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Volume 1 Number 1 – 2009 Articles 5–21
World of Maskcraft vs. World of Queercraft? Communication, sex and gender in the online role-playing game World of Warcraft Christian Schmieder ‘Doing there’ vs. ‘being there’: performing presence in interactive fiction Alf Seegert
39–56
Power and nerves of steel or thrill of adventure and patience? An empirical study on the use of different video game genres Christina Schumann and Daniel Schultheiss Interview
57–66
A discussion with game designers The Lord of the Rings: Shadows of Angmar – LOTRO.com Maggie Parke
67–79
Reviews
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Volume One Number One
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Journal of Gaming & Virtual Worlds | Volume One Number One
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Journal of Gaming & Virtual Worlds Volume 1 Number 1 2009
The scope of Journal of Gaming & Virtual Worlds (JGVW)
Associate Editors Astrid Ensslin
The Journal of Gaming & Virtual Worlds (JGVW) is a peer-refereed, international journal that focuses on theoretical and applied, empirical, critical, rhetorical, creative, economic, pedagogical and professional approaches to the study of electronic games across platforms and genres, as well as ludic and serious online environments such as massively multiplayer online role-playing games and Second LifeTM. JGVW aims at researchers and professionals working in and researching creative new media and entertainment software around the globe, and seeks to document, harmonize, juxtapose and critically evaluate cutting-edge market trends and technological developments, as well as sociocultural, political, economic and psychological concerns. It informs its readers about recent events such as conferences, and features long articles, short papers, poster abstracts, interviews, reports and reviews of relevant new publications, websites, virtual environments and electronic artefacts. Prospective guest editors are invited to approach the Associate Editors with a proposal for a themed issue or series. Prospective book reviewers and publishers should approach the Reviews Editor directly.
National Institute for Excellence in the Creative Industries Bangor University College Road Bangor, Gwynedd LL57 2DG United Kingdom
Editorial Board
Matthew S. S. Johnson
Erik Champion – Massey University Auckland, NZ David Ciccoricco – University of Canterbury, NZ Pawel Frelik – Maria Curie-Sklodowska University, Lublin, PL Nigel John – Bangor University, UK Helen Kennedy – University of the West of England, UK Brian C. Ladd – State University of New York, Potsdam, USA Xavier Laurent – Bangor University, UK Esther MacCallum-Stewart – University of East London, UK Michael Nitsche – Georgia Institute of Technology, USA Justin Parsler – Brunel University, UK Celia Pearce – Georgia Institute of Technology, USA Jason Schklar – Amazon.com, USA
Tel: +44 (0)1248 38 3619 E-mail: [email protected]
Eben Muse National Institute for Excellence in the Creative Industries Bangor University College Road Bangor, Gwynedd LL57 2DG United Kingdom Tel: +44 (0)1248 38 8628 E-mail: [email protected]
Reviews Editor Department of English Language & Literature Southern Illinois University Edwardsville Edwardsville, IL 62026 United States of America Tel: +1 (0)618 650 3449 E-mail: [email protected]
Editorial Assistants Joshua Bradbury Sonia Fizek Bangor University
Journal of Gaming & Virtual Worlds is published twice per year by Intellect, The Mill, Parnall Road, Bristol, BS16 3JG, UK. The current subscription rates are £33 (personal) and £150 (institutional). Advertising enquiries should be addressed to: [email protected] © 2009 Intellect Ltd. Authorisation to photocopy items for internal or personal use or the internal or personal use of specific clients is granted by Intellect Ltd for libraries and other users registered with the Copyright Licensing Agency (CLA) in the UK or the Copyright Clearance Center (CCC) Transactional Reporting Service in the USA provided that the base fee is paid directly to the relevant organisation.
ISSN 1750–3280 Printed and bound in Great Britain by 4edge, UK.
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Notes for Contributors JGVW’s remit Contributions to JGVW are invited from all fields of game and virtual world studies research, design and development. We seek to provide a platform for vivid information interchange between academia and industry, between scholarship and professionalism, between theory, criticism and practice. Typical subject areas include: • Theory and criticism: e.g. narratology, ludology, philosophy, gender, race, identity, history (of and in games and virtual worlds), rhetorical approaches, discourse analysis and semiotics, genre criticism and cultural studies • Social and psychological concerns: e.g. (online) communities, participation, interaction, identity formation, networks, violence and addiction, emotion, children’s social behaviour, cognitive effects, e-learning and education • Design issues: e.g. developments in 3D modelling, authenticity and realism, mimesis, screenwriting, sound effects, composition, static vs. moving image, cut scenes, background vs foreground, multimodality, simulation and game engines • Reception and production: e.g. ethnography, customer research, therapeutic and hazardous effects, serialization, adaptation, franchising, commercial vs. serious games, transmediation, intermediality, artificial intelligence and new literacy studies. JGVW publishes general and themed issues. Themes for future issues are announced in the journal. JGVW is published in British English with –ize endings. Manuscripts will be evaluated by doubleblind peer review. Research articles including long and short papers, poster abstracts and interviews should: • Contain original research or scholarship • Not be under consideration by any other publication • Be written in a clear and concise style • Conform to the instructions outlined below. Contributors are requested to adhere to the following word limits: Long articles: 4000–6000 words Short articles: 3000–4000 words Conference and other reports: 500–1000 words Reviews (books, websites, games and other relevant software), poster abstracts and interviews: 1500–2000 words Format of submitted articles • Submissions to JGVW should be sent as an attachment to an e-mail message to the Editor. The attached article should be ‘anonymized’, and contain an abstract and up to six keywords. This is to maintain confidentiality during peer review. You should delete the ‘file properties’ or ‘summary info’ of your document (see file menu) that reveal your name and institution. Be sure to add your full name and address in the e-mail message to the Editor.
• Data required before publication: submissions accepted for publication cannot be sent to the publishers (Intellect) until they contain: • Correct Harvard system references (see below for details) • Author name and institutional affiliation • Abstract (max. 150 words) in English • Keywords (max. 6) in English • Author biography in English (c. 50–100 words), as well as author email and street addresses • A list of ‘Works cited’ containing only works cited in the article. • Font should be Times New Roman 14 one-and-a-half spaces and left-aligned, not justified. • Margins should be 1in/2.5cm all round. • Pagination should be continuous with numbers applied to bottom right. • Images – screenshots, tables, graphs, graphics and photographs – should all be entitled ‘Figure’, be numbered consecutively and be clearly legible. The source must be indicated below each. For reproduction of copyrighted material, authors must obtain written permission from the copyright holder(s). If images are less than half a page in size, they may be inserted into the text according to the place of insertion. If larger, they should be placed on separate pages at the end of the article. In this case, ensure that an indication has been given as to where they should be placed in the text, e.g. Insert Figure 3 here. • Quotations should be used sparingly and be identified by ‘single’ quotation marks if they are embedded in the text. Longer quotations (i.e. longer than 40 words) should be indented on both sides (1cm), without quotes. Both should be referenced using the Harvard system (see below). The page number(s) must be included. For quotations within quotations “double” quotation marks should be used. • If a quotation or referenced passage spans more than one page, give exact page numbers. Example: ‘Bates (2006: 10–4) claims that....’ • If quotation marks are used for emphasis or authorial/ironic distance, please use ‘single’ quotation marks throughout. • Foreign words and phrases inserted in the text should be in italics. • For subsidiary information and Harvard-style references, rounded brackets ‘(...)’ should be used. Square brackets ‘[...]’ should only be used within quotations, to indicate changes to the original and as ‘brackets-withinbrackets’, e.g. ‘(although Miller [1988] [and other experts] claim the opposite)’. Endnotes, references and citations • ‘Explanatory notes’ should be kept to a minimum: they will appear in the outside left or right margins of the text. They should not contain publication details; submit all these as references. Please do not use the Word
(or equivalent) ‘Footnote’ facility but list notes in standard formatting at the end of the manuscript, i.e. ensure that they appear as endnotes, not footnotes. • Place endnote marks outside the punctuation (after the comma or full stop).1 The note mark must be in superscripted Arabic (1, 2, 3), not Roman (i, ii, iii). • Bibliographical references should use the ‘Harvard system/style’ (author + year: page), e.g. (Freeman 2004: 236) inserted into the text. All references must identify an author (surname or institution name) for all documents, whether found in archives, newspapers, the Internet, etc. The ‘author’ for a law or bill will be the legislative body/parliament of a country, e.g. the United Kingdom Parliament. The author of a news item is the journalist (his/her byline) or the news agency, not the newspaper. • Each Harvard-style reference should be fully sourced in a list of ‘Works cited’ at the end of the text. Publications not mentioned in the text should not be included in this list, though they may be included under a separate ‘Further reading’ list. • Works published by more than one or two authors need to be referenced in full, with all authors listed, in the bibliography (see section titled ‘Citing a journal article’ below). In-text references should only contain the name of the first author, followed by ‘et al.’. If a publication has two authors, both names should be mentioned in the text and bibliography. Citation standards Format for citing a book Author surname, Initial. (year), Title in Italics, Place of publication: Publisher. For example: Freeman, D. (2004), Creating Emotion in Games, Berkeley: New Riders. Beck, J. C. and Wade, M. (2004), Got Game: How the Gamer Generation Is Reshaping Business Forever, Boston, MA: Harvard Business School Press. Lyotard, J. F. (1979), The Postmodern Condition: A Report on Knowledge (trans. G. Bennington and B. Massumi), Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press. Citing a chapter in a book Author surname, Initial. (year), ‘Title in single quotation marks’, in initial. editor surname (ed./s), Title in Italics, Place of publication: Publisher, page numbers (first and last of entire chapter). For example: Wolf, M. J. P. (2001), ‘Genre and the video game’, in M. J. P. Wolf (ed.), The Medium of the Video Game, Austin, TX: University of Texas Press, pp. 113–34. Corneliussen, H. (2008), ‘World of Warcraft as a playground for feminism’, in H. G. Corneliussen and J. W. Rettberg (eds), Digital Culture, Play, and Identity. A World of Warcraft® Reader, Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, pp. 63–86.
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Citing a game or similar software Author/designer surname, Initial (year), Title in Italics, Place of publication: Publisher. For example: Anderson, J., Boyarsky, L. and Cain, T. (2004), Vampire: the Masquerade – Bloodlines, Santa Monica, CA: Activision/Troika. Citing a virtual world and/or MMORPG Typical examples: Blizzard Entertainment (2003(8), World of Warcraft, Vivendi Games. Linden Research, Inc. (2003–8), Second Life, http://secondlife.com/. Accessed 31 July 2008. Citing a journal article Author surname, Initial. (year), ‘Title in single quotation marks’, Name of Journal in Italics, volume number: issue number (and/or month or quarter), page numbers (first and last of entire article). For example: Popat, S. and Palmer, S. (2005), ‘Creating common ground: dialogues between performances and digital technologies’, International Journal of Performance Arts and Digital Media, 1:1, pp. 47–65. Ducheneaut, N., Yee, N., Nickell, E. and Moore, R. (2006a), ‘Building an MMO with mass appeal: a look at gameplay in World of Warcraft’, Games and Culture, 1:4, pp. 281–317. Citing a web publication or website item Websites should be referenced as publishers of material: a separate author and the title of the information/
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document/pdf article should be supplied. Authors are advised to include the date they accessed the material, to support the authenticity of the source, especially if it is contestable. For example: Strain, J. (2007), ‘How to create a successful MMO’, Guildwars.com, www.guildwars.com/events/tradeshows/ gc2007/gcspeech. Accessed 3 May 2008. DiGiuseppe, N. and Nardi, B. (2007), ‘Real genders choose fantasy characters: class choice in World of Warcraft’, First Monday, 12:5, www.firstmonday.org/issues/ issue12_5/digiuseppe/index.html. Accessed 10 May 2008. Citing printed and online newspapers and magazines All newspaper articles should be referenced by their authors if they sign/by-line it, i.e. Surname, Initial. (year), ‘Headline title’, Newspaper Title, date of publication, page reference. For example: Dhanendran, A. (2008), ‘Broken Sword: The Angel of Death: unwitting hero George Stobbart investigates yet more dark secrets’, Personal Computer World, 1 April, p. 105. If the page number is missing online, substitute it with the URL if possible. Citing personal communications and interviews (a) Personal communications are what the informant said directly to the author, e.g. ‘Bamber said TGC were thinking about adapting the software to remove things like guns and
explosions (personal communication)’. This need have no citation in the references list. Equally, the use of (personal communications) need not refer back to a named informant. (b) A more formal research interview can be cited in the text (Miller 16 February 2008 interview), and referenced in the ‘Works cited’ list as: Miller, F. (2008), interview with author, 16 February. (c) If the informant gave an interview to someone else, which is being cited, the author should cite the informant and the interviewer, e.g. (Cecil, interview for Crookes 2008) in the text, and reference it as: Crookes, D. (2008), ‘Gonna start a revolution: point-andclick adventure supremo Charles Cecil talks conspiracy, fact and fiction’, Bournemouth: PCGaming, 3, pp. 12–3. The point is for another person to be able to find the interview, so keep to the format in which the interview was printed. In this case, the interviewee’s name appears in the title of the article, showing he is not the author because the interviewer is. However, it could be the other way round. For further questions and examples, please consult earlier issues of JGVW.
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New Videogames Books from Routledge Understanding Video Games The Essential Introduction Simon Egenfeldt-Nielsen, Jonas Heide Smith and Susana Pajares Tosca
The Video Game Theory Reader 2
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From Pong to PlayStation 3, this book traces the history of videogames; exploring the economics of the game industry, the aesthetics of game design, genre, player culture, and the major analytical theories, including ludology and narratology. It also addresses the major debates surrounding the medium, from educational benefits to the effects of violence.
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Journal of Gaming and Virtual Worlds Volume 1 Number 1 © 2009 Intellect Ltd Article. English language. doi: 10.1386/jgvw.1.1.5/1
World of Maskcraft vs. World of Queercraft? Communication, sex and gender in the online role-playing game World of Warcraft Christian Schmieder Albert-Ludwigs-Universität Freiburg (Germany)
Abstract
Keywords
This article examines the construction, representation and commingling of gender identity in the online role-playing game (RPG) World of Warcraft. I show how players on German-speaking non-RPG servers blend gender by using linguistic markers of gender (like specific articles and suffixes) in an interchangeable way. Subsequent to this analysis, possible consequences for the online world as an opposition to ‘offline reality’ and as a space for negotiation of gender identity are discussed. Focusing on different modes of communication while playing, I develop a more differentiated view on communication, sex and gender in online communities – a view that goes beyond an assumption of simplistic, one-dimensional gender bending.
World of Warcraft MMORPG communication gender chat avatar
Introduction In this article, I first describe the stereotyped visual bipolarity of game characters in World of Warcraft. Since communication via visual appearance is only one among many modes of communication in the gaming process, I then dwell on text-based and auditory channels of communication used while playing. Based upon this analysis, I have structured the visual communication, the communication in in-game written chats, the communication on players’ websites/guild forums and the voice chat communication (e.g. via Teamspeak) into a schematic model of the interactional cosmos in World of Warcraft. These channels offer different spaces for communicating gender as well as providing different levels of anonymity. At the same time, the visual communication and the voice chat communication suggest, at first glance, unambiguous interpretations of gender through stereotypically composed game characters and the audible voices of other players. What happens in a communicative space in which a tension pulsates between communicative freedom and restrictive gender bipolarity provided by exaggerated game graphics and unambiguously interpreted voice input? Two viewpoints are finally discussed: can the category ‘gender’ dissolve in this tension, can gender-free spaces for communication evolve, in the form JGVW 1 (1) pp. 5–21 © Intellect Ltd 2009
5
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of a World of QueerCraft? Or can players (especially male) only toy with gender because they re-establish their masculinity while communicating? Are hetero-normative spaces and ideas of normality reinforced behind a masquerade of genders? Is there in fact a World of MaskCraft arising in the communicative cosmos of World of Warcraft?
1. State of research Specific academic literature on World of Warcraft can be found starting from 2006. Due to the game’s worldwide success, massively multiplayer online role-playing games (MMORPGs) have become more interesting for researchers in the last few years, resulting in the publication of a variety of academic articles. In May 2008, the MIT Press published an anthology dedicated to World of Warcraft: Digital Culture, Play, and Identity: A World of Warcraft Reader, edited by Hilde G. Corneliussen and Jill Walker Rettberg. This anthology contains a broad variety of articles dedicated to essential issues such as gaming culture, identity, gaming experience and the creation of online worlds. Nicolas Ducheneaut et al. (2006a) provide a well-founded overview on the gameplay in World of Warcraft; Dmitri Williams et al. (2006) and Nicolas Ducheneaut et al. (2007) scrutinize guilds in World of Warcraft; Ducheneaut et al. (2006b) and T.L. Taylor (2007) explore social dynamics such as team play and the impact of surveillance modes. Marlin Bates discusses the origins of creature races and concepts of the monstrous in World of Warcraft (Bates 2006). Valuable information on a variety of MMORPG-related issues such as demographics, gender bending and communication can be found in Nick Yee’s publications (Yee 2005; 2006a; 2006b; 2007; 2008a; 2008b). With the anthology The Social Life of Avatars, Ralph Schroeder (2002) has edited an extensive standard work on avatars; Taylor (2006) has contributed an in-depth description of online gaming with Play Between Worlds: Exploring Online Game Culture. Andrea Rubenstein (2007) and Nicholas DiGuiseppe and Bonnie Nardi (2007) have provided illustrative notes and instructive comments on appearance and the impact of oversexualized game characters in World of Warcraft. Sheri Graner Ray (2004) presents a history of female characters in video games as well as an analysis of hyper-sexualized avatars. Appearance, sex and gender in computer games are also especially discussed in Sherry Turkle’s early key writings on virtual identity (1984, 1995) as well as in Taylor’s (2002, 2003a, 2003b, 2006), Lucida.org’s (2007), Nina Huntemann’s (2004, 2005) and most recently in Esther MacCallum-Stewart’s (2008) publications. Also, communication in massively multiplayer online games (MMOs) has been analysed by a multitude of authors: an anthology on virtual interaction of comprehensive range was edited by Lars Qvortrup in 2001; Eva-Lotta Sallnäs (2002) compares different media of communication in online worlds; Constance Steinkuehler (2003, 2004, 2006) mainly scrutinizes discursive communication in MMOs based on text; Constance Steinkuehler and Dmtri Williams (2006) show how MMOs open new spaces for informal sociability and Taylor (2007) discusses issues of chat communication in World of Warcraft. Finally, Guido Heinecke (2007) has 6
Christian Schmieder
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composed an excellent contribution, including a list of common vocabulary, on chat communication on German-speaking World of Warcraft servers. My findings on sex/gender and communication in World of Warcraft are not solely based on literature and collected data. Over the course of two years, I played World of Warcraft (including the expansion Burning Crusade) on a German non-RPG server (player versus environment) for approximately 2500 hours; during this time, I became closely acquainted with the game environment as well as the gamer’s habits of organization and communication on this and other servers.1
2. World of Warcraft: the game World of Warcraft, released in Europe in spring 2005, is a so-called online role-playing game: a game in which the players are connected via the Internet and populate a shared game environment. With approximately ten million active licences at the beginning of 2008 (Woodcock 2008a), World of Warcraft is by far the world’s most successful subscription-based MMORPG. Bruce Woodcock (2008b) calculates that all subscription-based MMORPGs (including World of Warcraft) accumulate 16 million active licences. The game itself, programmed and published by the company Blizzard Entertainment, consists of enormous virtual worlds (‘realms’ or ‘servers’), in which thousands of gamers play at the same time. The players control humanoid characters, also called ‘avatars’. These characters possess classic features derived from the tradition of role-playing games. There are classes of characters that heal others (‘healer’), classes that mainly deal in damage (‘damage dealer’) and classes that endure a great deal in order to block enemies from harming more vulnerable characters (‘tanks’). First and foremost, World of Warcraft is a battle game – fighting computercontrolled enemies is the preference of most players, but the game also provides the option to battle against other human players. In most cases, the players are not lone warriors. They generally play in small groups (‘parties’) or in bigger formations (‘raids’), which can contain up to 40 players. An important motivation for most players lies in having the chance to win valuable, sometimes rare equipment pieces for their characters. The majority of equipment is left behind by defeated foes. In many cases, it is common to role the dice in order to distribute the loot in the group – World of Warcraft involves an element of luck. However, the game environment provides more possibilities for playing than just fighting: players can accumulate money for better equipment by selling goods to other players; the highly frequented ‘auction houses’ are marketplaces where many players literally speculate with wares. Furthermore, every character can master several crafts (‘professions’) such as mining, tailoring or jewel crafting. In order to pursue these occupations by crafting valuable equipment, players have to collect, eke out, trade or buy resources and trade goods. Large parts of the game require considerable coordination: in a raid, for example, the character classes have to be represented in a balance and all players have to know what to do while fighting. In order to accomplish the necessary coordination, players establish guilds. In these collectives, the World of Maskcraft vs. World of Queercraft?
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1. Therefore the presented findings are derived from the experience and observations made in a specific linguistic and socio-cultural setting dominated by mainly Germanspeaking gamers in a mainly Germanspeaking environment.
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players form chains of command for raids, organize the distribution of the loot, and hoard and share resources in the guild bank. World of Warcraft offers different types of game environments, each matching players’ different expectations of the gameplay: main emphases are put on matches between human players, the search for valuable items or on the masquerading as fantasy characters. On player versus player (PvP) servers the main interest lies in fighting other players; on player versus environment (PvE) servers the main interest is to fight computercontrolled enemies that can be looted for valuable items. The PvP and PvE servers also exist as special role-play gaming (‘RPG’) realms. In these realms, the players can (and must!) assume a character in order to play, and they must obey more restrictive roles of communication (see also Heinecke 2007: 35–37): this includes both topics and ways of speaking. For instance, players are not supposed to talk about the last soccer match in the public text chats. Also, a certain ‘medieval’ way of talking is expected (Blizzard 2008). Non-compliance with these rules is controlled and punished, for example, by temporary exclusion from the game. In total, there are fewer RPG servers than non-RPG servers; the majority of players prefer non-RPG worlds. Providing these options, the different game environments cover Roger Caillois’ classic game categories: agon (competition: PvP), alea (luck: PvE) and mimicry (masquerade: role-play gaming worlds) (Caillois 1960: 19–32, 46). The playing experience on an RPG server differs strongly from the playing experience on a non-RPG server, because players in role-playing realms passionately and intentionally play their fantasy roles. In this paper, however, I want to examine closely the relationship between game character (or ‘avatar’) and player in a game environment, in which mimicry does not stand in the foreground – but is part of a web of tension and communication. When speaking of the game World of Warcraft in the following, I intentionally speak of the game and the game experience on non-RPG servers.
3. World of SexCraft: visual communication of sex At first glance, sex seems to play an oppressive role in World of Warcraft. Immediately, when choosing their characters, players have to decide whether they want to play a male or a female character. Regardless if one is playing a human, a dwarf, an undead or one of the cow-like taurens, male characters are bigger and more strongly built, especially around the torso – whereas female characters are more delicate and show articulate breast curves. Each race features two sexes, and gamers can choose between some variations concerning the face and hairstyle. However, they cannot change the bodies themselves. The statures are standardized, so one cannot design a delicate male character or a massive female character. This standardization of sexual representation has evolved from a process of decision making; Taylor (2003b) elaborates processes like this in her article dedicated to design decisions in virtual environments: The underlying structure of virtual worlds as expressed in software does not simply appear by magic, though it may at times certainly seem like such to the user. … Code, graphics, systems architecture – all of these arise from
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somewhere, from human agents. In this regard, the role designers and programmers play in shaping these spaces is fundamental. (Taylor 2003b: 25)
These processes are interlinked with a (potential) community of gamers (Rubenstein 2007) and so sex and sexual representation are no coincidences in games like World of Warcraft. Rubenstein published a very interesting article on the graphical construction of gender in World of Warcraft; she describes how sexual characteristics of the characters were radicalized during the ‘alpha tests’ (‘alpha tests’ are the first tests before the release of a game, where a selection of players may try the game on special servers, helping the programmers and designers to adjust and balance the game mechanics and content – the virtual world is tested under quasi-normal conditions): The dimorphism was not always so strong, however. In the Alpha version of the game, races such as the Tauren and the trolls [sic] had more similarity between genders than difference: facial structure, body shape, posture, and even choice of accessories were more similar than not …. Apparently there were many complaints about the women of both races being ‘ugly’ and so the developers changed them into their current incarnations … (Rubenstein 2007)
As with the alpha tests, developers seem to leave little to chance. The socalled ‘beta tests’ are also a part of the constant procedure of releasing new content through expanding the game. Traditionally – and World of Warcraft is no exception – lots of roleplaying worlds are related to the construction of the fantasy world presented in The Lord of the Rings by J. R. R. Tolkien (see also Bates 2006: 10). A creature race that has been adopted in many games and literal fantasy tales is that of elves. Elves are, within this tradition of storytelling, slender, thin, smoothly moving; they are creatures of androgynous elegance. A noticeable dispute started in the gamer community in 2006, when Blizzard Entertainment introduced the ‘blood elves’. Initially, the blood elves had been conceptualized according to the Tolkienesque fantasy tradition. They had been designed as rather androgynous figures – especially in comparison with other races in World of Warcraft, such as the testosteroneoozing orcs. Because of the resonance in the beta tests, the designers decided to shape the male blood elves in an explicitly more muscular manner (GameStar.de 2006a):2 this led to active and agitated discussion in parts of the gamer community. In public forums and guild forums, players fervently discussed whether elves should look graceful-androgynous or muscular-manly.3 An analysis of the controversial disputes surrounding this ‘blood elf incident’ reveals two main streams of player expectations. First, stereotypically exaggerated characters seem to appeal better to male players, but not exclusively. Non-‘male’ features were degraded with attributes such as ‘gay’ and ‘metrosexual’. This is not news and is an issue in gender studies already – for example in the work of Huntemann or Graner Ray (Huntemann 2004, 2005; Graner Ray 2004). World of Maskcraft vs. World of Queercraft?
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2. For more specific information on the discourse and tensions between designers and gamers see Taylor (2003b). 3. To comprehend this discussion in the German gaming community, I recommend the discussion forum of the gaming magazine GameStar (GameStar.de 2006b). In English language, the discussion can be followed on the important World of Warcraft databases, such as Allakhazam. com. I also recommend blogs of gamers, addressing homophobia in World of Warcraft, such as Brian Crecente (2006). See also Rubenstein 2007.
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4. It is important to mention though that players should not be lumped together blindly. The game environment reproduces the hetero-normativity of the ‘outside’ world and carries it to extremes. But this does not keep gay, lesbian, transgender and queer gamers from playing. 5. A more thorough analysis of gamers’ horizons of expectations seems to be crucial when discussing visual sex/gender representation in computer games. It is not only important to see the results of a process – it is important to look at the negotiation within this process. Since this is not the main aim of this paper, I restrict myself to these outlining remarks – though I hope that my comments point towards a more discourse-based approach when analysing visual representations of sex in games. 6. The only nonsynchronous form of communication in the game itself is the mail system. Mailboxes are located in many towns in the game environment. Players can use these mailboxes to send messages, goods or money to other players. 7. Heinecke (2007) focuses on written chat language in World of Warcraft. He empirically bases his analysis on the complete recording of the chat communication
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But, secondly, and this is easily overlooked, the fantasy tradition seems to provide a strong counterweight against this tendency towards exaggeration. World of Warcraft is not a sequel to Tolkien’s books. But it is still a sequel to a certain tradition, a narrated reality, that evokes specific expectations in many gamers. Located within this tradition, certain characters have to have a certain appearance and certain characteristics: such as the elves, who should, according to many players, look graceful and androgynous. Such expectations can be transverse to the expectations players have in life ‘outside’ the game. Conversely, that some players accept androgyny in the game does not mean that they necessarily accept androgyny ‘outside’ the game. Many gamers defend the blood elves’ androgyny by referring to a certain fantasy tradition. But these gamers also – like the players who degrade androgynous characters – refer to the expectation of stereotyped, normalized appearance of a creature or a creature race. Hence, androgyny seems to be accepted because it has a tradition in the fantasy narrative – and not because androgyny or hermaphroditism are considered acceptable outside this tradition.4 Analysing visual representations of sex in World of Warcraft shows a strong dimorphism – a dimorphism that is partly a product of communication between gamers and designers. But a look at the different reactions of gamers when scrutinizing sex in World of Warcraft shows a variety of opinions on these representations. The visual appearance can be measured from many horizons of expectation, and these expectations can also collide with expectations of other players as well as with expectations from the ‘outside’ world.5
4. World of TalkCraft: interaction between players In this section, I introduce three more channels of communication usually used by gamers when playing World of Warcraft: written chat, guild homepages/forums and voice chat communication.
Written chat Amongst communication via social action (e.g. attacking, fleeing, being passive), the game surface offers a text-based channel of communication: written chat. The chat window is part of the game interface’s standard appearance; it can be modified by switching private and public channels off and on. Thus, each player can decide out of which channels he or she wants to receive instant chat messages.6 The game-rhythm in World of Warcraft forces the players to take a break after every battle phase. The phases of battle take between a few seconds and several minutes – after fighting for a while, the characters have to recover their life points and spell points. Especially during this downtime, chats are used to communicate.7 The different chat channels are related to certain functions, for example the trade of goods and items, the search for group members or (mainly on PvP servers) the organization of the defence against hostile groups of players. It is common that chat channels are ‘misused’ – this is called ‘flaming’ or ‘spamming’: the unsolicited sharing of personal opinion, the results of sports games, touting, taunting and private conversations in inadequate channels. 10
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Voice chat communication World of Warcraft is mainly based on cooperative play with other players. Most secluded regions of the game (‘instances’) are designed for groups of five players; there are also instances for up to 40 players. Ever since the expansion, The Burning Crusade (first launched in January 2007), only instances for up to 25 players have been released. The game characters – especially in bigger groups – do specialist tasks. Healers and damage dealers tend to be extremely vulnerable; at the same time the tanks are lost without getting healed or if the enemies are not killed fast enough by the damage dealers. Especially the so-called ‘aggro management’ – the concentration of hostile attacks on less vulnerable troops – demands quick reactions and seamless cooperation between players. Written communication is therefore unpractical, and real-time communication becomes essential for success. A very common platform for this purpose is Teamspeak, a voice-over IP chat program that allows players to talk to each other while playing. The software is free and independent of the game developer Blizzard Entertainment. Bigger guilds mostly provide their own Teamspeak servers, which can be set up and used for free. The gamers speak into microphones and can talk to each other while playing; the Teamspeak software runs in the background. Teamspeak works like a chat room: by joining a (mostly password-protected) server, the players can use several chat rooms (these are also called ‘channels’) in which they can talk with one or several players. Usually a server consists of a multitude of chat rooms. The channels are commonly separated by their communicative purpose: there are channels for ‘private’ conversations, channels for meetings of guild leaders and character-class representatives, channels for raids, for dungeon battles, for PvP and so on. In most guilds, joining and regular use of Teamspeak or other voice chat programs are mandatory. Because real-time coordination can make the difference between victory and defeat, many players decline grouping up with players who do not use a voice chat program.
Guild forums and homepages In guilds, a considerable amount of organization is located outside the game environment provided by the game software (see also Ducheneaut et al. 2007: 847). A guild can be compared to a sports club. The players indeed meet primarily on the field, where they also talk about the game, about organizational issues and the strategy for the next match. But the results of the last meeting are posted in the club house. Here, the players sign up for tournaments and events; the complex systems of person rotation in raids and the distribution of loot are organized on the guild homepages and forums. Guild homepages form the communicative backbone of these gaming associations. Discussions on raid morale, new strategies, changes in the game software, the latest battle videos8 and the newest jokes – all this takes place independent of the actual game, on self-organized and selfprogrammed websites. Here significant discussion is held and recorded. One reason for this solution is the impermanence of the in-game options for communication. The in-game chat cannot be saved and searched, with the oral communication via Teamspeak being even more elusive. The websites help the guild members to gather, organize and save information: who learned which profession in the game? Who can craft which items? World of Maskcraft vs. World of Queercraft?
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during a complete battle in a dungeon (‘instance’). 8. Many gamers record how they master tough or suspenseful battles and post these videos on platforms like YouTube or Warcraftmovies.com. Apart from this, a movie-making subculture has arisen amongst gamers. An outstanding example of movie directing by playing World of Warcraft is the movie Illegal Danish – Super Snacks, produced by the DementiaMyndflameMachinima-Team around Clint and D. W. Hackleman. The movie is available on www.warcraftmovies. com (accessed 15 July 2008). For an introductory article on movie culture in World of Warcraft, see Lowood 2006.
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Who gave his or her character which class skills? How can the boss XY be defeated? How much money is in the guild bank and who did not pay the weekly due? Private details are also exchanged: where the players live, their age, their AIM, Skype, or e-mail addresses and so on. In this way, the homepages tighten the community network more than it would have been possible through the game software alone. After my observations in the previous section, one might have thought that the category of gender could be determined by the game graphics: all game characters are cast into a graphic pattern of exaggerated masculinity and femininity and the screen teems with gently hip-swivelling, full-bosomed graces on one side and brawny muscle men on the other. In this section, it has become clear though that the graphic surface is not the only important layer of game experience and game reality; it is not even the main layer of communication for the organized gamer community. To illustrate this, I will develop a model of communication in World of Warcraft in the following section.
5. World of CommuniCraft: the four layers of communication in World of Warcraft As laid out above, the gamer can be simultaneously located on multiple layers of communication: he/she steers a visually represented game character while writing to group members or friends who play on a different location – or are not even logged into the game. Additionally, the player can chat with other gamers on the game surface or communicate through posts on the guild homepage. Four basic layers of communication can therefore be identified: visual communication, written chat communication, written communication on guild webpages/forums and voice chat communication. The visual communication is based on the game’s software itself. On this foundation the gamers see the characters of other players and non-verbally interact with them (for non-verbal social norms in online worlds see Yee et al. 2007). Still, the design of the game environment lies in the hands of the developers. The written chat is also part of the game software and is used for rudimentary communication – but not in battle situations, which form the centre of game activity in World of Warcraft. The forums and guild homepages – on the level of ‘written communication’ – are provided by the gamers themselves and serve the purpose of self-organization. But it is hard to visit a forum while playing – so the use is not simultaneous with playing the game (although the forum can be opened in a window running in the background, with players switching from the game to the forum). The voice chat is run by external programs and is also organized by the players themselves. Thus, the last two layers of communication are directly organized by the gamers, the first and second layers mainly by the game software. Layer by layer, the players evade the restrictions of the game more and more, especially from the default graphics of the game environment. The written chat is still provided by the software, but it can be switched off and modified. The content in the written chat is set by the players even though the game design intends the functional differentiation among the channels. At the same time the ‘chatiquette’ (the norms of behaviour) is controlled and enforced both by representatives of the game’s developers and by players. On the other hand, the forums and guild homepages are 12
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9. This does not mean that these websites are power-free spaces: there is indeed censorship by the owners of the websites and the guild/forum members. 10. This happens from time to time: players program (and sometimes sell) socalled ‘bots’ that move independently through the game environment. However, this is prohibited by the game rules.
Figure 1: The four layers of communication in World of Warcraft. private websites, with no control or censorship by Blizzard and usually no financial connection to the enterprise.9 But still, this layer is based on visual signs. The gamers evade the power of the ‘masters of the game environment’, but they do not evade the restrictions of non-simultaneous written and quasi-non-simultaneous written communication, such as the time differences between expressions and the prediction on icons. However, the synchronic voice chat is freed from these constraints. At the same time, by stepping through the layers, the players’ anonymity decreases. The graphic game surface offers the highest level of anonymity: the players steer their characters without sounds – or signs. Even a computer could do that.10 By using the written chat, players potentially reveal information on what their first language is (or is not). For gaining access to forums and guild homepages, a more solid form of identity is necessary: the forums and homepages are usually only fully accessible to approved guild members. Players have to sign up and enter an e-mail address; furthermore, guilds often accept only players who are known by other guild members. In many cases the players have to hand in an application; based on the application the guild leaders decide whether or not to accept the new player (see also Taylor 2007: 7). The voice chat, finally, provides the lowest level of anonymity. The players’ voices can be identified, providing information on age, sex, social background, provenance and – especially in German – the dialectal region they come from. But, even more, the players open a window into their lives. Their microphones not only record their own voices, but also the parent calling them to dinner, the three-year-old son on the player’s lap or the drunk housemates barging into the room after midnight.11
6. World of MaskCraft or World of QueerCraft? In everyday life, sex and gender are typically identified through visual and acoustic signals: appearance and voice. In the statistic ‘normal case’, these signals are compatible. But as soon as someone looks ‘like a woman’ but has a voice ‘like a man’, many people are disturbed. In World of Warcraft, World of Maskcraft vs. World of Queercraft?
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11. Or, as Bartle (2003) points out: ‘Voice is reality’. Yee (2007) even suggests that the use of voice chat might change the immersion into a game. This might be true for RPG servers, but it is debateable for non-RPG servers, which are specially designed for players with lower expectations regarding role playing.
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12. At this point it is not my aim to answer the question of why and how players choose their characters and the gender; I am primarily interested in the communicative results. For more information on reasons behind character choice, see Yee (2005, 2008a) and MacCallumStewart (2008: esp. 34–8). 13. The original text: ‘Hallo! Erstmal schliesse ich mich den ganzen Aussagen in Sachen [Weiblicher Name eines weiblichen Avatars A (weiblicher Spieler)] und [Geschlechtsneutraler Name eines weiblichen Avatars B (männlicher Spieler)] an! Sie sind gute Freunde egal was man ihnen anhängen will. Jedoch gibt es auch Phasen in einem Menschen wo man ein Spiel hinter sich lassen muss damit man weiter kommt und zu sich selbst finden kann!’ Zu dir [Geschlechtsneutraler Name eines weiblichen Avatars C (männlicher Spieler)] Du bist einfach eine sehr gute Gildenleaderin! Ich glaube es kann zur Zeit keine/n besseren geben! Möchte mich auch noch bei dir bedanken, dass du uns bisher so gut geleitet hast und hoffe dass alles noch weiter so gut laufen wird!’ (Grammar errors in original post; the translation has been normalized; translation: CS).
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the visual and acoustic layers of communication also frame the perception of sex and gender. The visual stimulus shows a player whether other game characters are female or male. The acoustic stimulus reveals whether the other player is female or male. Thus, these two forms of communication are crucial for the construction and attribution of sex and gender. Of course, sex and gender can be communicated on every layer of communication described above. In German, sex and gender can be conveyed grammatically by word endings signifying, for example, cases (e.g. nominative, accusative) and by personal pronouns. Obviously, sex and gender are also conducted phonetically in voice chat communication, as in every form of language-based communication. But since the impact of the voice is absent in the case of written language, grammatical tokens for sex and gender become far more influential than in spoken language. In World of Warcraft, not everybody looks ‘like a woman’ while talking ‘like a woman’. Visual and aural interpretations of sex and gender often do not coincide.12 As a result, the allocations of gender and sex can be spun around in written communication. The following example is part of a discussion on a closed German guild forum.13 Hello! First of all, I agree with all the prior statements relating to [female name of a female avatar A (female player)] and [neutral name of a female avatar B (male player)]! They are good friends whatever people may say about them. Yet there are situations in life when one has to leave the game behind in order to evolve and find oneself! As for you [neutral name of a female avatar C (male player)] You are a really good [female] guild leader! I don't think there could be a better [male/female] one than you at this point. I would also like to thank you for leading us so well this far and hope that everything will continue so well.
This text is a reaction to the departure of two core team players, who quit the game completely. Thereupon, the guild suffered personnel shortages in raids, and the raids were less successful with two important players missing. Consequently, many players in the guild were dissatisfied with the new situation. The guild leader (male, who played a female character) advocated searching for new guild members, thereby re-establishing peace within the guild. In this post, the author of the text thanks him for his reaction. Here, a commingling of the game character – the avatar – and the gamer becomes grammatically obvious: the author mentions the comrade players, who to him are ‘good friends’. But he addresses them with the names of their avatars. One could assume that the names of the avatars become players’ nicknames. But more than that happens. Not only are the names of the avatars used in the post, but so are their sexes. References to sex, as well as the border between gamer and game, start to blur. As shown above, the organizing of the guild is not part of the game software itself – nonetheless the visually determined in-game sex is represented (because of the grammar) in the post: ‘You are a really good 14
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[female] guild leader!’ The male, who is the guild leader, is first addressed as a female. But in the next proposition it becomes obvious that the author addresses the guild leader as a hybrid of gamer and avatar, a hybrid of male and female components: ‘I don’t think there could be a better [male/female] one than you at this point.’ And yet, it is not the game character who leads the guild – it is the person behind this avatar. The game character primarily exists in the game environment, manifested graphically. German grammar, in this case, seems to open a possibility of flexibly handling gender allocations in a way that might look contradictory at first glance. But a second look shows that an amalgamation, not a contradiction, is the result of the described use of language. This amalgamation makes the use of the term ‘player-avatar-hybrid’ apt in this context. As a player, I often noted amalgamations like these myself. For instance, I might see a female avatar, but whenever I speak to the player behind the avatar, I hear the answer in a male voice. Similarly, I might address the male player with the female avatar’s name and that player answers as a ‘real’ person, not as a game character. For example, I might ask the male player of the avatar ‘Emelie’ how ‘her’ girlfriend is. This also works the other way around. If I ask this player to heal my game character (or even ‘me’), addressing him with his ‘real’ male name, this results in an action by the female avatar. This amalgamation itself stands behind an ever bigger context: the amalgamation of virtual and non-virtual worlds. As Taylor (2007: 9–17) shows, something is added to the online worlds in World of Warcraft: quantification and effectiveness. As a mage, for example, I don’t convince my guild members by playing my role persuasively – I convince by the damage per second I can deal in a raid or by the equipment I wear (see also Taylor 2007: 14). Quantified game performance forcefully pushes into the qualitative, language-based fantasy world. Also the ‘blood elf incident’ suggests that two horizons of expectations (hetero-normativity from outside the game context vs. fantasy tradition from within the game context) are openly clashing and being negotiated in World of Warcraft. As I have shown above, the different layers of communication offer different degrees of anonymity – with voice chat resulting in the lowest levels of anonymity. Richard Bartle (2003) analyses sharply: ‘Adding reality [by adding voice chat (cs)] to a virtual world robs it of what makes it compelling – it takes away that which is different between virtual worlds and the real world: the fact that they are not the real world’ (emphasis in original). The gap between ‘offline’ and ‘online’ reality becomes narrower, because the different communication modes make them blur. Consequently, especially on non-RPG servers, the distinction between ‘virtual’ and ‘nonvirtual’ begins to melt.14 This suggests, as a further consequence, that players are not only constructing their ‘identities on the other side of the looking glass’ (Turkle 1995: 177). They are simultaneously (re-) constructing their identity in the ‘real’ world. In such a setting, the relation between avatar and player – and between the sexes – is not as simple as it might seem at first glance, and it goes beyond the idea of simply ‘swapping’ or ‘bending’ gender while playing. A male player does not just change his sex or gender by playing a female game character; there might even be a constant change, a simultaneity World of Maskcraft vs. World of Queercraft?
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14. As the text analysed above shows: not only grammatically, but also through its content. It is not made clear in the post if the player leads the guild, or the avatar, or both.
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between the ‘virtual’ and the ‘non-virtual’: constant gender flexing. This amplifies the tendency of the category bundle sex/gender to logically dissolve: it is possible to communicate, using different and variable (temporary) grammatical markers for sex/gender at the same time. As a result, it no longer matters which grammatical markers one uses, because the same goal (e.g. to prompt an action by a game character) can be achieved with each act of communication. While playing, the category bundle sex/gender is no longer of communicative concern, because its markers can be exchanged equivalently. Being male and female at the same time does not imply (at least not in the situation of playing) sexual preferences, nor does it suggest either trans-sexuality or androgyny. It does not provoke questioning or the problematization of sex and gender. It is simply unproblematic that someone has a female name and appearance, but speaks with a male voice. It is also unproblematic to give a female avatar a male or neutral name (cf. MacCallum-Stewart 2008: 35). Attribution of sex/gender, as I have shown above, is exchangeable in World of Warcraft – at least on certain layers of communication. The question now is: what is the relation of this rather open acceptance of fuzzy or non-existent genders to the everyday construction of sex and gender in the ‘real’ world? Does the ‘virtual’ world affect the ‘real’ world? If the border between avatar and player can become indistinct, is there a possibility that the ‘definite’ sex/gender of a gamer in the ‘normal’ world can also start to blur? Or is the permanent switching of sex/gender markers only a masquerade? Put bluntly: does a communicational space for masquerade – a ‘World of MaskCraft’ – open up while playing? Or does a space open up in which fixed attributions – formerly provided by the categories gender and sex – become obsolete: a ‘World of QueerCraft’? It is plausible that some players can toy with markers for sex and gender more unreservedly (especially on the two middle layers of communication); the more unambiguously mask-like representations of the sexes are secured on the outer layers of communication. The exaggerated dimorphism on the visual layer of communication, and – even more – the unambiguous assignment to a certain sex through the voice recognition in voice chats could be used by players to constantly reassure themselves and others about their ‘true’ sex/gender. This could explain some of the homophobic reactions during the ‘blood elf incident’: the more androgynous blood elves had the potential to destabilize the visual unambiguity. It could be possible that the practice of (visual and acoustic) reassuring sex/gender identity is the very basis for being able to engage with unreserved attributions of sex/gender. Taking female or undefined roles could be compared with a temporary masquerade, comparable, for example, with male ballet performances in German regional carnival events: the ‘guys’ from the soccer team can wear make-up and tutus because they demonstrate their masculinity through their ‘masculine’ hobby and the appearance as a male sports group. Do markers for sex/gender (like voice and appearance) have to be definite and secured on some layers of communication to initially allow players to toy with them on other layers of communication? Can players only 16
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toy with attributions of sex and gender because they know what they know about sex/gender – and not because they forget what they knew? The web consisting of communication, game and players is not woven that simply. It became apparent earlier that the visualization of the sexes is very bipolar; I have addressed the fact that players judge this exaggeration with different concepts of normality. They can hold similar views on the appearance of the characters – although arriving at these views through different reasons and expectations as well as with different arguments. Alongside expectations of variance with the mainstream fantasy tradition, an acceptance seems to develop – and, as seen in the example of the ‘blood elf incident’, a certain expectation of androgyny and variable sexes beyond strict bipolarity can emerge. As I have mentioned above, this openness does not automatically have to come with an openness towards variations of sex in the ‘real’ world. But this, in my opinion, is not the point at issue. The bottom line is that within the game a space emerges, in which sex and gender can be variable. Players can explore this space and participate in forming it; this can be experienced in Teamspeak chats, on guild forums and on websites. As I have mentioned before, my analysis is based on the communication in non-RPG worlds, so these explorations mainly affect communication between players – and not social actions like in-game relationships, that are built up more frequently on RPG servers. However, it would be most interesting to examine whether the shown use of language changes virtual gender on RPG servers.15 The genesis of this space is tightly connected to the features of the different layers of communication – and the fact of their simultaneous coexistence. Gamers use different channels of communication that offer them different degrees of communicative freedom and anonymity. By doing so, they open up different possibilities of communicating sex/gender and of portraying themselves as player-avatar hybrids. Consequently, players are confronted with a great deal of inconsistency and variability. Being undefined, therefore, is, as well as the hyper-definition of the game characters, part of the everyday game experience – and becomes normal. In this context, in particular, the following questions should be answered in further research, based on focused observance and recordings of gamers’ conversations: is masculine demeanour constructed in certain contexts of communication? How is this done? Is masculine (or feminine) demeanour constructed differently when toying with flexible concepts of sex/gender? How and when exactly can markers for sex/gender become obsolete? Which communicative and technical framework requirements have to exist? When and why can this fail? It is important to mention that not all players use gender-indifferent speech, and also that it cannot be found in all game situations. But this is exactly what makes the communication interesting: (grammatical) markers for sex/gender in communication in World of Warcraft are in most cases not mixed up or flexible. But if they happen to be fuzzy, no problems arise in the communication between the players. This is precisely the reason why the dissolving of gender is no masquerade. When wearing the mask of a different sex – for example in certain forms of transvestitism – certain concepts of sex are ruptured in order to make them visible, to challenge them, to discuss them. In World of World of Maskcraft vs. World of Queercraft?
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15. In addition to that it would be worth scrutinizing if and how interaction with non-player characters (NPCs) changes. This facet is left out because my article concentrates on communication between players.
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16. An additional catalysing factor for linguistic change could be the functional differentiation in World of Warcraft (each player has certain assignments and professions). According to Luhmann, the semantics has to change when a society changes from stratifactory to functional differentiation. Luhmann believes that the old semantics has to be substituted by a semantics of equality (Luhmann 1988, cited after Degele 2008: 71, translation mine). Is the possibility to equally substitute markers for sex/ gender already a step towards such a semantics of equality? Is World of Warcraft a functionally differentiated utopia, in which a genesis of this semantics can be observed? Male and female game characters can fight, trade and craft exactly in the same way in World of Warcraft. If this, combined with a strict functional differentiation provokes a tendency of equality, then the visual exaggeration of the game characters could also be seen in a different light. One could ask if the exaggeration of bipolarity is a counter-movement against the equality of the sexes in the game. Put bluntly: it might seem that there had to exist a certain amount of inequality constantly within the game environment. And if the game mechanics equalizes
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Warcraft, however, the diversity of concepts of sex/gender can be integrated without disruption. The virtual ‘gender troubling’ goes without saying, it happens invisibly and without being questioned. Therefore, the ‘queerness’ in the playing of World of Warcraft is not a conscious, intellectually and theoretically supported process – like the deconstruction of sex/gender in the academic queer school of thought. It is more of a side effect of the game, which evolves from the co-existence of the different layers of communication.16 The category bundle sex/gender is dissolved by the friction generated by the constantly moving borders between player and avatar – and between acoustically, visually and grammatically derived information on sex/gender. Because the dissolution of gender categories is a side effect of the game, no space free from connotations for queer, gay, lesbian, bisexual or transgender gamers is automatically created. Still, queer, gay, lesbian, bisexual or transgender players can be confronted with prejudices, hatred and taunts when playing. But still a space opens, in which otherwise discriminated against constructions of self are less questioned. The variable spaces for playing and communicating in online games like World of Warcraft can, therefore, habituate the hetero-normative parts of society to diversity and variation. Online worlds might, in the long run, even provide support in reducing prejudices and in living in and with variable concepts of sex/ gender in the offline world. Works cited Bartle, R. A. (2003), ‘Not yet, you fools!’, game+girl=advance.com, www. gamegirladvance.com/
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—— (2006b), ‘“Alone together?”: exploring the social dynamics of massively multiplayer online games’, Proceedings of the ACM Conference on Human Factors in Computing Systems (CHI 2006), 22–27 April 2007, Montreal, Canada. New York: ACM, pp. 407–16. —— (2007), ‘The life and death of online gaming communities: a look at guilds in World of Warcraft’, Proceedings of the 25th Annual ACM Conference on Human Factors in Computing Systems (CHI 2007), 28 April – 3 May 2007, San Jose, CA, New York: ACM, pp. 839–48. GameStar.de (2006a), ‘World of Warcraft: Burning Crusade. Streit um Elfen mit zu weiblichen Zügen’, gamestar.de, www.gamestar.de/news/pc/spiele/rollenspiel/ online/world_of_warcraft_burning_crusade/1465651/world_of_warcraft_ burning_crusade.html (accessed 10 May 2008). —— (2006b), ‘Burning Crusade – Gamestar-Pinboard’ (discussion on the blood elf incident), gamestar.de, www.gamestar.de/community/gspinboard/showthread. php?t=236956 (accessed 12 May 2008). Graner Ray, S. (2004), Gender Inclusive Game Design: Expanding the Market, Hingham, MA: Charles River Media. Heinecke, G. (2007), Words of Warcraft: Kommunikation im Massively Multiplayer Online Roleplaying Game World of Warcraft, Konstanz: KOPS, www.ub. uni-konstanz.de/kops/volltexte/2007/3191/ (accessed 12 May 2008). Huntemann, N. (2004), ‘Pixel pinups: images of women in video games’, in: Lind, R. (ed), Race/Gender/Media: Considering Diversity Across Audiences, Content and Producers, Boston: AB-Longman, pp. 251–8. —— (2005), ‘Play like a man: masculinity in video games’ (online lecture), mediacritica. net, www.mediacritica.net/lectures/lectures.html. Accessed 12 May 2008. Lowood, H. (2006), ‘Storyline, dance/music, or PvP? Game movies and community players in World of Warcraft’, Games and Culture, 1:4, pp. 362–82. Ludica.org (2007), ‘Playing dress-up: costumes, roleplay and imagination’, ludica.org, www.ludica.org.uk/LudicaDress-Up.pdf (accessed 7 July 2008). Luhmann, N. (1988), ‘Frauen, Männer und George Spencer Brown’, Zeitschrift für Soziologie, 17, pp. 47–71. MacCallum-Stewart, E. (2008), ‘Real boys carry girly epics: normalising gender bending in online games’, Eludamos. Journal for Computer Game Culture, 2:1, pp. 27–40. Qvortrup, L. (ed.) (2001), Virtual Interaction: Interaction in Virtual Inhabited 3D Worlds, London: Springer. Rubenstein, A. (2007), ‘Idealizing fantasy bodies’, Iris Gaming Network, www. theirisnetwork.org/index.php?s=world+of+warcraft (accessed 12 May 2008). Sallnäs, E. (2002), ‘Collaboration in multi-modal virtual worlds: comparing touch, text and voice and video’, in: Schroeder, R. (ed.), The Social Life of Avatars: Presence and Interaction in Shared Virtual Environments, London: Springer, pp. 172–87. Schroeder, R. (ed.) (2002), The Social Life of Avatars: Presence and Interaction in Shared Virtual Environments, London: Springer. Steinkuehler, C.A. (2003), ‘Videogaming as participation in a discourse’, paper presented at the American Association for Applied Linguistics Annual Conference (AAAL), Arlington, VA. —— (2004), ‘The literacy practices of massively multiplayer online gaming’, paper presented at the Annual Meeting of the American Educational Research Association, San Diego, CA.
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the sexes, then the inequality has to be restored by exaggerating their appearance. In this case it would be interesting to compare the graphics in games in which the sex also influences the abilities of the characters, games that do not provide functional equality like World of Warcraft. (On feminism and World of Warcraft see also Corneliussen 2008).
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—— (2006), ‘Massively multiplayer online videogaming as participation in a discourse’, Mind, Culture, & Activity, 13:1, pp. 38–52. Steinkuehler, C. A. and Williams, D. (2006), ‘Where everybody knows your (screen)name: online games as “third places”’, Journal of Computer-Mediated Communication, 11:4, http://jcmc.indiana.edu/vol11/issue4/ steinkuehler.html (accessed 7 July 2008). Taylor, T. L. (2002), ‘Living digitally: embodiment in virtual environments’, in: Schroeder, R. (ed.), The Social Life of Avatars: Presence and Interaction in Shared Virtual Environments, London: Springer, pp. 40–62. —— (2003a), ‘Multiple pleasures: women and online gaming. Convergence’, The Journal of Research into New Media Technologies, 9:1, pp. 21–46. —— (2003b), ‘Intentional bodies: virtual environments and the designers who shape them’, International Journal of Engineering Education, 19:1, pp. 25–34. —— (2006), Play Between Worlds: Exploring Online Game Culture, Cambridge: MIT Press. —— (2007), ‘Does WoW change everything?: How a PvP server, multinational player base, and surveillance mod scene caused me pause’, Games and Culture, 1:4, pp. 1–20. Turkle, S. (1984), The Second Self: Computers and the Human Spirit, New York: Simon & Schuster. —— (1995), Life on the Screen: Identity in the Age of the Internet, New York: Simon & Schuster. Williams, D., Ducheneaut, N., Xiong, L., Zhang, Y., Yee, N. and Nickell, E. (2006), ‘From tree house to barracks: the social life of guilds in World of Warcraft’, Games and Culture, 1:4, pp. 338–61. Woodcock, B. S. (2008a), ‘MMOG active subscriptions’, mmogchart.com, www. mmogchart.com/Chart11.html (accessed 12 May 2008). —— (2008b), ‘Total MMOG active subscriptions’, mmogchart.com, www.mmogchart. com/Chart4.html (accessed 12 May 2008). Yee, N. (2005), ‘WoW gender-bending’, The Daedalus Project, www.nickyee.com/ daedalus/archives/001369.php (accessed 12 May 2008). —— (2006a), ‘The demographics, motivations and derived experiences of users of massively multiuser online graphical environments’, PRESENCE: Teleoperators and Virtual Environments, 15:3, pp. 309–29. —— (2006b), ‘VoIP usage’, The Daedalus Project, www.nickyee.com/daedalus/ archives/001519.php?page=4 (accessed 7 July 2008). —— (2007), ‘Motivations of play in online games’, Journal of CyberPsychology and Behavior, 9:6, pp. 772–5. —— (2008a), ‘Our virtual bodies, ourselves?’, The Daedalus Project, www. nickyee.com/daedalus/archives/001613.php?page=1 (accessed 12 May 2008). —— (2008b), ‘Social architectures in MMOs’, The Daedalus Project, www.nickyee. com/daedalus/archives/001625.php?page=11 2008b (accessed 7 July 2008). Yee, N., Bailenson, J., Urbanek, M., Chang, F. and Merget, D. (2007), ‘The unbearable likeness of being digital: the persistence of nonverbal social norms in online virtual environments’, CyberPsychology & Behavior, 10:1, pp. 115–21.
Suggested citation Schmieder, C. (2009), ‘World of Maskcraft vs. World of Queercraft? Communication, sex and gender in the online role-playing game World of Warcraft’, Journal of Gaming and Virtual Worlds 1: 1, pp. 5–21, doi: 10.1386/jgvw.1.1.5/1 20
Christian Schmieder
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Contributor details Before starting to write his Magister thesis, Christian Schmieder spent many nights exploring Azeroth – the universe of World of Warcraft. Currently, he is a graduate student (Sociology and Linguistics) at Albert-Ludwigs-Universität Freiburg (Germany). He worked as a native speaker/teaching assistant in the German Department at Colgate University, NY (2006–7) and is at present a teaching/research assistant at Freiburg University’s Department of Sociology. Contact: Am Kirchacker 18; 79115 Freiburg. E-mail: [email protected]
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ÌD_`\nnc\k`oc`^jpmn`jacdnojmt)Í EjciH\ti\m_F`ti`n
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Journal of Gaming and Virtual Worlds Volume 1 Number 1 © 2009 Intellect Ltd Article. English language. doi: 10.1386/jgvw.1.1.23/1
‘Doing there’ vs. ‘being there’: performing presence in interactive fiction Alf Seegert University of Utah (USA)1 Abstract
Keywords
The ability of computers to produce ‘presence’ – the visceral feeling of actually ‘being there’ – is typically associated with the presentation of intensive graphical effects. But studies on presence indicate that what players are able to ‘do’ in fact contributes more to their sense of presence than graphical realism. Keeping this in mind, I explore possibilities for ‘performing’ presence in digital narratives, particularly through the non-graphical digital medium of interactive fiction. I draw from critical theorists (Barthes, Iser and especially Gumbrecht) as well as theorists of new media (Aarseth, Ryan, Montfort) to frame an investigation into two major aspects of presence production in interactive fiction, namely: 1) how interactive fiction generates presence through the exclusive use of verbal signifiers rather than graphical images, and 2) how it allows users to generate presence themselves through their own actions. I conclude by examining three works of interactive fiction: Adventure, All Roads and Luminous Horizon (Crowther and Woods 1975–6; Ingold 2006; O’Brian 2004).
presence interactive fiction hyperfiction digital narrative
Introduction On East Bank of Fissure You are on the east bank of a fissure slicing clear across the hall. The mist is quite thick here, and the fissure is too wide to jump. >WAVE ROD A crystal bridge now spans the fissure. – Computer narration and typed player response from Adventure (Crowther and Woods 1975–6)
If one considers digital methods used for producing presence – that is, for generating the visceral sense of ‘being there’ – then visual imagery and aural effects are likely to top the list: temporally warped bullet-time battles in The Matrix trilogy; the THX-powered crash of lightsabers; the empathyevoking CGI images of WALL·E or the ping of bullets ricocheting down smoothly scrolling three-dimensional corridors in the latest first person shooter. Such computer-generated graphics and sound effects confront our immediate awareness by directly impinging upon – or overloading – our faculties of sight and hearing, sensually inducing awe and wonder by
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1. The author would like to thank Professors Joe Metz, Lance Olsen and Cassandra Van Buren at the University of Utah for their feedback on this topic and contributions to this paper. Thanks also go to Natasha Seegert, Paul Hartzog, Jason Cook, and Trent Levesque for their comments.
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2. I should note that some theorists make a crucial distinction between the terms immersion and presence, citing the fact that immersion denotes ‘being in’ whereas presence suggests ‘being before’. Because immersion and presence are both senses of ‘being there’ and my primary concern here is with the connection between ‘doing there’ and the sense of ‘being there’, I do not find it necessary to make sharp distinctions between immersion and presence in this discussion. 3. As Montessori suggests in The Discovery of the Child, for a child, an object only comes alive when it is encountered and actively engaged – or played with. ‘A very beautiful toy, an attractive picture, a wonderful story, can, without doubt, rouse a child’s interest, but if he may simply look at, or listen to, or touch an object, but dares not move it, his interest will be superficial and will pass from object to object’ (Montessori 1962). Wittgenstein similarly points out that children learn about books and chairs not by being told about them but by reading books and sitting in chairs (1972: par. 476). 4. My performancebased approach to VR in this paper finds parallels in Hansen’s Bodies in Code: Interfaces With Digital Media (2006). Hansen argues that ‘motor
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shoving us face first toward the brink of a newfound technological sublime. Because digital effects are so good at producing presence, for many virtual reality (VR) researchers, the explicit goal of VR simulation is to evoke presence by immersing participants in visual imagery and sound, usually provided through a graphical heads-up display and headphones in a helmet worn by the participant.2 But this one-directional ‘transmitter/ receiver’ characterization of presence – like the attempt at realistic representation in the examples above – is only part of the story. Despite ever increasing computer power and the ability to generate real-time graphical images with greater and greater verisimilitude, there has been a recent trend in VR research towards not just improving the realism of virtual simulations, but in exploring the degree to which users are in fact responsible for generating presence through their interactions in simulated worlds. For instance, note the active presence-producing role of the participant in this excerpt from ‘Elements of a multi-level theory of presence’ from the proceedings of Presence 2002: Although some authors argue strongly for a realism-based conception of presence (e.g. Solomon 2002), this limits presence (at least with the current state of technology) to a mainly passive perception. The approach taken in VR is clearly based on interaction, yet with a usually low level of perceptual realism (high-end flight simulation systems perhaps being the exception). It is interesting to note that both non-interactive, photorealistic displays, as well as interactive, nonrealistic displays are able to engender substantial levels of presence, where interactivity appears to be the more important factor of the two. (IJsselsteijn 2002: 247)
The author (citing Heidegger) goes so far as to conclude at the end of the article that ‘presence is tantamount to successfully supported action in the environment. Being there thus becomes the ability to do there’ (IJsselsteijn 2002: 251). In virtual spaces, presence is thus performed and not just passively experienced – and probably not just in virtual spaces.3 Interaction is thus a mode of revealing, a way of allowing the world to ‘present’ itself. Although VR researchers still focus on the use of headsets, data-gloves and motion-trackers to improve capacities for physically driven action in a graphical virtual medium, their striking conclusions about the immersive power of interaction and agency make me question to what degree graphical realism is needed (if it is needed at all) in order to generate presence in digital media. As a result, I want to explore how presence might be produced in a particular mode of computer-mediated simulation that is highly interactive but which does literally nothing to attempt graphical realism, namely interactive fiction (IF).4
Interactive fiction, presence and performance ‘IF’ is a fitting acronym for interactive fiction, for IF is ideally all about possibility – the realm of ‘what if ?’ Embodying such possibility, however, the very term ‘interactive fiction’ is only one of many possible names for (or versions of) the recent hybridization of textuality with computer technology. ‘Interactive narrative’ and ‘digital narrative’ exist alongside the 24
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more canonical ‘hypertext fiction’ or ‘hyperfiction.’ Whereas hyperfiction requires that users click on links to connect to discrete chunks of texts in a seemingly endless, multi-linear narrative, IF in contrast accepts typed, natural language input, which is analysed and responded to by a computerized narrator. But even with these distinctions in place, defining IF remains problematic because so many possible approaches to the medium exist.5 In any case, the incunabular nature of IF and its unsettling fusion of program, potential narrative, world and game (Montfort 2003a) has resulted in plenty of debate over how to classify it and too little discussion about what powers IF might still possess, however hard it might be to classify.6 For this reason, I will forego the apologetics and polemics that tend to characterize discussions of IF by focusing not on what IF is (or what it ‘might be’), but rather on what it does, specifically its generation of presence effects. As Hans Ulrich Gumbrecht points out in Production of Presence: What Meaning Cannot Convey (2004), the word ‘presence’ refers primarily to a ‘spatial relationship to the world and its objects’, a relationship in which the ‘present’ is what is ‘tangible’ to bodies (Gumbrecht 2004: xiii). For Gumbrecht, the ‘production of presence’ is a corporeal phenomenon involving ‘all kinds of events and processes in which the impact that “present” objects have on human bodies is being initiated or intensified’ (Gumbrecht 2004: xiii). Throughout his book, Gumbrecht provides examples of how, especially in the academy, ‘meaning’ – the domain of interpretation and conceptualization – has very nearly displaced presence, both as a mode for approaching texts and as an object of study in itself. His aim is not to destroy meaning but to dethrone it, to return presence to equal status with meaning as its counterpart in an ongoing oscillation between ‘meaning effects’ and ‘presence effects’ in an individual’s experience (Gumbrecht 2004: 116). Gumbrecht focuses on the sensory impressions that impinge on one’s body from the ‘materialities of communication’ (Gumbrecht 2004: 8) found in all modes of signification, e.g. the sonic ‘substance’ of a poem or the visual impression created by the particular shape and flow of script on a page. When considering the possibilities for producing presence through new media, Gumbrecht emphasizes how the ‘special effects’ that such media provide can generate presence effects through their visceral power. However, his attention to such ‘materialities of communication’ privileges media as the exclusive source of presence effects in mediated interactions, making the production of presence a onedirectional affair. As a result, Gumbrecht fails to articulate how a meaningbased response to a literary text, for example, might itself generate presence effects through a reader’s emotive response to that text.7 Presence effects might likewise be produced when an interactor responds to a text by making textual impressions of his or her own.8 Even in the absence of visual stimulation – other than that of deliberately arranged traces of ink on paper (or alphabetic characters on a screen) – a reader can, through imagination, conjure up worlds potentially as vivid and as body affecting as the visual and aural effects presented through a multi-media entertainment system. The potential of the imagination for producing presence is precisely how IF made its first claim to fame. When the personal computer first ‘Doing there’ vs. ‘being there’
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activity – not representationalist verisimilitude – holds the key to fluid and functional crossings between virtual and physical realms’ (Hansen 2006: 2). Although I agree that an interactor’s performance is crucial to presence production in VR, to constrain ‘performance’ to embodied motor activity seems needlessly narrow to me. Interactive fiction might consequently make a useful test case in exploring broader possibilities for what counts as ‘performance’ (or, indeed, embodiment) in the first place. 5. Wikipedia’s computer programminginformed entry describes IF as ‘Software containing simulated environments in which players use text commands to control characters and perform actions’ (Wikipedia, the Free Encyclopedia 2008). Game design theorists in contrast characterize IF in terms of its ludic qualities and identify it with the ‘text adventure game’ in which players type in commands to manipulate objects and solve logical puzzles. A definition of IF from the standpoint of literary theory (my own attempt) might in turn be, ‘a potential narrative in which text contributed by an interactor triggers the output of text by a narrator in a simulated story-space represented by text on a computer screen’. As one can see, the combination of multiple elements in a
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single medium – simulation, narrative, gameplay and text acceptance/generation – makes IF hard to pin down (Montfort 2003a). 6. In defiance of these multiform attempts to define the medium of IF, cyber critics such as Aarseth refuse to accept IF as a category at all, putting their own nuanced terms in its place. (In his book, Cybertext, Aarseth uses the term ‘ergodic literature’ to designate interactive, mechanized works that require ‘nontrivial labor’ [Aarseth 1997: 1] to traverse.) Such dismissals of IF are actually often the norm rather than the exception. For example, in The End of Books – Or Books Without End? (Douglas 2000) hypermedia critic Douglas dispenses with IF (for her, ‘digital narratives’) in a single sentence without any further discussion: ‘Digital narratives primarily follow the trajectory of Adventure, a work considered venerable only by the techies who first played it in the 1970s, cybergaming geeks, and the writers, theorists, and practitioners who deal with interactivity’ (Douglas 2000: 6). She contends that, in contrast, hypertext fiction ‘follows and furthers the trajectory of hallowed touchstones of print culture, especially the avant-garde novel’ (Douglas 2000: 7). More oddly, in the otherwise insightful article ‘How interactive can fiction be?’, Chaouli (2005) neglects to address IF
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became popular in the early 1980s, video game graphics remained blocky and slow to render – especially in three dimensions – offering little potential in the way of realistic representation. The software company Infocom, however, decided to spin this processor-based liability into a veritable asset with advertisements like this one, which argued for an almost alchemical potency in combining words, imagination and computer power:
Figure 1: 1983 Analog magazine advertisement from Infocom, the dominant producer of software text adventure games in the 1980s (Infocom).
WE STICK OUR GRAPHICS WHERE THE SUN DON’T SHINE. You’ll never see Infocom’s graphics on any computer screen. Because there’s never been a computer built by man that could handle the images we produce. And, there never will be. We draw our graphics from the limitless imagery of your imagination – a technology so powerful, it makes any picture that’s ever come out of a screen look like graffiti by comparison. … Through our prose, your imagination makes you part of our stories, in control of what you do and where you go – yet unable to predict or control the course of events. … [Y]ou’re immersed in rich environments alive with personalities as real as any you’ll meet in the flesh – yet all the more vivid because they’re perceived directly by your mind’s eye, not through your external senses. (Infocom n.d.)
However overblown Infocom’s estimation of IF’s powers might be here, their claims that ‘we draw our graphics from the limitless imagery of your imagination’ and ‘your imagination makes you part of our stories’ are worth noting because they emphasize the receiver’s role in producing presence. Simply put, their claim is that even though presence in IF is 26
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mediated by the computer, it is only actively evoked through the reader’s imaginative response to a text – instead of being stimulated directly through sensation with graphical imagery, as we typically expect from high-powered computers today.9 In contrast (and however clichéd the term might have become), Infocom’s use of the metaphor ‘the mind’s eye’ is revealing for it implies a mode of seeing (sense perception) that depends on cognitive faculties (conception and imagination) – a mingling of presence with meaning. In fact, presence effects in IF depend entirely on meaning effects because the reader’s imaginative response is triggered by signs and not just percepts. If IF’s stress on the role of the reader in producing presence sounds suspiciously similar to literary theories of reader-response (or reception theory), that’s because IF adopts precisely the same premises (consciously or not). Note the similarities in Infocom’s sales pitch, above, to this passage from reception theorist Wolfgang Iser: … in considering a literary work, one must take into account not only the actual text but also, and in equal measure, the actions involved in responding to that text. … The convergence of text and reader brings the literary work into existence. (Iser 1980: 50)
Equally important to IF and to Iser is not just the active role of the recipient, but the specifically relational manner in which literary worlds (or ‘works’) are brought into being. For Iser, the literary work is neither (as the New Critics would have it) an object consisting of marks on a page, nor is it (as Stanley Fish argues [1980: 70]) ‘in the reader’. Instead, the work manifests itself in a virtual space between text and reader, dependent upon both but localizable in neither. Iser’s sense of ‘virtual space’ is one actively evoked through the reader’s imagination rather than one stimulated merely through the senses, a creative ‘picturing’ rather than a passive ‘seeing’. Upon encountering the linear, written text through time, the reader oscillates between retrospection and anticipation, all the while ‘filling in the gaps’ to make the work coherent. The author, by carefully ‘prestructuring’ potential meanings in the text, can evoke effects of surprise or exasperation with skilful omissions (and commissions), either confirming a reader’s expectations or subverting them. This active ‘filling-in’ by the reader (usually performed unconsciously) engages the reader creatively, and for Iser such engagement is critical to literature’s appeal because ‘reading is only a pleasure when it is active and creative’ (Iser 1980: 51). According to Iser, if the reader were ‘given the full story’ (presuming that to be possible), imagination would need never enter into play, and the reader would lose interest, being left with nothing to do (Iser 1980: 51). The reader consequently finds herself in a ‘field of play’, bounded on one side by the potential for boredom (the result of too little creative engagement being required) and overstrain on the other (which results from a demand for too much creative work). In this view, even if a ‘text’ might be granted objective existence, the literary work is always already ‘virtual’ and the reader ‘interactive’ – two major buzzwords in digital media. Keeping the production of presence ‘Doing there’ vs. ‘being there’
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at all, even though his criticisms of hypertext fiction focus on the (ironic) narrative limitations of having to ‘follow links’ predetermined by the author – when IF offers a far more ‘writerly’ alternative by allowing fullsentence, typed input by an interactor. The only academic, booklength discussion of IF so far in print, Montfort’s Twisty Little Passages: An Approach to Interactive Fiction (2003b), is (for obvious reasons) apologetic in tone, and spends a great deal of time justifying the worth of IF by linking it to the venerable literary heritage of the Anglo-Saxon riddle. Thus Douglas and Montfort, though in opposed camps, both appear to invoke the alleged inheritance of ‘legitimate’ historical forms to evaluate the worth of new media, which risks constraining new media to old paradigms, a path that Aarseth neatly sidesteps by proposing entirely new criteria. 7. In a few passages from Production of Presence, Gumbrecht does seem to suggest that a reader plays some role as producer of presence effects (e.g., in one passage he mentions mental ‘investment’ made by the recipient of aesthetic experience [Gumbrecht 2004: 101] and in another how a particular text ‘makes the reader intuit’ particular emotional experiences of a character [Gumbrecht 2004: 97]) but the precise role that the recipient plays in presence
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production is not clearly articulated. The overall tenor of the book emphasizes a ‘transmitter/ receiver’ model of presence production in which presence is produced by a medium of transmission (one of the ‘materialities of communication’) rather than by the receiver. Note, for example, the language Gumbrecht uses to characterize his classroom teaching: ‘My first more personal concern for this class was to be a good enough teacher to evoke for my students and to make them feel specific moments of intensity that I remember with nostalgia’ (Gumbrecht 2004: 97). The phrases ‘evoke for my students’, ‘make them feel’ and ‘intensity that I remember’ all emphasize how presence is produced by the teacher, not the student. 8. Gumbrecht might at first seem to embrace the idea of generating presence through one’s actions when he cites Gadamer’s notion of ‘truth in performance’ (Gumbrecht 2004: 64). However, he uses Gadamer’s example to emphasize not interaction, but what he calls ‘materialities of communication’, the sound of words in a poem, for instance, that can only be experienced by hearing the poem performed aloud. Through performance, the sonic ‘substance’ of the poem impinges on the senses with presence effects and not just meaning effects, but this is still
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foremost in mind, one is then led to ask what, if anything, distinguishes the virtual worlds of interactive fiction from the virtual worlds presented by ‘traditional’ texts.10 Most IF theorists are aware, however, that even ‘traditional texts’ require interaction in order to be made ‘present’. Instead of characterizing a traditional reader as one who ‘dutifully trudges the linear track prescribed by the author’, Nick Montfort in Toward a Theory of Interactive Fiction (2003a), for example, recognizes that a reading of a book may involve browsing it in a bookstore, reading in short bursts in different places, skipping ahead to see if it gets any better at the end, looking through bits in the middle to then figure out what happened, and giving up without actually reading everything … readings may not be in sequence and may not be total. (Montfort 2003a)
That being said, there is a crucial difference between the kind of interactivity that occurs in IF and the reader-interactivity encountered in traditional texts. When Roland Barthes (like Iser) argues that the reader is an active participant in the construction of the literary work (1974: 4) – namely, as the ‘writerly reader’ – he is not speaking literally. To be sure, the engaged reader leaves his/her mark on the text, but such inscription occurs only in the imagination: the term ‘writerly’ is a metaphor. But in IF, the reader responds to a given text by literally leaving his or her mark on the screen in typed strings of alphabetic text: the computer screen becomes a digital palimpsest. This ‘writerly’ mode of interactivity in IF creates distinctive possibilities for producing presence.11 Crucially, IF replies to an interactor’s typed input by disclosing a new string of signifiers that are unveiled only after a specific contribution is made by the interactor. The latent, multiple potentialities of the text in interactive fiction therefore exist not just on the level of the signified, but in the visible signifier as well. Marie-Laure Ryan clarifies this important distinction in Narrative as Virtual Reality: ‘Whereas the reader of a standard print text constructs personalized interpretations out of an invariant semiotic base, the reader of an interactive text … participates in the construction of the text as a visible display of signs’ (Ryan 2001: 6). This method of text construction itself generates a presence effect. As Espen Aarseth explains in Cybertext, interactive narratives differ critically from traditional narratives because they constantly remind the reader of ‘inaccessible strategies and paths not taken, voices not heard. Each decision will make some parts of the text more, and others less, accessible, and you may never know the exact results of your choices; that is, exactly what you missed’ (Aarseth 1997: 3). The typed response of the reader reveals both a new visible text and a new evoked work of the imagination along with it; at the same time, the reader’s typed response closes off other possible alternative texts, which – unless the game is re-played from the beginning – will never be uncovered. By taking one path, you abandon another, and an interesting effect of these choices is the nagging sense of ‘what if?’ – What if I had made another decision? What would have happened? The very absence of signification (the text that remains undisclosed to the interactor because of his or her choices) thus creates a presence effect of 28
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felt uncertainty, curiosity and possibly anxiety. A traditional text may indeed be, as Barthes argues in S/Z, a ‘galaxy of signifiers’ (Barthes 1974: 5), but in IF these signifiers are not pre-revealed or determinately bounded by the covers of a book. They reveal themselves only through active exploration by contributing signifiers of one’s own (i.e. typed input).
Performing presence in Adventure, All Roads and Luminous Horizon So far, this discussion of IF has remained highly theoretical. To make IF more ‘present’, we need to look at some concrete examples of IF and examine how it actually works on the screen and at the keyboard. The earliest example of IF, Adventure, was a text adventure game designed in 1975 by Will Crowther and later expanded by Don Woods.12 Adventure was a landmark in computer simulation because it allowed users to navigate and interact with a textually represented world for the first time using natural language. The interactor was addressed in the second person and given a description of his or her current location in the game world, along with a list of objects available for picking up or manipulating. The interactor was then given a cursor prompt (‘>’) allowing him to interact by typing in simple commands in English. The parser (the ‘decoding’ algorithm that analyses a string of text entered by the interactor) was extremely simple, and only allowed up to two-word inputs in the format of VERB NOUN, for instance, ‘GET BOTTLE’, ‘OPEN GRATE’ or ‘GO NORTH’ (which could be abbreviated to ‘N’). By typing in appropriate, context-dependent commands, players could solve puzzles and thereby overcome obstacles to their progress. For example, in one section of a colossal cave the nameless adventurer encounters a fissure ‘too wide to jump’ – no further progress can be made in that direction. In another room he discovers a ‘three foot black rod with a rusty star on one end’. Although the purpose of the rod is initially unclear, the predicament of the fissure suggests particular uses that might be made of it: >W On East Bank of Fissure You are on the east bank of a fissure slicing clear across the hall. The mist is quite thick here, and the fissure is too wide to jump. >W The fissure is too wide. >WAVE ROD A crystal bridge now spans the fissure. >W West Side of Fissure You are on the west side of the fissure in the hall of mists. A crystal bridge now spans the fissure. There are diamonds here! (Crowther and Woods 1975–6)
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a one-directional phenomenon. 9. Although theorists like Douglas dismiss IF as technologically out of date and hence of little interest, defenders of IF like Nelson contend that it makes little sense to argue that text-based games are outmoded just because computers twenty years later have graphical effects capable of producing near-realism in high resolution 3D. Such a stance would be like saying that because of the advent of television and film nobody should read books anymore. 10. For a detailed discussion of how all narratives function as virtual and potentially immersive spaces, see Ryan 2001. 11. A collaborative gesture towards developing ‘writer response theory’ (WRT) can be explored at http://writerresponset heory.org (accessed 20 August 2008). The WRT website characterizes itself as ‘a blogging collective dedicated to the discussion and exploration of digital character art – any art involving electrons and making use of letters, alphanumerics, or other characters in an interesting way. Our primary focus is on active and interactive works, in which users input text and receive textual responses as output.’ 12. For detailed accounts of the origin and development of Adventure, see Nelson (1995), Montfort (2003b: 85-93), and
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The Colossal Cave Adventure (n.d.). 13. A major problem was Adventure’s interface. The limited two-word parser and the common ‘I don’t understand that verb’ responses often resulted more in frustration than epiphany. Strains on interaction spell certain death for immersion, and a clunky interface can take attention away from the story and place it instead on the interface. For IF to succeed as a believable fiction, it must not feel like one is ‘controlling’ a character from the outside, by proxy (Chaouli [2005] similarly points out that violation of fictive space in hypertext makes the fiction begin to ‘come apart’). Instead, through habit, the interface should ideally disappear as ‘equipment’ – to use Heidegger’s expression (1977: 164) – and one will readily identify with the player character and inhabit the story vicariously through that persona. 14. Hyperfiction, in contrast, characteristically invokes only two parties: the narrator and the interactor. Although hyperfictions are fully capable of representing multiple points of view (for example, see 10:01 by Olsen and Guthrie) they typically do not have the interactor inhabit such narrative personae ‘within the story’. This is the main reason why, in a paper focused on producing presence through interaction
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Even in a game as simple as Adventure, the responsiveness of the world to one’s own actions is satisfying because the ratio of known to unknown information is (generally) well-balanced. In a fantasy world, a discovered black rod with a rusty star at the top suggests magical power, but it isn’t until one tries to use it at the chasm that it does anything; the combination of the mysterious object with an impassible gorge itself provides the clue of what to do. The fact that waving the rod creates a magical bridge that remains in place for the rest of the game provides the interactor with a sense of achievement, of successfully ‘leaving his/her mark’ on the textual landscape. The text has been both altered and opened up to further enquiry by the player’s actions. More important, however, is the presence effect achieved by what VR researchers call ‘supported action in the environment’ (quoted in IJsselsteijn 2002: 251). In this example from Adventure, rather than depending on aural or visual ‘special effects’, the impression of tangibility is achieved solely through an object’s textually represented responsiveness to player input. Because one of Gumbrecht’s major concerns is how alternative worlds (for him, ‘worlds of the past’) can be made ‘tangible’ (Gumbrecht 2004: 94), an example like this one is crucial because of its purely performative character. The actions of the user here are as critical as the materiality of communication for producing presence. When the text registers a player’s interactions by unveiling new signifiers representing an altered landscape, a sense of immersion can be produced. But in the case of Adventure, just barely. Adventure is now notable as much for its limitations as for its breakthroughs. As a text adventure it succeeds in offering spatial exploration and puzzle solving galore, but little else.13 And despite the primitive presence effects Adventure generates by responding to player input, its use of text is not exactly literary. The ‘plot’ (if one is willing to call it that) is narratively static, with no development apart from the fulfilment of a treasure hunt (a simplistic ‘quest narrative’ at best) – or the adventurer’s dying or giving up in the process. In any case, puzzle solving does not serve to develop any sort of ‘story’. Characterization is similarly thin: the adventurer himself is just a cipher, a conflation of player character with human interactor, not a legitimate fictional persona in its own right. In contrast, most current works of IF clearly distinguish three different parties (at least) that allow for the ‘fiction’ in IF to maintain a genuinely narrative frame. This triad of relations involves the interactor (you at the keyboard), the player character(s) in the story (the narrative persona[e] you control, referred to as the second person ‘you’) and the narrator. In paradigmatic IF, the computer-controlled narrator discloses a string of text to the human interactor providing a description about the situation of the fictional player character. You, the interactor at the keyboard, are called to respond at the cursor prompt.14 In many ways, Adventure is a lesson in how IF can fail as fiction, and how it can consequently be unsuccessful at generating narrative presence effects – particularly those of affect. But more recent works have changed the narrative terrain of IF radically. Ever since Infocom crashed in the late 1980s with several dozen high-quality titles under its belt including the Zork series and the critically acclaimed Trinity and A Mind Forever Voyaging, IF has been commercially unviable (and looks to remain that way). But 30
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from the mid 1990s to the present, a cadre of computer programmers, hobbyists and creative writers have continued to design works of IF – almost all available for free online – motivated in some part by several design competitions held yearly. The winner of the 2001 interactive fiction competition was All Roads by Jon Ingold (2006). Described by one reviewer as a ‘supernatural espionage thriller set in a quasi-medieval Venice’ (Baf ’s Guide to the IF Archive n.d.), All Roads is worth looking at closely because it provides examples of the potential presence effects IF might evoke as fiction – how IF can transcend Graham Nelson’s half-serious characterization of it as ‘a narrative at war with a crossword’ (Nelson 1995).15 Like Adventure, All Roads permits spatial navigation through the entry of simple compass directions and requires the solving of certain puzzles to advance the narration. But that’s where the similarities end.16 On the interactor side of things, the parser is extremely versatile and well developed, and can accept full-sentence input – reducing frustration and conserving immersive momentum. The narration has equally improved, with much richer descriptions like this example from near the beginning of the story: You stumble. Empty Room The light is dimmer here, the stones are cold. You are in a wide room, Gothic arches rising rib-like to the buttressed roof. Pigeons flit between crevices in the stone, their wing-flaps echo like sharp thunder. Dust spirals in the two slices of light from the crack windows by the roof. Perhaps this room is mainly underground, with the slots at earth-level. There is but one door north from this vast space, of solid tarred wood, with a heavy lock set into the wood. It is secured. A small mound of dust and cobwebs has accumulated in one corner. Now to sort out your hands, which are still bound behind your back. The call of a pigeon echoes sorrowful [sic] around the stone. (Ingold 2006)
Suggestive room descriptions like this one provide just enough detail to allow the interactor to fill in the gaps and bring forth a setting. The different items brought to the player’s attention are particularly tantalizing. How well is the door secured? Is there anyone behind it? What might the small mound of dust and cobwebs reveal if you get a closer look? >EXAMINE DOOR The door is heavy, of wide oak planks riveted together with black rivets. You hear a noise, from behind the door. Footsteps. Followed by a scraping in the lock, of a key being removed. >LISTEN TO DOOR There are footsteps beyond the door, receding. You hear voices from the street above; a woman says: ‘I will look after this. Now why don’t you just check the door is secure, there, Antonio?’ ‘Certainly,’ comes a man’s reply. ‘I wouldn’t want any of those cursed birds flying out.’
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in digital narratives, I address IF instead. (I should mention that hyperfictions would seem to offer unique presence effects of their own, including the effects of disorientation from multi-linearity and lack of closure.) 15. In The Craft of Adventure, Nelson explains that new works of IF have largely overcome the sorry narrative state of the medium after Adventure: ‘The days of wandering around doing unrelated things to get treasures are long passed …Even Adventure went to some effort to avoid this. Its many imitators, in the early years of small computers, often took no such trouble. The effect was quite surreal. One would walk across the drawbridge of a medieval castle and find a pot plant, a vat of acid, a copy of Playboy magazine and an electric drill. There were puzzles without rhyme or reason. The player was a characterless magpie always on the lookout for something cute to do. The crossword had won without a fight’ (Nelson 1995). 16. Ingold’s All Roads recently demonstrated its significance in the new wave of literary IF by its inclusion in the online Electronic Literature Collection (Hayles et al. 2006). The collection is ALSO included on the CD (under a Creative Commons License) with Hayles’ new book Electronic Literature: New
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>EXAMINE COBWEBS In one corner, the dust and cobwebs have piled up over something, though it’s hard to tell what it is. You hear footsteps in the passage outside the door, and at the same time one beam of light passes out, then appears once more, as something falls to the floor through the window slot. It is a key – a heavy iron key! Something clatters through the street overhead, and a few birds are startled.
Horizons for the Literary (2008). 17. The key actually falls after a certain number of turns, not in response to any of the player’s actual actions.
(Ingold 2006)
This passage makes striking use of non-interactive plot revelation in IF. The fact that the key falls into the room while you are examining the cobwebs – a causally unrelated act – creates a sense of gratuitous presence, a feeling that other characters are acting independently of you, the player character, and not merely in response to you.17 And by overhearing snippets of conversation you only perceive fragments that you do not know how to interpret, adding a sense of mystery. You have incomplete information that you must begin to creatively fill in yourself. To find out more, you can try to pick up the key and use it to escape, but you are unable to reach it because your hands are tied. With such limited options, that pile behind the dust and cobwebs begins to look all the more intriguing … >MOVE COBWEBS You cannot, with your hands bound, so you close your eyes and blow; the dust billowing back at you in a cloud. You try to wave it away, cannot, and are forced to retreat for a few moments, eyes watering. When they clear, you see an old wine bottle has been uncovered. (Ingold 2006)
The recurrent reminder of your bound hands reinforces the mystery of your circumstances. Why are you being treated like a criminal? Who are you, and how can you find out? Who is the strange woman you heard speaking to the guard? Can the wine bottle be made useful somehow? Thankfully, unlike in Adventure, here puzzles are incorporated into the narrative meaningfully, as genuine problems like ‘how do I get my hands loose?’, instead of ‘how do I set down the precious vase without shattering it?’ A mere situation – as it would be in a text adventure lacking a genuine ‘character’ – here becomes an authentic predicament. In All Roads, ‘solutions’ to problems thus actually advance the plot – and develop character – instead of just netting the adventurer a treasure: >EXAMINE BOTTLE An old bottle, with dark red wine visible behind the green glass. The label is too old to read, and maybe never said anything to start with. >GET BOTTLE You stand in front of the bottle, with it between your heels, and kneel, grasping, until your fingers brush the glass. Fumbling, you get a grip on the neck, and straighten up.
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>BREAK BOTTLE You release the bottle neck, and hear the glass shatter on the stone behind you, the sound bouncing jagged off the walls. The back of your leg feels wet as wine splashes over your trousers. At the sound of the smash, the pigeons take fright. The birds swoop out of the thin windows in a panic, and out onto the street. You hear a man yelping, and footsteps through the doorway which run closer. The guard, sheltering from the birds, perhaps? The birds whirl around the ceiling, clattering and squawking. >GET GLASS You lift one of the larger pieces, a dagger of glass; ever careful not to touch the edge. Birds stream in and out of the windows, shredding the light. >CUT ROPE WITH GLASS (the glass dagger) Slowly, you align the glass and the ropes. They slip – you try again. It’s difficult, fumbling work, and each time you get through one strand the glass slips and you have to readjust it. Eventually, you sever the width of the rope – but the knot does not come free, it is so tangled, and the glass slips off the threads. You pause with ropes half cut. The birds settle down, and finally come back to roost. You hear the guard go back up to the street, cursing, ‘Damned birds.’ (Ingold 2006)
The bodily interactions supplied here by the narrator (holding the bottle in your heels and kneeling to grip it with your bound hands) make physical sense and add a greater sense of physical constraint. The splash of wine on the back of your trousers has absolutely no effect on gameplay or plot (the bottle could just as well have been empty), but its crimson wetness serves as a gratuitous piece of textual evocation that adds immersiveness to a dimly lit encounter – a nod to Barthes’ ‘reality effect’ (Barthes 1989: 141–8). Manipulation of objects is also narrated and not merely transacted. Instead of just adding the bottle to your inventory or perfunctorily replying with a ‘You can’t pick it up’ (as would be customary in earlier games), here a sense of bodily limitation is conjured by making it a fumbling, laboured process. The effects of the sound of breaking glass on the birds reinforce the sense that this is a world that responds to your actions – a real place. And – again making puzzles narrative instead of merely concocted – the guard’s panic at the birds gives you some clue of how to get past him and escape. (In fact, there is more than one way to escape: you can slash the guard with a shard of glass to incapacitate him, or you can lock him out of the building and then scare the birds, which will result in him fleeing in panic down the street. And there might be other ways as well that I have not yet figured out …) For right now, you’re still locked in the cell and the rope is only half cut. You try again: >CUT ROPE WITH GLASS (the glass dagger) Again, you painstakingly angle the glass to the fibres, and begin the slow process of chafing. One by one the strands around your wrist snap, and now the tension eases; until finally the rope knot slithers to the floor.
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Gratefully you rub your hands together, and notice for the first time – you are wearing a gold ring. (Ingold 2006)
Again, the solution to a puzzle has narrative effect – once your hands are free you encounter things about yourself that you didn’t know before. The player character in All Roads thus gains legitimacy as a fictional character and not just as a virtual proxy for the person at the keyboard; indeed, this character’s identity is unveiled progressively as the story develops, and a large part of this development results from interactions with objects and other (non-player) characters. You seek to find out more by typing in the following: >EXAMINE RING A golden ring, stamped with the Seal of Rome. You do not remember acquiring it; it must have been won gambling in the inn last night, or somesuch. It is probably quite precious. (Ingold 2006)
You carry a ring with the Seal of Rome? That would seem to imply more than what the narrator relates. The results are mysterious, but intriguing, and only come to light gradually as you continue to explore the narrative of All Roads by interacting with it further. One final presence-producing aspect of IF I would like to examine is the player’s capacity, through his or her own actions, to experience alternative narrative perspectives. For instance, in Paul O’Brian’s superhero serial adventure Luminous Horizon (first place winner of the 2004 interactive fiction competition), the opening description reads like this: High Plains Scrub bushes and sparse grasses provide a little ground cover for the otherwise rocky, sandy soil of this area. Other than the jagged mountains looming a few miles to the east, this spot seems entirely barren. A damaged road sign lies at your feet. Emily hovers a few inches above the ground here. >EXAMINE ME Sporting your earthsuit, you look every inch the superhero. Well, except without the caricatured physique. >EXAMINE EMILY Like you, Emily is decked out in her superhero regalia, a blue skysuit with cloudy white streaks. (O’Brian 2004)
So far, this introduction is par for the course in IF, with the distinction that it comes with two characters rather than the traditional solo adventurer. The significance of this difference, however, is revealed with the ability to enter a ‘CHANGE’ command to swap control over these two personae. Note that when you switch points of view, you not only gain control over
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the other character and obtain use of his or her unique superpowers, but the narrative’s focalization – and, in turn, the description of the terrain – changes as well. >CHANGE [now controlling Emily] High Plains You’ve never been much of a fan of Westerns, but this area just seems to cry out for some cowboy to mosey through it. Everything’s here – the scrappy little bushes, the rocky ground, the mountains in the eastern distance, and the sense of barren desolation. All that’s missing is a lonely ghost town and a tumbleweed slowly bouncing across the frame. The air seems unusually still here, as if the landscape were holding its breath in anticipation. Austin is here, staring intently at the landscape. A damaged road sign lies at your feet. (O’Brian 2004)
Austin’s description had been antiseptic in its bare categorizing (‘sparse’, ‘rocky’, ‘sandy’ and ‘jagged’ are his primary descriptors). But when Emily becomes the focal point, the narrator instead populates the landscape with imagined associations specific to Emily: for her the area is redolent of popular culture (‘Westerns’) by seeming to ‘cry out for some cowboy to mosey through it’, and its bushes are personified as ‘scrappy’. The fact that the landscape seems to be ‘holding its breath’ reinforces a sense of agency in the area rather than inert backdrop: for Emily, it’s a place and not mere space. The gendering suggested in Austin and Emily’s respective points of view is perhaps predictably schematic – Austin is the objective/rational male, Emily the subjective/intuitive female – but whether or not the stereotyping of gender roles counts as a weakness in the story, the capacity of the interactor to switch roles at will is striking. It allows him or her to experiment with virtually embodied perception and thereby experience two distinct versions of gender-situated presence. Later in the game, each character’s particular mode of perception becomes critical because each one interprets the use of important objects differently: viewing the game world and interacting with it from both perspectives is required in order to complete the story. What might be more important here than the content of such gender-swapping perspectives is the effect that such role switching might have, generally speaking, on the generation of presence effects in digital narratives. In online role-playing games like World of Warcraft and other graphically based computer games, it is common for male players to control female avatars, but this switch to a ‘feminine perspective’ does literally nothing to alter the landscape as it represents itself to the player. One’s avatar looks different, and other characters might respond differently because of the avatar’s gender markers (cf. Schmieder, this issue), but the representation of the world itself remains unaltered.18 In the same way that binocular vision and stereophonic hearing synergistically bring forth a new dimension of awareness through their combination of multiple inputs, multiple narrative perspectives might generate unexpected new possibilities for presence production in IF. ‘Doing there’ vs. ‘being there’
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18. Whether or not this failure to represent different narrative perspectives represents an intrinsic limitation of a graphical medium is, of course, a different question. I see no reason (other than technical complications) why a graphically based game world might not reveal itself differently depending on the avatar one uses to interact with it. Laurel’s VR installation Placeholder, for example, implements multiple narrative perspectives in a graphically based medium by having players take on the perspectives of a spider, snake, fish and crow. See Laurel et al. (1994).
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I have used these examples to provide a glimpse into IF’s potential for making a fictional world present in a distinctively electronic, but nongraphical, manner. One might ask, however, why that would matter. Traditional fiction itself requires some degree of interaction to evoke presence and leave its mark on us, so why resort to the use of a computer? I suspect that the current zeal for ‘interactivity’ through computers has something to do with a desire to reclaim a meaningful sense of agency in our lives – and, for many readers, ‘traditional’ print texts can feel (justifiably or not) too passive. Through community fragmentation and a mechanized, push-button solution to many basic human needs and desires (these being represented by the existentialist cover-all trope of ‘alienation’), we lose a sense of concerned engagement with the world; our actions leave no lasting ‘mark’ there. Gumbrecht suggests that because communication technologies have become so pervasive, they create a compensatory yearning in us for what we’ve lost because of them, namely a sense of embodied interaction (Gumbrecht 2004: 139). Paradoxically, IF might be one technologically mediated method for us to imaginatively produce – and, indeed, perform – such presence. Works cited Aarseth, E. (1997), Cybertext: Perspectives on Ergodic Literature, Baltimore: Johns Hopkins. Baf ’s Guide to the Interactive Fiction Archive (n.d.), www.wurb.com/if/index. Accessed 20 August 2008. Barthes, R. (1989), ‘The reality effect’ (trans. R. Howard), in The Rustle of Language, New York: Hill and Wang, pp. 141–8. —— (1974), S/Z, New York: Noonday Press. Chaouli, M. (2005), ‘How interactive can fiction be?’, Critical Inquiry, 31:3, pp. 618–37. Crowther, W. and Woods, D. (1975–6), Adventure, PDP-1/FORTRAN, numerous publishers, sometimes distributed as Colossal Cave Adventure. Accessible at Baf ’s Guide to the IF Archive. Douglas, J. Y. (2000), The End of Books – Or Books Without End? Reading Interactive Narratives, Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Fish, S. (1980 [1970]), ‘Literature in the Reader: Affective Stylistics’, in J. P. Tompkins (ed.), Reader-Response Criticism: From Formalism to Post-Structuralism, Baltimore, ML: Johns Hopkins, pp. 70–100. Gumbrecht, H. U. (2004), Production of Presence: What Meaning Cannot Convey, Stanford: Stanford University Press. Hansen, M. B. N. (2006), Bodies in Code: Interfaces With Digital Media, London: Routledge. Hayles, N. K. (2008), Electronic Literature: New Horizons for the Literary, Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press. Hayles, N. K., Montfort, N., Rettberg, S. and Strickland, S. (eds), (2006), Electronic Literature Collection Volume 1, http://collection.eliterature.org/. Accessed 15 August 2008. Heidegger, M. (1977), Basic Writings, San Francisco: Harper & Row. IJsselsteijn, W. (2002), ‘Elements of a multi-level theory of presence: phenomenology, mental processing and neural correlates’, Proceedings of PRESENCE 2002,
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Universidade Fernando Pessoa, Porto Portugal, 9–11 October 2002, www. presence-research.org/papers/P2002.pdf. Accessed 15 August 2008. Infocom – The Master Storytellers (n.d.), ‘Infocom – advertisements and product catalog’, www.infocom-if.org/index2.html. Accessed 15 August 2008. Ingold, J. (2006 [2001]), All Roads, in N. K. Hayles et al. (eds), Electronic Literature Collection Volume 1, http://collection.eliterature.org/1/works/ingold_all_ roads.html. Accessed 15 August 2008. Iser, W. (1980 [1974]), ‘The reading process: a phenomenological approach’, in J. P. Tompkins (ed.), Reader-Response Criticism: From Formalism to PostStructuralism, Baltimore, ML: Johns Hopkins, pp. 50–69. Laurel, B., Strickland, R. and Tow, R. (1994), ‘Placeholder: landscape and narrative in virtual environments’, ACM SIGGRAPH Computer Graphics, 28:2, pp. 118–26. Montfort, N. (2003a), ‘Toward a theory of interactive fiction’, nickm.com, www. nickm.com/if/toward.html. Accessed 21 August 2008. —— (2003b), Twisty Little Passages: An Approach to Interactive Fiction, Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press. Montessori, M. (1962), The Discovery of the Child, Madras: Kalakshetra Publications. Nelson, G. (1995), The Craft of Adventure: Five Articles on the Design of Adventure Games, The Interactive Fiction Archive, www.ifarchive.org/if-archive/programming/ general-discussion/Craft.Of.Adventure.txt. Accessed 21 August 2008. O’Brian, P. (2004), Luminous Horizon: Earth and Sky, Episode 3, Glulx/Inform. Accessible at Baf ’s Guide to the IF Archive. Olsen, L. and Guthrie, T. (2006 [2005]) 10:01, in N. K. Hayles et al. (eds), Electronic Literature Collection Volume 1, http://collection.eliterature.org/1/ works/olsen_guthrie_10_01.html. Accessed 26 September 2008. Ryan, M.-L. (2001), Narrative as Virtual Reality: Immersion and Interactivity in Literature and Electronic Media, Baltimore, ML: Johns Hopkins. The Colossal Cave Adventure (n.d.), ‘Here’s where it all began’, www.rickadams.org/ adventure/a_history.html. Accessed 15 August 2008. Wikipedia, the Free Encyclopedia (2008), ‘Interactive fiction’, http://en.wikipedia. org/wiki/Interactive_Fiction. Accessed 25 July 2008. Wittgenstein, L. (1972), On Certainty, San Francisco: Harper & Row.
Suggested citation Seegert, A. (2009), ‘‘Doing there’ vs. ‘being there’: performing presence in interactive fiction’, Journal of Gaming and Virtual Worlds 1: 1, pp. 23–37, doi: 10.1386/jgvw.1.1.23/1
Contributor details Alf Seegert (M.A., M.S.) is a Ph.D. candidate in the Department of English (British and American Literature) at the University of Utah. His research on ecocriticism and cyberculture explores how our use of interfaces alters our sense of body, space and place. Although he has yet to design a work of interactive fiction, he is the author of several Euro-style board games currently in production. Contact: E-mail: [email protected]
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Journal of Gaming and Virtual Worlds Volume 1 Number 1 © 2009 Intellect Ltd Article. English language. doi: 10.1386/jgvw.1.1.39/1
Power and nerves of steel or thrill of adventure and patience? An empirical study on the use of different video game genres Christina Schumann Department of Communication Research/Political Communication
Daniel Schultheiss Department of Media Management Abstract
Keywords
This empirical study focuses on explaining the utilization of three video game genres – first person shooters, strategy games and role-playing games – and on whether different explanatory models can be established for the three genres. A model comprising the three explanatory components, gratifications sought (GS), gratifications obtained (GO) and subjective restrictions or capacities, operationalized by the skills that players have to have for the specific genres, serves as a theoretical basis. Data was collected by way of an online survey (N = 5,257). The results show that GO and the capacities are particularly suited to explaining the use of video games. While GO generally seem to offer a basis for explaining the use of video games, since the dimensions ‘power and competition’ and ‘thrill of adventure’ do influence the use of all three genres, there were considerable differences between the individual genres in terms of capacities. Gamers who have a high stress threshold and quick reactions, as well as a good sense of direction, tend to prefer first person shooters. The use of strategy games may be explained in terms of skills like logic and strategic thought. On the other hand, patient gamers prefer role-playing games. The explanatory power of GS, however, proves to be extremely low. Based on these results, approaches are discussed for further research in this field.
video games genres uses and gratifications restrictions capacities player skills
Introduction ‘There is nothing in the global entertainment industry that could rival the sales success of Grand Theft Auto IV on the day of its release’, announced the German daily newspaper Sueddeutsche Zeitung on 9th May 2008 in light of the estimated sales amounting to $310 million (Graff 2008). The phenomenal success of the fourth edition of the Grand Theft Auto (GTA) series has not only put video games once again in the headlines but also re-sparked the discussion about the media’s power of fascination. This subject matter has already been the focus of scientific research. For instance, studies have examined, based on perspectives of uses and JGVW 1 (1) pp. 39–56 © Intellect Ltd 2009
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1. In this article no differentiation is made between digital games that are made for consoles and computer games that are played on PCs. 2. The JIM-study is a representative survey of German adolescents; the VUD is the former German entertainment software association that collected market data of digital games. The VUD has now been replaced by the Bundesverband interaktive Unterhaltungssoftware (BIU).
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gratifications, whether it is possible to explain the use of video games in general (e.g. Fritz 2003a) or individual genres (e.g. Lehmann et al. 2008; Jansz and Tanis 2006; Yee 2006) by taking into account the gamers’ motives of use. One approach, however, has for the most part been neglected; that is one which concentrates on comparative perspectives. Consequently, the general focal point of this article is to examine whether various motives can explain the use of different genres of video games. It is also possible to presume that the use of different genres is not only influenced by the motives of the players, but is also linked to underlying external conditions. Due to the high degree of interactivity of video games, players must possess specific skills to have success in playing these games. For instance, the German gamers’ magazine Gamestar wrote in its review of Modern Warfare, the fourth edition of the Call of Duty series, that speed, accuracy and communication between gamers were decisive factors on the modern battlefields (Gamestar.de 2008). As a result, this study focuses on the question of whether the use of different genres may also be explained by specific skills that gamers have.
Popular video game genres As a cover-all term, ‘video games’1 encompasses a wide variety of different genres that cannot be examined within the framework of a single article. A careful selection of genres is therefore important. On the one hand, this selection should focus on genres that are as different as can be, since it can be presumed that similar factors are also responsible for the use of similar genres. Furthermore, it is necessary to ensure that the selected genres enjoy maximum popularity. The Jugend, Information, (Multi-) Media (JIM) study, which was conducted in 2005 by the Medienpädagogischer Forschungsverband Südwest (MPFS: South-west German Research Association for Media Education), and information published by Verband Unterhaltungssoftware Deutschland (VUD)2 – the German entertainment software association – (VUD 2003) provide insight into the popularity of the individual genres. We selected our genres on the basis of the ‘map of virtual games’ classification schema by Jürgen Fritz (2003b) because it offers a more straightforward way of systematically selecting diverse genres than other models for classifying video games do (e.g. Klimmt 2001). Fritz takes the construction principles of video games as a starting point for his schema. Based on three central elements – action, thinking and story – he proposes a three-pole map, which can be used as a basis for differentiating between individual genres. The more a specific genre is aligned with one of the construction principles, the closer it is located to the respective pole. Action-oriented games are primarily characterized by suspense, immediacy and liveliness. Due to continually recurring dangerous situations, such games require players to be able to concentrate and react instantly if they want to survive. Skills like the ability to react quickly, a good sense of direction and high stress thresholds are essential for being successful in action-oriented games (Fritz 2003b). According to Manuel Ladas (2002), the genres first person shooters (FPS), beat’em ups, military simulations, racing games and jump-and-runs are prototypical of this pole. Based on 40
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Story
Thinking
Action
Figure 1: Map of virtual games (Fritz 2003b). the findings of the JIM study (MPFS 2004) and VUD (VUD 2003), with regard to the popularity of the individual genres, it is advisable to make a selection in favour of FPS. Cognitive games, on the other hand, require players to act primarily in a tactical and well-thought-out manner. In most cases, players do not have an avatar in the virtual world and thus watch complex actions taking place from the outside, acting for the most part like a ‘deity’ or a commander. Players control the events by changing individual elements, e.g. by sending combat troops to a different location, enlarging settlements or doing business (Fritz 2003b). Ladas (2002) emphasizes that (war) strategy games, economic and development simulations as well as cognitive and skill games may be assigned to the thinking pole. In terms of popularity, strategy games are most important in this genre list. Game storylines are primarily characterized by a set course of events with a broad level of suspense. These games frequently have their own, often fantasy, world with its own set of laws and rules. Much as in Entwicklungsroman plots, avatars go through different situations, which help them to further evolve, e.g. by acquiring new skills. These developments are merged into an independent virtual biography with time. To master such games, players have to be patient while exploring new worlds, pass practical tests, solve puzzles and deal with dangerous situations (Fritz 2003b). Consequently, elements of action and cognitive games are anchored within the storylines of the games. Since adventures and roleplaying games focus on a story, they may be considered representative of this pole (Ladas 2002). In terms of popularity, role-playing games enjoy great importance especially with respect to their online variation, massively multiplayer online role-playing games (MMORPGs). Given these considerations, this study examines three specific genres: FPS, strategy games and role-playing games (RPG).
Theoretical background As was described at the beginning, this article focuses on two components in order to explain the use of the three genres: motives of use, which in turn are divided into gratifications sought (GS) and gratifications obtained (GO), and specific skills of the players. Power and nerves of steel or thrill of adventure and patience?
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Uses and gratifications approach: gratifications sought and obtained The uses and gratifications approach is a central theory employed in communication studies for explaining the use of media. It is based on active recipients who select and use media in accordance with their motives and needs (Rubin 2002; Ruggiero 2000; Katz et al. 1974). Such needs are described in this article as gratifications sought (GS). These basic assumptions were developed by Philip Palmgreen and J.D. Rayburn within their discrepancy model (1982), where they not only focused on the recipients’ specific needs but also asked what needs have actually been satisfied by the media. The result of this use of media is referred to as gratifications obtained (GO). In contrast to many other studies, which attempt to explain the use of media based on gratifications, the present study does not only focus on GS but also on GO, since it is possible to assume that gratifications obtained offer considerable insight into explaining the research question. If the GS are satisfied while using video games in the form of GO, it may be assumed that the GO have a positive impact on use. Based on existing studies, this article will examine possible gratifications obtained from video games.
Gratifications of video games Fritz (2003b) as well as Jürgen Fritz and Wolfgang Fehr (2003) argue that video games are frequently used as a pastime to fight boredom, which points to a need for amusement. The desire to counter frustration, anger and stress has also been examined repeatedly. Fritz (2003c) concludes that relaxation is another gratification dimension while playing video games. Furthermore, there are findings that suggest a converse dimension: a need for suspense (Witting and Esser 2003). Further studies focus on the gratifications that seem to be specific to the use of video games in addition to these very general dimensions: an important reason to play video games is gratification in the form of power and control (e.g. Lehmann et al. 2008; Fritz 2003c), since interactivity and success in games give users the feeling that they have power and can control events. Another important dimension is competition and challenge (e.g. Jansz and Martens 2005; Vorderer et al. 2003), since video games are frequently geared towards competition and challenge, as players strive to reach the next level or outplay other gamers. Community (e.g. Schultheiss 2007; Jansz and Tanis 2006) is another important gratification factor. Consequently, playing video games may be motivated by a shared experience that arises when playing with friends or other gamers. Another dimension that should be considered is fantasy (e.g. Jansz 2005; Lucas and Sherry 2004). In this case, the point is to attempt things that are just not possible in real life (e.g. magic), to assume a different identity or simply to run away from everyday life (Fritz 2003c). The latter aspect illustrates that the fantasy dimension definitely encompasses elements of escapism. There is one further dimension that has not been covered by existing studies but should be taken into account all the same: the dimension of 42
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overcoming loneliness, which is cited in the popular and widely used gratification scale developed by Bradley Greenberg (1974).3 This is an important dimension in light of the popular belief that video game players are lonely. In summary, it is possible to infer the following gratification factors for playing video games: amusement, relaxation, suspense, power and control, challenge and competition, community, fantasy, and overcoming loneliness. In the empirical section, we aim to evaluate whether different dimensions of gratification are responsible for the use of different genres.
General conditions: subjective restrictions and capacities Player skills should serve as a second explanatory component for the use of different video game genres. This aspect has been ignored in the past in video games reception research. Since it is not possible to draw on existing literature, the question is what dimensions of players’ skills could play a role? The argument offered by Michael Jäckel (1992) provides a systematic answer to this question. He suggests looking at general underlying conditions to explain the use of media. These are manifested in restrictions that can limit an individual’s freedom to act in a specific situation when decisions are required (Kirchgässner 1991). Hartmut Esser (1999: 308) describes these circumstances colourfully in terms of ‘limits of desire’. According to Gerhard Vowe and Jens Wolling (2001, 2002), restrictions must be broken down into objective restrictions (e.g. monetary or timebased costs) and subjective restrictions. When it comes to the use of video games, subjective restrictions, which may be understood as the limits of one’s own perceived abilities, are of particular interest. Compared to other media, the skills and abilities required to play video games may be regarded as an important factor, due to high interactivity. Unlike TV or film viewers, video game players are physically active and have to employ specific skills in order to be able to play in the first place and be successful. As Wolling (2004) emphasizes, it is reasonable to mention both the negative restrictions and the positive effects that may arise: thus, it can be assumed that gamers who have the skills that are essential for success in a particular video game will use that specific genre more frequently. These skills are called capacities. What skills and abilities do gamers have to have in order to be successful in the three selected genres? A group of skills and abilities, on the basis of which it is possible to determine probable subjective restrictions or capacities, has been established for each pole on the map of virtual games (Fritz 2003b): for instance, FPS games require in particular quick reactions, a high stress threshold and a good sense of direction; strategy games call for players to keep an eye on everything that is happening and to solve problems by using logic; while RPG are distinguished by a sophisticated character system and a complex gaming universe, so players must be able to familiarize themselves with complex topics quickly and exercise lots of patience. Based on these considerations, it is possible to assume, in light of Power and nerves of steel or thrill of adventure and patience?
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3. Greenberg calls this dimension ‘sociability’.
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4. Possible influences of the genre use on GO or restrictions and capacities are not considered in this study as it would go beyond the scope of this article.
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the use of different video game genres, that gamers do not use a specific genre in which their subjective restrictions are very distinctive, or that they turn to a particular genre when they have especially good skills and abilities. In summary, we are able to cite the following dimensions of subjective restrictions or capacities: quick reactions, high stress threshold, good sense of direction, ability to keep an eye on complex occurrences, logical thinking, familiarization with complex topics and patience.
Model development In line with the theoretical statements, three explanatory components can be drawn on for examining the research question: GS, GO and subjective restrictions or capacities. It is assumed that each of these three components has a direct impact on the use of the different genres such that the components result in differences between the genres regarding the importance of the individual dimensions. Moreover, it can be presumed that the individual explanatory components influence each other. When it comes to subjective restrictions or capacities, an impact can be expected for both GS and GO: presumably, the knowledge that one is not able to do certain things results in the fact that specific gratifications are not sought out at all. For example, if players are not patient enough to acquaint themselves thoroughly with a game, they presumably do not have the desire to immerse themselves in a specific world in the first place, since they would not have the time or leisure to get properly involved with that world. Likewise, a connection seems probable between subjective restrictions and GO: if players do not have the skills that are crucial for success in a game, e.g. high stress threshold as required for FPS, the sense of success is replaced by a sense of failure, thus reducing or preventing the obtainment of possible gratifications. These assumptions may be summarized in a model, as follows:4
subjective restrictions and capacities use of • FPS gratifications sought
• RPG • strategy games
gratifications obtained Figure 2: Theoretical model for explaining the use of different video game genres. 44
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Based on this model, the research focus presented at the beginning of this article can be divided into the following sub-questions, which are answered in the empirical section: RQ1:
RQ2:
What impact do GS, GO and subjective restrictions or capacities have on the use of different genres? What differences are there between the genres? What impact do subjective restrictions have on sought and obtained gratifications? Are there differences between genres here as well?
Method Data was collected by way of an online survey. The invitation to participate in the survey was posted in the news section of eleven topic-oriented websites together with a link pointing to the survey. These websites were primarily online German magazines5 dealing with video games. Participation was anonymous and not promoted by a raffle. Instead, participants were motivated through their own personal interest in this topic. The survey was conducted between 27 January and 14 February 2006. Of the total 7,612 surveys completed, only 5,257 were suited for analysis after data cleansing due to the fact that some were either incomplete or filled out incorrectly. As a result of self selection (participation in the survey was open rather than limited to a selected group of people) it is not possible to depict a basic population. For this reason, the following evaluation of data obtained does not focus for the most part on a descriptive presentation of the percentages and mean values. Instead, attention is placed primarily on analysing the relationships between variables, because such relationships are relatively stable compared to a sample selection bias. The following descriptive data alone are used to describe the sample: The majority of the participants were male (97 per cent) and proportionally young: 86 per cent were between 12 and 29 years old. The predominance of male gamers can presumably be attributed to the method by which the participants were recruited: the majority of readers of video game magazines in Germany are male. In light of the ‘youthful’ sample, it is not surprising that 54 per cent of the participants still go to school or are attending a university. The average time spent playing video games per week is 16 hours. The genre of video games that is played the most is FPS, followed by strategy games in second place. RPG ranked fifth behind action games and action adventures.6 The data were prepared as follows to facilitate further analysis: to calculate dependent variables it is not a good idea to directly apply the frequency of use of the individual genres, since it can be assumed that part of the use of a specific genre may be explained by the generally high amount of time spent playing video games (so called heavy players). Consequently, the dependent variables were calculated from the residuals that were determined during a regression analysis of the general period of use over the frequency of use of the individual genres. This ensured that the dependent variables used included a high frequency of use of the interesting genres that is independent of the general time of use. Power and nerves of steel or thrill of adventure and patience?
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5. Names of the websites: 4players.de; demonews.de; game-basis.com; gamecaptain.com; gamesagent.net; gamesaktuell.de; gamestar.de; gametalkzone.de; gamezone.de; justgamers.de; maniac.de. 6. FPS: 70 per cent ‘frequent or very frequent use’; strategic games: 45 per cent ‘frequent or very frequent use’; action games: 44 per cent ‘frequent or very frequent use’; action adventures: 33 per cent ‘frequent or very frequent use’; RPGs: 31 per cent ‘frequent or very frequent use’.
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7. Because of high double loading, the items ‘to feel less lonely’ (overcoming loneliness), ‘the sportive competition with other gamers/ the computer’ (challenge and competition) and ‘to feel powerful’ (power and control) had to be taken out of analysis.
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Results Empirical dimensions of GS The item set regarding the GS was introduced as follows: ‘Now I am interested in knowing what expectations you have of video games. It is not important if your expectations are met or not. I am more interested in finding out what is important to you in general. What do you wish for?’ This was followed by a list of 25 items that could be evaluated on the basis of a five-point Likert scale, ranging from ‘I do not want at all’ to ‘I really want’ and a residual category ‘Do not know’. The number of items per dimension was between two (e.g. suspense dimension) and five (e.g. power and control dimension). This number corresponded to the theoretically supposed significance of the respective dimensions. Factor analysis was used to check what empirical dimensions of GS could be determined.
thrill of power and mood social opinion amusement adventure competition management contacts leadership ... to experience s.th. exciting ... to immerse in another world ... to experience s.th. agitating ... to slip into different roles ... to be somebody else ... to try things that are otherwise impossible ... to master a video game as well as possible ... to be better than other gamers/ the computer ... to improve my skills by training ... to control the game ... to prove myself ... to distract me from everyday worries ... to run away from everyday life ... to counter frustration and anger ... to meet other gamers ... to make new friends ... to play together with my friends ... to be in the know on the latest games ... to have a say in talks about video games
.76 .76 .75 .73 .66 .47
.40
.83 .75 .70 .61 .61 .81 .78 .73 .84 .81 .74 .85 .81
... to kill time ... to fight boredom
.89 .82
Extraction method: principal component analysis (PCA), varimax rotation with Kaiser normalization, Eigenvalue > 1, 63% of variance explained
Figure 3: Factor analysis of GS.7 46
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The results show that the theoretically presumed dimensions could be modified at several points: The first factor includes items that should cover primarily the dimensions suspense (items 1 + 3) and fantasy (items 2, 4, 5, 6). Accordingly, it seems important to flee the real world and leave everyday life behind, to try things that are otherwise impossible, to assume a different identity (role) but also to experience excitement and suspense through the game. Based on this factor, the presumption can be made that there is a desire to personally experience the adventures of heroic figures like Indiana Jones or Harry Potter and prove oneself by attempting to master the exciting challenges that these heroes face. Consequently, this factor was referred to as the ‘thrill of adventure’. Factor two also encompassed several of these theoretically presumed dimensions (power and control: items 1, 2, 4, 5; challenge and competition: item 3). This combination is easy to comprehend. It may be assumed that the feeling of having power and control is accompanied by a pleasant sensation. Moreover, it is possible to assume that this feeling becomes more intensive when gamers are able to demonstrate their skills by competing with other gamers or the computer, and thus gain recognition for their success. This dimension has been described as ‘power and competition’. The third factor includes two items that were originally assigned to the fantasy dimension and has gained, due to the third item (originally: relaxation), a different emphasis. A common element of all these items is the desire to dispel one’s negative mood. This factor has been called ‘mood management’ in line with the mood management concept (e.g. Zillmann 1988). Factor four combines items that have been attributed to the operationalization of the dimensions ‘overcoming loneliness’ (items 1 and 2) and ‘community’ (item 3). In this empirical formation, these can be combined to form a comprehensive concept that is mainly dominated by a social component. Here the use of video games seems to be characterized primarily by a need to share one’s hobby with others. For instance, people look for like-minded individuals with whom they may become friends and pursue their hobbies together. Based on that, this factor is referred to as ‘social contacts.’ The combination of the items belonging to the fifth factor (both items originally shared experience) points to a need for opinion leadership within a peer group. Here it seems that there is a desire to have a say in important discussions and to present oneself at the same time as an opinion leader who knows about the latest developments unfolding in the video game world. As a result, this factor has been called ‘opinion leadership’. Factor six combines two items, which can be used to operationalize the dimension ‘amusement’.
Empirical dimensions of GO The items relating to GO were introduced as follows: ‘Before, I asked about wishes that individuals may have with respect to video games. I am now interested in knowing how you would rate the individual genres in this regard. Please rate whether the following statements in your opinion Power and nerves of steel or thrill of adventure and patience?
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8. Due to the almost identical results, no additional table is presented here because no new findings could be shown. Key data to these factor analyses is: principal component analysis (PCA), varimax rotation with Kaiser normalization, Eigenvalue > 1, strategy games: 66 per cent of variance explained/FPS: 67 per cent of variance explained. 9. Both items had to be excluded from factor analysis for GS because of high double loading.
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correspond to the mentioned genres.’ The respective items were designated accordingly; the genres served as response options with the sequence rotated. The following example for the power and control dimension illustrates this process: It is easy to prove oneself in …Role-playing games …First person shooters …Strategy games.
To keep the list of questions regarding GO short, we decided to exclude the dimensions that were described as very general in the theoretical section above. As a result, the following dimensions were operationalized: overcoming loneliness, shared experience, fantasy, challenge and competition, and power and control. Furthermore, the operationalization was limited to one item for each gratification dimension such that there were a total of six items, which were queried by the cited structure. With the aid of the factor analyses for GO, it was possible to determine three or two factors depending on the genre. Based on the factor analysis of GO, the results for role-playing games were:8
thrill of adventure (GO RPGs) It is easy to immerse into another world in RPGs It is easy to slip into other roles in RPGs A sportive competition can be easily realized in RPGs9 It is easy to prove oneself in RPGs RPGs are well suited for playing with friends you feel less alone when playing RPGs
power and competition (GO RPGs)
sense of belonging (GO RPGs)
.86 .83 .85 .81 .80 .78
Extraction method: principal component analysis (PCA), varimax rotation with Kaiser normalization, Eigenvalue > 1, 74% of variance explained
Figure 4: Factor analysis of GO (RPGs).
The first factor includes the items that describe the ‘thrill of adventure’ in GS and thus was called ‘thrill of adventure’ (GO RPGs). Factor two may be regarded as the equivalent of the GS factor ‘power and competition’ and is referred to here as ‘power and competition’ (GO RPGs). The third factor is not yet known in this constellation in GS. Although the social component is inherent, it has a different nuance here due to the second item: when playing RPG, gamers also have the opportunity to play together with friends and thus have the feeling that they are less alone. That’s why we named this factor ‘sense of belonging’ (GO RPGs). 48
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Empirical dimensions of subjective restrictions and capacities The item set regarding the subjective restrictions and capacities was introduced with the following: ‘Individuals must be able to do different things when playing different video game genres. What are your personal strengths as a gamer? How good are you at …?’ The results of the factor analysis for the subjective restrictions indicate a three-factor structure:
e-warrior talent ... reacting to danger quickly ... dealing with stress ... keeping the sense of direction in the game world
commander skills
patience
.78 .68 .54
... thinking strategically ... acting logically and foresightedly ... keeping an eye on everything that is happening
.87 .79 .52
... developing a character patiently ... familiarizing myself with complex rules before starting to play ... memorizing complicated gaming rules
.80 .76 .54
Extraction method: principal component analysis (PCA), Varimax rotation with Kaiser normalization, Eigenvalue > 1, 58% of variance explained
Figure 5: Factor analysis of subjective restrictions and capacities of video game players.
Factor one combines items that can be collectively described as warlike, martial skills. They are reminiscent of talents that are typical of elite lone warriors such as those we know from movies like Rambo. Quick reactions, nerves of steel and a good sense of direction help such heroes overcome many opponents, even in impassable and dark settings. This factor sums up the skills that have been described as important for the success in action-oriented video games. The predominant warlike element of these items is reflected in how we decided to refer to this factor – ‘e-warrior talent’. The ‘e’ indicates that the talent has a virtual reference level. The second factor is characterized by cognitive elements like logical thinking skills, the ability to recognize connections and act in a tactical, well-thought-out and foresighted manner. Consequently, the items that were originally prepared to operationalize the requirements in video games that are based mainly on a cognitive construction principle fall into place. Since these abilities call to mind the skills that a commander must have, this factor has been summarized under ‘commander skills’. Factor three encompasses items that describe abilities like patience and leisure, abilities gamers need for example to develop their characters gradually. That’s why this factor has been called ‘patience’. With this factor analysis, the theoretically presumed dimensions could be confirmed almost completely. Power and nerves of steel or thrill of adventure and patience?
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N= R2= thrill of adventure power and competition mood management social contacts opinion leadership pastime
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Use of … RPGs
strategy games
FPS
4137 .16
4289 .17
4434 .17
beta
beta
beta –.14
.19
thrill of adventure (GO RPGs/strategy games/FPS) power and competition (GO RPGs/strategy games/FPS) sense of belonging (GO only RPGs) e-warrior talent commander skills patience
.10
.14
.16
.20
.13
.26
.23
.13 .21 .19
Figure 6: Impact of GS, GO and subjective restrictions or capacities on intensity of use of different video game genres – multiple regression.10 10. Because of sample size in the table, only findings that were significant by p < 0.001 and for which the beta was > .1 are shown.
Model test Research question 1 What impact do GS, GO and subjective restrictions or capacities have on the use of different genres? The GO proved to be especially influential, with the exception of the ‘sense of belonging’ dimension. It is noticeable that very similar explanatory models could be established for all three genres: the ‘power and competition’ dimension plays a significant role especially when it comes to the use of strategy games and FPS. In the case of FPS, the assumption can be made that the relatively high proportion of violence results in the fact that games have considerable power-oriented gratifications, which in turn lead to an increased use of this genre. In the case of strategy games, particular attention was directed repeatedly to the all-powerful and almighty authority that gamers have. Thus, it is not surprising that when playing strategy games individuals experience the intense feeling of ‘power and competition’ that in turn results in an increased use. It is also noticeable that this dimension has an impact on the use of RPG. The results suggest that ‘power and competition’ represents one of the key gratification dimensions of video games. Another key dimension is the ‘thrill of adventure’, which, like ‘power and competition’, has an impact on the use of all three genres. In the case of RPG, this dimension is even more important than the power-oriented components, which stands in contrast to strategy games and FPS. In light of the complex, well-developed gaming universes, this correlation is easy to understand, since these universes invite gamers to experience suspense and adventure. 50
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Compared to the GO, the explanatory power of the GS is low. With regard to strategy games, none of the dimensions examined is of importance. The only dimensions that contribute in some way to finding an answer for the research question are ‘social contacts’ and ‘thrill of adventure’. The positive association between the intensity of use of FPS and the ‘social contacts’ dimension is especially interesting, since gamers of this genre have become the focal point of criticism due to the incidents at schools in Columbine, Colorado (BBC 2001; Block 2007) and Erfurt, Germany, and have been described as dangerous loners with violent tempers. The results of this study suggest a necessity to re-evaluate this opinion, since the need to play with and meet others who share the same likes seems to be a reason to play FPS games frequently. The strong clan and LAN (=Local Area Network) scene that has evolved around this genre emphasizes the significance of this dimension as well. The relationship between the ‘social contacts’ dimension and the intensity of use of RPG, on the other hand, is less surprising, since the influence of this dimension can be attributed primarily to the variation of MMORPGs11 included in this genre; in the case of such social games this dimension may be regarded as a prerequisite for individuals to be able to play at all. The negative association between the GS ‘thrill of adventure’ and the intensity of use of FPS is, however, surprising, especially due to the fact that the GO ‘thrill of adventure’ exhibited a positive association with the use of FPS games.12 Why would anyone who likes to play FPS not want to experience adventure? A possible explanation could point to the significant escapism component that is inherent in the GS ‘thrill of adventure’. Perhaps, it is important for FPS gamers to seek gratification in the real world, which is clearly articulated in the significance of the ‘social contacts’ factor. Immersing oneself in a different virtual world would likely counter this factor. If the ‘thrill of adventure’ should become tangible, however, as part of the GO, gamers do seem to rate this as a positive outcome, even if they did not originally seek this dimension. With respect to the component of subjective restrictions or capacities, each genre has only one dimension of explanatory content. The relationship is positive in each case, which clearly shows that subjective restrictions are not suited for explaining the use of specific genres of video games, since negative association would have to be present as well. For instance, a gamer who has less ‘e-warrior talent’ is likely to play FPS less frequently. The capacities, on the other hand, demonstrate a considerable impact on the use of specific genres. This means that the absence of specific skills does not lead to the avoidance of a specific genre. Instead, the fact that certain skills are highly developed is important. As had been assumed in theory, ‘patience’ is especially important for the use of RPG. Learning and being able to remember complex rules of a game requires patience due to the fact that these games are usually set in extremely complex game worlds that players must first explore gradually. The use of strategy games can be explained in particular in terms of the ‘commander skills’ dimension. As was highlighted at the beginning, it is especially important for strategy gamers to be able to act in a logical and foresighted manner while keeping an eye on everything that is occurring. Power and nerves of steel or thrill of adventure and patience?
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11. Indeed, the MMORPG World of Warcraft is one of the most popular games in this sample, as it was mentioned 897 times. 12. The testing on multicollinearity showed that this finding is not due to high correlations of the independent variables, as the tolerance lay between .93 and .84.
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13. Findings are shown only for the dimensions that were significant in the formally presented regression analyses. As in a multivariate testing of the influence of restrictions on GS and GO only one variable was significant, no multiple regression analyses are presented here for reasons of easy readability. Because of sample size in the table, only findings are shown that were significant by p < 0.001 and for which r > .1.
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Here it may be assumed that gamers who have considerable cognitive abilities are particularly successful at such games. The associations that have already been assumed theoretically are also apparent in the use of FPS. Gamers who have well-developed ‘e-warrior talents’, i.e. are able to react quickly and have a high stress threshold and good sense of direction, play FPS games especially frequently, since these skills in particular are essential for being successful at these games. In summary, it may be argued that the GO and capacities especially help to explain the use of different genres of video games. Regarding GO, the same dimensions are meaningful for each one of the three genres under examination here. There are, however, differences in terms of capacities, since different components are important for the use of each genre.
Research question 2 The analyses show that capacities rather than subjective restrictions are relevant for these relations, since only positive associations can be found. As has already been presumed in the explanatory model, the capacities are not only suited for explaining the use of different genres, but also have an impact on the GS and GO. As far as GS are concerned, it may be presumed that some GS are strengthened by a sense of possessing specific abilities. In the case of ‘e-warrior talents’ and ‘commander skills’, that is the ‘social contacts’ dimension. The explanation for this relation may presumably be attributed to people’s great appreciation of these skills. In the case of ‘commander skills’ it can be found, for instance, in the reputation that intelligent people have. The skills that warriors have are also important for athletes. Consequently, it is easy to understand that gamers who possess such skills also need to show their skills to others. The relation between ‘patience’ and ‘thrill of adventure’ is also understandable. Gamers who are patient will more likely feel a need to undertake an exciting adventure and spend plenty of time in other worlds than players who are less patient.
GS social contacts thrill of adventure
e-warrior talent
commander skills
patience
N = 4409
N = 4233
N = 4126
r
r
r
.21
.17 n.s.
.10 .21
GO thrill of adventure (GO RPG) power and competition (GO RPG)
.19 .16
thrill of adventure (GO strategy games) power and competition (GO strategy games)
.10
.17 .18
thrill of adventure (GO FPS) power and competition (GO FPS)
.13 .22
.14
n.s.
Figure 7: Relation between subjective restrictions and GS/GO – bivariate correlation.13
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It is interesting that these GS did not prove to be relevant for explaining the use of FPS or RPG in the multivariate model, which would have been conclusive in light of the fact that the genre-specific skills seem to evoke these requirements. In the case of strategy games it can be presumed that the nature of the games counteracts this need. Strategy games are usually played by gamers alone or against an anonymous opponent online. Consequently, these games do not really focus on satisfying the social needs of players. Knowing about this fact could mean that such a need does not even emerge. In the case of RPG, on the other hand, these missing connections remain unclear. With regard to the relation of subjective capacities and GO, the following must be emphasized: the better developed the skills that are important for success in a specific genre are, the stronger the gratifications that players receive from this genre. It is interesting that different skills lead to the same GO, depending on the genre: whether the relevant GO are obtained when using a specific genre depends primarily on whether or not gamers have the skills that they need to master the game. If success in a game becomes tangible, the gratifications obtained while playing different genres are the same; the only difference is the ‘method taken’. Consequently, the skill ‘patience’ is responsible for obtaining both ‘thrill of adventure’ and ‘power and competition’ gratifications in RPG. For strategy games this is the ‘commander skills’ and for FPS it is the ‘e-warrior talent’: when it comes to ‘power and competition’, the ‘commander skills’ are also influential for FPS. Considering that FPS games call for lots of tactics, this relation is easy to understand.
Summary This article has focused on the question of whether it is possible to account for the use of different video game genres. Three genres – role-playing games, strategy games and first person shooters – were selected for closer examination due to the fact that they are popular and distinguishable. A model, comprising the three explanatory components, GS, GO and restrictions or capacities, served as a theoretical basis. Data was collected by way of an online survey. The results show that GO and capacities in particular contribute to the use of video games. While GO are of little help when explaining the difference in the use of genres and are to be regarded more as general dimensions for being able to explain the use of video games in general, the capacities have a greater impact on understanding the differences in genre use. The decreased explanatory power of GS was, on the other hand, noticeable. With regard to strategy games, in particular, none of the dimensions under examination were relevant. Two factors are important for further research in this field. On the one hand, it seems inadvisable to only consider GS in empirical studies, as was often the case in the past. The results of this study suggest that particular attention should be placed on GO. On the other hand, the fact that GS offer little insight is surprising for such a central line of research as the uses and gratifications approach. This results in the question of whether this approach is well suited for explaining the use of video games. For future studies it would therefore be important to look at other theories on media use to explain the use of video games and compare the relevant findings with the results of the uses and gratifications approach. Power and nerves of steel or thrill of adventure and patience?
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We also examined whether the restrictions or capacities had an impact on the GS and GO. Only the capacities proved to be relevant. It was especially interesting to note that the same GO were influenced by different capacities for different genres. The reason for this could presumably be that the gamers basically obtained the same gratifications by having success, even though the methods taken to obtain these gratifications in different genres were different. Although specific GS are influenced by genre-specific skills that gamers have, it is surprising that these GS do not contribute to explaining the use of the genre. Strategy games were used as an example to show that game characteristics may possibly intervene in this connection. Consequently, future studies should focus more on the characteristics of the game and thus incorporate components that have, for the most part, been ignored in use research thus far. The Theory of Subjective Quality Assessment (TSQA) (Wolling 2004, 2006; Vowe and Wolling 2001, 2004), which focuses on content to explain media use, could prove to be a suitable approach here. Works cited BBC News (2001), ‘Columbine families sue computer game makers’, BBC, 29. July 2008, http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/sci/tech/1295920.stm. Block, J. J. (2007), ‘Lessons from Columbine: virtual and real rage’, American Journal of Forensic Psychiatry, 28:2, pp. 5–34. Esser, H. (1999), Soziologie: Spezielle Grundlagen. Band 1: Situationslogik und Handeln, Frankfurt: Campus. Fritz, J. (2003a), ‘Warum eigentlich spielt jemand Computerspiele? Macht, Herrschaft und Kontrolle faszinieren’, in: Fritz, J. and Fehr, W. (eds), Computerspiele: Virtuelle Spiel- und Lernwelten, Bonn: Bundeszentrale für politische Bildung, pp. 10–24. —— (2003b), ‘Aktion, Kognition, Narration – Ein Versuch einer Systematisierung der Computerspiele in praktischer Hinsicht’, in: Fritz, J. and Fehr, W. (eds), Computerspiele: Virtuelle Spiel- und Lernwelten, Bonn: Bundeszentrale für politische Bildung, on CD. —— (2003c), ‘Im Sog der Computerspiele – Vorurteile und Erkenntnisse über Vielspieler’, in: Fritz, J. and Fehr, W. (eds), Computerspiele: Virtuelle Spiel- und Lernwelten, Bonn: Bundeszentrale für politische Bildung, on CD. Fritz, J. and Fehr, W. (eds) (2003), Computerspiele: Virtuelle Spiel- und Lernwelten, Bonn: Bundeszentrale für politische Bildung. Gamestar.de (2008), ‘Call of Duty’, Gamestar, 30 June 2008, www.gamestar.de/ community/gspinboard/showthread.php?t=283583. Graff, B. (2008), ‘Grand Theft Auto IV. Neuerfindung einer Erfindung’, Süddeutsche Zeitung, 9 May, 11 July 2008, www.sueddeutsche.de/computer/artikel/467/ 173950/. Greenberg, B. S. (1974), ‘Gratifications of television viewing and their correlates for British children’, in: Blumler, J. G. and Katz, E. (eds), The Uses of Mass Communications: Current Perspectives on Gratifications Research, Beverly Hills, CA: Sage, pp. 71–92. Jäckel, M. (1992), ‘Mediennutzung als Niedrigkostensituation. Anmerkungen zum Nutzen und Belohnungsansatz’, Medienpsychologie, 4, pp. 247–66. Jansz, J. (2005), ‘The emotional appeal of violent video games for adolescent males’, Communication Theory, 15:3, pp. 219–41. 54
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Jansz, J. and Martens, L. (2005), ‘Gaming at a LAN event: the social context of playing video games’, New Media and Society, 7:3, pp. 333–55. Jansz, J. and Tanis, M. (2006), ‘The appeal of playing online first person shooters (FPS)’, conference paper, Proceedings of International Communication Association Annual Meeting 2006, pp. 1–27. Katz, E., Blumler, J. G. and Gurevitch, M. (1974), ‘Utilization of mass communication by the individual’, in: Blumler, J. G. and Katz, E. (eds), The Uses of Mass Communications: Current Perspectives on Gratifications Research, Beverly Hills: Sage, pp. 19–32. Klimmt, C. (2001), ‘Ego-Shooter, Prügelspiel, Sportsimulation? Zur Typologisierung von Computer- und Videospielen’, Medien- und Kommunikationswissenschaft, 49:4, pp. 480–497. Kirchgässner, G. (1991), Homo Oeconomicus: Das ökonomische Modell individuellen Verhaltens und seine Anwendung in den Wirtschafts- und Sozialwissenschaften, Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr. Ladas, M. (2002), Brutale Spiele(r)?: Wirkung und Nutzung von Gewalt in Computerspielen, Frankfurt a.M.: Peter Lang. Lehmann, P., Reiter, A., Schumann, C. and Wolling, J. (2008), ‘Die First-PersonShooter: Wie Lebensstil und Nutzungsmotive die Spielweise beeinflussen’, in: Quandt T., Wimmer, J. and Wolling, J. (eds), Die Computerspieler – Studien zur Nutzung von Computergames, Wiesbaden: Verlag für Sozialwissenschaften, pp. 241–61. Lucas, K. and Sherry, J. L. (2004), ‘Sex differences in video game play: a communication based explanation’, Communication Research, 31:5, pp. 499–523. Medienpädagogischer Forschungsverband Südwest (MPFS) (2004), ‘JIM-Studie Jugend, Information, (Multi-)Media. Basisstudie zum Medienumgang 12–19 Jähriger in Deutschland’, MPFS.de, www.mpfs.de/studien/jim/index_jim.html. Accessed 22 December 2005. Palmgreen, P. and Rayburn, J. D. (1982), ‘Gratifications sought and media exposure: an expectancy value model’, Communication Research, 9:4, pp. 561–80. Rubin, A. M. (2002), ‘The uses and gratifications perspective of media effects’, in: Bryant, J. and Zillmann, D. (eds), Media Effects: Advances in Theory and Research, 2nd ed., Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates, pp. 525–48. Ruggiero, T. E. (2000), ‘Uses and gratifications theory in the 21st century’, Mass Communication and Society, 3:1, pp. 3–37. Schultheiss, D. (2007), ‘Long-term motivations to play MMOGs: a longitudinal study on motivations, experience and behaviour’, in: Baba, A. (ed.), DiGRA 2007 – Situated Play (Proceedings of Digital Games Research Association International Conference 2007), pp. 344–8. Verband Unterhaltungssoftware Deutschland E.V. (VUD) (2003), ‘Genreauswertung 2003’, VUD, 24 October 2005, www.vud.de. Vorderer, P., Hartmann, T. and Klimmt, C. (2003), ‘Explaining the enjoyment of playing video games: the role of competition’, Proceedings of the Second International Conference on Entertainment Computing, Pittsburgh, PA: Carnegie Mellon University, pp. 1–9. Vowe, G. and Wolling, J. (2001), ‘Die Organisationsfunktion der Netzkommunikation. Wie lassen sich Unterschiede in der Nutzung von Online-Angeboten erklären?’, in: Maier-Rabler, U. and Latzer, M. (eds), Kommunikationskulturen zwischen Kontinuität und Wandel: Universelle Netzwerke für die Zivilgesellschaft, Konstanz: UVK, pp. 269–85. Power and nerves of steel or thrill of adventure and patience?
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—— (2002), ‘Wollen, Können, Wissen: Was erklärt die Unterschiede in der Internetnutzung durch Studierende. Ein empirischer Theorietest’, in: Baum, A. and Schmidt, S. J. (eds), Fakten und Fiktionen: Über den Umgang mit Medienwirklichkeiten, Konstanz: UVK, pp. 379–90. –––– (2004), Radioqualität – Was die Hörer wollen und was die Sender bieten. Vergleichende Untersuchung zu Qualitätsmerkmalen und Qualitätsbewertungen von Radioprogrammen in Thüringen, Sachsen-Anhalt und Hessen, München: kopaed. Witting, T. and Esser, H. (2003), ‘Wie sich Spieler zu virtuellen Spielwelten in Beziehung setzen’, Medien + Erziehung, 47, pp. 52–64. Wolling, J. (2004), ‘Qualitätserwartungen, Qualitätswahrnehmungen und die Nutzung von Fernsehserien. Ein Beitrag zur Theorie und Empirie der subjektiven Qualitätsauswahl von Medienangeboten’, Publizistik, 49:2, pp. 171–92. –––– (2006), ‘Die Qualität von Radioprogrammen aus Rezipientensicht. Ergebnisse eines Mehr-Methoden-Projekts’, in: Weischenberg, S. Loosen, W. and Beuthner, M. (eds), Medien-Qualitäten: öffentliche Kommunikation zwischen ökonomischem Kalkül und Sozialverantwortung, Konstanz: UVK, pp. 457–75. Yee, N. (2006), ‘The demographics, motivations and derived experiences of users of massively-multiuser online graphical environments’, Presence: Teleoperators and Virtual Environments, 15:3, pp. 309–29. Zillmann, D. (1988), ‘Mood management: using entertainment to full advantage’, in: Donohew, L. (ed.), Communication, Social Cognition, and Affect, Hillsdale: Lawrence Erlbaum, pp. 147–71.
Suggested citation Schumann, C. and Schultheiss, D. (2009), ‘Power and nerves of steel or thrill of adventure and patience? An empirical study on the use of different video game genres’, Journal of Gaming and Virtual Worlds 1: 1, pp. 39–56, doi: 10.1386/jgvw.1.1.39/1
Contributor details Christina Schumann, M.A., born in 1980, read Communication Studies, Intercultural Communication and Psychology in Munich, Germany. Since October 2006 she has been a Research Assistant at Ilmenau University of Technology (Institute of Media and Communication Studies, Department of Communication Research/Political Communication), Germany. Her research focus includes uses and effects of video games, especially quality in video games. Contact: Ilmenau University of Technology, Institute of Media and Communication Science, P.O. Box: 10 05 65, 98684 Ilmenau, Germany. E-mail: [email protected] Daniel Schultheiss, Dipl.-Medienwiss., born in 1980, read Applied Media Studies at Ilmenau, Germany. Since April 2007 he has been a doctoral candidate and since October 2008 a Research Assistant at Ilmenau University of Technology (Institute of Media and Communication Studies, Department of Media Management), Germany. His research foci include: motivation, experience and behaviour in video games; business and sales models for (Internet) games; online communities. Contact: Ilmenau University of Technology, Institute of Media and Communication Science, P.O. Box: 10 05 65, 98684 Ilmenau, Germany. E-mail: [email protected]
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Interview Journal of Gaming and Virtual Worlds Volume 1 Number 1 © 2009 Intellect Ltd Miscellaneous. English language. doi: 10.1386/jgvw.1.1.57/7
A discussion with game designers The Lord of the Rings: Shadows of Angmar – LOTRO.com Maggie Parke Bangor University (UK) Introduction No faction of the media and entertainment industry is growing at the speed and with as much sophistication as is the gaming industry. The Entertainment Software Association’s website states that, ‘Halo 3, the bestselling title of 2007, took in more revenue in its first day of sales than the biggest opening weekend ever for a movie, Spider-Man 3, and the final Harry Potter book’s first day sales.’1 Console games were the original and dominant gaming option, but now players can participate on their computers as well as interactive online gaming. 51 per cent of the most frequent game players say they play games online for at least one hour per week, up from 31 per cent in 2002. Within these gaming worlds, players are constantly looking for new avenues of game-play, involvement and unique storylines as well as extensions of recognizable fictional worlds, adapted from beloved books; as in The Lord of the Rings Online: Shadows of Angmar designed by the Massachusetts-based company, Turbine Inc. Where once players only had the sophistication of games like Frogger or Pong, players today can hold second lives within a digitized Middle Earth that looks as realistic as any green-screened scene from Peter Jackson’s The Lord of the Rings film trilogy. These players are the creators of the avatars’ lives, and are thus godlike in their practices. They can interact with other players, buy, sell and trade goods, create families and kinships, and embark on epic quests in the style of their favourite Tolkien heroes, thus giving new social implications to the alternate lives lived within digital worlds. With dog-eared copies of The Lord of the Rings as well as the critical and historical works of Tom Shippey (one of the most prominent Tolkien scholars today) on their desks, the designers sit creating, and I was permitted access to Turbine Inc. to interview four of them: Chris Clay, Brent Schmidt, Cardell Kerr and Dan Parke, in order to discuss the adaptation process of The Lord of the Rings Online: Shadows of Angmar (hereafter referred to as LOTRO). They shared with me the development process of the game, their incorporation and reflections of Tolkien’s works and some of the social opportunities that this digitized Middle Earth presents.
JGVW 1 (1) pp. 57–66 © Intellect Ltd 2009
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1. ESA: www.theesa. com/facts/index.asp. Accessed 12 June 2008.
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Figure 1: Screenshot from LOTRO.com.
Figure 2: Screenshot from LOTRO.com.
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How did the game, The Lord of the Rings Online, begin? It started with a small team hired to develop the game. We began with some basic aspects of the game such as prototype characters and a few expected settings (like Bree and Hobbiton), and once we got them down, we continued to get more funding and more green-lighting. We then had to hire more people; we were able to discuss the reaches of the game more, broaden the worlds, add characters, challenges and events, and the company has only continued to grow to about five times the original number. The game was released April 24, 2007, and we now have somewhere around 250,000 users, making us the second largest massively multiplayer online (MMO) game on the Internet. You have the rights to the novels, correct? What were the beginning thoughts about expanding the well-known world of Middle Earth? Yes, we have the rights to the books and the appendices. We work closely with the Tolkien Estate and they approve every aspect of the game before it is published. The estate actually wanted us to explore the worlds that were just touched upon in Tolkien’s works. We were encouraged to expand upon Tolkien’s less-realized locations and characters. For example, if Tolkien had a line in the appendices that said something like ‘there was a frozen wasteland called Forochel north of the shire where a mighty king had once died’, we could take that one line of history and from it create an entire world, following Tolkien’s rules. We couldn’t and wouldn’t inject anything alien into it; it had to be believable in Tolkien’s world, but it was up to us to create it. We start with one line and come up with the whole, believable and acceptable landscape.2 Many players will be fans of the novels. Will they recognize anyone in the game? Are some of the key characters there? Yes, they are. An avatar can travel to Rivendell and see Frodo recuperating from the attack on Weathertop. Strider is often around and will even give your character a task in Bree if you ask him. Because of this, you get to work, play and fight in the same world as them. In fact, some of the fighting you do enables the Fellowship to complete their tasks. Basically you can be a kind of unsung hero. It’s interesting that you can see the known heroes in the game, but you are your own character. Do you think it is important to have the player be their own hero? Definitely. You can’t become the known hero in our game; it’s not a ‘King of the Hill’ game. An issue many licensed games run into is that players come to the game with the intent in mind to be the hero, but in a multiplayer game you can’t let a single player be Han Solo any more than you can let one person be Legolas.
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2. See www.lotro.com/ book13 for details of Forochel (accessed 11 June 2008).
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Figure 3: Screenshot from LOTRO.com.
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With The Lord of the Rings we start with various heroes as archetypes, as familiar forms on which to base your avatar. It helped in our designing that there were so many forms to choose from. Not everyone wants to be like Aragorn; someone will want to be like Frodo, or Gimli. This allowed us to have more permutations of the hero from the start, like men, elves, hobbits and dwarves, and not just one or two. We have four races, two genders of each race and multiple professions within each subdivision. When the player first registers with LOTRO, the first thing that they do is create their hero; here they are able to dictate exactly what their hero will look like and give him or her a name, so there are multiple possibilities for new heroes in Middle Earth. You can’t become the hero, but, more individually, you can make your own hero, existing in Middle Earth at the same time as the known heroes. There are a number of heroes present in the game, and, as a whole, the characters put together resemble the Fellowship in appearance, profession and lineage. What was the creative process for developing the races? Did you consider the films or your audience when creating them? We split up the classes amongst the team. Originally it was just one person working on all of the classes, but when it was split up we had more unique differences amongst the characters because we all brought unique ideas to them. Essentially, we split them up, and the team discussed the classes of hero needed in a game. We looked at the game as a whole, saw what would work, and what wouldn’t. We wanted movie moments and book moments because we wanted to fulfill that fantasy for the fans of both Tolkien’s works and of Jackson’s films, as that is the audience that would be drawn to our game. (Movie moments: i.e. in character movement, such as when Legolas slides down the trunk of the Oliphant, or when the black riders pass through the scene on the hunt; they move and look just as they do in the film and are therefore recognizable. Book moments: i.e. aspects of the novels that were missing in the films but can be woven into the plot and extra detail of the game such as characters like Tom Bombadil, or lines from the text of the books that did not appear in the films.) There’s a big social aspect to this game in that you can run into other avatars that have a live person controlling them. Is there any kind of identity of the real person? Your hero is completely anonymous from you. The avatar has its own name, house, kinship, fellowship… there’s no association or identification of the human playing the hero unless the players decide to reveal that information. There is the ability to chat in the game, so it’s possible that people could get into a discussion as people and not just as avatars. In fact, due to the long play times associated with these games, many players use them as a social outlet. We’ve gotten numerous letters from people that met their significant others in our game worlds, showing that very meaningful relations can ascend beyond the confines of our game. A discussion with game designers
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Figure 5: Screenshot from LOTRO.com.
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How does the player become more heroic in the game? Better weapons? More power? Followers? The more experience your avatar has, and the more quests that they complete, the more powerful they become. They learn new skills for their profession, they gain better gear and armour, they can obtain a horse, the Captain has a follower after a certain level, and they can earn titles of recognition from accomplishing certain feats as well. What have been some of the challenges in the actual design of the game? Have you encountered any problems while adapting the book to the game? The ultimate challenge was transforming one form of media into another. Books convey information well, while leaving details open to the imagination of the reader. Games convey only details that matter for interaction. The biggest challenge was ensuring that the interaction was fun, realistic and immersive, while maintaining the overall themes of the novels. We couldn’t have anything that took you ‘out’ of the game or broke that sense of fantasy. For example, we had a hard time developing how to get the avatar to ride a horse believably. It looked unrealistic and the rider wouldn’t move the right way with the horse. Finally we decided to make ‘horse pants’ essentially; at least that’s how the code reads. The avatar puts on ‘horse pants’ and then it moves as an extension of their legs and looks natural. I’ve heard a lot about the ‘T-Factor’ around here (Tolkien factor – the designers used this term as a measure for the amount of Tolkien-like aspects to a game element). It seems like it’s almost a competition of who can be more Tolkien-like in their design. What are some of the more outstanding T-factor elements? What, if anything, had to be changed from Tolkien’s original design? Well for one, Tom Bombadil is present in the game. We want to distinguish ourselves from the films, and we were able to include a number of things that aren’t in the films. We want the game to refer to the books more than the films, and to include as many Tolkien elements as it can, so the designers often get competitive about who can include more ‘T-Factor’ components. One area where we made deliberate efforts to increase the ‘T-factor’ was early in the player’s experience of the game. It is most visible during the initial solo-instances that each character goes through when first created (these instances are without interaction from other online players; it is essentially a tutorial to instruct you on how to navigate the game). In the Elf instance, players meet Elrond. In the Dwarf instance, Gandalf and Thorin can be seen in conversation, and if you look at their dialogue you can see hints and allusions to the events of the Hobbits that are about to happen. In both instances for the Race of Man and the Hobbits you see a black rider. We tried to find iconic characters and to situate the instance at a significant point in the timeline of the world. For the long-lived Dwarves and Elves, we could effectively make the instances ‘flashbacks’ to much earlier times, catching the players up to the current timeline of the world afterward. A discussion with game designers
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Figure 7: Screenshot from LOTRO.com.
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An example of something that we had to change from the books was in relation to the Elves. Elves shouldn’t deal with money in theory (there may always be renegade Elves that break the social norms, but as a whole they do not need or deal with currency), but it is somewhat necessary for them to do so in order to interact with this society and be an active part in the game. So elves ‘in the world’ use money, and trade. Similar to the Amish? Yes, exactly. There were a few ways in which we were able to correct some other discrepancies as well. For example, a hobbit can get good shoes for completing a quest that make his feet tougher, thereby extending his strength, but, really, hobbits shouldn’t wear shoes, they should be barefoot. So there is a menu you can bring up to not show the shoes. The character still gets the protection, but they are invisible and the hobbit looks barefoot, as Tolkien intended him to be, thereby not distracting from the narrative.
Closing thoughts It is evident that the staff at Turbine Inc. are passionate about their work, and most are enthusiastic fans of Tolkien’s novels. I found that this enthusiasm translates into the game, as minute details reveal a level of commitment to the story that only true Tolkienists or fanatics would recognize. The ability to create and act as your own hero in a recognizable realm such as Middle Earth empowers the player, and with the opportunity to gain abilities and recognizable gear to make your hero stronger, more important and revered, the game offers social esteem and opportunities for individual growth, as well as social interaction. While deviations from Tolkien’s original work exist, they are incorporated seamlessly and do not remove the player from the immersive story; if anything, the new storylines are so convincing and well-researched that it often becomes difficult to recall what fact or event came from Tolkien’s novels and what came from the game. The game is also still continuing to grow and expand into the other little-mentioned worlds of Tolkien’s imagination, thus retaining audience interest and keeping the game fresh and new. With this continuous growth and commitment to a quality product, it appears that The Lord of the Rings: Shadows of Angmar will retain its diehard following as well as attract new players, whether they are familiar with Tolkien and his works or are just avid gamers. Suggested citation Parke, M. (2009), ‘A discussion with game designers The Lord of the Rings: Shadows of Angmar – LOTRO.com’, Journal of Gaming and Virtual Worlds 1: 1, pp. 57–66, doi: 10.1386/jgvw.1.1.57/7
Contributor details Maggie Parke is a second year PhD student at the National Institute for Excellence in the Creative Industries at Bangor University, where she is studying the adaptation process of select fantasy works. She is focusing on The Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter,
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Twilight, His Dark Materials and The Dark is Rising from book to film, to video game and to merchandise. Originally from the States, she has spent the past year observing film sets and game design companies and researching with authors in Boston, Portland, and San Francisco. Contact: National Institute for Excellence in the Creative Industries, Bangor University, College Road, Bangor, Gwynedd, LL57 2DG. E-mail: [email protected]
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Reviews Journal of Gaming and Virtual Worlds Volume 1 Number 1 © 2009 Intellect Ltd Reviews. English language. doi: 10.1386/jgvw.1.1.67/4
Vicarious play: a jaunt through computer role-playing game history Dungeons & Desktops: The History of Computer Role-Playing Games, Matt Barton (2008), First Edition Wellesley, MA: A K Peters, Ltd, 451pp., ISBN 978-1-56881-411-7, Hardback, $39.00 (USD). Reviewed by Matthew S. S. Johnson, Southern Illinois University Edwardsville (IL, USA) I have often said at academic conferences that computer games, despite having only been around since the 1960s (Steve Russell’s 1961 mainframe game, Spacewar!, is often touted the first), have a rich history; perhaps one equally complex as other media forms that have enjoyed far lengthier lifetimes. Part of the reason for this intricacy – and, even more so, the amazing speed at which it developed – is that computer games evolved with computer technology, and computers (clearly) have steadily and exponentially increased in complexity, pervasiveness and integration into the everyday. Matt Barton’s Dungeons & Desktops: The History of Computer Role-Playing Games serves as fine evidence for that theory. He traces computer role-playing games (CRPGs) from their paper and pencil and tabletop origins to the introduction of the ‘first true CRPGs’ in the late 1970s (p. 28), systematically highlighting games from that period through just before publication of the book (which is significant, as the history has moved so quickly – perhaps we should expect to see another Barton CRPG history, equally as impressive, in another four or five years). Any gamer playing pedit5 or Dungeon switching to Morrowind or Everquest will need no further convincing – and yet, as Barton argues throughout the book, the fundamentals were present in those earlier titles, clearly indicating that even games from the late 1970s and early 1980s can be as immersive and fun as today’s comparatively sophisticated massively multiplayer online role-playing games (MMORPGs), although later titles’ gameplay is generally more complicated and their graphics far, far more realistic (yet perhaps Barton’s history proves that their development is also only arguably progressive). Dungeons & Desktops starts where one might expect: with definitional work about what constitutes a ‘role-playing game’ as opposed to other game genres (Barton uses the term ‘true’ to refer to those games that fit squarely within his definition, but he does not neglect CRPG-related games), an unavoidable task, given the 42 game genres into which Mark J. P. Wolf (2001) previously broke down video games. Barton gracefully weaves this definitional work in with examples of games he addresses
JGVW 1 (1) pp. 67–79 © Intellect Ltd 2009
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further, later in the book. In fact, I might mention here that this practice – connecting one portion of his text with others – is a particular strength of Barton’s, lending the whole text a coherence that should be present in all good histories (if the reader is not bothered by frequent comments such as ‘we’ll hear more about X later’, ‘we’ll discuss X further in the next chapter’ or ‘we’ll return to X throughout the book’). Scholars who have read Dungeons & Desktops will indeed be able to refer to Barton’s definition as a quick way to cover this essential task in their own future scholarship. After examining the origins of the CRPG – well before the genre existed and examples of it became playable, from war games (of the nineteenth century) to tabletop sports simulation games (appearing as early as 1941), from J. R. R. Tolkien (on whose 1950s books much fantasy gameplaying of whatever medium is based) to Gary Cygax and Dave Arneson’s traditional Dungeons & Dragons story-based and dice-governed games (p. 13–24) – Barton covers CRPG history proper. He breaks his history into six chronological segments, which he titles according to eras of human civilization. For instance, the ‘Dark Age’ consists mainly of mainframe games and those designed for now comparatively obscure platforms. Covered here are games for which information is now difficult to trace (although Barton does an admirable job in doing so) and examples hard to come by. The ‘Bronze Age’ sees the advent of the personal computer, and therefore many more widely available games. In the ‘Silver Age’, during which CRPGs really came into their own, we see such wellknown and groundbreaking titles (and series) as Ultima and Wizardry. The ‘Golden Age’, which is broad enough that Barton splits it into three sub-eras, is the period in which ‘demand and budgets soared’, ‘developers slaved away at their keyboards, fueled by Mountain Dew and extraordinary constitutions’ and when ‘the genre hit the fan’ (p. 87). Semantically pleasing moments like these also indicate that Barton’s authorial voice has clearly rolled an eighteen for charisma. The ‘Platinum Age’ follows, marking the recovery of the industry’s ‘spectacular disasters’ (p. 271) of the 1990s, and introducing Baldur’s Gate, which (I agree with Barton) was positively ‘magnificent’ (p. 287). Fallout and Planescape: Torment also debut, which (I also agree with Barton) were ‘among the best CRPGs ever to grace a desktop’ (p. 287). This is, by the way, one of the attractions of the book: the author is often unapologetically blunt in his game assessments, yet I typically cannot find fault in his evaluations (as much as I felt it my duty to try, especially as I rekindle memories of those titles that I wanted to enjoy so badly, but simply could not, such as the later Quest for Glory games). Last is the ‘Modern Age’, in which, Barton argues, ‘Western CRPG developers focus their energies on consoles rather than computer platforms’ (p. 383), despite the release of several best-selling titles for the computer, such as Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic and the latest in the Elder Scrolls series (the spectacular), Oblivion. Barton then focuses on several major console titles. The Modern Age also contains MMORPGs – Ultima Online, EverQuest, Star Wars: Galaxies and World of Warcraft, simply to name a few. (It is on the MMO game that current game studies scholarship seems to overwhelmingly focus. Whether we deem that emphasis justifiable or no, the sheer numbers of games on which 68
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Barton reports indicates a considerable imbalance.) Barton closes his history with a speculative discussion about CRPGs’ future, largely focusing on the CRPG versus the MMORPG. The book covers comparatively little about the history of either the games’ authors, development/production companies, the industry itself or the ‘culture of gaming’ (although mentions of and brief commentaries on all of these aspects of the world of gaming are woven into the prose seamlessly). Barton also offers readers numerous screenshots (although these – except for eight glossy, high-quality images placed at the centre of the book – are black and white and somewhat poorly reproduced, which is too bad; however, we get the idea, higher-quality reproduction would doubtless considerably raise the price of the book, and the images’ inclusion is most welcome). It is, as the title indicates, specifically a history about the games (but also in this respect, as the title does not indicate, it is a history, as opposed to the history of the CRPG). In this sense, Dungeons & Desktops would admirably complement Steven L. Kent’s The Ultimate History of Computer Games (2003), which covers the gaming industry, concentrating more on console games; Rusel Demaria and Johnny L. Wilson’s High Score (2004), which is as good for its superbly reproduced images as for its text, covering games, companies and people (also less in-depth, doubtless in part to make room for all of those flashy images); David Kushner’s Masters of Doom (2003), a unique book that concentrates on John Carmack and John Romero of id Software and Doom’s effect on a wider public; and Brad King and John Borland’s Dungeons & Dreamers (2003), which is a cultural study above all else. (Readers may also be interested in Van Burnham’s Supercade (2003), a stunning ‘visual history’ of gaming with contributions from multiple authors; the book itself is ‘game-like’ and charismatic). In fact, Dungeons & Desktops would serve well as the connective tissue that might hold these other works together – none cover the games themselves in greater detail than Barton (and none exclusively cover roleplaying games either). Unlike in these other titles, the historical eras in Dungeons & Desktops are, with few exceptions – such as brief introductory and chapter transition paragraphs or interludes to discuss major industry events (such as the aforementioned slump of the 1990s) – broken down by individual game title. Barton describes the games themselves, covering: overall storylines; design platforms; authors/programmers (where pertinent – usually for earlier games); characteristics of gameplay, such as available character classes, races, skills, number of party members; less often, but not infrequently, connections to other popular culture artefacts (such as Star Trek or Middle Earth, Neuromancer or Dungeons & Dragons); gameplay emphases such as exploration, story or combat; connections to other games (usually similarities between gameplay or the programming engine, for instance); and other general information about each title. A typical passage reads as follows: Baldur’s Gate also offers much more strategy than Diablo. Rather than simplify or dumb down battle tactics, the real-time aspect adds a new dimension – the time it takes to perform an action (casting a spell, quaffing a potion,
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switching weapons, etc.) may leave a character more vulnerable, and magicusers can be interrupted if they take damage while casting. Many reviewers praised the game for staying so faithful to the official AD&D rules without baffling novices with the details. The math is kept mostly in the background, but it is there for those players who enjoy numbers. (p. 346)
I admit that this is a fairly random selection, but that does not lessen its status as a ‘typical passage’. In fact, the semi-random selection process I employed puts into sharp relief a strong characteristic of the book: this style of game summary/commentary is practised for most of the copious games covered in these 430 plus pages. While often the text can be, from a certain perspective, tedious, nevertheless in this short passage Barton: 1) compares one game to another; 2) evaluates the game overall; 3) provides details of the gameplay; 4) highlights the game’s original reception; and 5) offers advice as to whom the game might appeal. The key, then, to Barton, I imagine, is in the details. Depending on what readers are looking for, this strategy can be – in a fairly binary way – positive or negative. Who might read the Dungeons & Desktops is key here, as while the book may appeal to significantly different audiences it also conflates them to an extent – or at least, in spots, the book cannot quite figure out to whom it is speaking. Scholars will be interested in the great detail that Barton provides (although comparatively few scholars will really need to know that Curse of the Azure Bonds ‘removed the individual character portraits but kept the icons’ (p. 150) – and such details are commonplace throughout the text – but who knows?), but will also be frustrated by the lack of documentation throughout the text (few footnotes are provided and only when absolutely necessary, no bibliography is included and even where direct quotations are taken from other books, no page numbers accompany them). But if the text is not directed towards an academic audience, then we could probably lose the references to James Paul Gee (p. 3) and Ludwig Wittgenstein (p. 4). Without doubt, gamers will appreciate the game comparisons and the enormous detail Barton offers (especially if they are familiar with the games in question), as well as the quotations from famous (worshipped?) game designers. ‘Older’ gamers – those in their thirties – will hugely enjoy the nostalgic trip on which Dungeons & Desktops takes them (it was not uncommon while reading for me to exclaim, ‘Oh, yes, I do remember that!’ and Barton reminded me of games that I otherwise would have entirely forgotten). Scholars and gamers alike, who might be interested in reviewing/analysing/playing earlier games, especially for the first time, will find the book an absolutely invaluable resource for sorting through what would be most productive and/or enjoyable. Hardcore CRPGers, of course, will love the book through and through. And Barton – despite, I think, conflating audiences somewhat – has nevertheless smartly arranged the book (complete with ample headers) so that whatever the reader’s objectives, they can easily skip around from game to game, passage to passage. To put it another way, Dungeons & Desktops has great re-playability potential from the perspectives of different professional character classes. What will appeal to all readers, though, is something that can be found in Dungeons & Desktops exclusively: the author’s personal correspondence with many of the games’ creators. Throughout the book, Barton includes
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quotations from personal e-mails that he has exchanged with, to name a few, James Aspnes (TinyMUD), Michael Cranford (The Bard’s Tale – the bard was ‘just an afterthought’? [p. 94]. Say it ain’t so!) and Chris Taylor (Total Annihilation, Dungeon Siege). These game creators add to the book their motivations, commentary and criticisms of their own games, personal anecdotes and answers to the seemingly burning questions of their loyal fan bases. In addition – although this information can, if exceedingly inconveniently, be found elsewhere – Barton integrates a wealth of material from various gaming and personal websites, blogs, online game reviews and even several gaming magazines from over the course of the last thirty years, illustrating clearly his extensive research. It is important to note, though, that Barton is not only a researcher; he is also – which is incontrovertibly revealed after pursuing but a few pages of his book – a gamer. He communicates his gaming experience, comprised without question of both ‘authentic’ and ‘researched’ experiences (emphasis on the former). He writes about games as a gamer: on The Bard’s Tale, Barton comments, ‘I lost track of the times I created an entire party of adventurers, only to have them all perish in a random encounter before I could make it to Garth’s weapon shop!’ (p. 93). I feel your pain, Dr Barton. And on Rings of Zilfin he advises, ‘If you’ve ever wanted a CRPG that lets you feed a cookie to a water dragon, look no further’ (p. 109). Indeed, who hasn’t! His love of games and gaming is made apparent throughout the text, a quality of his writing much appreciated, at least by this reader. His credibility as a gamer is, ultimately, unquestionable. His personality also shines through as an honest historian, unafraid to indicate where research failed to produce answers, or materials simply could not be located: ‘The version I played [of Moria] listed 1979 as the earliest release date, but several later versions were produced (up to 1984). Though I’m not sure who did what or when, the six authors credited on the menu screen are …’ (p. 33). And, ‘[I]t’s much easier to acquire these [later] games and run them on a modern computer, whereas we must rely on second-hand accounts of games such as pedit5 and orthanc’ (p. 43). Barton’s prose is as conversational as it is comprehensive. While the book is not for everyone – casual readers may tire of relentless detail (even half-dedicated gamers might), and only so much detail can be provided per game in the maximum few pages devoted to each anyway – Dungeons & Desktops should grace games studies scholars’ bookshelves (and be close at hand when writing scholarly articles, even if the book would benefit from a more in-depth index and bibliography), and those already interested in games will find much of the book interesting, even delightful, especially if read in multiple, short sittings. I will certainly be among the first to purchase the sequel, which would be appropriate to release, I imagine, in only a handful of years – just long enough for everything in computer role-playing games to have changed. Works cited Burnham, V. (2003), Supercade: A Visual History of the Videogame Age 1971–1984, Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press. Demaria, R. and Wilson, J. L. (2004), High Score: The Illustrated History of Electronic Games, 2nd ed., New York: McGraw-Hill/Osborne.
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Kent, S. L. (2003), The Ultimate History of Computer Games, New York: Prima Life. King, B. and Borland, J. (2003), Dungeons and Dreamers: The Rise of Computer Game Culture, from Geek to Chic, New York: McGraw-Hill. Kushner, D. (2003), Masters of Doom: How Two Guys Created an Empire and Transformed Pop Culture, New York: Random House, Inc. Wolf, M. J. P. (2001), ‘Genre and the video game’, in M. J. P. Wolf (ed.), The Medium of the Video Game, Austin, TX: University of Texas Press, pp. 113–34.
What else can I be? A critical evaluation of World of Warcraft Reviewed by Kevin Knott, Frostburg State University (ML, USA) On 22 January 2008, Blizzard Entertainment reported that its World of Warcraft (WoW) had surpassed ten million users worldwide, making the game (in Blizzard’s words) the most popular massively multiplayer online role-playing game (MMORPG) on the market (Blizzard 2008). And yet, amid the congratulations and the applause on that day, one could nevertheless imagine the ghosts of past and ‘yet to come’ MMORPGs lingering above the podium, whispering as they did so to ‘beware the chains forged in virtual life’. Blizzard is no literal Scrooge, not in the bitter and miserly way the character is so often rendered on television and film. Rather, the company’s success haunts it and the industry in much the same way that Scrooge was haunted more by his many regrets and failures than by any disembodied spectre. WoW represents, to game developers and academics alike, the pinnacle of the MMORPG market: a highly populated, fully realized, virtual gaming experience that has accrued for itself enough cultural capital to inspire at least one Emmy-winning television programme and the promise of a future full-length film. And yet, as satisfying as its success has been, the game also demonstrates the lows of MMO gameplay. For many gamers, WoW is synonymous with the tedium of unimaginative, redundant questing, all for the sake of keeping players preoccupied until a new peak of in-game success can be manufactured. Regardless, the game’s player base continues to grow, and with another expansion looming in the autumn (Wrath of the Lich King), WoW may once again reach another milestone of commercial success on its fourth anniversary (having been released on 23 November 2004). In the light of that upcoming anniversary, let us take a moment to consider what World of Warcraft has taught us about MMORPGs through its successes and failures. Perhaps the most important lesson is the one identified by Jeff Strain in his speech, ‘How to create a successful MMO’, presented last year at the Games Convention (GC) in Leipzig: Before you start building the ultimate MMO, you should accept that ‘MMO’ is a technology, not a game design. It still feels like many MMOs are trying to
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build on the fundamental designs established by UO [Ultima Online] and EQ [EverQuest] in the late ‘90s. (Strain 2007)
Far from simply ‘building upon these fundamental designs’, recent MMOs such as WoW have copied and pasted familiar RPG gameplay in an effort to reduce the most daunting aspect of MMOs for casual gamers, namely the high learning curve.WoW users, for example, must first acquaint themselves with the dizzying array of choices presented to them. Between race, class and the physical appearance of the player’s avatar (colloquially referred to as a ‘char’ or ‘toon’), there is still the choice of server type, which vary widely in actual gameplay. Again, EverQuest provided the model here with its player versus player (PvP) server, Zek, the numerous standard servers, and the ‘role-playing preferred server’ Firiona Vie – of course, there was also the short-lived Legends server Stormhammer, intended to offer premium content (in-character support) for players willing to pay more money each month. WoW has modelled its own server offerings on EverQuest’s design by providing players the choice between four types: PvP, Normal (like EQ’s standard servers), RP (role playing) and RP-PVP (role playing within a PvP context). And to further potential players’ agony, they must then choose from more than 200 (in North America alone) servers, long before they even have the opportunity to create characters and experience the actual game. Among the glut of abbreviations there is nevertheless a simple truth. MMOs present players with a digital playground in which numerous games within the larger ‘game’ may take place. Thus, WoW’s enduring legacy may be its success in forging multiple interactive communities rather than one seamless gaming experience. After all, at its heart, WoW is yet another fantasy adventure game that has directly inherited the RPG design of its predecessors, Ultima Online and EverQuest, as much as it has copied and advanced the existing MMO technology. In this way, the familiar RPG experience of creating a character with a particular race (inevitably a Tolkien model with some variation of elves, dwarves and small humanoids like hobbits) and class (the fundamental Dungeons & Dragons model of upfront warriors, stealthy rogues, dependable healers and immensely powerful magi) is seemingly written into the very DNA of the modern MMORPG – and all the more so with WoW. But with apologies to MMOs that have attempted to break this mould, such as Tabula Rasa and Star Wars: Galaxies, the genre of the game (science fiction, fantasy, horror, etc.) has had little influence on the success and failure of MMOs. Instead, the answer may be in the ability of the game to enable the players to craft their own game experiences, to make choices in how they spend their time and the people they associate with (if any at all) as they explore the virtual world created for them. In WoW, we see a pastiche of basic fantasy elements that are as often forgettable as they are familiar, such as the wizened old mentor who guides the hero in his or her journey, or the monster who terrorizes a community without purpose or reason. And then there are the myriad ‘zones’ or lands that are scattered across the world of Azeroth, the fictional planet where the game takes
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place. Like a modern theme park of pulp adventure, players can cross gothic forests on their way to dense jungles as they complete quests, usually to retrieve and/or deliver an item (referred to as a ‘Fed Ex’ quest), gather an item from animal or humanoid enemy (‘drop’ quest) or the occasional mission to defeat a villainous character or group of characters (often a set number such as ‘kill 12 Syndicate Footpads’). Even the history of Azeroth is little more than a backdrop for the quests, though it is rich and inviting just the same. Most players can reach the maximum level of the game (currently set at 70) without ever paying attention to the contemporary events or the various political factions that supposedly call upon the player’s character for help. For example, the Burning Crusade expansion, released last year (17 January 2007), gave players the option to choose between two new political factions in addition to the initial choice between Alliance (Tolkienesque heroic races of humans, elves, dwarves, gnomes and, now, draenei – a satyr-like race) and Horde (the monstrous races of orc, troll, tauren, undead and, now, blood elves). Unlike the endless conflict between the Alliance and the Horde, these new factions, Aldor and Scryer, merely create a context for the adventures across Outland, the remains of the draenei home world, though the player’s choice does limit access to quests and some areas within the central city of Shattrath. In the end, the choice has little actual impact on gameplay, and it was later parodied in the satiric machinima ‘Jimmy: The World of Warcraft Story’ as a melodramatic sundering of an old friendship between two gnome mages, one who chose Scryer for its epic ring reward and the other who chose Aldor for the nearly epic staff: a traditional American civil war story (Sirschmoopy 2007). The value of Strain’s observation, then, may not be in the recognition that the gaming industry is still wrestling with the actual technology of delivering the MMO experience (though certainly this is a legitimate concern), but rather that the supposed primacy of game design and content has led us to make potentially false assumptions about what players value in their MMORPGs of choice. Later in his speech, Strain tempers the excitement of potential MMO designers by relating James Phinney’s belief that ‘half of the appeal of an MMO isn’t anything we designers do – it’s simply the fact that there are other players, so we should make a world that players want to live in’ (Strain 2007). And yet, such an observation begs the question of why more established franchises, with large built-in fan bases, namely Lord of the Rings Online and Star Wars: Galaxies, have failed to inspire a larger community when these are worlds in which fans so clearly want to live. In Timothy Burke’s October 2005 review of Star Wars: Galaxies, we are told that the game mechanics so often conflict with fans’ assumptions about the fictional world of Star Wars that the game reputedly doesn’t feel ‘Star Warsy’ enough (Burke 2005). WoW clearly has no such problem, though die-hard fans of Blizzard’s real-time strategy (RTS) game Warcraft often remark on how important that game was in determining the meta-plot, class choices and geography of Azeroth. Nevertheless, familiarity with Warcraft is unnecessary for enjoying the MMO based upon it, and a lack of familiarity may even facilitate a greater appreciation of World of Warcraft since it eschews the epic war story of Warcraft for a more generic RPG fantasy adventure. Further, it could be 74
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said that players enjoy the game in spite of the world setting, since they so often congregate in the same select locations, leading more than a few to avoid towns like Goldshire or cities such as Shattrath on a Saturday night when the sheer number of players in one place can result in significant game slowing (‘lag’) or even the complete destabilization of the game (‘crash’). Thus, WoW may be a victim of its own success and a misleading template for future and current MMOs, even as it presents a tantalizing subject for scholars eager to better understand the significance of MMORPGs. After all, what exactly is the game of WoW? Do we define it by the fantasy adventure that leads a player’s character across a fictional landscape, the inter-personal conflicts that arise when real-life friends find themselves in direct competition within the game world or the performance(s) that emerge as players take control of the virtual environment to construct their own entertainment separate from the game itself? In a recent series of television advertisements, William Shatner, Mr T. and Verne Troyer are featured separately extolling their love of WoW and subsequently asking the audience ‘What’s your game?’ (Blizzard 2007). Implied in the ads is the belief that the ‘game’ is a matter of choosing one’s preferred class – a shaman for Shatner, a warrior for Mr T. and a mage for Troyer, all of whom have chosen the class and race that most resembles their physical appearance and real-life personality. But if there is one lesson we learn in Charles Dickens’ story A Christmas Carol, it is simply that we are not who we appear to be (or were in the case of former celebrities), rather what we may one day become. Thus, the same can be said of World of Warcraft, a game that is perhaps better defined by its potential as a fascinating and immense collection of interactive communities than the popular MMORPG it is today. Works cited Blizzard Entertainment (2003), World of Warcraft, Vivendi Games. Blizzard (2007), ‘World of Warcraft commercials’, WorldofWarcraft.com, www. worldofwarcraft.com/downloads/movies.html. Accessed 3 May 2008. Blizzard (2008), ‘World of Warcraft reaches new milestone: 10 million subscribers’, Blizzard.com, www.blizzard.com/us/press/080122.html. Accessed 3 May 2008. Burke, T. (2005), ‘Can a table stand on one leg? Critical and ludological thoughts on Star Wars: Galaxies’, Game Studies: The International Journal of Computer Game Research, 5:1, www.gamestudies.org/0501/burke/. Accessed 3 May 2008. Sirschmoopy (2007), ‘Jimmy: the World of Warcraft story’, Machinima.com, www. machinima.com/film/view&id=22374#. Accessed 3 May 2008. Strain, J. (2007), ‘How to create a successful MMO’, Guildwars.com, www. guildwars.com/events/tradeshows/gc2007/gcspeech. Accessed 3 May 2008.
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It’s not real until you can tax it: how gaming, yet again, changes reality Exodus to the Virtual World: How Online Fun is Changing Reality, Edward Castronova (2007), First Edition New York: Palgrave MacMillan, 256pp., ISBN 1-4039-8412-3, Hardback, $24.95 (USD). Computer. Computer. Hello Computer … The keyboard. How quaint. Montgomery Scott, Star Trek: The Voyage Home (Nimoy et al. 1986). Reviewed by Mary Elizabeth Sullivan, Kent State University (OH, USA) That twenty to thirty million people across western society (kids, adults, students, teachers, fathers, mothers, democrats and bureaucrats alike) have flocked to virtual worlds to play is not news. One of the great appeals of virtual worlds is that they may mirror the ideas for the future that people expected would become a part of our current reality, from computers that are voice-activated and intuitive to flying cars, transporters or even more gentile societies. Nor is it news that people’s real lives are being shaped in significant ways by their online activities, as evidenced by the growing incidents of real-life divorces filed for virtual indiscretions, gaming ‘addictions’ or inattention (in real or virtual life), or the cottage industry cropping up for divorce lawyers and counsellors in virtual realms. In Exodus to the Virtual World, though, Edward Castronova considers the ways he believes that everyone’s daily reality will change because of the economics of virtual or, more appropriately, synthetic-world play. To demonstrate the impact of virtual play on real-world policies, Castronova begins the text with the example of ‘Carla’, a woman who lives in the United States and works in a car dealership by day, and designs and sells dresses in Second Life by night. In this scenario, Carla is able to start making enough money through dress sales, eventually exchanging Lindens (the monetary unit in Second Life) into real US dollars, that this income represents roughly 40 per cent of her entire earnings. Castronova hypothesizes first that, as a significant portion of her income, Carla’s Second Life earnings will eventually be recognized by public policy-makers and will be figured into the gross national product (GNP) (for Carla is producing the virtual dresses in the United States). Second, Castronova suggests that these earnings will eventually be taxed as income. These changes in policy that generate revenue for the government will directly impact Carla and American citizens as more money flows into the economy. These are the more short-term effects that Castronova sees virtual worlds having in the real world. Other writers such as Julian Dibbell (2006) have shown that it is already possible to live in the real world on money earned from virtual labour, and John C. Beck and Mitchell Wade (2004) consider how gamers are changing the real world workplace through the value they place on skill competence and the constant desire to improve oneself.
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However, rather than examining the short-term impact of ‘synthetic worlds’ on the ‘real world’ (the author’s divisions to separate material reality from that in computer environments), Castronova’s major project is to consider why this exodus will take place, the workings of virtual economies and the long-term impact of synthetic-world play on material societies. Specifically, he makes four predictions for people within the next forty years. He suggests: 1) that even more people will participate in online gaming environments – an ‘exodus’ to the virtual world, affecting the world of non-gamers; 2) that as a result of this exodus the public will equate game and public policy designs as similar activities; 3) that techniques successfully used in synthetic worlds will find their way into realworld policy debates; and 4) that people will develop a deeper understanding of happiness, and that public policy will have to focus more directly on human happiness than it does now (p. xvii). Using basic economic theory, Castronova describes how, given the choice between work and play, people naturally choose play because it is simply more fun. This is why Castronova expects an exodus to occur. Describing the appeal of virtual play is more involved. To account for what makes virtual-world play more fun than real-world play, the author explains that in synthetic environments the rules are fair, that rules apply to every player equally, that there is a stronger adherence to following the rules and that outcomes for play are more predictable. For instance, if a player is told that she must beat a dragon to receive an upgraded sword and ten gold pieces, she can count on receiving that reward upon completion of the task. In like fashion, anyone else who completes the same task can expect the same reward. Also, in synthetic worlds, rewards for completing difficult tasks are greater than completing easier ones. Further, Castronova contends that designers engineer the games to be fun, and create policies that are intended to maximize enjoyment of the experience. Moreover, synthetic worlds have certain advantages over other media including video games (and perhaps) the real world: interactivity that may be lacking in other settings is present in an immersive environment that provides a multi-sensory experience and sociality – a sense of shared goals experienced in reaching those goals. In simplest terms, people can see direct outcomes for what they do, feeling worth through their work in virtual worlds (especially if ridding a kingdom of a dragon). In real-world contexts, people cannot expect the same fairness, rewards, policies meant to make everyone happy or shared sense of investment in the world. Castronova theorizes that if future generations grow up socialized in synthetic-world environments, they will develop expectations about how things are done. When designers create virtual worlds, they appear as governments who are only interested in policies that make people happy or life more fun. Consequently, ‘the gamer generation’ (to borrow a phrase from Beck and Wade [2004]) will expect public policy to mirror its understandings of fun, justice and so on, all to make its members’ lives more enjoyable. Ultimately, Castronova projects that for the material world to have any relevance for future citizens, laws and public policy will need to re-adjust to people’s expectations. Castronova envisions the way that the real world will need to change to mimic the ‘fun economy’ of play to respond to people’s shift in Reviews
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expectations of government policies. He suggests that those interested in public policies can look to game designers for ways to make the real world more fun. The economies and societies in games can serve as examples of how real economies and societies can, or should, be constructed. Describing a process of quick deliberation, and then lengthy testing periods in virtual worlds, Castronova suggests that governments could benefit from this model so that people can have a voice in policy-making and the rules that result can be amended (so there are fewer rules), rather than adding layer upon layer of rules and enforcement of them. More importantly, as people come to expect the real world to be more fun, Castronova envisions eight places that fun economies will put pressure on real-world societies. Among them, real-world governments must: • • • •
provide meaningful employment for everyone who wants to work; equalize opportunity so that everyone starts out on an equal basis; equalize outcomes so that the reward is commensurate with the risk involved in completing a goal or task; and move towards a fee-for-service model instead of flat taxes (p. 139).
For gamers, non-gamers and policy-makers alike, video games and virtual worlds fundamentally suggest a change in the social order of the real world. Castronova describes this shift as the ‘fun revolution’, which he sees as ending the ‘politics of misery’ (pp. 206–7). He expects – perhaps hopes – that this policy of fun, which will eventually become the status quo in the material world, will also bring a strong sense of morality, where the social order encourages people to do all things in their lives well. This is how Castronova accounts for why people will continue to have families. He recognizes that much about raising children is not ‘fun’, but argues that the ‘pursuit of fun must be accompanied by the pursuit of a deeper satisfaction, of a moral nature, produced primarily by things like the commitment of a parent to the well-being of his children’ (p. 193). And to get to this point where the fun revolution sparks a renewed sense of morality, Castronova argues that the type of mythos that guides our virtual play – that all of our choices and actions have meaning – will need to be made apparent in the real world. Many gamers, after all, find a map of meaning that they cannot find in the real world (p. 201). Virtual worlds offer more than merely personality exploration; they offer a mythic cosmos in which a personality can find a reason to exist. The author contends that this aspect of virtual worlds may be their most powerful force for social transformation. One problem that readers are left with is that Castronova is looking forward twenty to forty years. Beyond the social impacts of gamers on nongaming spouses’ lives, what is the result of gaming today, and in our society now? Dibbell (2006) and Beck and Wade (2004) give some examples, but the scale on which Castronova sees this change is much greater. The revitalization of a shared mythos that Castronova projects seems much like the grand narratives or metanarratives that Jean-François Lyotard (1979) argues are no longer a part of postmodern society. Lyotard suggests that we now live in a society ruled by paralogy (Lyotard 1979: 60), the individualistic search for new meaning in established practices. 78
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Thus, the overarching mythos that guides societies is no longer relevant in the modern world. Where Castronova projects the need to return to shared mythos or grand narratives, Lyotard suggests instead that individual experience, and individuals’ unique perspectives on those experiences, is prized in a paralogic society. This is to say that people’s lived experiences (whether virtual or material) of bodies matter in a paralogic society – the experiences all contribute both to little narratives and to creating larger life-worlds in which people work and play together. While the author suggests a compelling future that gaming brings to bear, Exodus to the Virtual World does not provide a projectory of how to get from today to a future where fun affects the ways that public policies are made, or to account for how we might revive the grand narratives that we have left behind. What’s more, he has not accounted for those people who do not relate to the fun culture because they cannot game, those that Jeffrey T. Grabill (1998) has dubbed the ‘techno-poor’. These people may simply have limited, out-of-date or no access to technology. How can these people, who feel the results of inequity on a daily basis, come to understand the new changes in society? If we were to make policy changes, what about the people who may not adapt well during the long tinkering, the testing phase of that policy? Might they not be further disadvantaged? Perhaps the way Castronova starts the book is the best way of imagining an overarching mythos: like ‘Carla’, our labours, whether virtual or real, tend to be valued in society by their ability to be taxed. Perhaps that is what gives the work, or the experience, worth in the real world: this translates into real-world currency, as both a commodity and a characteristic that is valued in society. It is often said that there are certainties in life: death and taxes. Now that we may have multiple synthetic lives, if Castronova is right, in the future, taxes will become the only certainty in life. The question remains though, once our online lives are taxed as much as our material ones, will our synthetic lives still be fun? Works cited Beck, J. C. and Wade, M. (2004), Got Game: How the Gamer Generation Is Reshaping Business Forever, Boston, MA: Harvard Business School Press. Dibbell, J. (2006), Play Money: Or, How I Quit My Day Job and Made Millions Trading Virtual Loot, New York: Basic. Grabill, J. T. (1998), ‘Utopic visions, the technopoor, and public access: writing technologies in a community literacy program’, Computers and Composition, 15:4, pp. 297–315. Lyotard, J. F. (1979), The Postmodern Condition: A Report on Knowledge (trans. G. Bennington and B. Massumi), Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press. Nimoy, L., Bennett, H., Meerson, S., Krikes, P. and Meyer, N. (1986), Star Trek: The Voyage Home, Hollywood, CA: Paramount Pictures.
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Volume 1 Number 1 – 2009 Articles 5–21
World of Maskcraft vs. World of Queercraft? Communication, sex and gender in the online role-playing game World of Warcraft Christian Schmieder ‘Doing there’ vs. ‘being there’: performing presence in interactive fiction Alf Seegert
39–56
Power and nerves of steel or thrill of adventure and patience? An empirical study on the use of different video game genres Christina Schumann and Daniel Schultheiss Interview
57–66
A discussion with game designers The Lord of the Rings: Shadows of Angmar – LOTRO.com Maggie Parke
67–79
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World of Maskcraft vs. World of Queercraft? Communication, sex and gender in the online role-playing game World of Warcraft Christian Schmieder ‘Doing there’ vs. ‘being there’: performing presence in interactive fiction Alf Seegert
39–56
Power and nerves of steel or thrill of adventure and patience? An empirical study on the use of different video game genres Christina Schumann and Daniel Schultheiss Interview
57–66
A discussion with game designers The Lord of the Rings: Shadows of Angmar – LOTRO.com Maggie Parke
67–79
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Journal of Gaming & Virtual Worlds Volume 1 Number 1 2009
The scope of Journal of Gaming & Virtual Worlds (JGVW)
Associate Editors Astrid Ensslin
The Journal of Gaming & Virtual Worlds (JGVW) is a peer-refereed, international journal that focuses on theoretical and applied, empirical, critical, rhetorical, creative, economic, pedagogical and professional approaches to the study of electronic games across platforms and genres, as well as ludic and serious online environments such as massively multiplayer online role-playing games and Second LifeTM. JGVW aims at researchers and professionals working in and researching creative new media and entertainment software around the globe, and seeks to document, harmonize, juxtapose and critically evaluate cutting-edge market trends and technological developments, as well as sociocultural, political, economic and psychological concerns. It informs its readers about recent events such as conferences, and features long articles, short papers, poster abstracts, interviews, reports and reviews of relevant new publications, websites, virtual environments and electronic artefacts. Prospective guest editors are invited to approach the Associate Editors with a proposal for a themed issue or series. Prospective book reviewers and publishers should approach the Reviews Editor directly.
National Institute for Excellence in the Creative Industries Bangor University College Road Bangor, Gwynedd LL57 2DG United Kingdom
Editorial Board
Matthew S. S. Johnson
Erik Champion – Massey University Auckland, NZ David Ciccoricco – University of Canterbury, NZ Pawel Frelik – Maria Curie-Sklodowska University, Lublin, PL Nigel John – Bangor University, UK Helen Kennedy – University of the West of England, UK Brian C. Ladd – State University of New York, Potsdam, USA Xavier Laurent – Bangor University, UK Esther MacCallum-Stewart – University of East London, UK Michael Nitsche – Georgia Institute of Technology, USA Justin Parsler – Brunel University, UK Celia Pearce – Georgia Institute of Technology, USA Jason Schklar – Amazon.com, USA
Tel: +44 (0)1248 38 3619 E-mail: [email protected]
Eben Muse National Institute for Excellence in the Creative Industries Bangor University College Road Bangor, Gwynedd LL57 2DG United Kingdom Tel: +44 (0)1248 38 8628 E-mail: [email protected]
Reviews Editor Department of English Language & Literature Southern Illinois University Edwardsville Edwardsville, IL 62026 United States of America Tel: +1 (0)618 650 3449 E-mail: [email protected]
Editorial Assistants Joshua Bradbury Sonia Fizek Bangor University
Journal of Gaming & Virtual Worlds is published twice per year by Intellect, The Mill, Parnall Road, Bristol, BS16 3JG, UK. The current subscription rates are £33 (personal) and £150 (institutional). Advertising enquiries should be addressed to: [email protected] © 2009 Intellect Ltd. Authorisation to photocopy items for internal or personal use or the internal or personal use of specific clients is granted by Intellect Ltd for libraries and other users registered with the Copyright Licensing Agency (CLA) in the UK or the Copyright Clearance Center (CCC) Transactional Reporting Service in the USA provided that the base fee is paid directly to the relevant organisation.
ISSN 1750–3280 Printed and bound in Great Britain by 4edge, UK.
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Notes for Contributors JGVW’s remit Contributions to JGVW are invited from all fields of game and virtual world studies research, design and development. We seek to provide a platform for vivid information interchange between academia and industry, between scholarship and professionalism, between theory, criticism and practice. Typical subject areas include: • Theory and criticism: e.g. narratology, ludology, philosophy, gender, race, identity, history (of and in games and virtual worlds), rhetorical approaches, discourse analysis and semiotics, genre criticism and cultural studies • Social and psychological concerns: e.g. (online) communities, participation, interaction, identity formation, networks, violence and addiction, emotion, children’s social behaviour, cognitive effects, e-learning and education • Design issues: e.g. developments in 3D modelling, authenticity and realism, mimesis, screenwriting, sound effects, composition, static vs. moving image, cut scenes, background vs foreground, multimodality, simulation and game engines • Reception and production: e.g. ethnography, customer research, therapeutic and hazardous effects, serialization, adaptation, franchising, commercial vs. serious games, transmediation, intermediality, artificial intelligence and new literacy studies. JGVW publishes general and themed issues. Themes for future issues are announced in the journal. JGVW is published in British English with –ize endings. Manuscripts will be evaluated by doubleblind peer review. Research articles including long and short papers, poster abstracts and interviews should: • Contain original research or scholarship • Not be under consideration by any other publication • Be written in a clear and concise style • Conform to the instructions outlined below. Contributors are requested to adhere to the following word limits: Long articles: 4000–6000 words Short articles: 3000–4000 words Conference and other reports: 500–1000 words Reviews (books, websites, games and other relevant software), poster abstracts and interviews: 1500–2000 words Format of submitted articles • Submissions to JGVW should be sent as an attachment to an e-mail message to the Editor. The attached article should be ‘anonymized’, and contain an abstract and up to six keywords. This is to maintain confidentiality during peer review. You should delete the ‘file properties’ or ‘summary info’ of your document (see file menu) that reveal your name and institution. Be sure to add your full name and address in the e-mail message to the Editor.
• Data required before publication: submissions accepted for publication cannot be sent to the publishers (Intellect) until they contain: • Correct Harvard system references (see below for details) • Author name and institutional affiliation • Abstract (max. 150 words) in English • Keywords (max. 6) in English • Author biography in English (c. 50–100 words), as well as author email and street addresses • A list of ‘Works cited’ containing only works cited in the article. • Font should be Times New Roman 14 one-and-a-half spaces and left-aligned, not justified. • Margins should be 1in/2.5cm all round. • Pagination should be continuous with numbers applied to bottom right. • Images – screenshots, tables, graphs, graphics and photographs – should all be entitled ‘Figure’, be numbered consecutively and be clearly legible. The source must be indicated below each. For reproduction of copyrighted material, authors must obtain written permission from the copyright holder(s). If images are less than half a page in size, they may be inserted into the text according to the place of insertion. If larger, they should be placed on separate pages at the end of the article. In this case, ensure that an indication has been given as to where they should be placed in the text, e.g. Insert Figure 3 here. • Quotations should be used sparingly and be identified by ‘single’ quotation marks if they are embedded in the text. Longer quotations (i.e. longer than 40 words) should be indented on both sides (1cm), without quotes. Both should be referenced using the Harvard system (see below). The page number(s) must be included. For quotations within quotations “double” quotation marks should be used. • If a quotation or referenced passage spans more than one page, give exact page numbers. Example: ‘Bates (2006: 10–4) claims that....’ • If quotation marks are used for emphasis or authorial/ironic distance, please use ‘single’ quotation marks throughout. • Foreign words and phrases inserted in the text should be in italics. • For subsidiary information and Harvard-style references, rounded brackets ‘(...)’ should be used. Square brackets ‘[...]’ should only be used within quotations, to indicate changes to the original and as ‘brackets-withinbrackets’, e.g. ‘(although Miller [1988] [and other experts] claim the opposite)’. Endnotes, references and citations • ‘Explanatory notes’ should be kept to a minimum: they will appear in the outside left or right margins of the text. They should not contain publication details; submit all these as references. Please do not use the Word
(or equivalent) ‘Footnote’ facility but list notes in standard formatting at the end of the manuscript, i.e. ensure that they appear as endnotes, not footnotes. • Place endnote marks outside the punctuation (after the comma or full stop).1 The note mark must be in superscripted Arabic (1, 2, 3), not Roman (i, ii, iii). • Bibliographical references should use the ‘Harvard system/style’ (author + year: page), e.g. (Freeman 2004: 236) inserted into the text. All references must identify an author (surname or institution name) for all documents, whether found in archives, newspapers, the Internet, etc. The ‘author’ for a law or bill will be the legislative body/parliament of a country, e.g. the United Kingdom Parliament. The author of a news item is the journalist (his/her byline) or the news agency, not the newspaper. • Each Harvard-style reference should be fully sourced in a list of ‘Works cited’ at the end of the text. Publications not mentioned in the text should not be included in this list, though they may be included under a separate ‘Further reading’ list. • Works published by more than one or two authors need to be referenced in full, with all authors listed, in the bibliography (see section titled ‘Citing a journal article’ below). In-text references should only contain the name of the first author, followed by ‘et al.’. If a publication has two authors, both names should be mentioned in the text and bibliography. Citation standards Format for citing a book Author surname, Initial. (year), Title in Italics, Place of publication: Publisher. For example: Freeman, D. (2004), Creating Emotion in Games, Berkeley: New Riders. Beck, J. C. and Wade, M. (2004), Got Game: How the Gamer Generation Is Reshaping Business Forever, Boston, MA: Harvard Business School Press. Lyotard, J. F. (1979), The Postmodern Condition: A Report on Knowledge (trans. G. Bennington and B. Massumi), Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press. Citing a chapter in a book Author surname, Initial. (year), ‘Title in single quotation marks’, in initial. editor surname (ed./s), Title in Italics, Place of publication: Publisher, page numbers (first and last of entire chapter). For example: Wolf, M. J. P. (2001), ‘Genre and the video game’, in M. J. P. Wolf (ed.), The Medium of the Video Game, Austin, TX: University of Texas Press, pp. 113–34. Corneliussen, H. (2008), ‘World of Warcraft as a playground for feminism’, in H. G. Corneliussen and J. W. Rettberg (eds), Digital Culture, Play, and Identity. A World of Warcraft® Reader, Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, pp. 63–86.
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Citing a game or similar software Author/designer surname, Initial (year), Title in Italics, Place of publication: Publisher. For example: Anderson, J., Boyarsky, L. and Cain, T. (2004), Vampire: the Masquerade – Bloodlines, Santa Monica, CA: Activision/Troika. Citing a virtual world and/or MMORPG Typical examples: Blizzard Entertainment (2003(8), World of Warcraft, Vivendi Games. Linden Research, Inc. (2003–8), Second Life, http://secondlife.com/. Accessed 31 July 2008. Citing a journal article Author surname, Initial. (year), ‘Title in single quotation marks’, Name of Journal in Italics, volume number: issue number (and/or month or quarter), page numbers (first and last of entire article). For example: Popat, S. and Palmer, S. (2005), ‘Creating common ground: dialogues between performances and digital technologies’, International Journal of Performance Arts and Digital Media, 1:1, pp. 47–65. Ducheneaut, N., Yee, N., Nickell, E. and Moore, R. (2006a), ‘Building an MMO with mass appeal: a look at gameplay in World of Warcraft’, Games and Culture, 1:4, pp. 281–317. Citing a web publication or website item Websites should be referenced as publishers of material: a separate author and the title of the information/
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document/pdf article should be supplied. Authors are advised to include the date they accessed the material, to support the authenticity of the source, especially if it is contestable. For example: Strain, J. (2007), ‘How to create a successful MMO’, Guildwars.com, www.guildwars.com/events/tradeshows/ gc2007/gcspeech. Accessed 3 May 2008. DiGiuseppe, N. and Nardi, B. (2007), ‘Real genders choose fantasy characters: class choice in World of Warcraft’, First Monday, 12:5, www.firstmonday.org/issues/ issue12_5/digiuseppe/index.html. Accessed 10 May 2008. Citing printed and online newspapers and magazines All newspaper articles should be referenced by their authors if they sign/by-line it, i.e. Surname, Initial. (year), ‘Headline title’, Newspaper Title, date of publication, page reference. For example: Dhanendran, A. (2008), ‘Broken Sword: The Angel of Death: unwitting hero George Stobbart investigates yet more dark secrets’, Personal Computer World, 1 April, p. 105. If the page number is missing online, substitute it with the URL if possible. Citing personal communications and interviews (a) Personal communications are what the informant said directly to the author, e.g. ‘Bamber said TGC were thinking about adapting the software to remove things like guns and
explosions (personal communication)’. This need have no citation in the references list. Equally, the use of (personal communications) need not refer back to a named informant. (b) A more formal research interview can be cited in the text (Miller 16 February 2008 interview), and referenced in the ‘Works cited’ list as: Miller, F. (2008), interview with author, 16 February. (c) If the informant gave an interview to someone else, which is being cited, the author should cite the informant and the interviewer, e.g. (Cecil, interview for Crookes 2008) in the text, and reference it as: Crookes, D. (2008), ‘Gonna start a revolution: point-andclick adventure supremo Charles Cecil talks conspiracy, fact and fiction’, Bournemouth: PCGaming, 3, pp. 12–3. The point is for another person to be able to find the interview, so keep to the format in which the interview was printed. In this case, the interviewee’s name appears in the title of the article, showing he is not the author because the interviewer is. However, it could be the other way round. For further questions and examples, please consult earlier issues of JGVW.
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New Videogames Books from Routledge Understanding Video Games The Essential Introduction Simon Egenfeldt-Nielsen, Jonas Heide Smith and Susana Pajares Tosca
The Video Game Theory Reader 2
This book picks up where the first Video Game Theory Reader (Routledge, 2003) left off, with issues concerning next-generation platforms – Nintendo Wii, PlayStation 3, Xbox 360 – and contemporary issues such as convergence and MMORPGs. January 2009: 234x156: 448pp Hb: 978-0-415-96282-7: £65.00 Pb: 978-0-415-96283-4: £22.99 s !6!),!",% !3 !. ).30%#4)/. #/09
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The Meaning of Video Games Gaming and Textual Strategies Steven E. Jones Citing examples such as Myst, Lost, Halo, Façade, the Wii, and Will Wright’s Spore, this book explores the ways in which textual studies concepts – authorial intention, textual variability and performance, the paratext, publishing history and the social text – can shed light on videogames as cultural forms of expressions.
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Edited by Bernard Perron and Mark J.P. Wolf
From Pong to PlayStation 3, this book traces the history of videogames; exploring the economics of the game industry, the aesthetics of game design, genre, player culture, and the major analytical theories, including ludology and narratology. It also addresses the major debates surrounding the medium, from educational benefits to the effects of violence.
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Journal of Gaming and Virtual Worlds Volume 1 Number 1 © 2009 Intellect Ltd Article. English language. doi: 10.1386/jgvw.1.1.5/1
World of Maskcraft vs. World of Queercraft? Communication, sex and gender in the online role-playing game World of Warcraft Christian Schmieder Albert-Ludwigs-Universität Freiburg (Germany)
Abstract
Keywords
This article examines the construction, representation and commingling of gender identity in the online role-playing game (RPG) World of Warcraft. I show how players on German-speaking non-RPG servers blend gender by using linguistic markers of gender (like specific articles and suffixes) in an interchangeable way. Subsequent to this analysis, possible consequences for the online world as an opposition to ‘offline reality’ and as a space for negotiation of gender identity are discussed. Focusing on different modes of communication while playing, I develop a more differentiated view on communication, sex and gender in online communities – a view that goes beyond an assumption of simplistic, one-dimensional gender bending.
World of Warcraft MMORPG communication gender chat avatar
Introduction In this article, I first describe the stereotyped visual bipolarity of game characters in World of Warcraft. Since communication via visual appearance is only one among many modes of communication in the gaming process, I then dwell on text-based and auditory channels of communication used while playing. Based upon this analysis, I have structured the visual communication, the communication in in-game written chats, the communication on players’ websites/guild forums and the voice chat communication (e.g. via Teamspeak) into a schematic model of the interactional cosmos in World of Warcraft. These channels offer different spaces for communicating gender as well as providing different levels of anonymity. At the same time, the visual communication and the voice chat communication suggest, at first glance, unambiguous interpretations of gender through stereotypically composed game characters and the audible voices of other players. What happens in a communicative space in which a tension pulsates between communicative freedom and restrictive gender bipolarity provided by exaggerated game graphics and unambiguously interpreted voice input? Two viewpoints are finally discussed: can the category ‘gender’ dissolve in this tension, can gender-free spaces for communication evolve, in the form JGVW 1 (1) pp. 5–21 © Intellect Ltd 2009
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of a World of QueerCraft? Or can players (especially male) only toy with gender because they re-establish their masculinity while communicating? Are hetero-normative spaces and ideas of normality reinforced behind a masquerade of genders? Is there in fact a World of MaskCraft arising in the communicative cosmos of World of Warcraft?
1. State of research Specific academic literature on World of Warcraft can be found starting from 2006. Due to the game’s worldwide success, massively multiplayer online role-playing games (MMORPGs) have become more interesting for researchers in the last few years, resulting in the publication of a variety of academic articles. In May 2008, the MIT Press published an anthology dedicated to World of Warcraft: Digital Culture, Play, and Identity: A World of Warcraft Reader, edited by Hilde G. Corneliussen and Jill Walker Rettberg. This anthology contains a broad variety of articles dedicated to essential issues such as gaming culture, identity, gaming experience and the creation of online worlds. Nicolas Ducheneaut et al. (2006a) provide a well-founded overview on the gameplay in World of Warcraft; Dmitri Williams et al. (2006) and Nicolas Ducheneaut et al. (2007) scrutinize guilds in World of Warcraft; Ducheneaut et al. (2006b) and T.L. Taylor (2007) explore social dynamics such as team play and the impact of surveillance modes. Marlin Bates discusses the origins of creature races and concepts of the monstrous in World of Warcraft (Bates 2006). Valuable information on a variety of MMORPG-related issues such as demographics, gender bending and communication can be found in Nick Yee’s publications (Yee 2005; 2006a; 2006b; 2007; 2008a; 2008b). With the anthology The Social Life of Avatars, Ralph Schroeder (2002) has edited an extensive standard work on avatars; Taylor (2006) has contributed an in-depth description of online gaming with Play Between Worlds: Exploring Online Game Culture. Andrea Rubenstein (2007) and Nicholas DiGuiseppe and Bonnie Nardi (2007) have provided illustrative notes and instructive comments on appearance and the impact of oversexualized game characters in World of Warcraft. Sheri Graner Ray (2004) presents a history of female characters in video games as well as an analysis of hyper-sexualized avatars. Appearance, sex and gender in computer games are also especially discussed in Sherry Turkle’s early key writings on virtual identity (1984, 1995) as well as in Taylor’s (2002, 2003a, 2003b, 2006), Lucida.org’s (2007), Nina Huntemann’s (2004, 2005) and most recently in Esther MacCallum-Stewart’s (2008) publications. Also, communication in massively multiplayer online games (MMOs) has been analysed by a multitude of authors: an anthology on virtual interaction of comprehensive range was edited by Lars Qvortrup in 2001; Eva-Lotta Sallnäs (2002) compares different media of communication in online worlds; Constance Steinkuehler (2003, 2004, 2006) mainly scrutinizes discursive communication in MMOs based on text; Constance Steinkuehler and Dmtri Williams (2006) show how MMOs open new spaces for informal sociability and Taylor (2007) discusses issues of chat communication in World of Warcraft. Finally, Guido Heinecke (2007) has 6
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composed an excellent contribution, including a list of common vocabulary, on chat communication on German-speaking World of Warcraft servers. My findings on sex/gender and communication in World of Warcraft are not solely based on literature and collected data. Over the course of two years, I played World of Warcraft (including the expansion Burning Crusade) on a German non-RPG server (player versus environment) for approximately 2500 hours; during this time, I became closely acquainted with the game environment as well as the gamer’s habits of organization and communication on this and other servers.1
2. World of Warcraft: the game World of Warcraft, released in Europe in spring 2005, is a so-called online role-playing game: a game in which the players are connected via the Internet and populate a shared game environment. With approximately ten million active licences at the beginning of 2008 (Woodcock 2008a), World of Warcraft is by far the world’s most successful subscription-based MMORPG. Bruce Woodcock (2008b) calculates that all subscription-based MMORPGs (including World of Warcraft) accumulate 16 million active licences. The game itself, programmed and published by the company Blizzard Entertainment, consists of enormous virtual worlds (‘realms’ or ‘servers’), in which thousands of gamers play at the same time. The players control humanoid characters, also called ‘avatars’. These characters possess classic features derived from the tradition of role-playing games. There are classes of characters that heal others (‘healer’), classes that mainly deal in damage (‘damage dealer’) and classes that endure a great deal in order to block enemies from harming more vulnerable characters (‘tanks’). First and foremost, World of Warcraft is a battle game – fighting computercontrolled enemies is the preference of most players, but the game also provides the option to battle against other human players. In most cases, the players are not lone warriors. They generally play in small groups (‘parties’) or in bigger formations (‘raids’), which can contain up to 40 players. An important motivation for most players lies in having the chance to win valuable, sometimes rare equipment pieces for their characters. The majority of equipment is left behind by defeated foes. In many cases, it is common to role the dice in order to distribute the loot in the group – World of Warcraft involves an element of luck. However, the game environment provides more possibilities for playing than just fighting: players can accumulate money for better equipment by selling goods to other players; the highly frequented ‘auction houses’ are marketplaces where many players literally speculate with wares. Furthermore, every character can master several crafts (‘professions’) such as mining, tailoring or jewel crafting. In order to pursue these occupations by crafting valuable equipment, players have to collect, eke out, trade or buy resources and trade goods. Large parts of the game require considerable coordination: in a raid, for example, the character classes have to be represented in a balance and all players have to know what to do while fighting. In order to accomplish the necessary coordination, players establish guilds. In these collectives, the World of Maskcraft vs. World of Queercraft?
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1. Therefore the presented findings are derived from the experience and observations made in a specific linguistic and socio-cultural setting dominated by mainly Germanspeaking gamers in a mainly Germanspeaking environment.
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players form chains of command for raids, organize the distribution of the loot, and hoard and share resources in the guild bank. World of Warcraft offers different types of game environments, each matching players’ different expectations of the gameplay: main emphases are put on matches between human players, the search for valuable items or on the masquerading as fantasy characters. On player versus player (PvP) servers the main interest lies in fighting other players; on player versus environment (PvE) servers the main interest is to fight computercontrolled enemies that can be looted for valuable items. The PvP and PvE servers also exist as special role-play gaming (‘RPG’) realms. In these realms, the players can (and must!) assume a character in order to play, and they must obey more restrictive roles of communication (see also Heinecke 2007: 35–37): this includes both topics and ways of speaking. For instance, players are not supposed to talk about the last soccer match in the public text chats. Also, a certain ‘medieval’ way of talking is expected (Blizzard 2008). Non-compliance with these rules is controlled and punished, for example, by temporary exclusion from the game. In total, there are fewer RPG servers than non-RPG servers; the majority of players prefer non-RPG worlds. Providing these options, the different game environments cover Roger Caillois’ classic game categories: agon (competition: PvP), alea (luck: PvE) and mimicry (masquerade: role-play gaming worlds) (Caillois 1960: 19–32, 46). The playing experience on an RPG server differs strongly from the playing experience on a non-RPG server, because players in role-playing realms passionately and intentionally play their fantasy roles. In this paper, however, I want to examine closely the relationship between game character (or ‘avatar’) and player in a game environment, in which mimicry does not stand in the foreground – but is part of a web of tension and communication. When speaking of the game World of Warcraft in the following, I intentionally speak of the game and the game experience on non-RPG servers.
3. World of SexCraft: visual communication of sex At first glance, sex seems to play an oppressive role in World of Warcraft. Immediately, when choosing their characters, players have to decide whether they want to play a male or a female character. Regardless if one is playing a human, a dwarf, an undead or one of the cow-like taurens, male characters are bigger and more strongly built, especially around the torso – whereas female characters are more delicate and show articulate breast curves. Each race features two sexes, and gamers can choose between some variations concerning the face and hairstyle. However, they cannot change the bodies themselves. The statures are standardized, so one cannot design a delicate male character or a massive female character. This standardization of sexual representation has evolved from a process of decision making; Taylor (2003b) elaborates processes like this in her article dedicated to design decisions in virtual environments: The underlying structure of virtual worlds as expressed in software does not simply appear by magic, though it may at times certainly seem like such to the user. … Code, graphics, systems architecture – all of these arise from
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somewhere, from human agents. In this regard, the role designers and programmers play in shaping these spaces is fundamental. (Taylor 2003b: 25)
These processes are interlinked with a (potential) community of gamers (Rubenstein 2007) and so sex and sexual representation are no coincidences in games like World of Warcraft. Rubenstein published a very interesting article on the graphical construction of gender in World of Warcraft; she describes how sexual characteristics of the characters were radicalized during the ‘alpha tests’ (‘alpha tests’ are the first tests before the release of a game, where a selection of players may try the game on special servers, helping the programmers and designers to adjust and balance the game mechanics and content – the virtual world is tested under quasi-normal conditions): The dimorphism was not always so strong, however. In the Alpha version of the game, races such as the Tauren and the trolls [sic] had more similarity between genders than difference: facial structure, body shape, posture, and even choice of accessories were more similar than not …. Apparently there were many complaints about the women of both races being ‘ugly’ and so the developers changed them into their current incarnations … (Rubenstein 2007)
As with the alpha tests, developers seem to leave little to chance. The socalled ‘beta tests’ are also a part of the constant procedure of releasing new content through expanding the game. Traditionally – and World of Warcraft is no exception – lots of roleplaying worlds are related to the construction of the fantasy world presented in The Lord of the Rings by J. R. R. Tolkien (see also Bates 2006: 10). A creature race that has been adopted in many games and literal fantasy tales is that of elves. Elves are, within this tradition of storytelling, slender, thin, smoothly moving; they are creatures of androgynous elegance. A noticeable dispute started in the gamer community in 2006, when Blizzard Entertainment introduced the ‘blood elves’. Initially, the blood elves had been conceptualized according to the Tolkienesque fantasy tradition. They had been designed as rather androgynous figures – especially in comparison with other races in World of Warcraft, such as the testosteroneoozing orcs. Because of the resonance in the beta tests, the designers decided to shape the male blood elves in an explicitly more muscular manner (GameStar.de 2006a):2 this led to active and agitated discussion in parts of the gamer community. In public forums and guild forums, players fervently discussed whether elves should look graceful-androgynous or muscular-manly.3 An analysis of the controversial disputes surrounding this ‘blood elf incident’ reveals two main streams of player expectations. First, stereotypically exaggerated characters seem to appeal better to male players, but not exclusively. Non-‘male’ features were degraded with attributes such as ‘gay’ and ‘metrosexual’. This is not news and is an issue in gender studies already – for example in the work of Huntemann or Graner Ray (Huntemann 2004, 2005; Graner Ray 2004). World of Maskcraft vs. World of Queercraft?
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2. For more specific information on the discourse and tensions between designers and gamers see Taylor (2003b). 3. To comprehend this discussion in the German gaming community, I recommend the discussion forum of the gaming magazine GameStar (GameStar.de 2006b). In English language, the discussion can be followed on the important World of Warcraft databases, such as Allakhazam. com. I also recommend blogs of gamers, addressing homophobia in World of Warcraft, such as Brian Crecente (2006). See also Rubenstein 2007.
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4. It is important to mention though that players should not be lumped together blindly. The game environment reproduces the hetero-normativity of the ‘outside’ world and carries it to extremes. But this does not keep gay, lesbian, transgender and queer gamers from playing. 5. A more thorough analysis of gamers’ horizons of expectations seems to be crucial when discussing visual sex/gender representation in computer games. It is not only important to see the results of a process – it is important to look at the negotiation within this process. Since this is not the main aim of this paper, I restrict myself to these outlining remarks – though I hope that my comments point towards a more discourse-based approach when analysing visual representations of sex in games. 6. The only nonsynchronous form of communication in the game itself is the mail system. Mailboxes are located in many towns in the game environment. Players can use these mailboxes to send messages, goods or money to other players. 7. Heinecke (2007) focuses on written chat language in World of Warcraft. He empirically bases his analysis on the complete recording of the chat communication
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But, secondly, and this is easily overlooked, the fantasy tradition seems to provide a strong counterweight against this tendency towards exaggeration. World of Warcraft is not a sequel to Tolkien’s books. But it is still a sequel to a certain tradition, a narrated reality, that evokes specific expectations in many gamers. Located within this tradition, certain characters have to have a certain appearance and certain characteristics: such as the elves, who should, according to many players, look graceful and androgynous. Such expectations can be transverse to the expectations players have in life ‘outside’ the game. Conversely, that some players accept androgyny in the game does not mean that they necessarily accept androgyny ‘outside’ the game. Many gamers defend the blood elves’ androgyny by referring to a certain fantasy tradition. But these gamers also – like the players who degrade androgynous characters – refer to the expectation of stereotyped, normalized appearance of a creature or a creature race. Hence, androgyny seems to be accepted because it has a tradition in the fantasy narrative – and not because androgyny or hermaphroditism are considered acceptable outside this tradition.4 Analysing visual representations of sex in World of Warcraft shows a strong dimorphism – a dimorphism that is partly a product of communication between gamers and designers. But a look at the different reactions of gamers when scrutinizing sex in World of Warcraft shows a variety of opinions on these representations. The visual appearance can be measured from many horizons of expectation, and these expectations can also collide with expectations of other players as well as with expectations from the ‘outside’ world.5
4. World of TalkCraft: interaction between players In this section, I introduce three more channels of communication usually used by gamers when playing World of Warcraft: written chat, guild homepages/forums and voice chat communication.
Written chat Amongst communication via social action (e.g. attacking, fleeing, being passive), the game surface offers a text-based channel of communication: written chat. The chat window is part of the game interface’s standard appearance; it can be modified by switching private and public channels off and on. Thus, each player can decide out of which channels he or she wants to receive instant chat messages.6 The game-rhythm in World of Warcraft forces the players to take a break after every battle phase. The phases of battle take between a few seconds and several minutes – after fighting for a while, the characters have to recover their life points and spell points. Especially during this downtime, chats are used to communicate.7 The different chat channels are related to certain functions, for example the trade of goods and items, the search for group members or (mainly on PvP servers) the organization of the defence against hostile groups of players. It is common that chat channels are ‘misused’ – this is called ‘flaming’ or ‘spamming’: the unsolicited sharing of personal opinion, the results of sports games, touting, taunting and private conversations in inadequate channels. 10
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Voice chat communication World of Warcraft is mainly based on cooperative play with other players. Most secluded regions of the game (‘instances’) are designed for groups of five players; there are also instances for up to 40 players. Ever since the expansion, The Burning Crusade (first launched in January 2007), only instances for up to 25 players have been released. The game characters – especially in bigger groups – do specialist tasks. Healers and damage dealers tend to be extremely vulnerable; at the same time the tanks are lost without getting healed or if the enemies are not killed fast enough by the damage dealers. Especially the so-called ‘aggro management’ – the concentration of hostile attacks on less vulnerable troops – demands quick reactions and seamless cooperation between players. Written communication is therefore unpractical, and real-time communication becomes essential for success. A very common platform for this purpose is Teamspeak, a voice-over IP chat program that allows players to talk to each other while playing. The software is free and independent of the game developer Blizzard Entertainment. Bigger guilds mostly provide their own Teamspeak servers, which can be set up and used for free. The gamers speak into microphones and can talk to each other while playing; the Teamspeak software runs in the background. Teamspeak works like a chat room: by joining a (mostly password-protected) server, the players can use several chat rooms (these are also called ‘channels’) in which they can talk with one or several players. Usually a server consists of a multitude of chat rooms. The channels are commonly separated by their communicative purpose: there are channels for ‘private’ conversations, channels for meetings of guild leaders and character-class representatives, channels for raids, for dungeon battles, for PvP and so on. In most guilds, joining and regular use of Teamspeak or other voice chat programs are mandatory. Because real-time coordination can make the difference between victory and defeat, many players decline grouping up with players who do not use a voice chat program.
Guild forums and homepages In guilds, a considerable amount of organization is located outside the game environment provided by the game software (see also Ducheneaut et al. 2007: 847). A guild can be compared to a sports club. The players indeed meet primarily on the field, where they also talk about the game, about organizational issues and the strategy for the next match. But the results of the last meeting are posted in the club house. Here, the players sign up for tournaments and events; the complex systems of person rotation in raids and the distribution of loot are organized on the guild homepages and forums. Guild homepages form the communicative backbone of these gaming associations. Discussions on raid morale, new strategies, changes in the game software, the latest battle videos8 and the newest jokes – all this takes place independent of the actual game, on self-organized and selfprogrammed websites. Here significant discussion is held and recorded. One reason for this solution is the impermanence of the in-game options for communication. The in-game chat cannot be saved and searched, with the oral communication via Teamspeak being even more elusive. The websites help the guild members to gather, organize and save information: who learned which profession in the game? Who can craft which items? World of Maskcraft vs. World of Queercraft?
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during a complete battle in a dungeon (‘instance’). 8. Many gamers record how they master tough or suspenseful battles and post these videos on platforms like YouTube or Warcraftmovies.com. Apart from this, a movie-making subculture has arisen amongst gamers. An outstanding example of movie directing by playing World of Warcraft is the movie Illegal Danish – Super Snacks, produced by the DementiaMyndflameMachinima-Team around Clint and D. W. Hackleman. The movie is available on www.warcraftmovies. com (accessed 15 July 2008). For an introductory article on movie culture in World of Warcraft, see Lowood 2006.
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Who gave his or her character which class skills? How can the boss XY be defeated? How much money is in the guild bank and who did not pay the weekly due? Private details are also exchanged: where the players live, their age, their AIM, Skype, or e-mail addresses and so on. In this way, the homepages tighten the community network more than it would have been possible through the game software alone. After my observations in the previous section, one might have thought that the category of gender could be determined by the game graphics: all game characters are cast into a graphic pattern of exaggerated masculinity and femininity and the screen teems with gently hip-swivelling, full-bosomed graces on one side and brawny muscle men on the other. In this section, it has become clear though that the graphic surface is not the only important layer of game experience and game reality; it is not even the main layer of communication for the organized gamer community. To illustrate this, I will develop a model of communication in World of Warcraft in the following section.
5. World of CommuniCraft: the four layers of communication in World of Warcraft As laid out above, the gamer can be simultaneously located on multiple layers of communication: he/she steers a visually represented game character while writing to group members or friends who play on a different location – or are not even logged into the game. Additionally, the player can chat with other gamers on the game surface or communicate through posts on the guild homepage. Four basic layers of communication can therefore be identified: visual communication, written chat communication, written communication on guild webpages/forums and voice chat communication. The visual communication is based on the game’s software itself. On this foundation the gamers see the characters of other players and non-verbally interact with them (for non-verbal social norms in online worlds see Yee et al. 2007). Still, the design of the game environment lies in the hands of the developers. The written chat is also part of the game software and is used for rudimentary communication – but not in battle situations, which form the centre of game activity in World of Warcraft. The forums and guild homepages – on the level of ‘written communication’ – are provided by the gamers themselves and serve the purpose of self-organization. But it is hard to visit a forum while playing – so the use is not simultaneous with playing the game (although the forum can be opened in a window running in the background, with players switching from the game to the forum). The voice chat is run by external programs and is also organized by the players themselves. Thus, the last two layers of communication are directly organized by the gamers, the first and second layers mainly by the game software. Layer by layer, the players evade the restrictions of the game more and more, especially from the default graphics of the game environment. The written chat is still provided by the software, but it can be switched off and modified. The content in the written chat is set by the players even though the game design intends the functional differentiation among the channels. At the same time the ‘chatiquette’ (the norms of behaviour) is controlled and enforced both by representatives of the game’s developers and by players. On the other hand, the forums and guild homepages are 12
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9. This does not mean that these websites are power-free spaces: there is indeed censorship by the owners of the websites and the guild/forum members. 10. This happens from time to time: players program (and sometimes sell) socalled ‘bots’ that move independently through the game environment. However, this is prohibited by the game rules.
Figure 1: The four layers of communication in World of Warcraft. private websites, with no control or censorship by Blizzard and usually no financial connection to the enterprise.9 But still, this layer is based on visual signs. The gamers evade the power of the ‘masters of the game environment’, but they do not evade the restrictions of non-simultaneous written and quasi-non-simultaneous written communication, such as the time differences between expressions and the prediction on icons. However, the synchronic voice chat is freed from these constraints. At the same time, by stepping through the layers, the players’ anonymity decreases. The graphic game surface offers the highest level of anonymity: the players steer their characters without sounds – or signs. Even a computer could do that.10 By using the written chat, players potentially reveal information on what their first language is (or is not). For gaining access to forums and guild homepages, a more solid form of identity is necessary: the forums and homepages are usually only fully accessible to approved guild members. Players have to sign up and enter an e-mail address; furthermore, guilds often accept only players who are known by other guild members. In many cases the players have to hand in an application; based on the application the guild leaders decide whether or not to accept the new player (see also Taylor 2007: 7). The voice chat, finally, provides the lowest level of anonymity. The players’ voices can be identified, providing information on age, sex, social background, provenance and – especially in German – the dialectal region they come from. But, even more, the players open a window into their lives. Their microphones not only record their own voices, but also the parent calling them to dinner, the three-year-old son on the player’s lap or the drunk housemates barging into the room after midnight.11
6. World of MaskCraft or World of QueerCraft? In everyday life, sex and gender are typically identified through visual and acoustic signals: appearance and voice. In the statistic ‘normal case’, these signals are compatible. But as soon as someone looks ‘like a woman’ but has a voice ‘like a man’, many people are disturbed. In World of Warcraft, World of Maskcraft vs. World of Queercraft?
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11. Or, as Bartle (2003) points out: ‘Voice is reality’. Yee (2007) even suggests that the use of voice chat might change the immersion into a game. This might be true for RPG servers, but it is debateable for non-RPG servers, which are specially designed for players with lower expectations regarding role playing.
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12. At this point it is not my aim to answer the question of why and how players choose their characters and the gender; I am primarily interested in the communicative results. For more information on reasons behind character choice, see Yee (2005, 2008a) and MacCallumStewart (2008: esp. 34–8). 13. The original text: ‘Hallo! Erstmal schliesse ich mich den ganzen Aussagen in Sachen [Weiblicher Name eines weiblichen Avatars A (weiblicher Spieler)] und [Geschlechtsneutraler Name eines weiblichen Avatars B (männlicher Spieler)] an! Sie sind gute Freunde egal was man ihnen anhängen will. Jedoch gibt es auch Phasen in einem Menschen wo man ein Spiel hinter sich lassen muss damit man weiter kommt und zu sich selbst finden kann!’ Zu dir [Geschlechtsneutraler Name eines weiblichen Avatars C (männlicher Spieler)] Du bist einfach eine sehr gute Gildenleaderin! Ich glaube es kann zur Zeit keine/n besseren geben! Möchte mich auch noch bei dir bedanken, dass du uns bisher so gut geleitet hast und hoffe dass alles noch weiter so gut laufen wird!’ (Grammar errors in original post; the translation has been normalized; translation: CS).
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the visual and acoustic layers of communication also frame the perception of sex and gender. The visual stimulus shows a player whether other game characters are female or male. The acoustic stimulus reveals whether the other player is female or male. Thus, these two forms of communication are crucial for the construction and attribution of sex and gender. Of course, sex and gender can be communicated on every layer of communication described above. In German, sex and gender can be conveyed grammatically by word endings signifying, for example, cases (e.g. nominative, accusative) and by personal pronouns. Obviously, sex and gender are also conducted phonetically in voice chat communication, as in every form of language-based communication. But since the impact of the voice is absent in the case of written language, grammatical tokens for sex and gender become far more influential than in spoken language. In World of Warcraft, not everybody looks ‘like a woman’ while talking ‘like a woman’. Visual and aural interpretations of sex and gender often do not coincide.12 As a result, the allocations of gender and sex can be spun around in written communication. The following example is part of a discussion on a closed German guild forum.13 Hello! First of all, I agree with all the prior statements relating to [female name of a female avatar A (female player)] and [neutral name of a female avatar B (male player)]! They are good friends whatever people may say about them. Yet there are situations in life when one has to leave the game behind in order to evolve and find oneself! As for you [neutral name of a female avatar C (male player)] You are a really good [female] guild leader! I don't think there could be a better [male/female] one than you at this point. I would also like to thank you for leading us so well this far and hope that everything will continue so well.
This text is a reaction to the departure of two core team players, who quit the game completely. Thereupon, the guild suffered personnel shortages in raids, and the raids were less successful with two important players missing. Consequently, many players in the guild were dissatisfied with the new situation. The guild leader (male, who played a female character) advocated searching for new guild members, thereby re-establishing peace within the guild. In this post, the author of the text thanks him for his reaction. Here, a commingling of the game character – the avatar – and the gamer becomes grammatically obvious: the author mentions the comrade players, who to him are ‘good friends’. But he addresses them with the names of their avatars. One could assume that the names of the avatars become players’ nicknames. But more than that happens. Not only are the names of the avatars used in the post, but so are their sexes. References to sex, as well as the border between gamer and game, start to blur. As shown above, the organizing of the guild is not part of the game software itself – nonetheless the visually determined in-game sex is represented (because of the grammar) in the post: ‘You are a really good 14
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[female] guild leader!’ The male, who is the guild leader, is first addressed as a female. But in the next proposition it becomes obvious that the author addresses the guild leader as a hybrid of gamer and avatar, a hybrid of male and female components: ‘I don’t think there could be a better [male/female] one than you at this point.’ And yet, it is not the game character who leads the guild – it is the person behind this avatar. The game character primarily exists in the game environment, manifested graphically. German grammar, in this case, seems to open a possibility of flexibly handling gender allocations in a way that might look contradictory at first glance. But a second look shows that an amalgamation, not a contradiction, is the result of the described use of language. This amalgamation makes the use of the term ‘player-avatar-hybrid’ apt in this context. As a player, I often noted amalgamations like these myself. For instance, I might see a female avatar, but whenever I speak to the player behind the avatar, I hear the answer in a male voice. Similarly, I might address the male player with the female avatar’s name and that player answers as a ‘real’ person, not as a game character. For example, I might ask the male player of the avatar ‘Emelie’ how ‘her’ girlfriend is. This also works the other way around. If I ask this player to heal my game character (or even ‘me’), addressing him with his ‘real’ male name, this results in an action by the female avatar. This amalgamation itself stands behind an ever bigger context: the amalgamation of virtual and non-virtual worlds. As Taylor (2007: 9–17) shows, something is added to the online worlds in World of Warcraft: quantification and effectiveness. As a mage, for example, I don’t convince my guild members by playing my role persuasively – I convince by the damage per second I can deal in a raid or by the equipment I wear (see also Taylor 2007: 14). Quantified game performance forcefully pushes into the qualitative, language-based fantasy world. Also the ‘blood elf incident’ suggests that two horizons of expectations (hetero-normativity from outside the game context vs. fantasy tradition from within the game context) are openly clashing and being negotiated in World of Warcraft. As I have shown above, the different layers of communication offer different degrees of anonymity – with voice chat resulting in the lowest levels of anonymity. Richard Bartle (2003) analyses sharply: ‘Adding reality [by adding voice chat (cs)] to a virtual world robs it of what makes it compelling – it takes away that which is different between virtual worlds and the real world: the fact that they are not the real world’ (emphasis in original). The gap between ‘offline’ and ‘online’ reality becomes narrower, because the different communication modes make them blur. Consequently, especially on non-RPG servers, the distinction between ‘virtual’ and ‘nonvirtual’ begins to melt.14 This suggests, as a further consequence, that players are not only constructing their ‘identities on the other side of the looking glass’ (Turkle 1995: 177). They are simultaneously (re-) constructing their identity in the ‘real’ world. In such a setting, the relation between avatar and player – and between the sexes – is not as simple as it might seem at first glance, and it goes beyond the idea of simply ‘swapping’ or ‘bending’ gender while playing. A male player does not just change his sex or gender by playing a female game character; there might even be a constant change, a simultaneity World of Maskcraft vs. World of Queercraft?
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14. As the text analysed above shows: not only grammatically, but also through its content. It is not made clear in the post if the player leads the guild, or the avatar, or both.
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between the ‘virtual’ and the ‘non-virtual’: constant gender flexing. This amplifies the tendency of the category bundle sex/gender to logically dissolve: it is possible to communicate, using different and variable (temporary) grammatical markers for sex/gender at the same time. As a result, it no longer matters which grammatical markers one uses, because the same goal (e.g. to prompt an action by a game character) can be achieved with each act of communication. While playing, the category bundle sex/gender is no longer of communicative concern, because its markers can be exchanged equivalently. Being male and female at the same time does not imply (at least not in the situation of playing) sexual preferences, nor does it suggest either trans-sexuality or androgyny. It does not provoke questioning or the problematization of sex and gender. It is simply unproblematic that someone has a female name and appearance, but speaks with a male voice. It is also unproblematic to give a female avatar a male or neutral name (cf. MacCallum-Stewart 2008: 35). Attribution of sex/gender, as I have shown above, is exchangeable in World of Warcraft – at least on certain layers of communication. The question now is: what is the relation of this rather open acceptance of fuzzy or non-existent genders to the everyday construction of sex and gender in the ‘real’ world? Does the ‘virtual’ world affect the ‘real’ world? If the border between avatar and player can become indistinct, is there a possibility that the ‘definite’ sex/gender of a gamer in the ‘normal’ world can also start to blur? Or is the permanent switching of sex/gender markers only a masquerade? Put bluntly: does a communicational space for masquerade – a ‘World of MaskCraft’ – open up while playing? Or does a space open up in which fixed attributions – formerly provided by the categories gender and sex – become obsolete: a ‘World of QueerCraft’? It is plausible that some players can toy with markers for sex and gender more unreservedly (especially on the two middle layers of communication); the more unambiguously mask-like representations of the sexes are secured on the outer layers of communication. The exaggerated dimorphism on the visual layer of communication, and – even more – the unambiguous assignment to a certain sex through the voice recognition in voice chats could be used by players to constantly reassure themselves and others about their ‘true’ sex/gender. This could explain some of the homophobic reactions during the ‘blood elf incident’: the more androgynous blood elves had the potential to destabilize the visual unambiguity. It could be possible that the practice of (visual and acoustic) reassuring sex/gender identity is the very basis for being able to engage with unreserved attributions of sex/gender. Taking female or undefined roles could be compared with a temporary masquerade, comparable, for example, with male ballet performances in German regional carnival events: the ‘guys’ from the soccer team can wear make-up and tutus because they demonstrate their masculinity through their ‘masculine’ hobby and the appearance as a male sports group. Do markers for sex/gender (like voice and appearance) have to be definite and secured on some layers of communication to initially allow players to toy with them on other layers of communication? Can players only 16
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toy with attributions of sex and gender because they know what they know about sex/gender – and not because they forget what they knew? The web consisting of communication, game and players is not woven that simply. It became apparent earlier that the visualization of the sexes is very bipolar; I have addressed the fact that players judge this exaggeration with different concepts of normality. They can hold similar views on the appearance of the characters – although arriving at these views through different reasons and expectations as well as with different arguments. Alongside expectations of variance with the mainstream fantasy tradition, an acceptance seems to develop – and, as seen in the example of the ‘blood elf incident’, a certain expectation of androgyny and variable sexes beyond strict bipolarity can emerge. As I have mentioned above, this openness does not automatically have to come with an openness towards variations of sex in the ‘real’ world. But this, in my opinion, is not the point at issue. The bottom line is that within the game a space emerges, in which sex and gender can be variable. Players can explore this space and participate in forming it; this can be experienced in Teamspeak chats, on guild forums and on websites. As I have mentioned before, my analysis is based on the communication in non-RPG worlds, so these explorations mainly affect communication between players – and not social actions like in-game relationships, that are built up more frequently on RPG servers. However, it would be most interesting to examine whether the shown use of language changes virtual gender on RPG servers.15 The genesis of this space is tightly connected to the features of the different layers of communication – and the fact of their simultaneous coexistence. Gamers use different channels of communication that offer them different degrees of communicative freedom and anonymity. By doing so, they open up different possibilities of communicating sex/gender and of portraying themselves as player-avatar hybrids. Consequently, players are confronted with a great deal of inconsistency and variability. Being undefined, therefore, is, as well as the hyper-definition of the game characters, part of the everyday game experience – and becomes normal. In this context, in particular, the following questions should be answered in further research, based on focused observance and recordings of gamers’ conversations: is masculine demeanour constructed in certain contexts of communication? How is this done? Is masculine (or feminine) demeanour constructed differently when toying with flexible concepts of sex/gender? How and when exactly can markers for sex/gender become obsolete? Which communicative and technical framework requirements have to exist? When and why can this fail? It is important to mention that not all players use gender-indifferent speech, and also that it cannot be found in all game situations. But this is exactly what makes the communication interesting: (grammatical) markers for sex/gender in communication in World of Warcraft are in most cases not mixed up or flexible. But if they happen to be fuzzy, no problems arise in the communication between the players. This is precisely the reason why the dissolving of gender is no masquerade. When wearing the mask of a different sex – for example in certain forms of transvestitism – certain concepts of sex are ruptured in order to make them visible, to challenge them, to discuss them. In World of World of Maskcraft vs. World of Queercraft?
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15. In addition to that it would be worth scrutinizing if and how interaction with non-player characters (NPCs) changes. This facet is left out because my article concentrates on communication between players.
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16. An additional catalysing factor for linguistic change could be the functional differentiation in World of Warcraft (each player has certain assignments and professions). According to Luhmann, the semantics has to change when a society changes from stratifactory to functional differentiation. Luhmann believes that the old semantics has to be substituted by a semantics of equality (Luhmann 1988, cited after Degele 2008: 71, translation mine). Is the possibility to equally substitute markers for sex/ gender already a step towards such a semantics of equality? Is World of Warcraft a functionally differentiated utopia, in which a genesis of this semantics can be observed? Male and female game characters can fight, trade and craft exactly in the same way in World of Warcraft. If this, combined with a strict functional differentiation provokes a tendency of equality, then the visual exaggeration of the game characters could also be seen in a different light. One could ask if the exaggeration of bipolarity is a counter-movement against the equality of the sexes in the game. Put bluntly: it might seem that there had to exist a certain amount of inequality constantly within the game environment. And if the game mechanics equalizes
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Warcraft, however, the diversity of concepts of sex/gender can be integrated without disruption. The virtual ‘gender troubling’ goes without saying, it happens invisibly and without being questioned. Therefore, the ‘queerness’ in the playing of World of Warcraft is not a conscious, intellectually and theoretically supported process – like the deconstruction of sex/gender in the academic queer school of thought. It is more of a side effect of the game, which evolves from the co-existence of the different layers of communication.16 The category bundle sex/gender is dissolved by the friction generated by the constantly moving borders between player and avatar – and between acoustically, visually and grammatically derived information on sex/gender. Because the dissolution of gender categories is a side effect of the game, no space free from connotations for queer, gay, lesbian, bisexual or transgender gamers is automatically created. Still, queer, gay, lesbian, bisexual or transgender players can be confronted with prejudices, hatred and taunts when playing. But still a space opens, in which otherwise discriminated against constructions of self are less questioned. The variable spaces for playing and communicating in online games like World of Warcraft can, therefore, habituate the hetero-normative parts of society to diversity and variation. Online worlds might, in the long run, even provide support in reducing prejudices and in living in and with variable concepts of sex/ gender in the offline world. Works cited Bartle, R. A. (2003), ‘Not yet, you fools!’, game+girl=advance.com, www. gamegirladvance.com/
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—— (2006b), ‘“Alone together?”: exploring the social dynamics of massively multiplayer online games’, Proceedings of the ACM Conference on Human Factors in Computing Systems (CHI 2006), 22–27 April 2007, Montreal, Canada. New York: ACM, pp. 407–16. —— (2007), ‘The life and death of online gaming communities: a look at guilds in World of Warcraft’, Proceedings of the 25th Annual ACM Conference on Human Factors in Computing Systems (CHI 2007), 28 April – 3 May 2007, San Jose, CA, New York: ACM, pp. 839–48. GameStar.de (2006a), ‘World of Warcraft: Burning Crusade. Streit um Elfen mit zu weiblichen Zügen’, gamestar.de, www.gamestar.de/news/pc/spiele/rollenspiel/ online/world_of_warcraft_burning_crusade/1465651/world_of_warcraft_ burning_crusade.html (accessed 10 May 2008). —— (2006b), ‘Burning Crusade – Gamestar-Pinboard’ (discussion on the blood elf incident), gamestar.de, www.gamestar.de/community/gspinboard/showthread. php?t=236956 (accessed 12 May 2008). Graner Ray, S. (2004), Gender Inclusive Game Design: Expanding the Market, Hingham, MA: Charles River Media. Heinecke, G. (2007), Words of Warcraft: Kommunikation im Massively Multiplayer Online Roleplaying Game World of Warcraft, Konstanz: KOPS, www.ub. uni-konstanz.de/kops/volltexte/2007/3191/ (accessed 12 May 2008). Huntemann, N. (2004), ‘Pixel pinups: images of women in video games’, in: Lind, R. (ed), Race/Gender/Media: Considering Diversity Across Audiences, Content and Producers, Boston: AB-Longman, pp. 251–8. —— (2005), ‘Play like a man: masculinity in video games’ (online lecture), mediacritica. net, www.mediacritica.net/lectures/lectures.html. Accessed 12 May 2008. Lowood, H. (2006), ‘Storyline, dance/music, or PvP? Game movies and community players in World of Warcraft’, Games and Culture, 1:4, pp. 362–82. Ludica.org (2007), ‘Playing dress-up: costumes, roleplay and imagination’, ludica.org, www.ludica.org.uk/LudicaDress-Up.pdf (accessed 7 July 2008). Luhmann, N. (1988), ‘Frauen, Männer und George Spencer Brown’, Zeitschrift für Soziologie, 17, pp. 47–71. MacCallum-Stewart, E. (2008), ‘Real boys carry girly epics: normalising gender bending in online games’, Eludamos. Journal for Computer Game Culture, 2:1, pp. 27–40. Qvortrup, L. (ed.) (2001), Virtual Interaction: Interaction in Virtual Inhabited 3D Worlds, London: Springer. Rubenstein, A. (2007), ‘Idealizing fantasy bodies’, Iris Gaming Network, www. theirisnetwork.org/index.php?s=world+of+warcraft (accessed 12 May 2008). Sallnäs, E. (2002), ‘Collaboration in multi-modal virtual worlds: comparing touch, text and voice and video’, in: Schroeder, R. (ed.), The Social Life of Avatars: Presence and Interaction in Shared Virtual Environments, London: Springer, pp. 172–87. Schroeder, R. (ed.) (2002), The Social Life of Avatars: Presence and Interaction in Shared Virtual Environments, London: Springer. Steinkuehler, C.A. (2003), ‘Videogaming as participation in a discourse’, paper presented at the American Association for Applied Linguistics Annual Conference (AAAL), Arlington, VA. —— (2004), ‘The literacy practices of massively multiplayer online gaming’, paper presented at the Annual Meeting of the American Educational Research Association, San Diego, CA.
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the sexes, then the inequality has to be restored by exaggerating their appearance. In this case it would be interesting to compare the graphics in games in which the sex also influences the abilities of the characters, games that do not provide functional equality like World of Warcraft. (On feminism and World of Warcraft see also Corneliussen 2008).
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—— (2006), ‘Massively multiplayer online videogaming as participation in a discourse’, Mind, Culture, & Activity, 13:1, pp. 38–52. Steinkuehler, C. A. and Williams, D. (2006), ‘Where everybody knows your (screen)name: online games as “third places”’, Journal of Computer-Mediated Communication, 11:4, http://jcmc.indiana.edu/vol11/issue4/ steinkuehler.html (accessed 7 July 2008). Taylor, T. L. (2002), ‘Living digitally: embodiment in virtual environments’, in: Schroeder, R. (ed.), The Social Life of Avatars: Presence and Interaction in Shared Virtual Environments, London: Springer, pp. 40–62. —— (2003a), ‘Multiple pleasures: women and online gaming. Convergence’, The Journal of Research into New Media Technologies, 9:1, pp. 21–46. —— (2003b), ‘Intentional bodies: virtual environments and the designers who shape them’, International Journal of Engineering Education, 19:1, pp. 25–34. —— (2006), Play Between Worlds: Exploring Online Game Culture, Cambridge: MIT Press. —— (2007), ‘Does WoW change everything?: How a PvP server, multinational player base, and surveillance mod scene caused me pause’, Games and Culture, 1:4, pp. 1–20. Turkle, S. (1984), The Second Self: Computers and the Human Spirit, New York: Simon & Schuster. —— (1995), Life on the Screen: Identity in the Age of the Internet, New York: Simon & Schuster. Williams, D., Ducheneaut, N., Xiong, L., Zhang, Y., Yee, N. and Nickell, E. (2006), ‘From tree house to barracks: the social life of guilds in World of Warcraft’, Games and Culture, 1:4, pp. 338–61. Woodcock, B. S. (2008a), ‘MMOG active subscriptions’, mmogchart.com, www. mmogchart.com/Chart11.html (accessed 12 May 2008). —— (2008b), ‘Total MMOG active subscriptions’, mmogchart.com, www.mmogchart. com/Chart4.html (accessed 12 May 2008). Yee, N. (2005), ‘WoW gender-bending’, The Daedalus Project, www.nickyee.com/ daedalus/archives/001369.php (accessed 12 May 2008). —— (2006a), ‘The demographics, motivations and derived experiences of users of massively multiuser online graphical environments’, PRESENCE: Teleoperators and Virtual Environments, 15:3, pp. 309–29. —— (2006b), ‘VoIP usage’, The Daedalus Project, www.nickyee.com/daedalus/ archives/001519.php?page=4 (accessed 7 July 2008). —— (2007), ‘Motivations of play in online games’, Journal of CyberPsychology and Behavior, 9:6, pp. 772–5. —— (2008a), ‘Our virtual bodies, ourselves?’, The Daedalus Project, www. nickyee.com/daedalus/archives/001613.php?page=1 (accessed 12 May 2008). —— (2008b), ‘Social architectures in MMOs’, The Daedalus Project, www.nickyee. com/daedalus/archives/001625.php?page=11 2008b (accessed 7 July 2008). Yee, N., Bailenson, J., Urbanek, M., Chang, F. and Merget, D. (2007), ‘The unbearable likeness of being digital: the persistence of nonverbal social norms in online virtual environments’, CyberPsychology & Behavior, 10:1, pp. 115–21.
Suggested citation Schmieder, C. (2009), ‘World of Maskcraft vs. World of Queercraft? Communication, sex and gender in the online role-playing game World of Warcraft’, Journal of Gaming and Virtual Worlds 1: 1, pp. 5–21, doi: 10.1386/jgvw.1.1.5/1 20
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Contributor details Before starting to write his Magister thesis, Christian Schmieder spent many nights exploring Azeroth – the universe of World of Warcraft. Currently, he is a graduate student (Sociology and Linguistics) at Albert-Ludwigs-Universität Freiburg (Germany). He worked as a native speaker/teaching assistant in the German Department at Colgate University, NY (2006–7) and is at present a teaching/research assistant at Freiburg University’s Department of Sociology. Contact: Am Kirchacker 18; 79115 Freiburg. E-mail: [email protected]
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Journal of Gaming and Virtual Worlds Volume 1 Number 1 © 2009 Intellect Ltd Article. English language. doi: 10.1386/jgvw.1.1.23/1
‘Doing there’ vs. ‘being there’: performing presence in interactive fiction Alf Seegert University of Utah (USA)1 Abstract
Keywords
The ability of computers to produce ‘presence’ – the visceral feeling of actually ‘being there’ – is typically associated with the presentation of intensive graphical effects. But studies on presence indicate that what players are able to ‘do’ in fact contributes more to their sense of presence than graphical realism. Keeping this in mind, I explore possibilities for ‘performing’ presence in digital narratives, particularly through the non-graphical digital medium of interactive fiction. I draw from critical theorists (Barthes, Iser and especially Gumbrecht) as well as theorists of new media (Aarseth, Ryan, Montfort) to frame an investigation into two major aspects of presence production in interactive fiction, namely: 1) how interactive fiction generates presence through the exclusive use of verbal signifiers rather than graphical images, and 2) how it allows users to generate presence themselves through their own actions. I conclude by examining three works of interactive fiction: Adventure, All Roads and Luminous Horizon (Crowther and Woods 1975–6; Ingold 2006; O’Brian 2004).
presence interactive fiction hyperfiction digital narrative
Introduction On East Bank of Fissure You are on the east bank of a fissure slicing clear across the hall. The mist is quite thick here, and the fissure is too wide to jump. >WAVE ROD A crystal bridge now spans the fissure. – Computer narration and typed player response from Adventure (Crowther and Woods 1975–6)
If one considers digital methods used for producing presence – that is, for generating the visceral sense of ‘being there’ – then visual imagery and aural effects are likely to top the list: temporally warped bullet-time battles in The Matrix trilogy; the THX-powered crash of lightsabers; the empathyevoking CGI images of WALL·E or the ping of bullets ricocheting down smoothly scrolling three-dimensional corridors in the latest first person shooter. Such computer-generated graphics and sound effects confront our immediate awareness by directly impinging upon – or overloading – our faculties of sight and hearing, sensually inducing awe and wonder by
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1. The author would like to thank Professors Joe Metz, Lance Olsen and Cassandra Van Buren at the University of Utah for their feedback on this topic and contributions to this paper. Thanks also go to Natasha Seegert, Paul Hartzog, Jason Cook, and Trent Levesque for their comments.
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2. I should note that some theorists make a crucial distinction between the terms immersion and presence, citing the fact that immersion denotes ‘being in’ whereas presence suggests ‘being before’. Because immersion and presence are both senses of ‘being there’ and my primary concern here is with the connection between ‘doing there’ and the sense of ‘being there’, I do not find it necessary to make sharp distinctions between immersion and presence in this discussion. 3. As Montessori suggests in The Discovery of the Child, for a child, an object only comes alive when it is encountered and actively engaged – or played with. ‘A very beautiful toy, an attractive picture, a wonderful story, can, without doubt, rouse a child’s interest, but if he may simply look at, or listen to, or touch an object, but dares not move it, his interest will be superficial and will pass from object to object’ (Montessori 1962). Wittgenstein similarly points out that children learn about books and chairs not by being told about them but by reading books and sitting in chairs (1972: par. 476). 4. My performancebased approach to VR in this paper finds parallels in Hansen’s Bodies in Code: Interfaces With Digital Media (2006). Hansen argues that ‘motor
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shoving us face first toward the brink of a newfound technological sublime. Because digital effects are so good at producing presence, for many virtual reality (VR) researchers, the explicit goal of VR simulation is to evoke presence by immersing participants in visual imagery and sound, usually provided through a graphical heads-up display and headphones in a helmet worn by the participant.2 But this one-directional ‘transmitter/ receiver’ characterization of presence – like the attempt at realistic representation in the examples above – is only part of the story. Despite ever increasing computer power and the ability to generate real-time graphical images with greater and greater verisimilitude, there has been a recent trend in VR research towards not just improving the realism of virtual simulations, but in exploring the degree to which users are in fact responsible for generating presence through their interactions in simulated worlds. For instance, note the active presence-producing role of the participant in this excerpt from ‘Elements of a multi-level theory of presence’ from the proceedings of Presence 2002: Although some authors argue strongly for a realism-based conception of presence (e.g. Solomon 2002), this limits presence (at least with the current state of technology) to a mainly passive perception. The approach taken in VR is clearly based on interaction, yet with a usually low level of perceptual realism (high-end flight simulation systems perhaps being the exception). It is interesting to note that both non-interactive, photorealistic displays, as well as interactive, nonrealistic displays are able to engender substantial levels of presence, where interactivity appears to be the more important factor of the two. (IJsselsteijn 2002: 247)
The author (citing Heidegger) goes so far as to conclude at the end of the article that ‘presence is tantamount to successfully supported action in the environment. Being there thus becomes the ability to do there’ (IJsselsteijn 2002: 251). In virtual spaces, presence is thus performed and not just passively experienced – and probably not just in virtual spaces.3 Interaction is thus a mode of revealing, a way of allowing the world to ‘present’ itself. Although VR researchers still focus on the use of headsets, data-gloves and motion-trackers to improve capacities for physically driven action in a graphical virtual medium, their striking conclusions about the immersive power of interaction and agency make me question to what degree graphical realism is needed (if it is needed at all) in order to generate presence in digital media. As a result, I want to explore how presence might be produced in a particular mode of computer-mediated simulation that is highly interactive but which does literally nothing to attempt graphical realism, namely interactive fiction (IF).4
Interactive fiction, presence and performance ‘IF’ is a fitting acronym for interactive fiction, for IF is ideally all about possibility – the realm of ‘what if ?’ Embodying such possibility, however, the very term ‘interactive fiction’ is only one of many possible names for (or versions of) the recent hybridization of textuality with computer technology. ‘Interactive narrative’ and ‘digital narrative’ exist alongside the 24
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more canonical ‘hypertext fiction’ or ‘hyperfiction.’ Whereas hyperfiction requires that users click on links to connect to discrete chunks of texts in a seemingly endless, multi-linear narrative, IF in contrast accepts typed, natural language input, which is analysed and responded to by a computerized narrator. But even with these distinctions in place, defining IF remains problematic because so many possible approaches to the medium exist.5 In any case, the incunabular nature of IF and its unsettling fusion of program, potential narrative, world and game (Montfort 2003a) has resulted in plenty of debate over how to classify it and too little discussion about what powers IF might still possess, however hard it might be to classify.6 For this reason, I will forego the apologetics and polemics that tend to characterize discussions of IF by focusing not on what IF is (or what it ‘might be’), but rather on what it does, specifically its generation of presence effects. As Hans Ulrich Gumbrecht points out in Production of Presence: What Meaning Cannot Convey (2004), the word ‘presence’ refers primarily to a ‘spatial relationship to the world and its objects’, a relationship in which the ‘present’ is what is ‘tangible’ to bodies (Gumbrecht 2004: xiii). For Gumbrecht, the ‘production of presence’ is a corporeal phenomenon involving ‘all kinds of events and processes in which the impact that “present” objects have on human bodies is being initiated or intensified’ (Gumbrecht 2004: xiii). Throughout his book, Gumbrecht provides examples of how, especially in the academy, ‘meaning’ – the domain of interpretation and conceptualization – has very nearly displaced presence, both as a mode for approaching texts and as an object of study in itself. His aim is not to destroy meaning but to dethrone it, to return presence to equal status with meaning as its counterpart in an ongoing oscillation between ‘meaning effects’ and ‘presence effects’ in an individual’s experience (Gumbrecht 2004: 116). Gumbrecht focuses on the sensory impressions that impinge on one’s body from the ‘materialities of communication’ (Gumbrecht 2004: 8) found in all modes of signification, e.g. the sonic ‘substance’ of a poem or the visual impression created by the particular shape and flow of script on a page. When considering the possibilities for producing presence through new media, Gumbrecht emphasizes how the ‘special effects’ that such media provide can generate presence effects through their visceral power. However, his attention to such ‘materialities of communication’ privileges media as the exclusive source of presence effects in mediated interactions, making the production of presence a onedirectional affair. As a result, Gumbrecht fails to articulate how a meaningbased response to a literary text, for example, might itself generate presence effects through a reader’s emotive response to that text.7 Presence effects might likewise be produced when an interactor responds to a text by making textual impressions of his or her own.8 Even in the absence of visual stimulation – other than that of deliberately arranged traces of ink on paper (or alphabetic characters on a screen) – a reader can, through imagination, conjure up worlds potentially as vivid and as body affecting as the visual and aural effects presented through a multi-media entertainment system. The potential of the imagination for producing presence is precisely how IF made its first claim to fame. When the personal computer first ‘Doing there’ vs. ‘being there’
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activity – not representationalist verisimilitude – holds the key to fluid and functional crossings between virtual and physical realms’ (Hansen 2006: 2). Although I agree that an interactor’s performance is crucial to presence production in VR, to constrain ‘performance’ to embodied motor activity seems needlessly narrow to me. Interactive fiction might consequently make a useful test case in exploring broader possibilities for what counts as ‘performance’ (or, indeed, embodiment) in the first place. 5. Wikipedia’s computer programminginformed entry describes IF as ‘Software containing simulated environments in which players use text commands to control characters and perform actions’ (Wikipedia, the Free Encyclopedia 2008). Game design theorists in contrast characterize IF in terms of its ludic qualities and identify it with the ‘text adventure game’ in which players type in commands to manipulate objects and solve logical puzzles. A definition of IF from the standpoint of literary theory (my own attempt) might in turn be, ‘a potential narrative in which text contributed by an interactor triggers the output of text by a narrator in a simulated story-space represented by text on a computer screen’. As one can see, the combination of multiple elements in a
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single medium – simulation, narrative, gameplay and text acceptance/generation – makes IF hard to pin down (Montfort 2003a). 6. In defiance of these multiform attempts to define the medium of IF, cyber critics such as Aarseth refuse to accept IF as a category at all, putting their own nuanced terms in its place. (In his book, Cybertext, Aarseth uses the term ‘ergodic literature’ to designate interactive, mechanized works that require ‘nontrivial labor’ [Aarseth 1997: 1] to traverse.) Such dismissals of IF are actually often the norm rather than the exception. For example, in The End of Books – Or Books Without End? (Douglas 2000) hypermedia critic Douglas dispenses with IF (for her, ‘digital narratives’) in a single sentence without any further discussion: ‘Digital narratives primarily follow the trajectory of Adventure, a work considered venerable only by the techies who first played it in the 1970s, cybergaming geeks, and the writers, theorists, and practitioners who deal with interactivity’ (Douglas 2000: 6). She contends that, in contrast, hypertext fiction ‘follows and furthers the trajectory of hallowed touchstones of print culture, especially the avant-garde novel’ (Douglas 2000: 7). More oddly, in the otherwise insightful article ‘How interactive can fiction be?’, Chaouli (2005) neglects to address IF
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became popular in the early 1980s, video game graphics remained blocky and slow to render – especially in three dimensions – offering little potential in the way of realistic representation. The software company Infocom, however, decided to spin this processor-based liability into a veritable asset with advertisements like this one, which argued for an almost alchemical potency in combining words, imagination and computer power:
Figure 1: 1983 Analog magazine advertisement from Infocom, the dominant producer of software text adventure games in the 1980s (Infocom).
WE STICK OUR GRAPHICS WHERE THE SUN DON’T SHINE. You’ll never see Infocom’s graphics on any computer screen. Because there’s never been a computer built by man that could handle the images we produce. And, there never will be. We draw our graphics from the limitless imagery of your imagination – a technology so powerful, it makes any picture that’s ever come out of a screen look like graffiti by comparison. … Through our prose, your imagination makes you part of our stories, in control of what you do and where you go – yet unable to predict or control the course of events. … [Y]ou’re immersed in rich environments alive with personalities as real as any you’ll meet in the flesh – yet all the more vivid because they’re perceived directly by your mind’s eye, not through your external senses. (Infocom n.d.)
However overblown Infocom’s estimation of IF’s powers might be here, their claims that ‘we draw our graphics from the limitless imagery of your imagination’ and ‘your imagination makes you part of our stories’ are worth noting because they emphasize the receiver’s role in producing presence. Simply put, their claim is that even though presence in IF is 26
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mediated by the computer, it is only actively evoked through the reader’s imaginative response to a text – instead of being stimulated directly through sensation with graphical imagery, as we typically expect from high-powered computers today.9 In contrast (and however clichéd the term might have become), Infocom’s use of the metaphor ‘the mind’s eye’ is revealing for it implies a mode of seeing (sense perception) that depends on cognitive faculties (conception and imagination) – a mingling of presence with meaning. In fact, presence effects in IF depend entirely on meaning effects because the reader’s imaginative response is triggered by signs and not just percepts. If IF’s stress on the role of the reader in producing presence sounds suspiciously similar to literary theories of reader-response (or reception theory), that’s because IF adopts precisely the same premises (consciously or not). Note the similarities in Infocom’s sales pitch, above, to this passage from reception theorist Wolfgang Iser: … in considering a literary work, one must take into account not only the actual text but also, and in equal measure, the actions involved in responding to that text. … The convergence of text and reader brings the literary work into existence. (Iser 1980: 50)
Equally important to IF and to Iser is not just the active role of the recipient, but the specifically relational manner in which literary worlds (or ‘works’) are brought into being. For Iser, the literary work is neither (as the New Critics would have it) an object consisting of marks on a page, nor is it (as Stanley Fish argues [1980: 70]) ‘in the reader’. Instead, the work manifests itself in a virtual space between text and reader, dependent upon both but localizable in neither. Iser’s sense of ‘virtual space’ is one actively evoked through the reader’s imagination rather than one stimulated merely through the senses, a creative ‘picturing’ rather than a passive ‘seeing’. Upon encountering the linear, written text through time, the reader oscillates between retrospection and anticipation, all the while ‘filling in the gaps’ to make the work coherent. The author, by carefully ‘prestructuring’ potential meanings in the text, can evoke effects of surprise or exasperation with skilful omissions (and commissions), either confirming a reader’s expectations or subverting them. This active ‘filling-in’ by the reader (usually performed unconsciously) engages the reader creatively, and for Iser such engagement is critical to literature’s appeal because ‘reading is only a pleasure when it is active and creative’ (Iser 1980: 51). According to Iser, if the reader were ‘given the full story’ (presuming that to be possible), imagination would need never enter into play, and the reader would lose interest, being left with nothing to do (Iser 1980: 51). The reader consequently finds herself in a ‘field of play’, bounded on one side by the potential for boredom (the result of too little creative engagement being required) and overstrain on the other (which results from a demand for too much creative work). In this view, even if a ‘text’ might be granted objective existence, the literary work is always already ‘virtual’ and the reader ‘interactive’ – two major buzzwords in digital media. Keeping the production of presence ‘Doing there’ vs. ‘being there’
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at all, even though his criticisms of hypertext fiction focus on the (ironic) narrative limitations of having to ‘follow links’ predetermined by the author – when IF offers a far more ‘writerly’ alternative by allowing fullsentence, typed input by an interactor. The only academic, booklength discussion of IF so far in print, Montfort’s Twisty Little Passages: An Approach to Interactive Fiction (2003b), is (for obvious reasons) apologetic in tone, and spends a great deal of time justifying the worth of IF by linking it to the venerable literary heritage of the Anglo-Saxon riddle. Thus Douglas and Montfort, though in opposed camps, both appear to invoke the alleged inheritance of ‘legitimate’ historical forms to evaluate the worth of new media, which risks constraining new media to old paradigms, a path that Aarseth neatly sidesteps by proposing entirely new criteria. 7. In a few passages from Production of Presence, Gumbrecht does seem to suggest that a reader plays some role as producer of presence effects (e.g., in one passage he mentions mental ‘investment’ made by the recipient of aesthetic experience [Gumbrecht 2004: 101] and in another how a particular text ‘makes the reader intuit’ particular emotional experiences of a character [Gumbrecht 2004: 97]) but the precise role that the recipient plays in presence
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production is not clearly articulated. The overall tenor of the book emphasizes a ‘transmitter/ receiver’ model of presence production in which presence is produced by a medium of transmission (one of the ‘materialities of communication’) rather than by the receiver. Note, for example, the language Gumbrecht uses to characterize his classroom teaching: ‘My first more personal concern for this class was to be a good enough teacher to evoke for my students and to make them feel specific moments of intensity that I remember with nostalgia’ (Gumbrecht 2004: 97). The phrases ‘evoke for my students’, ‘make them feel’ and ‘intensity that I remember’ all emphasize how presence is produced by the teacher, not the student. 8. Gumbrecht might at first seem to embrace the idea of generating presence through one’s actions when he cites Gadamer’s notion of ‘truth in performance’ (Gumbrecht 2004: 64). However, he uses Gadamer’s example to emphasize not interaction, but what he calls ‘materialities of communication’, the sound of words in a poem, for instance, that can only be experienced by hearing the poem performed aloud. Through performance, the sonic ‘substance’ of the poem impinges on the senses with presence effects and not just meaning effects, but this is still
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foremost in mind, one is then led to ask what, if anything, distinguishes the virtual worlds of interactive fiction from the virtual worlds presented by ‘traditional’ texts.10 Most IF theorists are aware, however, that even ‘traditional texts’ require interaction in order to be made ‘present’. Instead of characterizing a traditional reader as one who ‘dutifully trudges the linear track prescribed by the author’, Nick Montfort in Toward a Theory of Interactive Fiction (2003a), for example, recognizes that a reading of a book may involve browsing it in a bookstore, reading in short bursts in different places, skipping ahead to see if it gets any better at the end, looking through bits in the middle to then figure out what happened, and giving up without actually reading everything … readings may not be in sequence and may not be total. (Montfort 2003a)
That being said, there is a crucial difference between the kind of interactivity that occurs in IF and the reader-interactivity encountered in traditional texts. When Roland Barthes (like Iser) argues that the reader is an active participant in the construction of the literary work (1974: 4) – namely, as the ‘writerly reader’ – he is not speaking literally. To be sure, the engaged reader leaves his/her mark on the text, but such inscription occurs only in the imagination: the term ‘writerly’ is a metaphor. But in IF, the reader responds to a given text by literally leaving his or her mark on the screen in typed strings of alphabetic text: the computer screen becomes a digital palimpsest. This ‘writerly’ mode of interactivity in IF creates distinctive possibilities for producing presence.11 Crucially, IF replies to an interactor’s typed input by disclosing a new string of signifiers that are unveiled only after a specific contribution is made by the interactor. The latent, multiple potentialities of the text in interactive fiction therefore exist not just on the level of the signified, but in the visible signifier as well. Marie-Laure Ryan clarifies this important distinction in Narrative as Virtual Reality: ‘Whereas the reader of a standard print text constructs personalized interpretations out of an invariant semiotic base, the reader of an interactive text … participates in the construction of the text as a visible display of signs’ (Ryan 2001: 6). This method of text construction itself generates a presence effect. As Espen Aarseth explains in Cybertext, interactive narratives differ critically from traditional narratives because they constantly remind the reader of ‘inaccessible strategies and paths not taken, voices not heard. Each decision will make some parts of the text more, and others less, accessible, and you may never know the exact results of your choices; that is, exactly what you missed’ (Aarseth 1997: 3). The typed response of the reader reveals both a new visible text and a new evoked work of the imagination along with it; at the same time, the reader’s typed response closes off other possible alternative texts, which – unless the game is re-played from the beginning – will never be uncovered. By taking one path, you abandon another, and an interesting effect of these choices is the nagging sense of ‘what if?’ – What if I had made another decision? What would have happened? The very absence of signification (the text that remains undisclosed to the interactor because of his or her choices) thus creates a presence effect of 28
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felt uncertainty, curiosity and possibly anxiety. A traditional text may indeed be, as Barthes argues in S/Z, a ‘galaxy of signifiers’ (Barthes 1974: 5), but in IF these signifiers are not pre-revealed or determinately bounded by the covers of a book. They reveal themselves only through active exploration by contributing signifiers of one’s own (i.e. typed input).
Performing presence in Adventure, All Roads and Luminous Horizon So far, this discussion of IF has remained highly theoretical. To make IF more ‘present’, we need to look at some concrete examples of IF and examine how it actually works on the screen and at the keyboard. The earliest example of IF, Adventure, was a text adventure game designed in 1975 by Will Crowther and later expanded by Don Woods.12 Adventure was a landmark in computer simulation because it allowed users to navigate and interact with a textually represented world for the first time using natural language. The interactor was addressed in the second person and given a description of his or her current location in the game world, along with a list of objects available for picking up or manipulating. The interactor was then given a cursor prompt (‘>’) allowing him to interact by typing in simple commands in English. The parser (the ‘decoding’ algorithm that analyses a string of text entered by the interactor) was extremely simple, and only allowed up to two-word inputs in the format of VERB NOUN, for instance, ‘GET BOTTLE’, ‘OPEN GRATE’ or ‘GO NORTH’ (which could be abbreviated to ‘N’). By typing in appropriate, context-dependent commands, players could solve puzzles and thereby overcome obstacles to their progress. For example, in one section of a colossal cave the nameless adventurer encounters a fissure ‘too wide to jump’ – no further progress can be made in that direction. In another room he discovers a ‘three foot black rod with a rusty star on one end’. Although the purpose of the rod is initially unclear, the predicament of the fissure suggests particular uses that might be made of it: >W On East Bank of Fissure You are on the east bank of a fissure slicing clear across the hall. The mist is quite thick here, and the fissure is too wide to jump. >W The fissure is too wide. >WAVE ROD A crystal bridge now spans the fissure. >W West Side of Fissure You are on the west side of the fissure in the hall of mists. A crystal bridge now spans the fissure. There are diamonds here! (Crowther and Woods 1975–6)
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a one-directional phenomenon. 9. Although theorists like Douglas dismiss IF as technologically out of date and hence of little interest, defenders of IF like Nelson contend that it makes little sense to argue that text-based games are outmoded just because computers twenty years later have graphical effects capable of producing near-realism in high resolution 3D. Such a stance would be like saying that because of the advent of television and film nobody should read books anymore. 10. For a detailed discussion of how all narratives function as virtual and potentially immersive spaces, see Ryan 2001. 11. A collaborative gesture towards developing ‘writer response theory’ (WRT) can be explored at http://writerresponset heory.org (accessed 20 August 2008). The WRT website characterizes itself as ‘a blogging collective dedicated to the discussion and exploration of digital character art – any art involving electrons and making use of letters, alphanumerics, or other characters in an interesting way. Our primary focus is on active and interactive works, in which users input text and receive textual responses as output.’ 12. For detailed accounts of the origin and development of Adventure, see Nelson (1995), Montfort (2003b: 85-93), and
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The Colossal Cave Adventure (n.d.). 13. A major problem was Adventure’s interface. The limited two-word parser and the common ‘I don’t understand that verb’ responses often resulted more in frustration than epiphany. Strains on interaction spell certain death for immersion, and a clunky interface can take attention away from the story and place it instead on the interface. For IF to succeed as a believable fiction, it must not feel like one is ‘controlling’ a character from the outside, by proxy (Chaouli [2005] similarly points out that violation of fictive space in hypertext makes the fiction begin to ‘come apart’). Instead, through habit, the interface should ideally disappear as ‘equipment’ – to use Heidegger’s expression (1977: 164) – and one will readily identify with the player character and inhabit the story vicariously through that persona. 14. Hyperfiction, in contrast, characteristically invokes only two parties: the narrator and the interactor. Although hyperfictions are fully capable of representing multiple points of view (for example, see 10:01 by Olsen and Guthrie) they typically do not have the interactor inhabit such narrative personae ‘within the story’. This is the main reason why, in a paper focused on producing presence through interaction
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Even in a game as simple as Adventure, the responsiveness of the world to one’s own actions is satisfying because the ratio of known to unknown information is (generally) well-balanced. In a fantasy world, a discovered black rod with a rusty star at the top suggests magical power, but it isn’t until one tries to use it at the chasm that it does anything; the combination of the mysterious object with an impassible gorge itself provides the clue of what to do. The fact that waving the rod creates a magical bridge that remains in place for the rest of the game provides the interactor with a sense of achievement, of successfully ‘leaving his/her mark’ on the textual landscape. The text has been both altered and opened up to further enquiry by the player’s actions. More important, however, is the presence effect achieved by what VR researchers call ‘supported action in the environment’ (quoted in IJsselsteijn 2002: 251). In this example from Adventure, rather than depending on aural or visual ‘special effects’, the impression of tangibility is achieved solely through an object’s textually represented responsiveness to player input. Because one of Gumbrecht’s major concerns is how alternative worlds (for him, ‘worlds of the past’) can be made ‘tangible’ (Gumbrecht 2004: 94), an example like this one is crucial because of its purely performative character. The actions of the user here are as critical as the materiality of communication for producing presence. When the text registers a player’s interactions by unveiling new signifiers representing an altered landscape, a sense of immersion can be produced. But in the case of Adventure, just barely. Adventure is now notable as much for its limitations as for its breakthroughs. As a text adventure it succeeds in offering spatial exploration and puzzle solving galore, but little else.13 And despite the primitive presence effects Adventure generates by responding to player input, its use of text is not exactly literary. The ‘plot’ (if one is willing to call it that) is narratively static, with no development apart from the fulfilment of a treasure hunt (a simplistic ‘quest narrative’ at best) – or the adventurer’s dying or giving up in the process. In any case, puzzle solving does not serve to develop any sort of ‘story’. Characterization is similarly thin: the adventurer himself is just a cipher, a conflation of player character with human interactor, not a legitimate fictional persona in its own right. In contrast, most current works of IF clearly distinguish three different parties (at least) that allow for the ‘fiction’ in IF to maintain a genuinely narrative frame. This triad of relations involves the interactor (you at the keyboard), the player character(s) in the story (the narrative persona[e] you control, referred to as the second person ‘you’) and the narrator. In paradigmatic IF, the computer-controlled narrator discloses a string of text to the human interactor providing a description about the situation of the fictional player character. You, the interactor at the keyboard, are called to respond at the cursor prompt.14 In many ways, Adventure is a lesson in how IF can fail as fiction, and how it can consequently be unsuccessful at generating narrative presence effects – particularly those of affect. But more recent works have changed the narrative terrain of IF radically. Ever since Infocom crashed in the late 1980s with several dozen high-quality titles under its belt including the Zork series and the critically acclaimed Trinity and A Mind Forever Voyaging, IF has been commercially unviable (and looks to remain that way). But 30
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from the mid 1990s to the present, a cadre of computer programmers, hobbyists and creative writers have continued to design works of IF – almost all available for free online – motivated in some part by several design competitions held yearly. The winner of the 2001 interactive fiction competition was All Roads by Jon Ingold (2006). Described by one reviewer as a ‘supernatural espionage thriller set in a quasi-medieval Venice’ (Baf ’s Guide to the IF Archive n.d.), All Roads is worth looking at closely because it provides examples of the potential presence effects IF might evoke as fiction – how IF can transcend Graham Nelson’s half-serious characterization of it as ‘a narrative at war with a crossword’ (Nelson 1995).15 Like Adventure, All Roads permits spatial navigation through the entry of simple compass directions and requires the solving of certain puzzles to advance the narration. But that’s where the similarities end.16 On the interactor side of things, the parser is extremely versatile and well developed, and can accept full-sentence input – reducing frustration and conserving immersive momentum. The narration has equally improved, with much richer descriptions like this example from near the beginning of the story: You stumble. Empty Room The light is dimmer here, the stones are cold. You are in a wide room, Gothic arches rising rib-like to the buttressed roof. Pigeons flit between crevices in the stone, their wing-flaps echo like sharp thunder. Dust spirals in the two slices of light from the crack windows by the roof. Perhaps this room is mainly underground, with the slots at earth-level. There is but one door north from this vast space, of solid tarred wood, with a heavy lock set into the wood. It is secured. A small mound of dust and cobwebs has accumulated in one corner. Now to sort out your hands, which are still bound behind your back. The call of a pigeon echoes sorrowful [sic] around the stone. (Ingold 2006)
Suggestive room descriptions like this one provide just enough detail to allow the interactor to fill in the gaps and bring forth a setting. The different items brought to the player’s attention are particularly tantalizing. How well is the door secured? Is there anyone behind it? What might the small mound of dust and cobwebs reveal if you get a closer look? >EXAMINE DOOR The door is heavy, of wide oak planks riveted together with black rivets. You hear a noise, from behind the door. Footsteps. Followed by a scraping in the lock, of a key being removed. >LISTEN TO DOOR There are footsteps beyond the door, receding. You hear voices from the street above; a woman says: ‘I will look after this. Now why don’t you just check the door is secure, there, Antonio?’ ‘Certainly,’ comes a man’s reply. ‘I wouldn’t want any of those cursed birds flying out.’
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in digital narratives, I address IF instead. (I should mention that hyperfictions would seem to offer unique presence effects of their own, including the effects of disorientation from multi-linearity and lack of closure.) 15. In The Craft of Adventure, Nelson explains that new works of IF have largely overcome the sorry narrative state of the medium after Adventure: ‘The days of wandering around doing unrelated things to get treasures are long passed …Even Adventure went to some effort to avoid this. Its many imitators, in the early years of small computers, often took no such trouble. The effect was quite surreal. One would walk across the drawbridge of a medieval castle and find a pot plant, a vat of acid, a copy of Playboy magazine and an electric drill. There were puzzles without rhyme or reason. The player was a characterless magpie always on the lookout for something cute to do. The crossword had won without a fight’ (Nelson 1995). 16. Ingold’s All Roads recently demonstrated its significance in the new wave of literary IF by its inclusion in the online Electronic Literature Collection (Hayles et al. 2006). The collection is ALSO included on the CD (under a Creative Commons License) with Hayles’ new book Electronic Literature: New
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>EXAMINE COBWEBS In one corner, the dust and cobwebs have piled up over something, though it’s hard to tell what it is. You hear footsteps in the passage outside the door, and at the same time one beam of light passes out, then appears once more, as something falls to the floor through the window slot. It is a key – a heavy iron key! Something clatters through the street overhead, and a few birds are startled.
Horizons for the Literary (2008). 17. The key actually falls after a certain number of turns, not in response to any of the player’s actual actions.
(Ingold 2006)
This passage makes striking use of non-interactive plot revelation in IF. The fact that the key falls into the room while you are examining the cobwebs – a causally unrelated act – creates a sense of gratuitous presence, a feeling that other characters are acting independently of you, the player character, and not merely in response to you.17 And by overhearing snippets of conversation you only perceive fragments that you do not know how to interpret, adding a sense of mystery. You have incomplete information that you must begin to creatively fill in yourself. To find out more, you can try to pick up the key and use it to escape, but you are unable to reach it because your hands are tied. With such limited options, that pile behind the dust and cobwebs begins to look all the more intriguing … >MOVE COBWEBS You cannot, with your hands bound, so you close your eyes and blow; the dust billowing back at you in a cloud. You try to wave it away, cannot, and are forced to retreat for a few moments, eyes watering. When they clear, you see an old wine bottle has been uncovered. (Ingold 2006)
The recurrent reminder of your bound hands reinforces the mystery of your circumstances. Why are you being treated like a criminal? Who are you, and how can you find out? Who is the strange woman you heard speaking to the guard? Can the wine bottle be made useful somehow? Thankfully, unlike in Adventure, here puzzles are incorporated into the narrative meaningfully, as genuine problems like ‘how do I get my hands loose?’, instead of ‘how do I set down the precious vase without shattering it?’ A mere situation – as it would be in a text adventure lacking a genuine ‘character’ – here becomes an authentic predicament. In All Roads, ‘solutions’ to problems thus actually advance the plot – and develop character – instead of just netting the adventurer a treasure: >EXAMINE BOTTLE An old bottle, with dark red wine visible behind the green glass. The label is too old to read, and maybe never said anything to start with. >GET BOTTLE You stand in front of the bottle, with it between your heels, and kneel, grasping, until your fingers brush the glass. Fumbling, you get a grip on the neck, and straighten up.
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>BREAK BOTTLE You release the bottle neck, and hear the glass shatter on the stone behind you, the sound bouncing jagged off the walls. The back of your leg feels wet as wine splashes over your trousers. At the sound of the smash, the pigeons take fright. The birds swoop out of the thin windows in a panic, and out onto the street. You hear a man yelping, and footsteps through the doorway which run closer. The guard, sheltering from the birds, perhaps? The birds whirl around the ceiling, clattering and squawking. >GET GLASS You lift one of the larger pieces, a dagger of glass; ever careful not to touch the edge. Birds stream in and out of the windows, shredding the light. >CUT ROPE WITH GLASS (the glass dagger) Slowly, you align the glass and the ropes. They slip – you try again. It’s difficult, fumbling work, and each time you get through one strand the glass slips and you have to readjust it. Eventually, you sever the width of the rope – but the knot does not come free, it is so tangled, and the glass slips off the threads. You pause with ropes half cut. The birds settle down, and finally come back to roost. You hear the guard go back up to the street, cursing, ‘Damned birds.’ (Ingold 2006)
The bodily interactions supplied here by the narrator (holding the bottle in your heels and kneeling to grip it with your bound hands) make physical sense and add a greater sense of physical constraint. The splash of wine on the back of your trousers has absolutely no effect on gameplay or plot (the bottle could just as well have been empty), but its crimson wetness serves as a gratuitous piece of textual evocation that adds immersiveness to a dimly lit encounter – a nod to Barthes’ ‘reality effect’ (Barthes 1989: 141–8). Manipulation of objects is also narrated and not merely transacted. Instead of just adding the bottle to your inventory or perfunctorily replying with a ‘You can’t pick it up’ (as would be customary in earlier games), here a sense of bodily limitation is conjured by making it a fumbling, laboured process. The effects of the sound of breaking glass on the birds reinforce the sense that this is a world that responds to your actions – a real place. And – again making puzzles narrative instead of merely concocted – the guard’s panic at the birds gives you some clue of how to get past him and escape. (In fact, there is more than one way to escape: you can slash the guard with a shard of glass to incapacitate him, or you can lock him out of the building and then scare the birds, which will result in him fleeing in panic down the street. And there might be other ways as well that I have not yet figured out …) For right now, you’re still locked in the cell and the rope is only half cut. You try again: >CUT ROPE WITH GLASS (the glass dagger) Again, you painstakingly angle the glass to the fibres, and begin the slow process of chafing. One by one the strands around your wrist snap, and now the tension eases; until finally the rope knot slithers to the floor.
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Gratefully you rub your hands together, and notice for the first time – you are wearing a gold ring. (Ingold 2006)
Again, the solution to a puzzle has narrative effect – once your hands are free you encounter things about yourself that you didn’t know before. The player character in All Roads thus gains legitimacy as a fictional character and not just as a virtual proxy for the person at the keyboard; indeed, this character’s identity is unveiled progressively as the story develops, and a large part of this development results from interactions with objects and other (non-player) characters. You seek to find out more by typing in the following: >EXAMINE RING A golden ring, stamped with the Seal of Rome. You do not remember acquiring it; it must have been won gambling in the inn last night, or somesuch. It is probably quite precious. (Ingold 2006)
You carry a ring with the Seal of Rome? That would seem to imply more than what the narrator relates. The results are mysterious, but intriguing, and only come to light gradually as you continue to explore the narrative of All Roads by interacting with it further. One final presence-producing aspect of IF I would like to examine is the player’s capacity, through his or her own actions, to experience alternative narrative perspectives. For instance, in Paul O’Brian’s superhero serial adventure Luminous Horizon (first place winner of the 2004 interactive fiction competition), the opening description reads like this: High Plains Scrub bushes and sparse grasses provide a little ground cover for the otherwise rocky, sandy soil of this area. Other than the jagged mountains looming a few miles to the east, this spot seems entirely barren. A damaged road sign lies at your feet. Emily hovers a few inches above the ground here. >EXAMINE ME Sporting your earthsuit, you look every inch the superhero. Well, except without the caricatured physique. >EXAMINE EMILY Like you, Emily is decked out in her superhero regalia, a blue skysuit with cloudy white streaks. (O’Brian 2004)
So far, this introduction is par for the course in IF, with the distinction that it comes with two characters rather than the traditional solo adventurer. The significance of this difference, however, is revealed with the ability to enter a ‘CHANGE’ command to swap control over these two personae. Note that when you switch points of view, you not only gain control over
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the other character and obtain use of his or her unique superpowers, but the narrative’s focalization – and, in turn, the description of the terrain – changes as well. >CHANGE [now controlling Emily] High Plains You’ve never been much of a fan of Westerns, but this area just seems to cry out for some cowboy to mosey through it. Everything’s here – the scrappy little bushes, the rocky ground, the mountains in the eastern distance, and the sense of barren desolation. All that’s missing is a lonely ghost town and a tumbleweed slowly bouncing across the frame. The air seems unusually still here, as if the landscape were holding its breath in anticipation. Austin is here, staring intently at the landscape. A damaged road sign lies at your feet. (O’Brian 2004)
Austin’s description had been antiseptic in its bare categorizing (‘sparse’, ‘rocky’, ‘sandy’ and ‘jagged’ are his primary descriptors). But when Emily becomes the focal point, the narrator instead populates the landscape with imagined associations specific to Emily: for her the area is redolent of popular culture (‘Westerns’) by seeming to ‘cry out for some cowboy to mosey through it’, and its bushes are personified as ‘scrappy’. The fact that the landscape seems to be ‘holding its breath’ reinforces a sense of agency in the area rather than inert backdrop: for Emily, it’s a place and not mere space. The gendering suggested in Austin and Emily’s respective points of view is perhaps predictably schematic – Austin is the objective/rational male, Emily the subjective/intuitive female – but whether or not the stereotyping of gender roles counts as a weakness in the story, the capacity of the interactor to switch roles at will is striking. It allows him or her to experiment with virtually embodied perception and thereby experience two distinct versions of gender-situated presence. Later in the game, each character’s particular mode of perception becomes critical because each one interprets the use of important objects differently: viewing the game world and interacting with it from both perspectives is required in order to complete the story. What might be more important here than the content of such gender-swapping perspectives is the effect that such role switching might have, generally speaking, on the generation of presence effects in digital narratives. In online role-playing games like World of Warcraft and other graphically based computer games, it is common for male players to control female avatars, but this switch to a ‘feminine perspective’ does literally nothing to alter the landscape as it represents itself to the player. One’s avatar looks different, and other characters might respond differently because of the avatar’s gender markers (cf. Schmieder, this issue), but the representation of the world itself remains unaltered.18 In the same way that binocular vision and stereophonic hearing synergistically bring forth a new dimension of awareness through their combination of multiple inputs, multiple narrative perspectives might generate unexpected new possibilities for presence production in IF. ‘Doing there’ vs. ‘being there’
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18. Whether or not this failure to represent different narrative perspectives represents an intrinsic limitation of a graphical medium is, of course, a different question. I see no reason (other than technical complications) why a graphically based game world might not reveal itself differently depending on the avatar one uses to interact with it. Laurel’s VR installation Placeholder, for example, implements multiple narrative perspectives in a graphically based medium by having players take on the perspectives of a spider, snake, fish and crow. See Laurel et al. (1994).
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I have used these examples to provide a glimpse into IF’s potential for making a fictional world present in a distinctively electronic, but nongraphical, manner. One might ask, however, why that would matter. Traditional fiction itself requires some degree of interaction to evoke presence and leave its mark on us, so why resort to the use of a computer? I suspect that the current zeal for ‘interactivity’ through computers has something to do with a desire to reclaim a meaningful sense of agency in our lives – and, for many readers, ‘traditional’ print texts can feel (justifiably or not) too passive. Through community fragmentation and a mechanized, push-button solution to many basic human needs and desires (these being represented by the existentialist cover-all trope of ‘alienation’), we lose a sense of concerned engagement with the world; our actions leave no lasting ‘mark’ there. Gumbrecht suggests that because communication technologies have become so pervasive, they create a compensatory yearning in us for what we’ve lost because of them, namely a sense of embodied interaction (Gumbrecht 2004: 139). Paradoxically, IF might be one technologically mediated method for us to imaginatively produce – and, indeed, perform – such presence. Works cited Aarseth, E. (1997), Cybertext: Perspectives on Ergodic Literature, Baltimore: Johns Hopkins. Baf ’s Guide to the Interactive Fiction Archive (n.d.), www.wurb.com/if/index. Accessed 20 August 2008. Barthes, R. (1989), ‘The reality effect’ (trans. R. Howard), in The Rustle of Language, New York: Hill and Wang, pp. 141–8. —— (1974), S/Z, New York: Noonday Press. Chaouli, M. (2005), ‘How interactive can fiction be?’, Critical Inquiry, 31:3, pp. 618–37. Crowther, W. and Woods, D. (1975–6), Adventure, PDP-1/FORTRAN, numerous publishers, sometimes distributed as Colossal Cave Adventure. Accessible at Baf ’s Guide to the IF Archive. Douglas, J. Y. (2000), The End of Books – Or Books Without End? Reading Interactive Narratives, Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Fish, S. (1980 [1970]), ‘Literature in the Reader: Affective Stylistics’, in J. P. Tompkins (ed.), Reader-Response Criticism: From Formalism to Post-Structuralism, Baltimore, ML: Johns Hopkins, pp. 70–100. Gumbrecht, H. U. (2004), Production of Presence: What Meaning Cannot Convey, Stanford: Stanford University Press. Hansen, M. B. N. (2006), Bodies in Code: Interfaces With Digital Media, London: Routledge. Hayles, N. K. (2008), Electronic Literature: New Horizons for the Literary, Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press. Hayles, N. K., Montfort, N., Rettberg, S. and Strickland, S. (eds), (2006), Electronic Literature Collection Volume 1, http://collection.eliterature.org/. Accessed 15 August 2008. Heidegger, M. (1977), Basic Writings, San Francisco: Harper & Row. IJsselsteijn, W. (2002), ‘Elements of a multi-level theory of presence: phenomenology, mental processing and neural correlates’, Proceedings of PRESENCE 2002,
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Universidade Fernando Pessoa, Porto Portugal, 9–11 October 2002, www. presence-research.org/papers/P2002.pdf. Accessed 15 August 2008. Infocom – The Master Storytellers (n.d.), ‘Infocom – advertisements and product catalog’, www.infocom-if.org/index2.html. Accessed 15 August 2008. Ingold, J. (2006 [2001]), All Roads, in N. K. Hayles et al. (eds), Electronic Literature Collection Volume 1, http://collection.eliterature.org/1/works/ingold_all_ roads.html. Accessed 15 August 2008. Iser, W. (1980 [1974]), ‘The reading process: a phenomenological approach’, in J. P. Tompkins (ed.), Reader-Response Criticism: From Formalism to PostStructuralism, Baltimore, ML: Johns Hopkins, pp. 50–69. Laurel, B., Strickland, R. and Tow, R. (1994), ‘Placeholder: landscape and narrative in virtual environments’, ACM SIGGRAPH Computer Graphics, 28:2, pp. 118–26. Montfort, N. (2003a), ‘Toward a theory of interactive fiction’, nickm.com, www. nickm.com/if/toward.html. Accessed 21 August 2008. —— (2003b), Twisty Little Passages: An Approach to Interactive Fiction, Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press. Montessori, M. (1962), The Discovery of the Child, Madras: Kalakshetra Publications. Nelson, G. (1995), The Craft of Adventure: Five Articles on the Design of Adventure Games, The Interactive Fiction Archive, www.ifarchive.org/if-archive/programming/ general-discussion/Craft.Of.Adventure.txt. Accessed 21 August 2008. O’Brian, P. (2004), Luminous Horizon: Earth and Sky, Episode 3, Glulx/Inform. Accessible at Baf ’s Guide to the IF Archive. Olsen, L. and Guthrie, T. (2006 [2005]) 10:01, in N. K. Hayles et al. (eds), Electronic Literature Collection Volume 1, http://collection.eliterature.org/1/ works/olsen_guthrie_10_01.html. Accessed 26 September 2008. Ryan, M.-L. (2001), Narrative as Virtual Reality: Immersion and Interactivity in Literature and Electronic Media, Baltimore, ML: Johns Hopkins. The Colossal Cave Adventure (n.d.), ‘Here’s where it all began’, www.rickadams.org/ adventure/a_history.html. Accessed 15 August 2008. Wikipedia, the Free Encyclopedia (2008), ‘Interactive fiction’, http://en.wikipedia. org/wiki/Interactive_Fiction. Accessed 25 July 2008. Wittgenstein, L. (1972), On Certainty, San Francisco: Harper & Row.
Suggested citation Seegert, A. (2009), ‘‘Doing there’ vs. ‘being there’: performing presence in interactive fiction’, Journal of Gaming and Virtual Worlds 1: 1, pp. 23–37, doi: 10.1386/jgvw.1.1.23/1
Contributor details Alf Seegert (M.A., M.S.) is a Ph.D. candidate in the Department of English (British and American Literature) at the University of Utah. His research on ecocriticism and cyberculture explores how our use of interfaces alters our sense of body, space and place. Although he has yet to design a work of interactive fiction, he is the author of several Euro-style board games currently in production. Contact: E-mail: [email protected]
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Journal of Gaming and Virtual Worlds Volume 1 Number 1 © 2009 Intellect Ltd Article. English language. doi: 10.1386/jgvw.1.1.39/1
Power and nerves of steel or thrill of adventure and patience? An empirical study on the use of different video game genres Christina Schumann Department of Communication Research/Political Communication
Daniel Schultheiss Department of Media Management Abstract
Keywords
This empirical study focuses on explaining the utilization of three video game genres – first person shooters, strategy games and role-playing games – and on whether different explanatory models can be established for the three genres. A model comprising the three explanatory components, gratifications sought (GS), gratifications obtained (GO) and subjective restrictions or capacities, operationalized by the skills that players have to have for the specific genres, serves as a theoretical basis. Data was collected by way of an online survey (N = 5,257). The results show that GO and the capacities are particularly suited to explaining the use of video games. While GO generally seem to offer a basis for explaining the use of video games, since the dimensions ‘power and competition’ and ‘thrill of adventure’ do influence the use of all three genres, there were considerable differences between the individual genres in terms of capacities. Gamers who have a high stress threshold and quick reactions, as well as a good sense of direction, tend to prefer first person shooters. The use of strategy games may be explained in terms of skills like logic and strategic thought. On the other hand, patient gamers prefer role-playing games. The explanatory power of GS, however, proves to be extremely low. Based on these results, approaches are discussed for further research in this field.
video games genres uses and gratifications restrictions capacities player skills
Introduction ‘There is nothing in the global entertainment industry that could rival the sales success of Grand Theft Auto IV on the day of its release’, announced the German daily newspaper Sueddeutsche Zeitung on 9th May 2008 in light of the estimated sales amounting to $310 million (Graff 2008). The phenomenal success of the fourth edition of the Grand Theft Auto (GTA) series has not only put video games once again in the headlines but also re-sparked the discussion about the media’s power of fascination. This subject matter has already been the focus of scientific research. For instance, studies have examined, based on perspectives of uses and JGVW 1 (1) pp. 39–56 © Intellect Ltd 2009
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1. In this article no differentiation is made between digital games that are made for consoles and computer games that are played on PCs. 2. The JIM-study is a representative survey of German adolescents; the VUD is the former German entertainment software association that collected market data of digital games. The VUD has now been replaced by the Bundesverband interaktive Unterhaltungssoftware (BIU).
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gratifications, whether it is possible to explain the use of video games in general (e.g. Fritz 2003a) or individual genres (e.g. Lehmann et al. 2008; Jansz and Tanis 2006; Yee 2006) by taking into account the gamers’ motives of use. One approach, however, has for the most part been neglected; that is one which concentrates on comparative perspectives. Consequently, the general focal point of this article is to examine whether various motives can explain the use of different genres of video games. It is also possible to presume that the use of different genres is not only influenced by the motives of the players, but is also linked to underlying external conditions. Due to the high degree of interactivity of video games, players must possess specific skills to have success in playing these games. For instance, the German gamers’ magazine Gamestar wrote in its review of Modern Warfare, the fourth edition of the Call of Duty series, that speed, accuracy and communication between gamers were decisive factors on the modern battlefields (Gamestar.de 2008). As a result, this study focuses on the question of whether the use of different genres may also be explained by specific skills that gamers have.
Popular video game genres As a cover-all term, ‘video games’1 encompasses a wide variety of different genres that cannot be examined within the framework of a single article. A careful selection of genres is therefore important. On the one hand, this selection should focus on genres that are as different as can be, since it can be presumed that similar factors are also responsible for the use of similar genres. Furthermore, it is necessary to ensure that the selected genres enjoy maximum popularity. The Jugend, Information, (Multi-) Media (JIM) study, which was conducted in 2005 by the Medienpädagogischer Forschungsverband Südwest (MPFS: South-west German Research Association for Media Education), and information published by Verband Unterhaltungssoftware Deutschland (VUD)2 – the German entertainment software association – (VUD 2003) provide insight into the popularity of the individual genres. We selected our genres on the basis of the ‘map of virtual games’ classification schema by Jürgen Fritz (2003b) because it offers a more straightforward way of systematically selecting diverse genres than other models for classifying video games do (e.g. Klimmt 2001). Fritz takes the construction principles of video games as a starting point for his schema. Based on three central elements – action, thinking and story – he proposes a three-pole map, which can be used as a basis for differentiating between individual genres. The more a specific genre is aligned with one of the construction principles, the closer it is located to the respective pole. Action-oriented games are primarily characterized by suspense, immediacy and liveliness. Due to continually recurring dangerous situations, such games require players to be able to concentrate and react instantly if they want to survive. Skills like the ability to react quickly, a good sense of direction and high stress thresholds are essential for being successful in action-oriented games (Fritz 2003b). According to Manuel Ladas (2002), the genres first person shooters (FPS), beat’em ups, military simulations, racing games and jump-and-runs are prototypical of this pole. Based on 40
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Story
Thinking
Action
Figure 1: Map of virtual games (Fritz 2003b). the findings of the JIM study (MPFS 2004) and VUD (VUD 2003), with regard to the popularity of the individual genres, it is advisable to make a selection in favour of FPS. Cognitive games, on the other hand, require players to act primarily in a tactical and well-thought-out manner. In most cases, players do not have an avatar in the virtual world and thus watch complex actions taking place from the outside, acting for the most part like a ‘deity’ or a commander. Players control the events by changing individual elements, e.g. by sending combat troops to a different location, enlarging settlements or doing business (Fritz 2003b). Ladas (2002) emphasizes that (war) strategy games, economic and development simulations as well as cognitive and skill games may be assigned to the thinking pole. In terms of popularity, strategy games are most important in this genre list. Game storylines are primarily characterized by a set course of events with a broad level of suspense. These games frequently have their own, often fantasy, world with its own set of laws and rules. Much as in Entwicklungsroman plots, avatars go through different situations, which help them to further evolve, e.g. by acquiring new skills. These developments are merged into an independent virtual biography with time. To master such games, players have to be patient while exploring new worlds, pass practical tests, solve puzzles and deal with dangerous situations (Fritz 2003b). Consequently, elements of action and cognitive games are anchored within the storylines of the games. Since adventures and roleplaying games focus on a story, they may be considered representative of this pole (Ladas 2002). In terms of popularity, role-playing games enjoy great importance especially with respect to their online variation, massively multiplayer online role-playing games (MMORPGs). Given these considerations, this study examines three specific genres: FPS, strategy games and role-playing games (RPG).
Theoretical background As was described at the beginning, this article focuses on two components in order to explain the use of the three genres: motives of use, which in turn are divided into gratifications sought (GS) and gratifications obtained (GO), and specific skills of the players. Power and nerves of steel or thrill of adventure and patience?
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Uses and gratifications approach: gratifications sought and obtained The uses and gratifications approach is a central theory employed in communication studies for explaining the use of media. It is based on active recipients who select and use media in accordance with their motives and needs (Rubin 2002; Ruggiero 2000; Katz et al. 1974). Such needs are described in this article as gratifications sought (GS). These basic assumptions were developed by Philip Palmgreen and J.D. Rayburn within their discrepancy model (1982), where they not only focused on the recipients’ specific needs but also asked what needs have actually been satisfied by the media. The result of this use of media is referred to as gratifications obtained (GO). In contrast to many other studies, which attempt to explain the use of media based on gratifications, the present study does not only focus on GS but also on GO, since it is possible to assume that gratifications obtained offer considerable insight into explaining the research question. If the GS are satisfied while using video games in the form of GO, it may be assumed that the GO have a positive impact on use. Based on existing studies, this article will examine possible gratifications obtained from video games.
Gratifications of video games Fritz (2003b) as well as Jürgen Fritz and Wolfgang Fehr (2003) argue that video games are frequently used as a pastime to fight boredom, which points to a need for amusement. The desire to counter frustration, anger and stress has also been examined repeatedly. Fritz (2003c) concludes that relaxation is another gratification dimension while playing video games. Furthermore, there are findings that suggest a converse dimension: a need for suspense (Witting and Esser 2003). Further studies focus on the gratifications that seem to be specific to the use of video games in addition to these very general dimensions: an important reason to play video games is gratification in the form of power and control (e.g. Lehmann et al. 2008; Fritz 2003c), since interactivity and success in games give users the feeling that they have power and can control events. Another important dimension is competition and challenge (e.g. Jansz and Martens 2005; Vorderer et al. 2003), since video games are frequently geared towards competition and challenge, as players strive to reach the next level or outplay other gamers. Community (e.g. Schultheiss 2007; Jansz and Tanis 2006) is another important gratification factor. Consequently, playing video games may be motivated by a shared experience that arises when playing with friends or other gamers. Another dimension that should be considered is fantasy (e.g. Jansz 2005; Lucas and Sherry 2004). In this case, the point is to attempt things that are just not possible in real life (e.g. magic), to assume a different identity or simply to run away from everyday life (Fritz 2003c). The latter aspect illustrates that the fantasy dimension definitely encompasses elements of escapism. There is one further dimension that has not been covered by existing studies but should be taken into account all the same: the dimension of 42
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overcoming loneliness, which is cited in the popular and widely used gratification scale developed by Bradley Greenberg (1974).3 This is an important dimension in light of the popular belief that video game players are lonely. In summary, it is possible to infer the following gratification factors for playing video games: amusement, relaxation, suspense, power and control, challenge and competition, community, fantasy, and overcoming loneliness. In the empirical section, we aim to evaluate whether different dimensions of gratification are responsible for the use of different genres.
General conditions: subjective restrictions and capacities Player skills should serve as a second explanatory component for the use of different video game genres. This aspect has been ignored in the past in video games reception research. Since it is not possible to draw on existing literature, the question is what dimensions of players’ skills could play a role? The argument offered by Michael Jäckel (1992) provides a systematic answer to this question. He suggests looking at general underlying conditions to explain the use of media. These are manifested in restrictions that can limit an individual’s freedom to act in a specific situation when decisions are required (Kirchgässner 1991). Hartmut Esser (1999: 308) describes these circumstances colourfully in terms of ‘limits of desire’. According to Gerhard Vowe and Jens Wolling (2001, 2002), restrictions must be broken down into objective restrictions (e.g. monetary or timebased costs) and subjective restrictions. When it comes to the use of video games, subjective restrictions, which may be understood as the limits of one’s own perceived abilities, are of particular interest. Compared to other media, the skills and abilities required to play video games may be regarded as an important factor, due to high interactivity. Unlike TV or film viewers, video game players are physically active and have to employ specific skills in order to be able to play in the first place and be successful. As Wolling (2004) emphasizes, it is reasonable to mention both the negative restrictions and the positive effects that may arise: thus, it can be assumed that gamers who have the skills that are essential for success in a particular video game will use that specific genre more frequently. These skills are called capacities. What skills and abilities do gamers have to have in order to be successful in the three selected genres? A group of skills and abilities, on the basis of which it is possible to determine probable subjective restrictions or capacities, has been established for each pole on the map of virtual games (Fritz 2003b): for instance, FPS games require in particular quick reactions, a high stress threshold and a good sense of direction; strategy games call for players to keep an eye on everything that is happening and to solve problems by using logic; while RPG are distinguished by a sophisticated character system and a complex gaming universe, so players must be able to familiarize themselves with complex topics quickly and exercise lots of patience. Based on these considerations, it is possible to assume, in light of Power and nerves of steel or thrill of adventure and patience?
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3. Greenberg calls this dimension ‘sociability’.
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4. Possible influences of the genre use on GO or restrictions and capacities are not considered in this study as it would go beyond the scope of this article.
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the use of different video game genres, that gamers do not use a specific genre in which their subjective restrictions are very distinctive, or that they turn to a particular genre when they have especially good skills and abilities. In summary, we are able to cite the following dimensions of subjective restrictions or capacities: quick reactions, high stress threshold, good sense of direction, ability to keep an eye on complex occurrences, logical thinking, familiarization with complex topics and patience.
Model development In line with the theoretical statements, three explanatory components can be drawn on for examining the research question: GS, GO and subjective restrictions or capacities. It is assumed that each of these three components has a direct impact on the use of the different genres such that the components result in differences between the genres regarding the importance of the individual dimensions. Moreover, it can be presumed that the individual explanatory components influence each other. When it comes to subjective restrictions or capacities, an impact can be expected for both GS and GO: presumably, the knowledge that one is not able to do certain things results in the fact that specific gratifications are not sought out at all. For example, if players are not patient enough to acquaint themselves thoroughly with a game, they presumably do not have the desire to immerse themselves in a specific world in the first place, since they would not have the time or leisure to get properly involved with that world. Likewise, a connection seems probable between subjective restrictions and GO: if players do not have the skills that are crucial for success in a game, e.g. high stress threshold as required for FPS, the sense of success is replaced by a sense of failure, thus reducing or preventing the obtainment of possible gratifications. These assumptions may be summarized in a model, as follows:4
subjective restrictions and capacities use of • FPS gratifications sought
• RPG • strategy games
gratifications obtained Figure 2: Theoretical model for explaining the use of different video game genres. 44
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Based on this model, the research focus presented at the beginning of this article can be divided into the following sub-questions, which are answered in the empirical section: RQ1:
RQ2:
What impact do GS, GO and subjective restrictions or capacities have on the use of different genres? What differences are there between the genres? What impact do subjective restrictions have on sought and obtained gratifications? Are there differences between genres here as well?
Method Data was collected by way of an online survey. The invitation to participate in the survey was posted in the news section of eleven topic-oriented websites together with a link pointing to the survey. These websites were primarily online German magazines5 dealing with video games. Participation was anonymous and not promoted by a raffle. Instead, participants were motivated through their own personal interest in this topic. The survey was conducted between 27 January and 14 February 2006. Of the total 7,612 surveys completed, only 5,257 were suited for analysis after data cleansing due to the fact that some were either incomplete or filled out incorrectly. As a result of self selection (participation in the survey was open rather than limited to a selected group of people) it is not possible to depict a basic population. For this reason, the following evaluation of data obtained does not focus for the most part on a descriptive presentation of the percentages and mean values. Instead, attention is placed primarily on analysing the relationships between variables, because such relationships are relatively stable compared to a sample selection bias. The following descriptive data alone are used to describe the sample: The majority of the participants were male (97 per cent) and proportionally young: 86 per cent were between 12 and 29 years old. The predominance of male gamers can presumably be attributed to the method by which the participants were recruited: the majority of readers of video game magazines in Germany are male. In light of the ‘youthful’ sample, it is not surprising that 54 per cent of the participants still go to school or are attending a university. The average time spent playing video games per week is 16 hours. The genre of video games that is played the most is FPS, followed by strategy games in second place. RPG ranked fifth behind action games and action adventures.6 The data were prepared as follows to facilitate further analysis: to calculate dependent variables it is not a good idea to directly apply the frequency of use of the individual genres, since it can be assumed that part of the use of a specific genre may be explained by the generally high amount of time spent playing video games (so called heavy players). Consequently, the dependent variables were calculated from the residuals that were determined during a regression analysis of the general period of use over the frequency of use of the individual genres. This ensured that the dependent variables used included a high frequency of use of the interesting genres that is independent of the general time of use. Power and nerves of steel or thrill of adventure and patience?
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5. Names of the websites: 4players.de; demonews.de; game-basis.com; gamecaptain.com; gamesagent.net; gamesaktuell.de; gamestar.de; gametalkzone.de; gamezone.de; justgamers.de; maniac.de. 6. FPS: 70 per cent ‘frequent or very frequent use’; strategic games: 45 per cent ‘frequent or very frequent use’; action games: 44 per cent ‘frequent or very frequent use’; action adventures: 33 per cent ‘frequent or very frequent use’; RPGs: 31 per cent ‘frequent or very frequent use’.
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7. Because of high double loading, the items ‘to feel less lonely’ (overcoming loneliness), ‘the sportive competition with other gamers/ the computer’ (challenge and competition) and ‘to feel powerful’ (power and control) had to be taken out of analysis.
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Results Empirical dimensions of GS The item set regarding the GS was introduced as follows: ‘Now I am interested in knowing what expectations you have of video games. It is not important if your expectations are met or not. I am more interested in finding out what is important to you in general. What do you wish for?’ This was followed by a list of 25 items that could be evaluated on the basis of a five-point Likert scale, ranging from ‘I do not want at all’ to ‘I really want’ and a residual category ‘Do not know’. The number of items per dimension was between two (e.g. suspense dimension) and five (e.g. power and control dimension). This number corresponded to the theoretically supposed significance of the respective dimensions. Factor analysis was used to check what empirical dimensions of GS could be determined.
thrill of power and mood social opinion amusement adventure competition management contacts leadership ... to experience s.th. exciting ... to immerse in another world ... to experience s.th. agitating ... to slip into different roles ... to be somebody else ... to try things that are otherwise impossible ... to master a video game as well as possible ... to be better than other gamers/ the computer ... to improve my skills by training ... to control the game ... to prove myself ... to distract me from everyday worries ... to run away from everyday life ... to counter frustration and anger ... to meet other gamers ... to make new friends ... to play together with my friends ... to be in the know on the latest games ... to have a say in talks about video games
.76 .76 .75 .73 .66 .47
.40
.83 .75 .70 .61 .61 .81 .78 .73 .84 .81 .74 .85 .81
... to kill time ... to fight boredom
.89 .82
Extraction method: principal component analysis (PCA), varimax rotation with Kaiser normalization, Eigenvalue > 1, 63% of variance explained
Figure 3: Factor analysis of GS.7 46
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The results show that the theoretically presumed dimensions could be modified at several points: The first factor includes items that should cover primarily the dimensions suspense (items 1 + 3) and fantasy (items 2, 4, 5, 6). Accordingly, it seems important to flee the real world and leave everyday life behind, to try things that are otherwise impossible, to assume a different identity (role) but also to experience excitement and suspense through the game. Based on this factor, the presumption can be made that there is a desire to personally experience the adventures of heroic figures like Indiana Jones or Harry Potter and prove oneself by attempting to master the exciting challenges that these heroes face. Consequently, this factor was referred to as the ‘thrill of adventure’. Factor two also encompassed several of these theoretically presumed dimensions (power and control: items 1, 2, 4, 5; challenge and competition: item 3). This combination is easy to comprehend. It may be assumed that the feeling of having power and control is accompanied by a pleasant sensation. Moreover, it is possible to assume that this feeling becomes more intensive when gamers are able to demonstrate their skills by competing with other gamers or the computer, and thus gain recognition for their success. This dimension has been described as ‘power and competition’. The third factor includes two items that were originally assigned to the fantasy dimension and has gained, due to the third item (originally: relaxation), a different emphasis. A common element of all these items is the desire to dispel one’s negative mood. This factor has been called ‘mood management’ in line with the mood management concept (e.g. Zillmann 1988). Factor four combines items that have been attributed to the operationalization of the dimensions ‘overcoming loneliness’ (items 1 and 2) and ‘community’ (item 3). In this empirical formation, these can be combined to form a comprehensive concept that is mainly dominated by a social component. Here the use of video games seems to be characterized primarily by a need to share one’s hobby with others. For instance, people look for like-minded individuals with whom they may become friends and pursue their hobbies together. Based on that, this factor is referred to as ‘social contacts.’ The combination of the items belonging to the fifth factor (both items originally shared experience) points to a need for opinion leadership within a peer group. Here it seems that there is a desire to have a say in important discussions and to present oneself at the same time as an opinion leader who knows about the latest developments unfolding in the video game world. As a result, this factor has been called ‘opinion leadership’. Factor six combines two items, which can be used to operationalize the dimension ‘amusement’.
Empirical dimensions of GO The items relating to GO were introduced as follows: ‘Before, I asked about wishes that individuals may have with respect to video games. I am now interested in knowing how you would rate the individual genres in this regard. Please rate whether the following statements in your opinion Power and nerves of steel or thrill of adventure and patience?
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8. Due to the almost identical results, no additional table is presented here because no new findings could be shown. Key data to these factor analyses is: principal component analysis (PCA), varimax rotation with Kaiser normalization, Eigenvalue > 1, strategy games: 66 per cent of variance explained/FPS: 67 per cent of variance explained. 9. Both items had to be excluded from factor analysis for GS because of high double loading.
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correspond to the mentioned genres.’ The respective items were designated accordingly; the genres served as response options with the sequence rotated. The following example for the power and control dimension illustrates this process: It is easy to prove oneself in …Role-playing games …First person shooters …Strategy games.
To keep the list of questions regarding GO short, we decided to exclude the dimensions that were described as very general in the theoretical section above. As a result, the following dimensions were operationalized: overcoming loneliness, shared experience, fantasy, challenge and competition, and power and control. Furthermore, the operationalization was limited to one item for each gratification dimension such that there were a total of six items, which were queried by the cited structure. With the aid of the factor analyses for GO, it was possible to determine three or two factors depending on the genre. Based on the factor analysis of GO, the results for role-playing games were:8
thrill of adventure (GO RPGs) It is easy to immerse into another world in RPGs It is easy to slip into other roles in RPGs A sportive competition can be easily realized in RPGs9 It is easy to prove oneself in RPGs RPGs are well suited for playing with friends you feel less alone when playing RPGs
power and competition (GO RPGs)
sense of belonging (GO RPGs)
.86 .83 .85 .81 .80 .78
Extraction method: principal component analysis (PCA), varimax rotation with Kaiser normalization, Eigenvalue > 1, 74% of variance explained
Figure 4: Factor analysis of GO (RPGs).
The first factor includes the items that describe the ‘thrill of adventure’ in GS and thus was called ‘thrill of adventure’ (GO RPGs). Factor two may be regarded as the equivalent of the GS factor ‘power and competition’ and is referred to here as ‘power and competition’ (GO RPGs). The third factor is not yet known in this constellation in GS. Although the social component is inherent, it has a different nuance here due to the second item: when playing RPG, gamers also have the opportunity to play together with friends and thus have the feeling that they are less alone. That’s why we named this factor ‘sense of belonging’ (GO RPGs). 48
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Empirical dimensions of subjective restrictions and capacities The item set regarding the subjective restrictions and capacities was introduced with the following: ‘Individuals must be able to do different things when playing different video game genres. What are your personal strengths as a gamer? How good are you at …?’ The results of the factor analysis for the subjective restrictions indicate a three-factor structure:
e-warrior talent ... reacting to danger quickly ... dealing with stress ... keeping the sense of direction in the game world
commander skills
patience
.78 .68 .54
... thinking strategically ... acting logically and foresightedly ... keeping an eye on everything that is happening
.87 .79 .52
... developing a character patiently ... familiarizing myself with complex rules before starting to play ... memorizing complicated gaming rules
.80 .76 .54
Extraction method: principal component analysis (PCA), Varimax rotation with Kaiser normalization, Eigenvalue > 1, 58% of variance explained
Figure 5: Factor analysis of subjective restrictions and capacities of video game players.
Factor one combines items that can be collectively described as warlike, martial skills. They are reminiscent of talents that are typical of elite lone warriors such as those we know from movies like Rambo. Quick reactions, nerves of steel and a good sense of direction help such heroes overcome many opponents, even in impassable and dark settings. This factor sums up the skills that have been described as important for the success in action-oriented video games. The predominant warlike element of these items is reflected in how we decided to refer to this factor – ‘e-warrior talent’. The ‘e’ indicates that the talent has a virtual reference level. The second factor is characterized by cognitive elements like logical thinking skills, the ability to recognize connections and act in a tactical, well-thought-out and foresighted manner. Consequently, the items that were originally prepared to operationalize the requirements in video games that are based mainly on a cognitive construction principle fall into place. Since these abilities call to mind the skills that a commander must have, this factor has been summarized under ‘commander skills’. Factor three encompasses items that describe abilities like patience and leisure, abilities gamers need for example to develop their characters gradually. That’s why this factor has been called ‘patience’. With this factor analysis, the theoretically presumed dimensions could be confirmed almost completely. Power and nerves of steel or thrill of adventure and patience?
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N= R2= thrill of adventure power and competition mood management social contacts opinion leadership pastime
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Use of … RPGs
strategy games
FPS
4137 .16
4289 .17
4434 .17
beta
beta
beta –.14
.19
thrill of adventure (GO RPGs/strategy games/FPS) power and competition (GO RPGs/strategy games/FPS) sense of belonging (GO only RPGs) e-warrior talent commander skills patience
.10
.14
.16
.20
.13
.26
.23
.13 .21 .19
Figure 6: Impact of GS, GO and subjective restrictions or capacities on intensity of use of different video game genres – multiple regression.10 10. Because of sample size in the table, only findings that were significant by p < 0.001 and for which the beta was > .1 are shown.
Model test Research question 1 What impact do GS, GO and subjective restrictions or capacities have on the use of different genres? The GO proved to be especially influential, with the exception of the ‘sense of belonging’ dimension. It is noticeable that very similar explanatory models could be established for all three genres: the ‘power and competition’ dimension plays a significant role especially when it comes to the use of strategy games and FPS. In the case of FPS, the assumption can be made that the relatively high proportion of violence results in the fact that games have considerable power-oriented gratifications, which in turn lead to an increased use of this genre. In the case of strategy games, particular attention was directed repeatedly to the all-powerful and almighty authority that gamers have. Thus, it is not surprising that when playing strategy games individuals experience the intense feeling of ‘power and competition’ that in turn results in an increased use. It is also noticeable that this dimension has an impact on the use of RPG. The results suggest that ‘power and competition’ represents one of the key gratification dimensions of video games. Another key dimension is the ‘thrill of adventure’, which, like ‘power and competition’, has an impact on the use of all three genres. In the case of RPG, this dimension is even more important than the power-oriented components, which stands in contrast to strategy games and FPS. In light of the complex, well-developed gaming universes, this correlation is easy to understand, since these universes invite gamers to experience suspense and adventure. 50
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Compared to the GO, the explanatory power of the GS is low. With regard to strategy games, none of the dimensions examined is of importance. The only dimensions that contribute in some way to finding an answer for the research question are ‘social contacts’ and ‘thrill of adventure’. The positive association between the intensity of use of FPS and the ‘social contacts’ dimension is especially interesting, since gamers of this genre have become the focal point of criticism due to the incidents at schools in Columbine, Colorado (BBC 2001; Block 2007) and Erfurt, Germany, and have been described as dangerous loners with violent tempers. The results of this study suggest a necessity to re-evaluate this opinion, since the need to play with and meet others who share the same likes seems to be a reason to play FPS games frequently. The strong clan and LAN (=Local Area Network) scene that has evolved around this genre emphasizes the significance of this dimension as well. The relationship between the ‘social contacts’ dimension and the intensity of use of RPG, on the other hand, is less surprising, since the influence of this dimension can be attributed primarily to the variation of MMORPGs11 included in this genre; in the case of such social games this dimension may be regarded as a prerequisite for individuals to be able to play at all. The negative association between the GS ‘thrill of adventure’ and the intensity of use of FPS is, however, surprising, especially due to the fact that the GO ‘thrill of adventure’ exhibited a positive association with the use of FPS games.12 Why would anyone who likes to play FPS not want to experience adventure? A possible explanation could point to the significant escapism component that is inherent in the GS ‘thrill of adventure’. Perhaps, it is important for FPS gamers to seek gratification in the real world, which is clearly articulated in the significance of the ‘social contacts’ factor. Immersing oneself in a different virtual world would likely counter this factor. If the ‘thrill of adventure’ should become tangible, however, as part of the GO, gamers do seem to rate this as a positive outcome, even if they did not originally seek this dimension. With respect to the component of subjective restrictions or capacities, each genre has only one dimension of explanatory content. The relationship is positive in each case, which clearly shows that subjective restrictions are not suited for explaining the use of specific genres of video games, since negative association would have to be present as well. For instance, a gamer who has less ‘e-warrior talent’ is likely to play FPS less frequently. The capacities, on the other hand, demonstrate a considerable impact on the use of specific genres. This means that the absence of specific skills does not lead to the avoidance of a specific genre. Instead, the fact that certain skills are highly developed is important. As had been assumed in theory, ‘patience’ is especially important for the use of RPG. Learning and being able to remember complex rules of a game requires patience due to the fact that these games are usually set in extremely complex game worlds that players must first explore gradually. The use of strategy games can be explained in particular in terms of the ‘commander skills’ dimension. As was highlighted at the beginning, it is especially important for strategy gamers to be able to act in a logical and foresighted manner while keeping an eye on everything that is occurring. Power and nerves of steel or thrill of adventure and patience?
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11. Indeed, the MMORPG World of Warcraft is one of the most popular games in this sample, as it was mentioned 897 times. 12. The testing on multicollinearity showed that this finding is not due to high correlations of the independent variables, as the tolerance lay between .93 and .84.
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13. Findings are shown only for the dimensions that were significant in the formally presented regression analyses. As in a multivariate testing of the influence of restrictions on GS and GO only one variable was significant, no multiple regression analyses are presented here for reasons of easy readability. Because of sample size in the table, only findings are shown that were significant by p < 0.001 and for which r > .1.
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Here it may be assumed that gamers who have considerable cognitive abilities are particularly successful at such games. The associations that have already been assumed theoretically are also apparent in the use of FPS. Gamers who have well-developed ‘e-warrior talents’, i.e. are able to react quickly and have a high stress threshold and good sense of direction, play FPS games especially frequently, since these skills in particular are essential for being successful at these games. In summary, it may be argued that the GO and capacities especially help to explain the use of different genres of video games. Regarding GO, the same dimensions are meaningful for each one of the three genres under examination here. There are, however, differences in terms of capacities, since different components are important for the use of each genre.
Research question 2 The analyses show that capacities rather than subjective restrictions are relevant for these relations, since only positive associations can be found. As has already been presumed in the explanatory model, the capacities are not only suited for explaining the use of different genres, but also have an impact on the GS and GO. As far as GS are concerned, it may be presumed that some GS are strengthened by a sense of possessing specific abilities. In the case of ‘e-warrior talents’ and ‘commander skills’, that is the ‘social contacts’ dimension. The explanation for this relation may presumably be attributed to people’s great appreciation of these skills. In the case of ‘commander skills’ it can be found, for instance, in the reputation that intelligent people have. The skills that warriors have are also important for athletes. Consequently, it is easy to understand that gamers who possess such skills also need to show their skills to others. The relation between ‘patience’ and ‘thrill of adventure’ is also understandable. Gamers who are patient will more likely feel a need to undertake an exciting adventure and spend plenty of time in other worlds than players who are less patient.
GS social contacts thrill of adventure
e-warrior talent
commander skills
patience
N = 4409
N = 4233
N = 4126
r
r
r
.21
.17 n.s.
.10 .21
GO thrill of adventure (GO RPG) power and competition (GO RPG)
.19 .16
thrill of adventure (GO strategy games) power and competition (GO strategy games)
.10
.17 .18
thrill of adventure (GO FPS) power and competition (GO FPS)
.13 .22
.14
n.s.
Figure 7: Relation between subjective restrictions and GS/GO – bivariate correlation.13
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It is interesting that these GS did not prove to be relevant for explaining the use of FPS or RPG in the multivariate model, which would have been conclusive in light of the fact that the genre-specific skills seem to evoke these requirements. In the case of strategy games it can be presumed that the nature of the games counteracts this need. Strategy games are usually played by gamers alone or against an anonymous opponent online. Consequently, these games do not really focus on satisfying the social needs of players. Knowing about this fact could mean that such a need does not even emerge. In the case of RPG, on the other hand, these missing connections remain unclear. With regard to the relation of subjective capacities and GO, the following must be emphasized: the better developed the skills that are important for success in a specific genre are, the stronger the gratifications that players receive from this genre. It is interesting that different skills lead to the same GO, depending on the genre: whether the relevant GO are obtained when using a specific genre depends primarily on whether or not gamers have the skills that they need to master the game. If success in a game becomes tangible, the gratifications obtained while playing different genres are the same; the only difference is the ‘method taken’. Consequently, the skill ‘patience’ is responsible for obtaining both ‘thrill of adventure’ and ‘power and competition’ gratifications in RPG. For strategy games this is the ‘commander skills’ and for FPS it is the ‘e-warrior talent’: when it comes to ‘power and competition’, the ‘commander skills’ are also influential for FPS. Considering that FPS games call for lots of tactics, this relation is easy to understand.
Summary This article has focused on the question of whether it is possible to account for the use of different video game genres. Three genres – role-playing games, strategy games and first person shooters – were selected for closer examination due to the fact that they are popular and distinguishable. A model, comprising the three explanatory components, GS, GO and restrictions or capacities, served as a theoretical basis. Data was collected by way of an online survey. The results show that GO and capacities in particular contribute to the use of video games. While GO are of little help when explaining the difference in the use of genres and are to be regarded more as general dimensions for being able to explain the use of video games in general, the capacities have a greater impact on understanding the differences in genre use. The decreased explanatory power of GS was, on the other hand, noticeable. With regard to strategy games, in particular, none of the dimensions under examination were relevant. Two factors are important for further research in this field. On the one hand, it seems inadvisable to only consider GS in empirical studies, as was often the case in the past. The results of this study suggest that particular attention should be placed on GO. On the other hand, the fact that GS offer little insight is surprising for such a central line of research as the uses and gratifications approach. This results in the question of whether this approach is well suited for explaining the use of video games. For future studies it would therefore be important to look at other theories on media use to explain the use of video games and compare the relevant findings with the results of the uses and gratifications approach. Power and nerves of steel or thrill of adventure and patience?
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We also examined whether the restrictions or capacities had an impact on the GS and GO. Only the capacities proved to be relevant. It was especially interesting to note that the same GO were influenced by different capacities for different genres. The reason for this could presumably be that the gamers basically obtained the same gratifications by having success, even though the methods taken to obtain these gratifications in different genres were different. Although specific GS are influenced by genre-specific skills that gamers have, it is surprising that these GS do not contribute to explaining the use of the genre. Strategy games were used as an example to show that game characteristics may possibly intervene in this connection. Consequently, future studies should focus more on the characteristics of the game and thus incorporate components that have, for the most part, been ignored in use research thus far. The Theory of Subjective Quality Assessment (TSQA) (Wolling 2004, 2006; Vowe and Wolling 2001, 2004), which focuses on content to explain media use, could prove to be a suitable approach here. Works cited BBC News (2001), ‘Columbine families sue computer game makers’, BBC, 29. July 2008, http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/sci/tech/1295920.stm. Block, J. J. (2007), ‘Lessons from Columbine: virtual and real rage’, American Journal of Forensic Psychiatry, 28:2, pp. 5–34. Esser, H. (1999), Soziologie: Spezielle Grundlagen. Band 1: Situationslogik und Handeln, Frankfurt: Campus. Fritz, J. (2003a), ‘Warum eigentlich spielt jemand Computerspiele? Macht, Herrschaft und Kontrolle faszinieren’, in: Fritz, J. and Fehr, W. (eds), Computerspiele: Virtuelle Spiel- und Lernwelten, Bonn: Bundeszentrale für politische Bildung, pp. 10–24. —— (2003b), ‘Aktion, Kognition, Narration – Ein Versuch einer Systematisierung der Computerspiele in praktischer Hinsicht’, in: Fritz, J. and Fehr, W. (eds), Computerspiele: Virtuelle Spiel- und Lernwelten, Bonn: Bundeszentrale für politische Bildung, on CD. —— (2003c), ‘Im Sog der Computerspiele – Vorurteile und Erkenntnisse über Vielspieler’, in: Fritz, J. and Fehr, W. (eds), Computerspiele: Virtuelle Spiel- und Lernwelten, Bonn: Bundeszentrale für politische Bildung, on CD. Fritz, J. and Fehr, W. (eds) (2003), Computerspiele: Virtuelle Spiel- und Lernwelten, Bonn: Bundeszentrale für politische Bildung. Gamestar.de (2008), ‘Call of Duty’, Gamestar, 30 June 2008, www.gamestar.de/ community/gspinboard/showthread.php?t=283583. Graff, B. (2008), ‘Grand Theft Auto IV. Neuerfindung einer Erfindung’, Süddeutsche Zeitung, 9 May, 11 July 2008, www.sueddeutsche.de/computer/artikel/467/ 173950/. Greenberg, B. S. (1974), ‘Gratifications of television viewing and their correlates for British children’, in: Blumler, J. G. and Katz, E. (eds), The Uses of Mass Communications: Current Perspectives on Gratifications Research, Beverly Hills, CA: Sage, pp. 71–92. Jäckel, M. (1992), ‘Mediennutzung als Niedrigkostensituation. Anmerkungen zum Nutzen und Belohnungsansatz’, Medienpsychologie, 4, pp. 247–66. Jansz, J. (2005), ‘The emotional appeal of violent video games for adolescent males’, Communication Theory, 15:3, pp. 219–41. 54
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—— (2002), ‘Wollen, Können, Wissen: Was erklärt die Unterschiede in der Internetnutzung durch Studierende. Ein empirischer Theorietest’, in: Baum, A. and Schmidt, S. J. (eds), Fakten und Fiktionen: Über den Umgang mit Medienwirklichkeiten, Konstanz: UVK, pp. 379–90. –––– (2004), Radioqualität – Was die Hörer wollen und was die Sender bieten. Vergleichende Untersuchung zu Qualitätsmerkmalen und Qualitätsbewertungen von Radioprogrammen in Thüringen, Sachsen-Anhalt und Hessen, München: kopaed. Witting, T. and Esser, H. (2003), ‘Wie sich Spieler zu virtuellen Spielwelten in Beziehung setzen’, Medien + Erziehung, 47, pp. 52–64. Wolling, J. (2004), ‘Qualitätserwartungen, Qualitätswahrnehmungen und die Nutzung von Fernsehserien. Ein Beitrag zur Theorie und Empirie der subjektiven Qualitätsauswahl von Medienangeboten’, Publizistik, 49:2, pp. 171–92. –––– (2006), ‘Die Qualität von Radioprogrammen aus Rezipientensicht. Ergebnisse eines Mehr-Methoden-Projekts’, in: Weischenberg, S. Loosen, W. and Beuthner, M. (eds), Medien-Qualitäten: öffentliche Kommunikation zwischen ökonomischem Kalkül und Sozialverantwortung, Konstanz: UVK, pp. 457–75. Yee, N. (2006), ‘The demographics, motivations and derived experiences of users of massively-multiuser online graphical environments’, Presence: Teleoperators and Virtual Environments, 15:3, pp. 309–29. Zillmann, D. (1988), ‘Mood management: using entertainment to full advantage’, in: Donohew, L. (ed.), Communication, Social Cognition, and Affect, Hillsdale: Lawrence Erlbaum, pp. 147–71.
Suggested citation Schumann, C. and Schultheiss, D. (2009), ‘Power and nerves of steel or thrill of adventure and patience? An empirical study on the use of different video game genres’, Journal of Gaming and Virtual Worlds 1: 1, pp. 39–56, doi: 10.1386/jgvw.1.1.39/1
Contributor details Christina Schumann, M.A., born in 1980, read Communication Studies, Intercultural Communication and Psychology in Munich, Germany. Since October 2006 she has been a Research Assistant at Ilmenau University of Technology (Institute of Media and Communication Studies, Department of Communication Research/Political Communication), Germany. Her research focus includes uses and effects of video games, especially quality in video games. Contact: Ilmenau University of Technology, Institute of Media and Communication Science, P.O. Box: 10 05 65, 98684 Ilmenau, Germany. E-mail: [email protected] Daniel Schultheiss, Dipl.-Medienwiss., born in 1980, read Applied Media Studies at Ilmenau, Germany. Since April 2007 he has been a doctoral candidate and since October 2008 a Research Assistant at Ilmenau University of Technology (Institute of Media and Communication Studies, Department of Media Management), Germany. His research foci include: motivation, experience and behaviour in video games; business and sales models for (Internet) games; online communities. Contact: Ilmenau University of Technology, Institute of Media and Communication Science, P.O. Box: 10 05 65, 98684 Ilmenau, Germany. E-mail: [email protected]
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Interview Journal of Gaming and Virtual Worlds Volume 1 Number 1 © 2009 Intellect Ltd Miscellaneous. English language. doi: 10.1386/jgvw.1.1.57/7
A discussion with game designers The Lord of the Rings: Shadows of Angmar – LOTRO.com Maggie Parke Bangor University (UK) Introduction No faction of the media and entertainment industry is growing at the speed and with as much sophistication as is the gaming industry. The Entertainment Software Association’s website states that, ‘Halo 3, the bestselling title of 2007, took in more revenue in its first day of sales than the biggest opening weekend ever for a movie, Spider-Man 3, and the final Harry Potter book’s first day sales.’1 Console games were the original and dominant gaming option, but now players can participate on their computers as well as interactive online gaming. 51 per cent of the most frequent game players say they play games online for at least one hour per week, up from 31 per cent in 2002. Within these gaming worlds, players are constantly looking for new avenues of game-play, involvement and unique storylines as well as extensions of recognizable fictional worlds, adapted from beloved books; as in The Lord of the Rings Online: Shadows of Angmar designed by the Massachusetts-based company, Turbine Inc. Where once players only had the sophistication of games like Frogger or Pong, players today can hold second lives within a digitized Middle Earth that looks as realistic as any green-screened scene from Peter Jackson’s The Lord of the Rings film trilogy. These players are the creators of the avatars’ lives, and are thus godlike in their practices. They can interact with other players, buy, sell and trade goods, create families and kinships, and embark on epic quests in the style of their favourite Tolkien heroes, thus giving new social implications to the alternate lives lived within digital worlds. With dog-eared copies of The Lord of the Rings as well as the critical and historical works of Tom Shippey (one of the most prominent Tolkien scholars today) on their desks, the designers sit creating, and I was permitted access to Turbine Inc. to interview four of them: Chris Clay, Brent Schmidt, Cardell Kerr and Dan Parke, in order to discuss the adaptation process of The Lord of the Rings Online: Shadows of Angmar (hereafter referred to as LOTRO). They shared with me the development process of the game, their incorporation and reflections of Tolkien’s works and some of the social opportunities that this digitized Middle Earth presents.
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1. ESA: www.theesa. com/facts/index.asp. Accessed 12 June 2008.
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Figure 1: Screenshot from LOTRO.com.
Figure 2: Screenshot from LOTRO.com.
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How did the game, The Lord of the Rings Online, begin? It started with a small team hired to develop the game. We began with some basic aspects of the game such as prototype characters and a few expected settings (like Bree and Hobbiton), and once we got them down, we continued to get more funding and more green-lighting. We then had to hire more people; we were able to discuss the reaches of the game more, broaden the worlds, add characters, challenges and events, and the company has only continued to grow to about five times the original number. The game was released April 24, 2007, and we now have somewhere around 250,000 users, making us the second largest massively multiplayer online (MMO) game on the Internet. You have the rights to the novels, correct? What were the beginning thoughts about expanding the well-known world of Middle Earth? Yes, we have the rights to the books and the appendices. We work closely with the Tolkien Estate and they approve every aspect of the game before it is published. The estate actually wanted us to explore the worlds that were just touched upon in Tolkien’s works. We were encouraged to expand upon Tolkien’s less-realized locations and characters. For example, if Tolkien had a line in the appendices that said something like ‘there was a frozen wasteland called Forochel north of the shire where a mighty king had once died’, we could take that one line of history and from it create an entire world, following Tolkien’s rules. We couldn’t and wouldn’t inject anything alien into it; it had to be believable in Tolkien’s world, but it was up to us to create it. We start with one line and come up with the whole, believable and acceptable landscape.2 Many players will be fans of the novels. Will they recognize anyone in the game? Are some of the key characters there? Yes, they are. An avatar can travel to Rivendell and see Frodo recuperating from the attack on Weathertop. Strider is often around and will even give your character a task in Bree if you ask him. Because of this, you get to work, play and fight in the same world as them. In fact, some of the fighting you do enables the Fellowship to complete their tasks. Basically you can be a kind of unsung hero. It’s interesting that you can see the known heroes in the game, but you are your own character. Do you think it is important to have the player be their own hero? Definitely. You can’t become the known hero in our game; it’s not a ‘King of the Hill’ game. An issue many licensed games run into is that players come to the game with the intent in mind to be the hero, but in a multiplayer game you can’t let a single player be Han Solo any more than you can let one person be Legolas.
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2. See www.lotro.com/ book13 for details of Forochel (accessed 11 June 2008).
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Figure 3: Screenshot from LOTRO.com.
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With The Lord of the Rings we start with various heroes as archetypes, as familiar forms on which to base your avatar. It helped in our designing that there were so many forms to choose from. Not everyone wants to be like Aragorn; someone will want to be like Frodo, or Gimli. This allowed us to have more permutations of the hero from the start, like men, elves, hobbits and dwarves, and not just one or two. We have four races, two genders of each race and multiple professions within each subdivision. When the player first registers with LOTRO, the first thing that they do is create their hero; here they are able to dictate exactly what their hero will look like and give him or her a name, so there are multiple possibilities for new heroes in Middle Earth. You can’t become the hero, but, more individually, you can make your own hero, existing in Middle Earth at the same time as the known heroes. There are a number of heroes present in the game, and, as a whole, the characters put together resemble the Fellowship in appearance, profession and lineage. What was the creative process for developing the races? Did you consider the films or your audience when creating them? We split up the classes amongst the team. Originally it was just one person working on all of the classes, but when it was split up we had more unique differences amongst the characters because we all brought unique ideas to them. Essentially, we split them up, and the team discussed the classes of hero needed in a game. We looked at the game as a whole, saw what would work, and what wouldn’t. We wanted movie moments and book moments because we wanted to fulfill that fantasy for the fans of both Tolkien’s works and of Jackson’s films, as that is the audience that would be drawn to our game. (Movie moments: i.e. in character movement, such as when Legolas slides down the trunk of the Oliphant, or when the black riders pass through the scene on the hunt; they move and look just as they do in the film and are therefore recognizable. Book moments: i.e. aspects of the novels that were missing in the films but can be woven into the plot and extra detail of the game such as characters like Tom Bombadil, or lines from the text of the books that did not appear in the films.) There’s a big social aspect to this game in that you can run into other avatars that have a live person controlling them. Is there any kind of identity of the real person? Your hero is completely anonymous from you. The avatar has its own name, house, kinship, fellowship… there’s no association or identification of the human playing the hero unless the players decide to reveal that information. There is the ability to chat in the game, so it’s possible that people could get into a discussion as people and not just as avatars. In fact, due to the long play times associated with these games, many players use them as a social outlet. We’ve gotten numerous letters from people that met their significant others in our game worlds, showing that very meaningful relations can ascend beyond the confines of our game. A discussion with game designers
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Figure 5: Screenshot from LOTRO.com.
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How does the player become more heroic in the game? Better weapons? More power? Followers? The more experience your avatar has, and the more quests that they complete, the more powerful they become. They learn new skills for their profession, they gain better gear and armour, they can obtain a horse, the Captain has a follower after a certain level, and they can earn titles of recognition from accomplishing certain feats as well. What have been some of the challenges in the actual design of the game? Have you encountered any problems while adapting the book to the game? The ultimate challenge was transforming one form of media into another. Books convey information well, while leaving details open to the imagination of the reader. Games convey only details that matter for interaction. The biggest challenge was ensuring that the interaction was fun, realistic and immersive, while maintaining the overall themes of the novels. We couldn’t have anything that took you ‘out’ of the game or broke that sense of fantasy. For example, we had a hard time developing how to get the avatar to ride a horse believably. It looked unrealistic and the rider wouldn’t move the right way with the horse. Finally we decided to make ‘horse pants’ essentially; at least that’s how the code reads. The avatar puts on ‘horse pants’ and then it moves as an extension of their legs and looks natural. I’ve heard a lot about the ‘T-Factor’ around here (Tolkien factor – the designers used this term as a measure for the amount of Tolkien-like aspects to a game element). It seems like it’s almost a competition of who can be more Tolkien-like in their design. What are some of the more outstanding T-factor elements? What, if anything, had to be changed from Tolkien’s original design? Well for one, Tom Bombadil is present in the game. We want to distinguish ourselves from the films, and we were able to include a number of things that aren’t in the films. We want the game to refer to the books more than the films, and to include as many Tolkien elements as it can, so the designers often get competitive about who can include more ‘T-Factor’ components. One area where we made deliberate efforts to increase the ‘T-factor’ was early in the player’s experience of the game. It is most visible during the initial solo-instances that each character goes through when first created (these instances are without interaction from other online players; it is essentially a tutorial to instruct you on how to navigate the game). In the Elf instance, players meet Elrond. In the Dwarf instance, Gandalf and Thorin can be seen in conversation, and if you look at their dialogue you can see hints and allusions to the events of the Hobbits that are about to happen. In both instances for the Race of Man and the Hobbits you see a black rider. We tried to find iconic characters and to situate the instance at a significant point in the timeline of the world. For the long-lived Dwarves and Elves, we could effectively make the instances ‘flashbacks’ to much earlier times, catching the players up to the current timeline of the world afterward. A discussion with game designers
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Figure 7: Screenshot from LOTRO.com.
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An example of something that we had to change from the books was in relation to the Elves. Elves shouldn’t deal with money in theory (there may always be renegade Elves that break the social norms, but as a whole they do not need or deal with currency), but it is somewhat necessary for them to do so in order to interact with this society and be an active part in the game. So elves ‘in the world’ use money, and trade. Similar to the Amish? Yes, exactly. There were a few ways in which we were able to correct some other discrepancies as well. For example, a hobbit can get good shoes for completing a quest that make his feet tougher, thereby extending his strength, but, really, hobbits shouldn’t wear shoes, they should be barefoot. So there is a menu you can bring up to not show the shoes. The character still gets the protection, but they are invisible and the hobbit looks barefoot, as Tolkien intended him to be, thereby not distracting from the narrative.
Closing thoughts It is evident that the staff at Turbine Inc. are passionate about their work, and most are enthusiastic fans of Tolkien’s novels. I found that this enthusiasm translates into the game, as minute details reveal a level of commitment to the story that only true Tolkienists or fanatics would recognize. The ability to create and act as your own hero in a recognizable realm such as Middle Earth empowers the player, and with the opportunity to gain abilities and recognizable gear to make your hero stronger, more important and revered, the game offers social esteem and opportunities for individual growth, as well as social interaction. While deviations from Tolkien’s original work exist, they are incorporated seamlessly and do not remove the player from the immersive story; if anything, the new storylines are so convincing and well-researched that it often becomes difficult to recall what fact or event came from Tolkien’s novels and what came from the game. The game is also still continuing to grow and expand into the other little-mentioned worlds of Tolkien’s imagination, thus retaining audience interest and keeping the game fresh and new. With this continuous growth and commitment to a quality product, it appears that The Lord of the Rings: Shadows of Angmar will retain its diehard following as well as attract new players, whether they are familiar with Tolkien and his works or are just avid gamers. Suggested citation Parke, M. (2009), ‘A discussion with game designers The Lord of the Rings: Shadows of Angmar – LOTRO.com’, Journal of Gaming and Virtual Worlds 1: 1, pp. 57–66, doi: 10.1386/jgvw.1.1.57/7
Contributor details Maggie Parke is a second year PhD student at the National Institute for Excellence in the Creative Industries at Bangor University, where she is studying the adaptation process of select fantasy works. She is focusing on The Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter,
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Twilight, His Dark Materials and The Dark is Rising from book to film, to video game and to merchandise. Originally from the States, she has spent the past year observing film sets and game design companies and researching with authors in Boston, Portland, and San Francisco. Contact: National Institute for Excellence in the Creative Industries, Bangor University, College Road, Bangor, Gwynedd, LL57 2DG. E-mail: [email protected]
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Reviews Journal of Gaming and Virtual Worlds Volume 1 Number 1 © 2009 Intellect Ltd Reviews. English language. doi: 10.1386/jgvw.1.1.67/4
Vicarious play: a jaunt through computer role-playing game history Dungeons & Desktops: The History of Computer Role-Playing Games, Matt Barton (2008), First Edition Wellesley, MA: A K Peters, Ltd, 451pp., ISBN 978-1-56881-411-7, Hardback, $39.00 (USD). Reviewed by Matthew S. S. Johnson, Southern Illinois University Edwardsville (IL, USA) I have often said at academic conferences that computer games, despite having only been around since the 1960s (Steve Russell’s 1961 mainframe game, Spacewar!, is often touted the first), have a rich history; perhaps one equally complex as other media forms that have enjoyed far lengthier lifetimes. Part of the reason for this intricacy – and, even more so, the amazing speed at which it developed – is that computer games evolved with computer technology, and computers (clearly) have steadily and exponentially increased in complexity, pervasiveness and integration into the everyday. Matt Barton’s Dungeons & Desktops: The History of Computer Role-Playing Games serves as fine evidence for that theory. He traces computer role-playing games (CRPGs) from their paper and pencil and tabletop origins to the introduction of the ‘first true CRPGs’ in the late 1970s (p. 28), systematically highlighting games from that period through just before publication of the book (which is significant, as the history has moved so quickly – perhaps we should expect to see another Barton CRPG history, equally as impressive, in another four or five years). Any gamer playing pedit5 or Dungeon switching to Morrowind or Everquest will need no further convincing – and yet, as Barton argues throughout the book, the fundamentals were present in those earlier titles, clearly indicating that even games from the late 1970s and early 1980s can be as immersive and fun as today’s comparatively sophisticated massively multiplayer online role-playing games (MMORPGs), although later titles’ gameplay is generally more complicated and their graphics far, far more realistic (yet perhaps Barton’s history proves that their development is also only arguably progressive). Dungeons & Desktops starts where one might expect: with definitional work about what constitutes a ‘role-playing game’ as opposed to other game genres (Barton uses the term ‘true’ to refer to those games that fit squarely within his definition, but he does not neglect CRPG-related games), an unavoidable task, given the 42 game genres into which Mark J. P. Wolf (2001) previously broke down video games. Barton gracefully weaves this definitional work in with examples of games he addresses
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further, later in the book. In fact, I might mention here that this practice – connecting one portion of his text with others – is a particular strength of Barton’s, lending the whole text a coherence that should be present in all good histories (if the reader is not bothered by frequent comments such as ‘we’ll hear more about X later’, ‘we’ll discuss X further in the next chapter’ or ‘we’ll return to X throughout the book’). Scholars who have read Dungeons & Desktops will indeed be able to refer to Barton’s definition as a quick way to cover this essential task in their own future scholarship. After examining the origins of the CRPG – well before the genre existed and examples of it became playable, from war games (of the nineteenth century) to tabletop sports simulation games (appearing as early as 1941), from J. R. R. Tolkien (on whose 1950s books much fantasy gameplaying of whatever medium is based) to Gary Cygax and Dave Arneson’s traditional Dungeons & Dragons story-based and dice-governed games (p. 13–24) – Barton covers CRPG history proper. He breaks his history into six chronological segments, which he titles according to eras of human civilization. For instance, the ‘Dark Age’ consists mainly of mainframe games and those designed for now comparatively obscure platforms. Covered here are games for which information is now difficult to trace (although Barton does an admirable job in doing so) and examples hard to come by. The ‘Bronze Age’ sees the advent of the personal computer, and therefore many more widely available games. In the ‘Silver Age’, during which CRPGs really came into their own, we see such wellknown and groundbreaking titles (and series) as Ultima and Wizardry. The ‘Golden Age’, which is broad enough that Barton splits it into three sub-eras, is the period in which ‘demand and budgets soared’, ‘developers slaved away at their keyboards, fueled by Mountain Dew and extraordinary constitutions’ and when ‘the genre hit the fan’ (p. 87). Semantically pleasing moments like these also indicate that Barton’s authorial voice has clearly rolled an eighteen for charisma. The ‘Platinum Age’ follows, marking the recovery of the industry’s ‘spectacular disasters’ (p. 271) of the 1990s, and introducing Baldur’s Gate, which (I agree with Barton) was positively ‘magnificent’ (p. 287). Fallout and Planescape: Torment also debut, which (I also agree with Barton) were ‘among the best CRPGs ever to grace a desktop’ (p. 287). This is, by the way, one of the attractions of the book: the author is often unapologetically blunt in his game assessments, yet I typically cannot find fault in his evaluations (as much as I felt it my duty to try, especially as I rekindle memories of those titles that I wanted to enjoy so badly, but simply could not, such as the later Quest for Glory games). Last is the ‘Modern Age’, in which, Barton argues, ‘Western CRPG developers focus their energies on consoles rather than computer platforms’ (p. 383), despite the release of several best-selling titles for the computer, such as Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic and the latest in the Elder Scrolls series (the spectacular), Oblivion. Barton then focuses on several major console titles. The Modern Age also contains MMORPGs – Ultima Online, EverQuest, Star Wars: Galaxies and World of Warcraft, simply to name a few. (It is on the MMO game that current game studies scholarship seems to overwhelmingly focus. Whether we deem that emphasis justifiable or no, the sheer numbers of games on which 68
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Barton reports indicates a considerable imbalance.) Barton closes his history with a speculative discussion about CRPGs’ future, largely focusing on the CRPG versus the MMORPG. The book covers comparatively little about the history of either the games’ authors, development/production companies, the industry itself or the ‘culture of gaming’ (although mentions of and brief commentaries on all of these aspects of the world of gaming are woven into the prose seamlessly). Barton also offers readers numerous screenshots (although these – except for eight glossy, high-quality images placed at the centre of the book – are black and white and somewhat poorly reproduced, which is too bad; however, we get the idea, higher-quality reproduction would doubtless considerably raise the price of the book, and the images’ inclusion is most welcome). It is, as the title indicates, specifically a history about the games (but also in this respect, as the title does not indicate, it is a history, as opposed to the history of the CRPG). In this sense, Dungeons & Desktops would admirably complement Steven L. Kent’s The Ultimate History of Computer Games (2003), which covers the gaming industry, concentrating more on console games; Rusel Demaria and Johnny L. Wilson’s High Score (2004), which is as good for its superbly reproduced images as for its text, covering games, companies and people (also less in-depth, doubtless in part to make room for all of those flashy images); David Kushner’s Masters of Doom (2003), a unique book that concentrates on John Carmack and John Romero of id Software and Doom’s effect on a wider public; and Brad King and John Borland’s Dungeons & Dreamers (2003), which is a cultural study above all else. (Readers may also be interested in Van Burnham’s Supercade (2003), a stunning ‘visual history’ of gaming with contributions from multiple authors; the book itself is ‘game-like’ and charismatic). In fact, Dungeons & Desktops would serve well as the connective tissue that might hold these other works together – none cover the games themselves in greater detail than Barton (and none exclusively cover roleplaying games either). Unlike in these other titles, the historical eras in Dungeons & Desktops are, with few exceptions – such as brief introductory and chapter transition paragraphs or interludes to discuss major industry events (such as the aforementioned slump of the 1990s) – broken down by individual game title. Barton describes the games themselves, covering: overall storylines; design platforms; authors/programmers (where pertinent – usually for earlier games); characteristics of gameplay, such as available character classes, races, skills, number of party members; less often, but not infrequently, connections to other popular culture artefacts (such as Star Trek or Middle Earth, Neuromancer or Dungeons & Dragons); gameplay emphases such as exploration, story or combat; connections to other games (usually similarities between gameplay or the programming engine, for instance); and other general information about each title. A typical passage reads as follows: Baldur’s Gate also offers much more strategy than Diablo. Rather than simplify or dumb down battle tactics, the real-time aspect adds a new dimension – the time it takes to perform an action (casting a spell, quaffing a potion,
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switching weapons, etc.) may leave a character more vulnerable, and magicusers can be interrupted if they take damage while casting. Many reviewers praised the game for staying so faithful to the official AD&D rules without baffling novices with the details. The math is kept mostly in the background, but it is there for those players who enjoy numbers. (p. 346)
I admit that this is a fairly random selection, but that does not lessen its status as a ‘typical passage’. In fact, the semi-random selection process I employed puts into sharp relief a strong characteristic of the book: this style of game summary/commentary is practised for most of the copious games covered in these 430 plus pages. While often the text can be, from a certain perspective, tedious, nevertheless in this short passage Barton: 1) compares one game to another; 2) evaluates the game overall; 3) provides details of the gameplay; 4) highlights the game’s original reception; and 5) offers advice as to whom the game might appeal. The key, then, to Barton, I imagine, is in the details. Depending on what readers are looking for, this strategy can be – in a fairly binary way – positive or negative. Who might read the Dungeons & Desktops is key here, as while the book may appeal to significantly different audiences it also conflates them to an extent – or at least, in spots, the book cannot quite figure out to whom it is speaking. Scholars will be interested in the great detail that Barton provides (although comparatively few scholars will really need to know that Curse of the Azure Bonds ‘removed the individual character portraits but kept the icons’ (p. 150) – and such details are commonplace throughout the text – but who knows?), but will also be frustrated by the lack of documentation throughout the text (few footnotes are provided and only when absolutely necessary, no bibliography is included and even where direct quotations are taken from other books, no page numbers accompany them). But if the text is not directed towards an academic audience, then we could probably lose the references to James Paul Gee (p. 3) and Ludwig Wittgenstein (p. 4). Without doubt, gamers will appreciate the game comparisons and the enormous detail Barton offers (especially if they are familiar with the games in question), as well as the quotations from famous (worshipped?) game designers. ‘Older’ gamers – those in their thirties – will hugely enjoy the nostalgic trip on which Dungeons & Desktops takes them (it was not uncommon while reading for me to exclaim, ‘Oh, yes, I do remember that!’ and Barton reminded me of games that I otherwise would have entirely forgotten). Scholars and gamers alike, who might be interested in reviewing/analysing/playing earlier games, especially for the first time, will find the book an absolutely invaluable resource for sorting through what would be most productive and/or enjoyable. Hardcore CRPGers, of course, will love the book through and through. And Barton – despite, I think, conflating audiences somewhat – has nevertheless smartly arranged the book (complete with ample headers) so that whatever the reader’s objectives, they can easily skip around from game to game, passage to passage. To put it another way, Dungeons & Desktops has great re-playability potential from the perspectives of different professional character classes. What will appeal to all readers, though, is something that can be found in Dungeons & Desktops exclusively: the author’s personal correspondence with many of the games’ creators. Throughout the book, Barton includes
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quotations from personal e-mails that he has exchanged with, to name a few, James Aspnes (TinyMUD), Michael Cranford (The Bard’s Tale – the bard was ‘just an afterthought’? [p. 94]. Say it ain’t so!) and Chris Taylor (Total Annihilation, Dungeon Siege). These game creators add to the book their motivations, commentary and criticisms of their own games, personal anecdotes and answers to the seemingly burning questions of their loyal fan bases. In addition – although this information can, if exceedingly inconveniently, be found elsewhere – Barton integrates a wealth of material from various gaming and personal websites, blogs, online game reviews and even several gaming magazines from over the course of the last thirty years, illustrating clearly his extensive research. It is important to note, though, that Barton is not only a researcher; he is also – which is incontrovertibly revealed after pursuing but a few pages of his book – a gamer. He communicates his gaming experience, comprised without question of both ‘authentic’ and ‘researched’ experiences (emphasis on the former). He writes about games as a gamer: on The Bard’s Tale, Barton comments, ‘I lost track of the times I created an entire party of adventurers, only to have them all perish in a random encounter before I could make it to Garth’s weapon shop!’ (p. 93). I feel your pain, Dr Barton. And on Rings of Zilfin he advises, ‘If you’ve ever wanted a CRPG that lets you feed a cookie to a water dragon, look no further’ (p. 109). Indeed, who hasn’t! His love of games and gaming is made apparent throughout the text, a quality of his writing much appreciated, at least by this reader. His credibility as a gamer is, ultimately, unquestionable. His personality also shines through as an honest historian, unafraid to indicate where research failed to produce answers, or materials simply could not be located: ‘The version I played [of Moria] listed 1979 as the earliest release date, but several later versions were produced (up to 1984). Though I’m not sure who did what or when, the six authors credited on the menu screen are …’ (p. 33). And, ‘[I]t’s much easier to acquire these [later] games and run them on a modern computer, whereas we must rely on second-hand accounts of games such as pedit5 and orthanc’ (p. 43). Barton’s prose is as conversational as it is comprehensive. While the book is not for everyone – casual readers may tire of relentless detail (even half-dedicated gamers might), and only so much detail can be provided per game in the maximum few pages devoted to each anyway – Dungeons & Desktops should grace games studies scholars’ bookshelves (and be close at hand when writing scholarly articles, even if the book would benefit from a more in-depth index and bibliography), and those already interested in games will find much of the book interesting, even delightful, especially if read in multiple, short sittings. I will certainly be among the first to purchase the sequel, which would be appropriate to release, I imagine, in only a handful of years – just long enough for everything in computer role-playing games to have changed. Works cited Burnham, V. (2003), Supercade: A Visual History of the Videogame Age 1971–1984, Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press. Demaria, R. and Wilson, J. L. (2004), High Score: The Illustrated History of Electronic Games, 2nd ed., New York: McGraw-Hill/Osborne.
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Kent, S. L. (2003), The Ultimate History of Computer Games, New York: Prima Life. King, B. and Borland, J. (2003), Dungeons and Dreamers: The Rise of Computer Game Culture, from Geek to Chic, New York: McGraw-Hill. Kushner, D. (2003), Masters of Doom: How Two Guys Created an Empire and Transformed Pop Culture, New York: Random House, Inc. Wolf, M. J. P. (2001), ‘Genre and the video game’, in M. J. P. Wolf (ed.), The Medium of the Video Game, Austin, TX: University of Texas Press, pp. 113–34.
What else can I be? A critical evaluation of World of Warcraft Reviewed by Kevin Knott, Frostburg State University (ML, USA) On 22 January 2008, Blizzard Entertainment reported that its World of Warcraft (WoW) had surpassed ten million users worldwide, making the game (in Blizzard’s words) the most popular massively multiplayer online role-playing game (MMORPG) on the market (Blizzard 2008). And yet, amid the congratulations and the applause on that day, one could nevertheless imagine the ghosts of past and ‘yet to come’ MMORPGs lingering above the podium, whispering as they did so to ‘beware the chains forged in virtual life’. Blizzard is no literal Scrooge, not in the bitter and miserly way the character is so often rendered on television and film. Rather, the company’s success haunts it and the industry in much the same way that Scrooge was haunted more by his many regrets and failures than by any disembodied spectre. WoW represents, to game developers and academics alike, the pinnacle of the MMORPG market: a highly populated, fully realized, virtual gaming experience that has accrued for itself enough cultural capital to inspire at least one Emmy-winning television programme and the promise of a future full-length film. And yet, as satisfying as its success has been, the game also demonstrates the lows of MMO gameplay. For many gamers, WoW is synonymous with the tedium of unimaginative, redundant questing, all for the sake of keeping players preoccupied until a new peak of in-game success can be manufactured. Regardless, the game’s player base continues to grow, and with another expansion looming in the autumn (Wrath of the Lich King), WoW may once again reach another milestone of commercial success on its fourth anniversary (having been released on 23 November 2004). In the light of that upcoming anniversary, let us take a moment to consider what World of Warcraft has taught us about MMORPGs through its successes and failures. Perhaps the most important lesson is the one identified by Jeff Strain in his speech, ‘How to create a successful MMO’, presented last year at the Games Convention (GC) in Leipzig: Before you start building the ultimate MMO, you should accept that ‘MMO’ is a technology, not a game design. It still feels like many MMOs are trying to
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build on the fundamental designs established by UO [Ultima Online] and EQ [EverQuest] in the late ‘90s. (Strain 2007)
Far from simply ‘building upon these fundamental designs’, recent MMOs such as WoW have copied and pasted familiar RPG gameplay in an effort to reduce the most daunting aspect of MMOs for casual gamers, namely the high learning curve.WoW users, for example, must first acquaint themselves with the dizzying array of choices presented to them. Between race, class and the physical appearance of the player’s avatar (colloquially referred to as a ‘char’ or ‘toon’), there is still the choice of server type, which vary widely in actual gameplay. Again, EverQuest provided the model here with its player versus player (PvP) server, Zek, the numerous standard servers, and the ‘role-playing preferred server’ Firiona Vie – of course, there was also the short-lived Legends server Stormhammer, intended to offer premium content (in-character support) for players willing to pay more money each month. WoW has modelled its own server offerings on EverQuest’s design by providing players the choice between four types: PvP, Normal (like EQ’s standard servers), RP (role playing) and RP-PVP (role playing within a PvP context). And to further potential players’ agony, they must then choose from more than 200 (in North America alone) servers, long before they even have the opportunity to create characters and experience the actual game. Among the glut of abbreviations there is nevertheless a simple truth. MMOs present players with a digital playground in which numerous games within the larger ‘game’ may take place. Thus, WoW’s enduring legacy may be its success in forging multiple interactive communities rather than one seamless gaming experience. After all, at its heart, WoW is yet another fantasy adventure game that has directly inherited the RPG design of its predecessors, Ultima Online and EverQuest, as much as it has copied and advanced the existing MMO technology. In this way, the familiar RPG experience of creating a character with a particular race (inevitably a Tolkien model with some variation of elves, dwarves and small humanoids like hobbits) and class (the fundamental Dungeons & Dragons model of upfront warriors, stealthy rogues, dependable healers and immensely powerful magi) is seemingly written into the very DNA of the modern MMORPG – and all the more so with WoW. But with apologies to MMOs that have attempted to break this mould, such as Tabula Rasa and Star Wars: Galaxies, the genre of the game (science fiction, fantasy, horror, etc.) has had little influence on the success and failure of MMOs. Instead, the answer may be in the ability of the game to enable the players to craft their own game experiences, to make choices in how they spend their time and the people they associate with (if any at all) as they explore the virtual world created for them. In WoW, we see a pastiche of basic fantasy elements that are as often forgettable as they are familiar, such as the wizened old mentor who guides the hero in his or her journey, or the monster who terrorizes a community without purpose or reason. And then there are the myriad ‘zones’ or lands that are scattered across the world of Azeroth, the fictional planet where the game takes
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place. Like a modern theme park of pulp adventure, players can cross gothic forests on their way to dense jungles as they complete quests, usually to retrieve and/or deliver an item (referred to as a ‘Fed Ex’ quest), gather an item from animal or humanoid enemy (‘drop’ quest) or the occasional mission to defeat a villainous character or group of characters (often a set number such as ‘kill 12 Syndicate Footpads’). Even the history of Azeroth is little more than a backdrop for the quests, though it is rich and inviting just the same. Most players can reach the maximum level of the game (currently set at 70) without ever paying attention to the contemporary events or the various political factions that supposedly call upon the player’s character for help. For example, the Burning Crusade expansion, released last year (17 January 2007), gave players the option to choose between two new political factions in addition to the initial choice between Alliance (Tolkienesque heroic races of humans, elves, dwarves, gnomes and, now, draenei – a satyr-like race) and Horde (the monstrous races of orc, troll, tauren, undead and, now, blood elves). Unlike the endless conflict between the Alliance and the Horde, these new factions, Aldor and Scryer, merely create a context for the adventures across Outland, the remains of the draenei home world, though the player’s choice does limit access to quests and some areas within the central city of Shattrath. In the end, the choice has little actual impact on gameplay, and it was later parodied in the satiric machinima ‘Jimmy: The World of Warcraft Story’ as a melodramatic sundering of an old friendship between two gnome mages, one who chose Scryer for its epic ring reward and the other who chose Aldor for the nearly epic staff: a traditional American civil war story (Sirschmoopy 2007). The value of Strain’s observation, then, may not be in the recognition that the gaming industry is still wrestling with the actual technology of delivering the MMO experience (though certainly this is a legitimate concern), but rather that the supposed primacy of game design and content has led us to make potentially false assumptions about what players value in their MMORPGs of choice. Later in his speech, Strain tempers the excitement of potential MMO designers by relating James Phinney’s belief that ‘half of the appeal of an MMO isn’t anything we designers do – it’s simply the fact that there are other players, so we should make a world that players want to live in’ (Strain 2007). And yet, such an observation begs the question of why more established franchises, with large built-in fan bases, namely Lord of the Rings Online and Star Wars: Galaxies, have failed to inspire a larger community when these are worlds in which fans so clearly want to live. In Timothy Burke’s October 2005 review of Star Wars: Galaxies, we are told that the game mechanics so often conflict with fans’ assumptions about the fictional world of Star Wars that the game reputedly doesn’t feel ‘Star Warsy’ enough (Burke 2005). WoW clearly has no such problem, though die-hard fans of Blizzard’s real-time strategy (RTS) game Warcraft often remark on how important that game was in determining the meta-plot, class choices and geography of Azeroth. Nevertheless, familiarity with Warcraft is unnecessary for enjoying the MMO based upon it, and a lack of familiarity may even facilitate a greater appreciation of World of Warcraft since it eschews the epic war story of Warcraft for a more generic RPG fantasy adventure. Further, it could be 74
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said that players enjoy the game in spite of the world setting, since they so often congregate in the same select locations, leading more than a few to avoid towns like Goldshire or cities such as Shattrath on a Saturday night when the sheer number of players in one place can result in significant game slowing (‘lag’) or even the complete destabilization of the game (‘crash’). Thus, WoW may be a victim of its own success and a misleading template for future and current MMOs, even as it presents a tantalizing subject for scholars eager to better understand the significance of MMORPGs. After all, what exactly is the game of WoW? Do we define it by the fantasy adventure that leads a player’s character across a fictional landscape, the inter-personal conflicts that arise when real-life friends find themselves in direct competition within the game world or the performance(s) that emerge as players take control of the virtual environment to construct their own entertainment separate from the game itself? In a recent series of television advertisements, William Shatner, Mr T. and Verne Troyer are featured separately extolling their love of WoW and subsequently asking the audience ‘What’s your game?’ (Blizzard 2007). Implied in the ads is the belief that the ‘game’ is a matter of choosing one’s preferred class – a shaman for Shatner, a warrior for Mr T. and a mage for Troyer, all of whom have chosen the class and race that most resembles their physical appearance and real-life personality. But if there is one lesson we learn in Charles Dickens’ story A Christmas Carol, it is simply that we are not who we appear to be (or were in the case of former celebrities), rather what we may one day become. Thus, the same can be said of World of Warcraft, a game that is perhaps better defined by its potential as a fascinating and immense collection of interactive communities than the popular MMORPG it is today. Works cited Blizzard Entertainment (2003), World of Warcraft, Vivendi Games. Blizzard (2007), ‘World of Warcraft commercials’, WorldofWarcraft.com, www. worldofwarcraft.com/downloads/movies.html. Accessed 3 May 2008. Blizzard (2008), ‘World of Warcraft reaches new milestone: 10 million subscribers’, Blizzard.com, www.blizzard.com/us/press/080122.html. Accessed 3 May 2008. Burke, T. (2005), ‘Can a table stand on one leg? Critical and ludological thoughts on Star Wars: Galaxies’, Game Studies: The International Journal of Computer Game Research, 5:1, www.gamestudies.org/0501/burke/. Accessed 3 May 2008. Sirschmoopy (2007), ‘Jimmy: the World of Warcraft story’, Machinima.com, www. machinima.com/film/view&id=22374#. Accessed 3 May 2008. Strain, J. (2007), ‘How to create a successful MMO’, Guildwars.com, www. guildwars.com/events/tradeshows/gc2007/gcspeech. Accessed 3 May 2008.
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It’s not real until you can tax it: how gaming, yet again, changes reality Exodus to the Virtual World: How Online Fun is Changing Reality, Edward Castronova (2007), First Edition New York: Palgrave MacMillan, 256pp., ISBN 1-4039-8412-3, Hardback, $24.95 (USD). Computer. Computer. Hello Computer … The keyboard. How quaint. Montgomery Scott, Star Trek: The Voyage Home (Nimoy et al. 1986). Reviewed by Mary Elizabeth Sullivan, Kent State University (OH, USA) That twenty to thirty million people across western society (kids, adults, students, teachers, fathers, mothers, democrats and bureaucrats alike) have flocked to virtual worlds to play is not news. One of the great appeals of virtual worlds is that they may mirror the ideas for the future that people expected would become a part of our current reality, from computers that are voice-activated and intuitive to flying cars, transporters or even more gentile societies. Nor is it news that people’s real lives are being shaped in significant ways by their online activities, as evidenced by the growing incidents of real-life divorces filed for virtual indiscretions, gaming ‘addictions’ or inattention (in real or virtual life), or the cottage industry cropping up for divorce lawyers and counsellors in virtual realms. In Exodus to the Virtual World, though, Edward Castronova considers the ways he believes that everyone’s daily reality will change because of the economics of virtual or, more appropriately, synthetic-world play. To demonstrate the impact of virtual play on real-world policies, Castronova begins the text with the example of ‘Carla’, a woman who lives in the United States and works in a car dealership by day, and designs and sells dresses in Second Life by night. In this scenario, Carla is able to start making enough money through dress sales, eventually exchanging Lindens (the monetary unit in Second Life) into real US dollars, that this income represents roughly 40 per cent of her entire earnings. Castronova hypothesizes first that, as a significant portion of her income, Carla’s Second Life earnings will eventually be recognized by public policy-makers and will be figured into the gross national product (GNP) (for Carla is producing the virtual dresses in the United States). Second, Castronova suggests that these earnings will eventually be taxed as income. These changes in policy that generate revenue for the government will directly impact Carla and American citizens as more money flows into the economy. These are the more short-term effects that Castronova sees virtual worlds having in the real world. Other writers such as Julian Dibbell (2006) have shown that it is already possible to live in the real world on money earned from virtual labour, and John C. Beck and Mitchell Wade (2004) consider how gamers are changing the real world workplace through the value they place on skill competence and the constant desire to improve oneself.
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However, rather than examining the short-term impact of ‘synthetic worlds’ on the ‘real world’ (the author’s divisions to separate material reality from that in computer environments), Castronova’s major project is to consider why this exodus will take place, the workings of virtual economies and the long-term impact of synthetic-world play on material societies. Specifically, he makes four predictions for people within the next forty years. He suggests: 1) that even more people will participate in online gaming environments – an ‘exodus’ to the virtual world, affecting the world of non-gamers; 2) that as a result of this exodus the public will equate game and public policy designs as similar activities; 3) that techniques successfully used in synthetic worlds will find their way into realworld policy debates; and 4) that people will develop a deeper understanding of happiness, and that public policy will have to focus more directly on human happiness than it does now (p. xvii). Using basic economic theory, Castronova describes how, given the choice between work and play, people naturally choose play because it is simply more fun. This is why Castronova expects an exodus to occur. Describing the appeal of virtual play is more involved. To account for what makes virtual-world play more fun than real-world play, the author explains that in synthetic environments the rules are fair, that rules apply to every player equally, that there is a stronger adherence to following the rules and that outcomes for play are more predictable. For instance, if a player is told that she must beat a dragon to receive an upgraded sword and ten gold pieces, she can count on receiving that reward upon completion of the task. In like fashion, anyone else who completes the same task can expect the same reward. Also, in synthetic worlds, rewards for completing difficult tasks are greater than completing easier ones. Further, Castronova contends that designers engineer the games to be fun, and create policies that are intended to maximize enjoyment of the experience. Moreover, synthetic worlds have certain advantages over other media including video games (and perhaps) the real world: interactivity that may be lacking in other settings is present in an immersive environment that provides a multi-sensory experience and sociality – a sense of shared goals experienced in reaching those goals. In simplest terms, people can see direct outcomes for what they do, feeling worth through their work in virtual worlds (especially if ridding a kingdom of a dragon). In real-world contexts, people cannot expect the same fairness, rewards, policies meant to make everyone happy or shared sense of investment in the world. Castronova theorizes that if future generations grow up socialized in synthetic-world environments, they will develop expectations about how things are done. When designers create virtual worlds, they appear as governments who are only interested in policies that make people happy or life more fun. Consequently, ‘the gamer generation’ (to borrow a phrase from Beck and Wade [2004]) will expect public policy to mirror its understandings of fun, justice and so on, all to make its members’ lives more enjoyable. Ultimately, Castronova projects that for the material world to have any relevance for future citizens, laws and public policy will need to re-adjust to people’s expectations. Castronova envisions the way that the real world will need to change to mimic the ‘fun economy’ of play to respond to people’s shift in Reviews
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expectations of government policies. He suggests that those interested in public policies can look to game designers for ways to make the real world more fun. The economies and societies in games can serve as examples of how real economies and societies can, or should, be constructed. Describing a process of quick deliberation, and then lengthy testing periods in virtual worlds, Castronova suggests that governments could benefit from this model so that people can have a voice in policy-making and the rules that result can be amended (so there are fewer rules), rather than adding layer upon layer of rules and enforcement of them. More importantly, as people come to expect the real world to be more fun, Castronova envisions eight places that fun economies will put pressure on real-world societies. Among them, real-world governments must: • • • •
provide meaningful employment for everyone who wants to work; equalize opportunity so that everyone starts out on an equal basis; equalize outcomes so that the reward is commensurate with the risk involved in completing a goal or task; and move towards a fee-for-service model instead of flat taxes (p. 139).
For gamers, non-gamers and policy-makers alike, video games and virtual worlds fundamentally suggest a change in the social order of the real world. Castronova describes this shift as the ‘fun revolution’, which he sees as ending the ‘politics of misery’ (pp. 206–7). He expects – perhaps hopes – that this policy of fun, which will eventually become the status quo in the material world, will also bring a strong sense of morality, where the social order encourages people to do all things in their lives well. This is how Castronova accounts for why people will continue to have families. He recognizes that much about raising children is not ‘fun’, but argues that the ‘pursuit of fun must be accompanied by the pursuit of a deeper satisfaction, of a moral nature, produced primarily by things like the commitment of a parent to the well-being of his children’ (p. 193). And to get to this point where the fun revolution sparks a renewed sense of morality, Castronova argues that the type of mythos that guides our virtual play – that all of our choices and actions have meaning – will need to be made apparent in the real world. Many gamers, after all, find a map of meaning that they cannot find in the real world (p. 201). Virtual worlds offer more than merely personality exploration; they offer a mythic cosmos in which a personality can find a reason to exist. The author contends that this aspect of virtual worlds may be their most powerful force for social transformation. One problem that readers are left with is that Castronova is looking forward twenty to forty years. Beyond the social impacts of gamers on nongaming spouses’ lives, what is the result of gaming today, and in our society now? Dibbell (2006) and Beck and Wade (2004) give some examples, but the scale on which Castronova sees this change is much greater. The revitalization of a shared mythos that Castronova projects seems much like the grand narratives or metanarratives that Jean-François Lyotard (1979) argues are no longer a part of postmodern society. Lyotard suggests that we now live in a society ruled by paralogy (Lyotard 1979: 60), the individualistic search for new meaning in established practices. 78
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Thus, the overarching mythos that guides societies is no longer relevant in the modern world. Where Castronova projects the need to return to shared mythos or grand narratives, Lyotard suggests instead that individual experience, and individuals’ unique perspectives on those experiences, is prized in a paralogic society. This is to say that people’s lived experiences (whether virtual or material) of bodies matter in a paralogic society – the experiences all contribute both to little narratives and to creating larger life-worlds in which people work and play together. While the author suggests a compelling future that gaming brings to bear, Exodus to the Virtual World does not provide a projectory of how to get from today to a future where fun affects the ways that public policies are made, or to account for how we might revive the grand narratives that we have left behind. What’s more, he has not accounted for those people who do not relate to the fun culture because they cannot game, those that Jeffrey T. Grabill (1998) has dubbed the ‘techno-poor’. These people may simply have limited, out-of-date or no access to technology. How can these people, who feel the results of inequity on a daily basis, come to understand the new changes in society? If we were to make policy changes, what about the people who may not adapt well during the long tinkering, the testing phase of that policy? Might they not be further disadvantaged? Perhaps the way Castronova starts the book is the best way of imagining an overarching mythos: like ‘Carla’, our labours, whether virtual or real, tend to be valued in society by their ability to be taxed. Perhaps that is what gives the work, or the experience, worth in the real world: this translates into real-world currency, as both a commodity and a characteristic that is valued in society. It is often said that there are certainties in life: death and taxes. Now that we may have multiple synthetic lives, if Castronova is right, in the future, taxes will become the only certainty in life. The question remains though, once our online lives are taxed as much as our material ones, will our synthetic lives still be fun? Works cited Beck, J. C. and Wade, M. (2004), Got Game: How the Gamer Generation Is Reshaping Business Forever, Boston, MA: Harvard Business School Press. Dibbell, J. (2006), Play Money: Or, How I Quit My Day Job and Made Millions Trading Virtual Loot, New York: Basic. Grabill, J. T. (1998), ‘Utopic visions, the technopoor, and public access: writing technologies in a community literacy program’, Computers and Composition, 15:4, pp. 297–315. Lyotard, J. F. (1979), The Postmodern Condition: A Report on Knowledge (trans. G. Bennington and B. Massumi), Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press. Nimoy, L., Bennett, H., Meerson, S., Krikes, P. and Meyer, N. (1986), Star Trek: The Voyage Home, Hollywood, CA: Paramount Pictures.
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Volume 1 Number 1 – 2009 Articles 5–21
World of Maskcraft vs. World of Queercraft? Communication, sex and gender in the online role-playing game World of Warcraft Christian Schmieder ‘Doing there’ vs. ‘being there’: performing presence in interactive fiction Alf Seegert
39–56
Power and nerves of steel or thrill of adventure and patience? An empirical study on the use of different video game genres Christina Schumann and Daniel Schultheiss Interview
57–66
A discussion with game designers The Lord of the Rings: Shadows of Angmar – LOTRO.com Maggie Parke
67–79
Reviews
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