We all love a game that tells a story, don't we? We get all tingly and excited when someone wafts the promise of a boardgaming story nugget under our noses, don't we? Except for abstract game fans, but they don't count. The rest of us want our games to draw us into a parallel universe where we don't hate our jobs. "Game," we shriek, like a crowd of mad cattle, "tell us a story!". Most games wither under such a demand; their linear nature and shortcomings expose them for the frauds that they are, exposed like <PERSON> voice in Les Miserables. Sherlock Holmes stares you down. It does not shy away from that challenge. "Tell you a story?" its voice, mocking you as though you had asked for something as inane as a strawberry milkshake, "Tell you a story? I AM STORY!" We are thrown to the ground by its aura of greatness.
It has a map. A map of London. A map of London that lets you visit anywhere you like at any time. "Fancy taking a break to check out the street performers at Covent Garden?" says <PERSON>, "Why not? True, you will likely find nothing of interest, but that's not the point. I AM STORY! That's the point." Each case includes a newspaper full of articles and adverts that drip theme like pus drips from a gaping sore. And as you start a new case, you can re-read the newspapers from older cases because there might be clues for new cases hidden amongst newspapers from older cases . Who thought that up? Whoever it was, they deserve a raise. "What?" the game sneers, "No-one thought it up, as you so crudely put it. It just popped into existence, conceived purely from my narrative juices. For, I AM STORY!"
May I interrupt for a second to tell my own little tale? It's an anecdote about an American architect named <PERSON>. It won't take a moment.
You see, one day, the nine-year-old <PERSON> went for a walk across a snowy field with his serious, no-nonsense uncle. As the two of them reached the end of the field, <PERSON>'s uncle stopped him and instructed him to look back on their path and compare the tracks they had left in the snow. 417
"Notice," his uncle said, "how your tracks wander aimlessly from the fence to the cattle to the woods and back again. And see how my tracks aim directly to my goal. There is an
important lesson in that." Years later <PERSON> would talk about the impact that moment had on his philosophy of life and, with a twinkle in his eye, he would say, "I determined right then not to miss the things in life that my uncle had missed."
That story is the best way I could think of to communicate my disappointment with <PERSON>. The designers had the vision for something made in the image of <PERSON>, but actually created a game that was made in the image of his uncle. They created a living, breathing world full of characters and richness, and then created a game system that punishes you for deviating from the narrow path; punishes you for not being a mind-reading crime-solving idiot savant like its namesake.
That's enough of an opening statement. Let the proceedings begin.
“Mr. <PERSON>. I put it to you that your game system is fundamentally flawed. The goal is to score more points than you, correct?”
“That is correct.”
“You do this by solving the crime quicker than, or at least, as quickly, as you do. So although you and the players inhabit a wonderful world of quirky Cockneys and suspicious foreign diplomats, players will lose if they deviate from solving the crime and take the time out to explore this unique manifestation of London town. Is this not true, Mr. <PERSON>?”
“You are wrong. If the players solve the crime as quickly as I do (and that is indeed an if) then they will have an equal score to mine. To win they must correctly answer some bonus questions, the answers to which concern other colourful events and characters and are often found by, as you put it, deviating from solving the crime.”
“I see. So do we not find ourselves in a Catch 22 here? A veritable vicious circle? The game punishes you for deviating from the path, but at the same time insists that you deviate from the path in order to win. Is that not the case? Answer the question. Yes or no. DON'T WAIT FOR THE TRANSLATION, MR. <PERSON>!”
“I beg your pardon.”
“Uhh...sorry. 417