasy-world female character didn’t fawn over him. (Of course, she has ulterior motives… which have to do with feeling insecure because her sister was forced into marriage by the evil ruler and not her. I’m not sure that’s better?)

That said, the writing is often legitimately funny, if often also mean-spirited with it. I enjoyed the description of the PC’s manager as a girl who “consists mostly of goth eyeliner”, for example, and the Jansport/Jan’s portal pun is groanworthy in the way one wants puns to be (if you like puns at all, of course). Also, the game did seem enjoyably responsive to having different combinations of items in your backpack—the differences are pure flavor most of the time, but I’m of the opinion that that’s a perfectly fine way to do IF.

So I do think there’s a lot to like about Backpackward, but the choice to have a funny-misogynist protagonist is not my favorite to start with, and when you put him in a narrative whose broader choices are just sexist in an unexamined kind of way, it becomes hard to tell what’s supposed to just be his opinion. Which is unfortunate.

I was on SNAP (colloquially known as “food stamps”) for a number of years. That I’m not anymore is a matter of luck and not bootstraps, but I do still receive some government services related to disability. In my state applications/renewals can mostly be done online and/or by phone these days, which is relatively painless compared to the days when I had to get up at 4 AM and take the first bus to the HRA equivalent’s nearest location because they wouldn’t let you make an appointment for SNAP applications/renewals, it was first come first served, so if you didn’t get there right when the office opened there was no guarantee you’d be seen that day at all. But it's still not really a model of efficiency or devoid of red tape.

A Visit to the Human Resources Administration gives a clear-eyed and damning look at this system through the eyes of an alien researcher trying to understand humans through everyday experiences. Through defamiliarizing the trappings of the SNAP process, its absurdity and cruelty are exposed, but at the same time it’s clear that we are not meant to think the alien’s conclusions are correct when it decides that humans must enjoy being uncomfortable. It is obvious that viewing the humans going through the process as specimens has made it impossible for the alien to really understand the problems involved.

And then everything literally grinds to a halt so that a character can spell out everything we just read. I’m sure the rant was cathartic for the author to write, but it wasn’t really cathartic for me to read. I don’t know if it’s because the author is coming at it from the perspective of a social worker and not a benefits recipient, because I felt like I was being lectured about things I already knew by someone who assumed their audience couldn’t possibly have personal experience, or just because I don’t like when authors don’t trust their audiences to draw their own conclusions. But I thought the piece was weaker for restating its message twice, once in the most grindingly obvious way.

*OVER* is a long, sprawling game about a large family at what is obviously Disney World, although it is carefully not named, in the ‘90s. There are three main narrative threads, following a player-nameable college student with much younger siblings, awkward closeted lesbian aunt Lou, and cool grandma Phil. These plotlines all entwine around the walkie-talkies that the family uses to keep up with each other, sometimes also overhearing other families who have had the same bright idea.

I’m also from a large family and have been on Disney trips reminiscent of this, although by the time I was 20 we, unlike the family in *OVER*, had cell phones, Fastpass, and normalized sunscreen use. But that only does so much to alleviate the chaos of a sufficiently large family vacation, represented here in a cavalcade of sensory detail and busy descriptions of what everyone in the family is doing even if it doesn’t matter much. These are cut with the occasional biting observation: “Equality and fairness for a family vacation is oftentimes choosing the option that makes everyone equally upset.”

When I reached the end of the game’s first day, I was exhausted on the protagonists’ behalf—“Damn,” I thought, “all of that was only one day? And we have how many days left again?” (Which is exactly how I feel whenever I go on vacation with my family, even now that there are fewer small children involved.) Yet the prose has a compelling, even hypnotic quality that made me want to keep going.

If the game has one major flaw, it’s that although there are three protagonists and the college student seems intended to be the PC as much as there is one, it’s really Lou’s story that gets the most focus and is the most fleshed-out. I was a little disappointed—I wanted to dig more into those eldest-sibling woes—but Lou’s story is nevertheless very good. Its eventual (Spoiler - click to show)descent into a surrealist or magical-realist mode, as Lou becomes trapped in a time loop and then bursts through a mirror into a parallel universe, might feel disjointed or unconvincing to some, but it worked for me: the frenetic fever dream of the family vacation having finally reached such a pitch as to become divorced from reality entirely.

This story takes place in a world where magic-users make pacts with demons to do their bidding. The protagonist, Finnit, has a natural aptitude for the magical language that allows this, but no real interest in asserting control over demons, the way his terrible academic advisor, Raekard, insists is necessary. (The game starts by listing the advisor’s authoritarian principles of demon-summoning, which led me to assume at first that they were treated as a universal truth in this world, but perhaps not so much; while there do seem to be some cultural norms backing this up, as seen in historical documents we eventually read, Finnit also has some allies in the academe—it’s just that the person upon whose goodwill his career depends isn’t one.)

When Finnit exploits a loophole to be the winner-by-default of a demon battle royale (having his demon float above the fray while the others destroy each other), Raekard tries to teach him a lesson by brutally killing the demon he summoned. This leaves such an impact on Finnit that later, when given the probably-impossible task of relighting a cursed lighthouse on a treacherous island, he decides to construct a summoning that will call this specific demon to help him.

He does this with all the desperate optimism and lack of concrete information of a Craigslist “missed connections” posting (yes, I’m aware this dates me; no, I don’t know what the modern equivalent is). Luckily, it works, mostly because the demon in question, Vosaphar, is happy to have anything to do other than wander the calciferous wastes.

Vosaphar also has injuries from Raekard’s assault that won’t heal; as we learn, demons’ forms tend to revert to something resembling their self-conception, but the wounds were so deep that they’re part of him now. (This is quite on-the-nose, of course, but in a way I found more charming than exasperating.) And so the two of them fall in love while conducting archival research, fighting off giant birds, trying to figure out how to heal Vosaphar’s wounds, and unraveling the mysteries of the lighthouse.

The love story was sweet and believable (perhaps on a bit of an accelerated timeline, though I’ll admit I was playing late at night and didn’t quite manage to grasp how much time they spent on the island—but even if it is a short time, it makes sense they’d become attached to each other under the circumstances). But what was most interesting to me was what the game does with point-of-view and who exactly is making choices. I do think, though, that discovering that for yourself is probably preferable to listening to me talk about it, so I won’t spoil it.

3XXX: NAKED HUMAN BOMBS takes place in an over-the-top dystopian future in which sex has been so thoroughly banned that any amount of seeing or touching another person’s skin is taboo. The age of majority seems to be about 40—we’ve got to protect those 35-year-old minors!—and the useless asterisk censorship that you see people use for “s*x” or “p*rn” has extended to any word that could conceivably be used in a slightly lascivious context, like “m*sculature” and “mo*th”. The sexual repression all of this creates causes people to literally explode as soon as they experience arousal for the first time.

It’s an unsubtle send-up of the bizarre censorship era we’ve ended up in through a combination of poorly-conceived and messily-implemented legislation, corporate algorithmic social media, squeamish payment processors and credit card companies, and “think of the children” advocacy groups. This, of course, disproportionately affects queer people, as our lives are inherently considered unsafe for the children (or the corporations)—worse yet should we actually talk about sex at the level that cishet people do all the time, and anything more than that is just unimaginable. Alongside that, it’s also an explicitly transgender take on the kind of gender-bender anime scenarios beloved of many trans people. The PC, a 40-something police officer tasked with protecting the populace from the evils of sex, transforms instantaneously into a hot young woman—and in this new, strangely more comfortable body, she suddenly finds an interest in being desired and connecting to others sexually that she never thought she’d have.

Taura, as she begins calling herself, is soon enticed to join an underground resistance group, and there she falls for Ollie, a leader of the movement. He is also interested in her, but his own dysphoria and struggles with repression cause difficulties between them. But this isn’t dwelt on much, as the plot moves along at a breakneck pace through political twists and turns, culminating with Taura’s not-really-premeditated assassination of the prime minister.

Where things really get interesting, though, is the epilogue, which takes the form of diary entries by the author. (Exactly how fictionalized these are is unclear, and I make no assumptions one way or another. When I refer to "the author" in the following paragraphs, I mean the persona depicted by the diary entries.) These discuss the author’s original plans for the ending, in which Taura and Ollie manage to overcome their respective hangups enough to share a tender moment that is physically and emotionally intimate. But that doesn’t feel right to the author; it doesn’t ring true. They wonder whether they truly understand intimacy; they’ve never been comfortable enough in their own skin to really open up to another person. Thus, instead, the ending we’ve just read.

And to me, this is 3XXX’s most striking condemnation of the social strictures that it satirizes: that they’ve created a world in which the fantasy of blowing up the prime minister by performing sex acts on live TV feels more achievable, less hollow, than the fantasy of achieving a moment of mostly-comfortable intimacy with another human being.

I have to start this review with a confession: according to IFDB, I did play this game’s predecessor, A Matter of Heist Urgency, but I have barely any memory of it. This is not the game’s fault; my “IFComp 2022 reviews” document is conspicuously lacking any actual reviews and I seem to have stopped even recording my scores there after the first few games, so clearly I was going through something that year, although I also don’t really remember what.

So due to this mysterious IFComp 2022 amnesia, I approached A Smorgasbord of Pain as one unfamiliar with the ways of Anastasia the Power Pony. The first scene, in which you seem to be talking to some work friends about the events of the previous game (while not letting on your role in them, of course) had me a bit at sea, but whatever else one can say about the game, it moves along at a brisk pace (a canter, at least, if not a gallop) and soon I was being chased through a buffet and learning a bit about the combat system by fighting thugs in an alley. I had to redo the fight a couple times, but picked it up relatively quickly.

After a quick breather in which you get more coaching on the combat system and a little more background on the heroine, there’s a trip to a warehouse in which you rescue the heroic but hapless fellow superhero Ponyheart, and then it’s back to the buffet again for an all-out brawl with many members of the llama mafia that appears to be Anastasia’s main foe.

I had gotten into a decent groove with the game at this point, but the second buffet fight pulled me up short. See, instead of relying on the combat system that’s been used up to this point, you’re expected to take down the llamas with food-based puns (the example given in the tutorial for this bit is RAM WITH RAMEN, although it also seems to consider rhyming to be sufficiently punny). I don’t know if it’s a matter of being unprepared for it, having too different an accent to the writer, or just being really bad at puns, but although I’ve done a creditable job with many rhyme-based wordplay games in the past, my performance here was abysmal. I came up with one (1) pun and was thoroughly beaten by criminal camelids. (You can just use normal attacks in this scene, but as far as I could tell they were much less effective.)

I wanted to replay the fight, as I had done with the alleyway thugs earlier, but the game threw an error when I tried. Fortunately, it’s also an option to move on while accepting your defeat, and the suboptimal ending I got still seemed to be classed as a winning one even if the llamas got away.

Action is hard to do in IF, and I think this game does a surprisingly solid job with it, between its vivid writing, simple but engaging combat system, and refusal to let a scene go on too long. And I recognize the pun combat as a way to spice up something that might get a bit stale if you have to do too much of it (since, as mentioned, there’s not too much complexity to the combat), and if it had clicked with me I can imagine having a great time with it. Maybe that would even have happened on my second go-round if I’d gotten one. As things stood, the frustration of the food fight knocked my enjoyment down a few notches. But the premise is entertaining and ambitious and the series does do some things especially well, so I would certainly try a third installment—hopefully with my memory of this one intact this time.

Who Whacked Jimmy Piñata? is the third in a series of games starring Bubble Gumshoe, a detective searching for what justice she can find in the sweets-themed yet hard-boiled environs of Sugar City.

The first game was basically a one-note gag, while the second had the player solving puzzles to escape an abandoned factory and find clues along the way. Whether you solved the case in the end, and how conclusively you did so, depended on how many clues you found, but the summation was delivered by Bubble Gumshoe in a non-interactive fashion.

Jimmy Piñata, meanwhile, is the series’ first attempt at a full-on investigation game, where the player must make an accusation and present clues to support it. It’s an ambitious step and probably ultimately a good direction for the series’ growth, but I was feeling some growing pains with this more open-ended entry.

For the most part, this wasn’t an issue with the actual mystery. If you can make it through the car chase sequence, I think you can get a pretty good idea of who was behind the titular crime. But I came to that conclusion without actually getting most of the physical evidence I needed to support it, because how to access various areas and where to look for evidence felt a little underclued to me (or else I was just very not on the game’s wavelength). Not everything needs to be as straightforward as “this security guard has asked for cigarettes and there are cigarettes here” or “a paper costs 25 cents and here’s a quarter”, of course, but I felt like the more complex puzzles weren’t giving me enough nudges in the right direction (getting upstairs at the church was particularly opaque to me, although to be fair (Spoiler - click to show)that’s not strictly necessary to complete the game).

Nevertheless, there’s a lot to enjoy here. I’m impressed by the author’s ability to keep finding new angles on the sweets + noir thing such that the jokes don’t get stale (the piñata victim really is inspired!), and I liked the car chase and the subplot about the mysterious new drug lord in town.

In the end, I think I enjoyed the experience of playing it a little bit less than I enjoyed Who Iced Mayor McFreeze?, but if the series is planned to continue from here, I’m excited to see what comes next!

(Side note: While playing I complained about not getting to know what kind of candy the Pope was, but then it occurred to me to search for “Pontefract”, which I only knew as a place name, to see if it was also a candy, which in fact it was. The things I miss by being a licorice hater, I guess!)

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.

In this game, you play as a young adult whose archaeologist father has gone missing while searching for the titular reliquary. Concerned about him, the PC rides out to the countryside on their motorbike to find out where he went.

What follows is a puzzle game in an old-school vein. There’s a maze (which felt reasonably justified and well-integrated!) and a light source management mechanic and a decent number of puzzles to solve in which you open up passageways by manipulating the environment with objects that you pick up. The puzzles are largely not too complex, but it is definitely a game that rewards mapping and a certain amount of general note-taking. (An in-game diary is helpfully provided for the latter purpose, although I used a real pencil and paper.)

The game also has simple but evocative descriptions of wilderness and ruins and one rather endearing major NPC. Reliquary of Epiphanius’s most unusual puzzle essentially tests how much attention the player has been paying to all of these things, and I liked that quite a bit. Contributing to the atmosphere are small illustrations for each location and a lot of custom styling for things like inscriptions and handwritten notes, all of which added up to a strong aesthetic appeal.

While the ending reveals that (Spoiler - click to show)the reliquary has likely been destroyed due to careless development of the area, this didn’t make Epiphanius feel like a shaggy dog story. It helps, I think, that the PC has a separate goal to start with and that you accomplish this goal and more—you discover a lot of interesting things and solve an archaeological mystery, even if the solution isn’t what one would hope for. “Surprise, the thing you were told was your goal in this game isn’t achievable!” endings also often feel kind of smug and condescending to me, and this one didn’t, perhaps because it seemed like it had a point to make other than “adventure games and/or certain genres of fiction aren’t very realistic.” The researcher’s joy of discovery is here undercut by the actions of greedy developers and a country that hasn’t always been very careful with its archaeological bounty.

Implementation was a little fiddlier than I tend to prefer (if you can intercept me trying to take action on an item to tell me I need to pick it up first, you can make me try taking it automatically) and I’m not sure the light source management added real, interesting challenge as opposed to busywork (which is how I tend to feel about all light source management mechanics, to be fair). But other than that, this was a very solid traditional puzzle game with some appealingly distinctive aspects, and I hope to see more from this author in the future.

Andrew Schultz’s wordplay games have been a staple of IFComp for almost as long as I’ve been doing reviews, and I’ve generally enjoyed them. The switch in recent years to rhyme- or homophone-based gameplay has made the games a bit harder for me at times because my accent is not exactly the same as the author’s, but they’re still fun.

Us Too is a big, sprawling game with the classic setup of having to solve a bunch of puzzles in order to gain an inheritance from an eccentric relative. It’s also got food theming that helps tie it all together and makes it feel a bit more warm and cozy.

There are a few hint items, which were definitely helpful. (I did accidentally use the one that auto-solves puzzles for you in the process of trying to figure out what it did and thereby locked myself out of some bonus points, but the game will explain to you exactly how it works if you ask it to, so that’s on me.) The game does, however, contain some puzzles that aren’t word puzzles, and I wished there were some way of getting hints on those. (I ended up turning to the walkthrough to figure out how to access the various areas to the south and I’m still not quite sure how I was supposed to reach those conclusions based on in-game information.) The other thing I struggled with a bit is how often you’re supposed to return to the restaurant, which felt like it could have used some more in-game nudges; the final time in particular, I just went there because basically every other area was closed off so if there was anything left to get, it would have to be there.

The word puzzles worked well for me, though (occasional accent difficulties aside); I was usually able to reach the right answer after no more than a couple tries. The THINK command was also very useful in keeping track of cases where I’d come up with the right command but didn’t have the item needed to carry it out yet. Since there’s so much going on in the game, it was especially nice that it would tell me if I now had what I needed to solve an area’s puzzle. That the game will shut off areas that have no puzzles left to solve is also nice (and I think it does leave them open if there are optional bonus puzzles there still, which I appreciate).

The game also seemed quite polished; I didn’t encounter any notable bugs, and while it’s not a very traditional parser game, implementation seemed solid. And while the writing isn’t the draw for this type of game, it has its charming moments (I like the cowardly knight who (Spoiler - click to show)decides to become a surfer instead).

So, if you enjoy this type of wordplay game, Us Too promises an enjoyable couple hours of puzzling, with a lot of thought given to quality-of-life features.

The eponymous protagonist of WATT wakes up on an island, his memories somewhat fuzzy, and is told he has to collect six keys to get into a lighthouse to perform a task that will save everyone. This could be a setup for a classic puzzle game, but WATT is instead a slow, meditative, lightly interactive experience (I’m not sure there’s more than one meaningful choice) that muses on life, priorities, grief, and regret. Its dreamy vagueness was sometimes hard for me to connect with emotionally, but that could be my problem more than the game’s. It still had moments I found evocative and moments I found amusing. I especially liked the Chinese opera segment, which explores a man trying to find a balance between caring for his family and meeting societal expectations of masculinity in a way that’s metaphorical but also specific and unusual.

I did, however, find the work a little unwieldy to interact with. WATT tells you that to move forward, you should click on the colored text if there is any, and if there isn’t you should just click anywhere. This is fine; the problem is that sometimes it isn’t quite true. First, the game also makes heavy use of text styling, sometimes including color, for effect, which means sometimes it’s unclear which colored text is actually clickable and which isn’t. Second, sometimes the links did not seem to be colored—given that when they were visibly colored they were usually blue, it’s possible that the ones that seemed black were actually a very dark blue that my blue light filter was sucking the color out of, but they didn’t look different from the surrounding text to me. In addition, text effects (including colors) did sometimes get in the way of readability, and there was some timed text, particularly towards the end, that I found frustrating.

The visual design is otherwise very nice—including the use of text effects when they don't affect readability too badly—and the original artwork done for the game is excellent. I just wish I'd been able to spend more time thinking about what the game was trying to say and less time thinking about where I was supposed to click or trying to make out low-contrast text.

Errand Run is a short Twine work, nominally about going to the grocery store, but all is not what it seems. It has a few choices that I feel work well to keep the player engaged, (Spoiler - click to show)although there’s no real branching.

The writing sketches out an intriguing portrait of the PC in a short amount of time and doles out “wait, what?” details with carefully calculated escalation. By the time the player reaches the ending, the broad strokes of the situation are unlikely to be a surprise, but there’s still a lot that’s unexpected in the way those lines are filled in, with some striking, well-chosen imagery. The Twine styling is Harlowe default, but the use of text effects and colors was effective and I never found it unpleasant to read or distracting.

It won’t be to everybody’s tastes, of course, but it’s a short enough piece that I think it’s worth checking out. I found it well-crafted and look forward to trying this author’s other entries.

The Burger Meme Personality Test is a satirical short game that mocks the personality tests that some companies use as part of their hiring process.

Certainly there is a rich vein of absurdity to be mined here. The last test of this nature that I took consisted of placing yourself along a continuum between two statements, except that the statements weren’t really in opposition—think “I like to make friends” vs. “I like to experience new things.” How do you answer if it’s neither, or both? What answer are they even looking for when both options seem like things you would broadly want? I probably thought a little too hard about the implications of it all. I didn’t get an interview. And that’s on the tame side for this type of thing.

Burger Meme definitely gets some good hits in. I like the unexplained “sins” counter at the bottom, and the part where it makes you rate the relevance of the test and then reveals that it’s taking those answers into account for hiring. (I do always wonder if they’re doing that.) The game also makes good use of multimedia, is highly polished, and is short enough not to overstay its welcome. On balance I definitely think it’s worth your time to play through at least once. (I played twice and got two different endings, neither of which involved getting the job.)

But the “good ending” you get for refusing to completely abase yourself feels a little hollow, to me. Like, sure, I’m too good for that evil company, good for me! I still need a job, though, don’t I? Do I even have any non-evil options? (I’m projecting a little, of course, but at the same time, the game seems to invite that.) “How much am I willing to suck up to the corporate overlords in order to pay my bills?” is in real life a complicated question, and in providing karmic rewards of a sort to anyone who decides the answer is “not that much”, the game makes it seem much simpler.

But hey—in the unforgiving landscape of the current job market, maybe a little bit of (occasionally schadenfreude-flavored) wish fulfillment is perfectly reasonable.

(That said, if you question the AI nature of the supposed chatbot administering the test, there is another suite of endings that are a little less expected—but I haven't had the chance to explore them very fully yet.)