Latinorum

Back in the mid-90s when Doom was all the rage, I was in high school and had dreams of video-game-writing glory, so one afternoon I cracked open the game’s level editor to see what I could make of it. Confronted by the blank grid, I was momentarily at a loss for what to create, and defaulted to trying to map out the dorm I was sitting in. This was fun while it lasted, but unfortunately the building’s defining features were its two high stairwells, which were impossible to so much as gesture at in Doom’s 2.5-dimensional-on-a-good-day engine, so thus my dreams were dashed. But I always think of that when I come across a my-dumb-apartment game or something similar, because for all that it’s easy to roll one’s eyes at the lack of inspiration, and be frustrated by the way real-world places feel like they’re full of redundant rooms, illogical connections, and gratuitous empty space when experienced in a virtual context, it’s also worth trying to get back in touch with the impulse that gave birth to them: the wonder at being able to conjure up something from nothing, the impulse to domesticate a strange new digital world by recreating someplace familiar, the thrill of recognition when hard work finally makes it real.

Latinorum makes it easy to dwell on the positive side of that dichotomy. Per the author’s note, this is a rewritten version of a game he wrote when he was likewise in high school, updated and rewritten but still very much of a piece with that early era of IF (like, it requires a C64 emulator to play, for one thing). The real-world origins would be obvious even without this paratext, though – the school you explore has a bunch of near-identical classrooms, features like blackboards and closets that are scrupulously implemented but rarely have anything plot-related to offer, and a confusing map with exits that don’t always make sense, all of which means it feels too idiosyncratic to be made up.

But while I don’t have any nostalgia for this vintage of IF, much less this particular Italian secondary school, the game still manages to be worth the fifteen minutes or so it takes to play through it. For one thing, you’re given a clear goal that rationalizes why you’re exploring this particular deserted place – you’re trying to steal an exam paper the night before the test so you can get a good grade, which is cheating, sure, but a fun enough jumping-off point for a short adventure. For another, the game keeps things short and easy enough that it doesn’t overstay its welcome. There’s some light object-manipulation puzzles and some locked doors, but the two-word parser makes solving most of these straightforward, and the game is free of hunger timers and unwinnable states; the only old-school touch I noticed was one puzzle near the end where I had to manually OPEN a BOOK despite EXAMINING it seeming to indicate that I had already flipped through it, which is a little annoying but nothing a trip to the thoughtfully-provided walkthrough couldn’t solve.

Beyond that, the game leans into its scholastic setting with some fun, gentle gags: I like that it opens with a cheery “alea iacta est”, and this bit of description when you check out a paper airplane made from folding up a page from one of Kant’s books made me laugh very hard:

"The legendary Critique of Pure Reason. The aircraft, made from a sheet of notebook paper, took off from an unidentified bench, but due to a malfunction in the control systems, landed at the feet of the Philosophy professor who was explaining (so to speak) Kant."

That “(so to speak)” is 10/10, no notes.

Is Latinorum one for the ages? No, it’s a slight thing, but there are worse jaunts to take down memory lane, and it makes me positively disposed towards the games the high school students of today are even now making, recording their experiences for future generations yet to come.