Ratings and Reviews by autumnc

This sort of thing is hard to "review" or discuss; it feels like something deeply personal, as if my presence is an intrusion.

As far as the narrative goes, it's a sequence of poetic vignettes about becoming a parent, and the ongoing fear for future generations as a result of global warming. The title refers to a former land under the current North Sea, a land that submerged as a result of climate change after the Ice Age. What did the people live there think as the land faded away? There are digressions on rural poverty, healthcare, and life changes. The story is very short but dense, about five minutes for me.

As often the case with Anya DeNiro's stuff, the writing has an incredible economy, and interactivity is used to full effect, with a lot of mutating text and cycling links. I absolutely love the way the text is presented, even if the mouse-over effects could get to be too much at times. There were images whose symbolic meanings I didn't exactly understand.

Anyway, it was beautiful and I wanted to cry. It was as if the author could beam a certain mood straight into my brain.

I first played Creatures Such As We a few years ago, and I remember that I didn't think much of it back then. But, after playing it more recently, I've come to appreciate it a lot more.

Creatures Such As We is a metafictional (am I using that term correctly?) story about video games that functions as one of the video games it discusses. On one level, you play as a tour guide on the moon, guiding a group of visiting game developers through various touristy activities. On the other level, your character is playing a game-within-a-game, which happens to be developed by the same group of aforementioned game developers. This game-within-a-game had a highly controversial "bad" ending, almost akin to the original ending of Mass Effect 3 (the author denies it as an influence). The player character suddenly has the opportunity to ask the game developers about the ending. Of course, being a Choice of Game, there is romance here: you can pursue a romantic relationship or friendship with one of the game developers, and you might stay in contact even after they leave. There is a bit of stage magic here; the dramatic life-and-death moments always happen to your chosen romance option. The characters themselves are all well-realized and unique, but they feel sort of like tokens, both demographically and for their particular viewpoints.

All of this is all used as a backdrop for a series of philosophical conversations. The author leads us through "meta" discussions like the role of the author vs the viewer, representation in media, and escapism, and more general philosophical discussions on death and life and stuff. I think this worked better for me now than when I first played this because I have more experience with both making and playing interactive fiction, and I can relate to the issues being discussed more. It felt interesting and engaging in a way that "philosophical discussions in video games" usually don't for me.

Then there's the theme of corporate malfeasance. Your employer cares more about good appearances than the well-being of its employees or the safety of its customers. The visitors to the moon base are regularly put into life-threatening situations with little backup or real information. You are overworked without much free time, and it's clear that there are people even worse off. Then there is a subplot where one of the tourists has a flu-like illness that is covered up; it's obvious that this was made in pre-covid times. At the same time, an EA-like giant gaming corporation is seeking to acquire the game developers, who are somewhat ambivalent about the deal (I don't know if you-as-the-tour-guide can change the outcome here).

Overall, I feel like the setting, characters, game-within-a-game, and philosophical discussions all meshed together really well. I appreciated the meta moments where it felt like the game was critiquing itself.

Anya DeNiro is one of my favorite authors of interactive fiction. This, along with Solarium, are two of my favorite IFs. From the presentation to the writing to the interactive structure, it all feels so right, all components fitting together to achieve a singular purpose. It is very much what I would imagine "hypertext literature" to be, if it ever escaped the bounds of academia.

We Are the Firewall is a dystopian story taking place in the near future of 2XX3. The world is on familiar modern cyberpunk territory, with surveillance drones dealing out "less lethal" violence, an addicting VR game that subsumed the educational system, and the cascading effects of climate change and social inequality. The tropes themselves aren't entirely original, but in this story they feel fresh and real, which is a credit to the extremely good writing. There is a large number of protagonists, displaying a broad swath of society, all connected by a conspiracy relating to the aforementioned VR game. Each character feels distinct, not just in their written voice, but in the way their story segments are organized. The security officer has his links as a to-do list. The "struggling musician" has cycling links that show the distinction between what he says and how he truly is.

Structurally, We Are the Firewall is a hypertext with a spoke-and-hub structure in much the same way as Solarium. From the beginning, it is possible to navigate to a number of different story segments corresponding to different perspectives (in any order), and each of these perspectives are necessary to complete the story. To make the story easier to navigate, completed story segments are crossed out. Dynamic text is used heavily, including gradually appearing and disappearing text, link replacement, and a lot of cycling links. Unlike in many other games that use timed text, it didn't bother me here, because it's used sparingly and with purpose.

Connecting structure to theme is one of my favorite twine mechanisms (Howling Dogs, Spy Intrigue, lots of others), and not many twine games do it as well as is done here. The patches of seemingly random text and shifting words reflect the chaotic and messy world in which we find ourselves. Text disappears and changes, as characters mount self-justifications for their atrocities. As mentioned before, the organization of the individual story segments reflects the characters' goals and worldview. Some are organized and methodological, others are desperate and frantic. The dynamic text both reveals and conceals as the mysteries compound.

There is an air of impenetrability to this story, which is more apparent at the beginning. There are often long lists of seemingly random phrases with a few highlighted links. As soon as links start getting crossed out, it starts to become manageable. The final ending depends on a time-sensitive link which is onscreen for less than a second (thankfully, it's mentioned in the in-game guide). In it, the mysteries behind the story are revealed. As usual with big reveals, it's a little disappointing, and weakens the mystery pervasive in the rest of the story.

Beyond that, the story is just really emotionally moving. Maybe it's just the 2020 effect, but I felt really sucked in by a story that felt like it was about the current moment. There was suffering, of course, but also hope, that at the end there will be something worth living for, even if it ends up being (Spoiler - click to show)a bunch of AIs made to look like mice living in a VR world. Like many of the best stories, this one burrowed into my brain and embedded itself into my mental fabric.