The Hunger Games Again.

I know, I know. Another Hunger Games post? This will be the last one unless I illustrate the notes i took of the first seven chapters. PROMISE.

So I’ve become a little obsessed with them because on paper, I should like them: dystopia; rebellion; warrior girl lead; sweet and non-controlling (for the most part), non-macho love interest; ARCHERY—I should really like the series. Part of why I don’t, I’m sure, is because its popularity is exploding now and I can just see all the teenage girls picking up archery because now it’s COOL. Ugh. Anyway, back to the story.

Last night I saw the movie and it changed everything. It was well done (if somewhat distastefully directed in the overuse of shaky-cam and extreme close-ups—but it also gave space and silence when it needed to, so that was good), and it fixed the things in the book that were my biggest annoyances.

In the movie, Katniss (Jennifer Lawrence) emotes. There is no reader to lie to and the intensity of her bottled emotions shines through, and just how overwhelmed she is with all of what she’s been thrust into. In the book, the unreliable narrator is fun and refreshing at first, but it gets taken so far that it becomes frustrating. The only way we get a glimpse of Katniss’s true emotions are by the physical descriptors she gives (heart beating faster when she kisses Peeta, for example). We can’t trust what she speaks aloud, nor her actions, because once she’s in the arena, she must exercise extreme control, lest she betray herself. Her human moments, when she lets her guard down, are when we connect to her: when she sings to Rue, when she panics and searches for Peeta after the cannon for Foxface, and of course when she volunteers to protect her sister. All of the rest of the time, she has walls up between herself and the reader. It’s the first of a series, maybe she stops hiding herself from us by the end of the third book, to that I can’t speak to yet (yeah, I’ll read the other two eventually, the movie convinced me).

The Haymitch/Katniss interactions were much improved in the movie. The notes that went with the gifts made it more overt that Katniss must play at romance, and less of the Crazy Conspiracy Katniss interpretations that we get in the text. What was interesting, was that without Katniss telling the reader that she’s only pretending at liking Peeta, she comes across as genuinely falling for him, which I think is what happens in the book, she just doesn’t let herself admit it.

The “girly moments”: in the movie it is way more clear that Katniss is in control of herself the whole time at the interview, that the twirl is calculated and while she may have fun with it, it is strategic. In the book, she just seems to get into the whole cute dress thing, which does not feel true to the character.

Rue was amazing in the movie, completely loved her and she was exactly as I imagined her. I kept waiting for the bread from District 11 to come, but it never did. Instead, there was a riot, which may foreshadow the what comes next in the series, but on its own didn’t contribute much to the story in the movie, which is contained for the last half to the arena. It also took away from Rue’s death; the bread is a gesture of love, the riot an act of violence. The arena is Katniss’s whole world for the duration of the Games and showing us a riot takes us out of that intensity. It was bound to happen, though, because they had to show the game master and the president, Haymitch getting sponsors, and Gale being moody.

The creepy genetically modified dog-people. Now they’re just really big attack dogs without traces of the other tributes in them. So happy about that. Seriously. That was the weirdest moment in the book. Massive WTF moment at a climax that should’ve been intense in other ways. Sure, this way Katniss mercy-kills Cato rather than murdering him, but that’s just a cop-out on what could’ve been an incredible character moment. But that’s just me, I’m all about characters facing the consequences of actions and ego and as a result maturing and changing (see: the entirety of The Wizard of Earthsea). But Katniss doesn’t have an internal struggle like Ged, so I should end this digression before it goes much further. Back to movie/book discussion…

Being a first person narrator, Katniss doesn’t give us a lot of visuals of District 12. It’s a mining town, it’s poor, okay. The set design brought District 12 to life in a way that Katniss’s words didn’t. So I was impressed with the movie from the start, which may have lent to my loving the rest of it.

One last thing: Foxface was amazing.

-Al

An Alternate Perspective on Katniss Everdeen and The Hunger Games [Guest Blog]

[This is a reply to this post. Here at Booklubbers we strive to present all points of view, because the one thing we all have in common is that we freaking love books and want to create informed readers.]

My good friend Allison recently wrote an essay about The Hunger Games and its take on feminism. While Allison and I agree on many things, and are both outspoken supporters of feminism and lovers of books, it seems on this point that we are divided.

While I’m not a screeching fan, and the trilogy is not in my top ten, I still really enjoyed The Hunger Games. The writing style left much to be desired, but I found the story to be refreshing in its moral ambiguity and presentation of both societal and political issues, one of them being feminism. Now, I’m no stranger to this issue, and if there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s a flat and one dimensional female lead (*cough*Bella*cough*), but I just don’t think Katniss fits that bill. Let’s jump right into why, shall we?

Usually, when I get into these types of debates, I hear the following: “main female character x is not a ‘strong woman’ because of y. Ergo, book z is antifeminist.” I am awfully sick of this argument for two reasons.

1. Female characters are just that – characters. A well rounded, multidimensional character is going to display a variety of personality traits, some of which are going to be negative and some of which are going to be weak. They also make mistakes, do shitty things, and get deceived. Sometimes they’re evil, sometimes they’re good, sometimes they manipulate, and sometimes they are self-sacrificing. A strong female character does not need to be perfect, and an imperfect character is not weak.
2. What, exactly, do people mean when they say ‘a strong female character’? It’s such an incredibly vague term. Let me give you my litmus test for whether a character can be considered strong. Generally, she must be capable, she must be proactive, and she must be willing to fight for what she believes in. Notice that I didn’t mention anything about gendered behavior. That’s because I firmly believe a strong female character can also be stereotypically feminine. She can twirl in a dress and giggle and still be strong. It is the actions and choices a character makes that define them, not whether they like pink nail polish.

So, given that, let’s take a look at Katniss and the other female characters of The Hunger Games trilogy.

Is Katniss capable?: Absolutely. She single handedly takes care of her family prior to the Quell, is deadly with her weapon of choice, and resourceful enough to survive the Games as well as the Capitol. Yes, she receives guidance. Gale teaches her how to snare animals, a particular talent of his, and in return Katniss teaches Gale how to shoot a bow, a particular talent of hers. They share skills and benefit from one another’s strengths. In the Capitol, Katniss has both male and female teachers in the art of gaining the Capitol’s affections and becoming a popular tribute. She is a poor girl from a rural district that she has never been outside of before. To expect her how know how to behave in the Capitol without any guidance is unrealistic. In the arena, Katniss proves her capability time and time again – the escape from the Cornucopia, the allegiance with Rue, dealing with the Career’s stockpile, saving Peeta – etc., etc. She is a very capable young lady.

Other female characters that are portrayed as capable: Rue, Glimmer, Primrose (later books), Coin, Johanna, Effie Trinket, Maysilee, Mags, Foxface, Gloss.

Is Katniss proactive: Generally, yes. My definition for proactive would be: when presented with a crisis, do they allow others to solve it or do they take an active part in the solution. There are times, especially after the second book, when she becomes reactive, but given a major and catastrophic plot point and that fact that Katniss is suffering from a head injury and post-traumatic stress disorder, I think this temporary passivity can be excused. I know, I know: “What about the time in the Capitol! All of her decisions are being made for her! She sure is being reactive there, isn’t she, Alyssa?” Sure, you could look at it that way. However, had I been in Katniss’ shoes, I would have done pretty much the same thing – listened to the advice of those who had been through the Games before and tried to manipulate the Capitol enough for a decent chance at survival, even if that meant twirling in a dress and giggling. And there is, of course, the scene during the pre-game private session, though in my mind that was less a conscious action than a rash flare of temper that benefited her in the end.

Other female characters that are portrayed as proactive: Rue, Glimmer, Primrose (later books), Coin, Johanna, Effie Trinket, Maysilee, Foxface, Mags

Does Katniss fight for what she believes in?: Without question. What Katniss believes in most is the preservation of those she loves. She fights for her sister, she fights for her and Peeta’s survival, and she fights to keep her family alive in later books. Yes, later on she also begins to care about overthrowing the Capitol, but that never overtakes her belief in keeping her loved ones alive, and that is what she fights for time and time again.

Other female characters that fight for what they believe in: Primrose (later books), Coin, Johanna, Mags, Effie Trinket, Rue (bit of a stretch, but I think it’s backed up by info in later books).

So, is she a strong female character? Yes, by my estimation, she is. That doesn’t mean that I think Katniss is a morally sound character. She acts selfishly and manipulates those around her, but I can empathize with her motivation – the love of family. I’m also not arguing that Katniss will be likable to everyone. She frustrated me, and several times I just wanted to pound her head against a wall, but, ultimately, I found her sympathetic. Many people hate her guts, though, and while I don’t agree, I can understand why.

Finally, I just want to address some other issues raised by my esteemed friend:

But it does want you to not be true to yourself and play to the games of others…I think a message of being strong and independent was lost in the need to play to the wills of others.

I think that manipulation, lying, and wearing masks is a prevalent theme in this book. However, I disagree with Allison in that I don’t think it is encouraged or seen as a positive trait. Katniss is praised for this behavior, but it’s never described as a good thing, it’s never fun, and Katniss never enjoys it. In the end of The Hunger Games, it is Katniss’ pushing back against these forces and standing her ground that allows her and Peeta to survive – and brings her grief and trouble in the next book.

It’s a reflection of the world we live in, because like it or not, every adult has experienced this pressure from society. The only difference is that in Panem, not playing this game will get you killed. I think it’s realistic to have Katniss push and struggle, yet still be swept along by the machinations and wills of others. The message we should take away isn’t that she didn’t always succeed, but instead that she kept moving forward and standing for what she believed in, even when others just wanted to reduce her to a puppet.

Disclaimer here: I’ve only read the first of the series. I don’t plan on reading the other two, though, because a) the first ended dropping the heavy gauntlet of a y/a love triangle (shoot me now).

Like you said, love triangles sell books. However, this one is far from the example Twilight sets. For Katniss, her family is her first priority, and she generally has more important things to worry about than which boy she is going to choose. She does focus on this a bit in the second book because she wants to stop manipulating Peeta, but the books hardly center on it the way they do in most YA fiction.

Katniss does make a choice in the end, though, and it’s for a far more compelling reason than the ‘we’re meant for each other’ that is often used. I agree that YA should move away from this trope.

And apparently there are no women in positions of power in this fictional world.

Actually, a major political figure and source of the rebellion is a woman.

The aspect that I disliked the most was that whenever Katniss was suddenly “girly”–like twirling around in a dress or giggling. She kept getting praise for that and it seemed to overshadow everything else, like her strength and cunning. While she does display a great deal of these traits, they seem to get lost in her need to “play the game,” to fabricate emotions for Peeta just so she can get some much-needed supplies from the outside world.

I’ve already said that I don’t think displaying femininity makes a character weak, but Katniss is rewarded several times for her strength, cunning, and non-gendered behavior. She receives a score of 11 for the arrow stunt, she is rewarded with bread by District 11 for her compassion and strength, Haymitch compliments her on her fight when she and Peeta confront him in the train. Again, just because she is praised for being manipulative and playing the game, does not mean that it is presented as a good thing to the reader. A necessary thing, maybe, but it is not positive – Katniss hates it, and in the end, makes a stand for what she wants, rather than going along with the Capitol in order to ensure her own survival.

I don’t want readers to take away from this response that I think Katniss is a heroine for the ages. She’s not. She is, however, not a weak character and should not be put into the antifeminist cesspool of literature where the likes of Twilight and that book by Snooki hang out.

For anyone who wants to discuss this further, you can reply below or contact me at whirlable@gmail.com . I hope I provided a valuable, if different, insight into these books, and if not, well, there’s five minutes you’ll never get back.

The Hunger Games Doesn’t Want You to Be a Strong Woman

But it does want you to not be true to yourself and play to the games of others. I’d like to think that this a statement on the part of the author to bring this issue to light. I’ve always been uncomfortable with people putting forward false faces and lying just to get ahead, and to find this behaviour in a book for kids was fairly disturbing. There were times when I could relate to Katniss–she’s a tough chick, self-sufficient–but so many times I wanted to shake her by the shoulders for some really idiotic moves that she makes. Sure, this is common in literature, but I think a message of being strong and independent was lost in the need to play to the wills of others.

But I didn’t hate the book. I read most of it in a single day, because I just couldn’t put it down. That’s part of good writing, but it’s isn’t all of it. I’d rather read a book that I HAVE to put down periodically, due to it being a story with tough concepts and emotionally-taxing moments. That said, The Hunger Games was well-paced, the characters were generally sympathetic, and it kept me turning the pages. Even though I was rooting for Peeta, Rue, and Thresh the whole time.

Disclaimer here: I’ve only read the first of the series. I don’t plan on reading the other two, though, because a) the first ended dropping the heavy gauntlet of a y/a love triangle (shoot me now), and b) a friend in child education told me about the anti-feminist red flags that pervade the sequels. Basically, she pointed out that Katniss may have won the Games, but in her world she’s still a girl and needs to be protected, can’t do anything herself, is merely a figurehead. And apparently there are no women in positions of power in this fictional world. I can’t attest to the accuracy of that, as I haven’t read the sequels. The aspect that I disliked the most was that whenever Katniss was suddenly “girly”–like twirling around in a dress or giggling. She kept getting praise for that and it seemed to overshadow everything else, like her strength and cunning. While she does display a great deal of these traits, they seem to get lost in her need to “play the game,” to fabricate emotions for Peeta just so she can get some much-needed supplies from the outside world.

I will give Suzanne Collins the benefit of the doubt on one thing: maybe she made Katniss only the figurehead of the rebellion to show her frustration at not being able to come into her true power, of being held back by The Man. If that were the case, then I’d like to see her break free from that and shine.

That’s what I’m hoping is the case, but I’m not going to read them to find out. I love dystopia books, rebellions, and all that good stuff, but I can’t overlook how Collins cripples feminism. I might’ve given them a chance—just for the sake of the story—if it weren’t for the use of the y/a love triangle trope all over again. We’ve been over this too many times before: girl meets guy, then meets another guy, suddenly love for both of them, and both are requited, but who to choose? Why not choose yourself, Katniss. I want to see young adult fiction evolve away from this. I get that the love triangle angle sells to young teens these days, but we need to give them an alternative and show them that it’s okay to not have men chasing them, that they can be independent and strong on their own.

Just like I’m still waiting to come across a good Steampunk book written in the last two decades, I’m waiting for a modern series with a kick-ass lady lead to take mainstream readers by storm. Katniss is a step in the right direction, but the nature of her flaws undercut her strength as a character. Kick-ass women should not be so rare, and we should not have to feel grateful for whatever we get in this genre. That kind of thinking will keep readers from being discerning, from demanding more and better from writers.

What’s your favourite young adult series with a strong female lead? We’ve got Hermoine—who else is out there? Tell us in the comments.

For Shan’s take on Katniss, check out her post on Non-Characters.

If you disagree with our take on Katniss or the Hunger Games, send us an email at booklubbers at gmail and we might just have you write a guest post for us expressing your view on the matter.
-Al

This post has been edited for clarity. 3/23/12

EDIT: 3/16/12: A Reply, because our ultimate goal is to create informed readers.

Wherein the Mass Effect 3 Endings Are Discussed More Thoroughly

I know I said I wouldn’t go into exactly why the Mass Effect 3 ending was so bad, but I changed my mind. So here we go!

First let me simply reiterate that the thesis of the last rant (you say rant, I say careful and deliberate discussion) was that the problem with Mass Effect is the lack of choice and consequence—the way you play the game has no effect on the way the game plays out.

But, as in the case of DA2, I might be okay with that … were the endings good. And so, for your viewing pleasure, I present my analysis of the three endings: why they make no sense, why they don’t feel right, and how, in my opinion,  they could have been better.

The Catalyst

I only briefly go into the Catalyst because it’s present in all three endings and there are some fundamental flaws that can’t be ignored. For example, the Catalyst claims that it designed the Reapers to regularly cleanse the galaxy of intelligent life, allowing them to ascend to the next state of evolution in the form of a Reaper, and also ensuring that lesser species will have a chance to evolve and come into their own. Well, how nice of them. But wait—that doesn’t make any sense.

When Sovereign comes around in the first game it is clearly malignant. It’s not just there to check out which species need to ascend—it actively looks down on the galactic population with disgust, like something you might rub off the sole of your shoe. The only reason Sovereign even reveals itself to Shepard is because it’s vaguely curious and doesn’t think Shepard could actually do anything to top the Reapers. Sovereign is malicious and actively takes pleasure in the destruction it’s about to cause. While Harbinger is perhaps slightly more ambiguous, it still doesn’t make sense that Sovereign would come in, guns blazing and bloodthirsty: if Sovereign was a defective or biased Reaper, they wouldn’t have chosen it for the recon. After all, it was Sovereign’s job to determine if the galaxy was “ready” for harvest.

So, maybe the Reapers have been running so long their programming has become corrupted; they’ve developed personalities that perhaps suggest that they’re a little more bloodthirsty than they ought to be. But then shouldn’t the Catalyst have seen that? Shouldn’t the Catalyst notice that small glitch in the matrix and acknowledge that maybe the system has broken down and needs repairing, regardless of whether the Crucible is built or not?

But with that slightly defective problem out of the way, let’s move on to the actual endings.

The Control Ending

Pros: Both synthetics and organics can live.

Cons: Galactic civilization as we know it is destroyed, Shepard is dead, also slightly non-sensical.

The Logistics: Why is it that Shepard dies when she takes control of the Reapers? And if she dies, how does that work, exactly? Does she die just in time to issue one final, non-rewriteable command like “fly yourself into the sun” or “go check out the nearest black hole”? And then the Reapers go off and do that without ever fixing themselves? That seems pretty unlikely, given that they’re the most advanced AI in the galaxy. But maybe that’s not how it works—maybe Shepard actually uploads herself into the Reapers to take control, and so she can either issue those commands as mentioned above or go off into the darkness of space to live a lonesome eternity.  I mean, before she goes crazy and comes back and kills everyone, obviously.

The Narrative: This ending isn’t actually so bad in terms of how it fits into the overall story. The Illusive Man certainly makes the theme of ME3 whether or not the Reapers should be controlled, but it was alluded to quite heavily in ME2, when Admiral Xen sought to have the geth reinstated as quarian slave labour, rather than eliminated or pacified. It’s also brought up in Legion’s loyalty quest: is it better to rewrite the indoctrinated geth, or to destroy them completely? What’s the higher ground there? It’s pretty Clockwork Orangian and definitely an interesting discussion, so as far as the narrative goes it’s a valid ending option.

How it could have been better: Mass relays not destroyed, obviously. If Shepard was a  Paragon, then this option can have her sending one last message to the Normandy, transmitting from the Reapers—a kind of tragic way to say goodbye as she guides the Reaper fleet into Sol.

However, if Shepard played Renegade … she should live. Sheer force of will keeps her alive, and instead she has the Reaper fleet at her disposal. An end-game narrative can imply that the reason why the krogans were never a problem (if the genophage was cured) was that Shepard had command of the Reaper fleet with which to enforce galactic peace. Depending on other factors, it can also be suggested that Shepard trained other Spectres—or just the Alliance—to control the Reapers after her death, implying that galactic civilization dissolves into a police state with lots of room for corruption to fuck it up. But with Reaper forces dispersed among the ranks, there’s no guarantee that the galaxy will simply be destroyed again—but if it does happen, it’s organics’ fault.

The Destroy Ending

Pros: Shepard lives, Reapers actually destroyed so that they legitimately will never be a problem again.

Cons: Mass effect relays destroyed, synthetics destroyed, sucks to be EDI and the geth.

The Logistics: This simply doesn’t make any sense. What the shit is the Catalyst capable of that it can specifically destroy all synthetic life in the galaxy? Is there a grey area? Are all the VI wiped out, as well? What about all the ships that are run by VI subfunctions? Are they left dead in space? We’re left to assume that the answer is ‘space magic’, in which case why can’t the Catalyst use its god damn space magic to JUST take out the Reapers and leave EDI and the geth alone? Why does Shepard simply accept this and take no for an answer, despite the fact that Shep has never taken no for an answer in any of the games?

The Narrative: This is obviously an acceptable ending on the one hand because everyone wants the Reapers destroyed like a good old-fashioned video game boss should be—but on the other, why the rest of the synthetic life? It’s good to have conflicts, but the space magic aspect of it is just too frustrating and inane.  However, it’s definitely narratively satisfying to have to judge the value of synthetic life—especially if you played the game insisting that it does have value.

How it could be better: Perhaps just a throw-away line about how every single AI in the galaxy was unwittingly built on Reaper tech, or unknowingly infected by Reaper programming the second the invasion started. It could be implied that this programming could cause all the synthetic life to be corrupted as the years go by—but vague enough to suggest that it might not happen, as well. I feel like this one line would somehow make the space magic seem less stupid. Also, mass relays not destroyed. Also also, Shep dies in this option—just as a victim of her wounds, even, or perhaps the beam that’s emitted to destroy all the synthetic life has to build up energy in the chamber and that kills her. Either way, Shepard should die with this choice. If Paragon, it’s so she doesn’t have to live in a galaxy where she killed off the synthetic life she helped to develop in the first place; if Renegade, it’s because it’s time to burn out.

The Synthesis Ending

The Pros: Everyone lives, Joker gets to have space babies with EDI.

The Cons: Reapers … escape? Mass effect relays destroyed, Shep dies, space magic levels climb too high for reasonable thought.

The Logistics: Why? Just … just why? Why is THIS the answer? “People of different make-up have never been able to get along, as evidenced by the geth, quarians, turians, krogans, battarians, and humans all working together to end the Reaper invasion. So clearly synthetic life and organic life can never be friends, because humanity has failed to climb above petty sexism, homophobia, racism, or even xenophobia to get where it is today.” Fuck you, Catalyst. Just fuck you.

Also, how the shit does this even work? Fucking space magic! Completely unacceptable.

The Narrative: This ending is also the most stupid narratively. Where does this even come from? The first idea we get that it’s even possible to have a synthesis between synthetic and organic life is in ME2, when you learn that the Reapers—or that at least one of them—is made from breaking down organic material and rebuilding it as a Reaper. But that’s barely even discussed other than the horrifying revelation that that’s what’s happening to all the colonists. The idea of whether or not a synthetic-organic hybrid is fascinating or morally odd or even feasible is never, ever mentioned or discussed or studied—so why is it suddenly the “happy ending” of Mass Effect? Thematically it’s just completely out of the blue. Not good narrative.

How it could have been better: This option should have been an easter egg, only available if all the assets in the game had been collected through sidequests and multiplayer—possibly even only unlocked once all the DLC had been released. And the synthesis ending should mean that Shepard becomes half-synthetic, half-organic—not everyone in the galaxy. Shepard’s there with the Catalyst, with the Crucible, and is already practically half-synthetic because of all her implants, so the idea that she can be transformed into half-synthetic through on-site surgery is a lot more believable than a magic space ray. Also … a *tiny* bit of space magic is sometimes okay.

Paragon Robot Shepard lives and uses her mighty Paragon ways to broker a peace between the Reapers and everyone else. Obviously seeds would need to be planted throughout the rest of the game to suggest that this is even a possibility—perhaps a slight hesitation in the conversation with the Reaper on Rannoch, or maybe even a DLC episode with a Reaper defector.

Renegade Robot Shepard lives and uses her mighty Renegade ways and enhanced Robot powers to wipe the Reapers out, possibly just by uploading a virus from her own brain, because Renegade Shep does not give a fuck.

Obviously this ending is a bit silly, and super-glossy. But that’s kind of the point: both of the previous endings, when left as your only option, secure you a bitter-sweet and complicated ending that has room for a post-game narrative with descriptions of the various consequences of your actions. The third ending would be the easter egg ending, acquired only from going the extra mile in terms of gameplay. And let’s face it: the type of players who go the extra mile, buy all the DLC, acquire all the war assets, and get 100% on multiplayer—those are the players most likely to WANT this kind of ending. So, for fuck’s sake, why not give it to them?

Now, I know Bioware has released a statement recently that suggests they certainly are looking into it. Initially they didn’t seem too pleased with the call to arms to change the ending, but I think the overwhelmingly negative reaction has led them to at least suggest they coud be persuaded to change their mind. However, I suspect any move they do make will be as neutral as possible.

When it comes down to it, they don’t have to make changes at all. The writing team at Bioware are like writers anywhere else—they’re artists who are allowed to craft any story they god damn please, regardless of what the masses say. The fact that it’s a video game should hardly matter. We should be grateful they’re even considering appeasing us at all.

But, as a player and avid fan of the Mass Effect series, all I really want is something that suits the game: an ending that holds up to how amazingly fun, enthralling, and suspenseful the Mass Effect trilogy was as a whole.

Here’s hopin’ we get it.

- Shan

The Bioware Dilemma

The Bioware Dilemma

For any of you who are active in the gaming community, you may have noticed a certain hubbub surrounding the finale of the Mass Effect series.  Seeing as how I prioritized beating a 30+ hour game in lieu of working on two major assignments due next week, it should probably be of little surprise that I’m weighing in on this debate—also in lieu of completing my assignments.  What the hell, Shannon.

“But Shan,” you say.  “This is a blog about books.  Not video games.”

Don’t be such a prude.   The following post will be about story and narrative, so deal with it, yo.

WARNING:  SPOILERS AHEAD.  I’ll be discussing ME3 in depth, as well as both Dragon Age 1 & 2.  There will be spoilers.  Oh yes.  There will be spoilers.

Now just in case you are not in the know, like all we hip cool kids who maintain book blogs tend to be, modern Bioware games stand apart because of their rich narratives and characters.  This isn’t to say that Bioware games are deep.  On the contrary, I would argue that they really, really aren’t.  But that isn’t necessarily a bad thing—after all, what players like about Bioware is their ability to make choices that result in different characters feeling different ways about the player, providing them with different opportunities, rewarding them in difficult circumstances with different means of dealing with the problem.  Bioware games are about options.  And this is what I feel is the Bioware dilemma:  how can they make the best story and still give players difficult, engaging, and radically different choices depending on their playthrough?

Theoretically, if you’re a normal human being, Bioware games are meant to be highly replayable so you can explore all the different possibilities from game to game.   I am not necessarily a normal human being but actually highly refined unit capable of processing great energy on a diet of obsessive compulsion and pattern, so I personally never play the games that way.  I often navigate the game in a way to provoke the best story—to get the most out of the settings and characters, and to follow the most fulfilling narrative.  ‘Story’ for me is the essential fuel on which I run, and so playing the games just to muck around is never an option for me.

When I get this good story, then that’s the way I ALWAYS want to play the game; for me, it’s like returning to a good book and reading it again for the pleasure of it.  I don’t need things to be different—I take satisfaction from finding them exactly the way they were when last I left them.

That said, I still really like the way that there ARE multiple paths—that I need to search for the best story, that I might not find it if I’m not cunning or careful enough.  If I fail to get the result that I feel was the most narratively satisfying I’ll go back and play it again until I get it right.

For example, I did a playthrough of Dragon Age where I accidentally gave all of Wynne’s wine to Oghren, making her affection bar something of a challenge.  Wynne is such a cranky old lady despite seeming to be as endearing as a particularly endearing button, so I can never get her affection high enough unless I always have her with me in a party or unless I placate her with books and wine.  So the end result was that I never got her character quest, and she never said goodbye to me before the final battle.  Additionally, I had actually named my character Wynne, not knowing that there’d be a Wynne in the game—and this bugged me.  I figure Bioware does a really good job of making your lack of a name unnoticeable, but I can’t suspend my disbelief that it would never come up when we have the same name.  That’s not Bioware’s fault, of course—but it bugged me enough to want to change it.

So I replayed the game with a different name and saved Wynne’s wine for her, the saucy lush.  But everything else I did was exactly the same.  And when I played it a third time, I still made all the exact same choices, because that’s the way I think the story ought to go. (For those curious:  rogue,  noble, romance Alistair, save the mages, save Connor without blood magic, preserve the ashes, detroy the anvil, cure the werewolves, kill Loghain, give Morrigan her baby, and then become queen—all while playing nice with everyone except slavers.)

I did something similar in Dragon Age 2, in that I did my first playthrough with my default class for any RPG I ever play: rogue.  When you play as a melee class the game happily gives you an adorable baby sister to protect and nurture despite being a mage, and this is entirely necessary, because the game does everything in its power to turn you against mages.  My first run, I played the devout civil rights negotiator, protecting the mages at every available opportunity, romancing Anders, standing up for everything short of blood magic—but they always turned on me.  Every mage I ever sheltered, protected, or encouraged turned to blood magic or into abominations (with the exception of Feynriel, who instead finds comfort in the arms of the  Tevinter Imperium.  Hardly a victory).

I know this is why you’re given Bethany, because you need a mage to keep fighting for—but Bethany’s hardly around enough to counteract accordingly, and at some point between your mother being horribly murdered by a blood mage and you finding out that First Enchanter Orsino could have done something to stop it, you kind of have to reassess your priorities.

So, when I beat the game, I immediately restarted and played as a mage.  A lot of people complain about Carver but, having always wanted a little brother, I found him a refreshing and glorious change to sweet, boring little Bethany.  His antagonism is just charming enough to be tolerable, and I feel like the game does a very good job of showing that he really is constantly struggling in Hawke’s shadow and has every reason to be annoyed and bitter.

(As a side note, Carver is definitely an interesting character in terms of what makes for good story.   If made a Grey Warden, Carver matures and reaches his full potential.  He’s still a smug little twit sometimes but he lets go of his petty grievances and really accomplishes something with himself.  But, if allowed to become a Templar, Carver maintains a bitter resentment towards Hawke and provides a really interesting family dynamic and conflict to follow through to the end of the game.  Poor Carver is a significantly less happy person, but your story as The Champion feels more fleshed out and engaging.  Hmmmm.)

On my second play of DA2 I played as a mage who perhaps doubted whether mages should really be free—who felt guilty about her circumstance and what it meant for her family, and who perhaps would have happily turned herself in ages ago were it not for her poor mother and brother, who still need someone to look out for them.  Then I romanced Fenris so they go through the journey of discovering that maybe mages aren’t all bad together.  Also at some point I may have tricked myself into assuming anyone actually cares about this bullshit, and then I wrote a whole paragraph about it.

But let’s actually talk about the Bioware Dilemma, now.  At last!  Let’s get to the meat of the matter.

The Bioware Dilemma is present in Dragon Age 2 in the form of Anders.  My first playthrough, I did everything in my power to smooth things out and to lessen tensions between the mages and the Templars—so, of course, when Anders destroys any chance at peace, I was a little choked.  So choked, in fact, that as soon as the credits rolled I immediately went back and started another playthrough, because fuck you, Anders.

On the one hand, head writer David Gaider and his team obviously did a really excellent job of making you feel betrayed (I was furious!), but on the other hand, it had effectively rendered all my choices in the game up to that point null and meaningless.  What did it matter that I championed mage rights as best I could?  Had I oppressed or manipulated mages, would things have turned out any differently?  Would your mother still be alive, or would Anders be so beaten down by your aggression that he would fail to blow up the Chantry?

No—none of those things had an effect on anything.  When it came down to it, all choices were whitewashed as a result of Anders … and they always are, in every play.   The only result afterwards is whether you become viscount or must immediately go into hiding because of your crimes, and that’s only an afterthought mentioned by Varric.  Even attaining viscount is only temporary, because eventually Hawke disappears into the West so the next game can take place in Orlais, probably possibly.

The point is that the choices in DA2, as opposed to DA1, actually had very little effect on your character’s story.  Characters can live or die, abandon you or fall in love with you, but when it comes down to it: the Chantry is always destroyed, Hawke must always kill both Meredith and Orsino, and the structure of Chantry Law in Thedas comes crumbling down.

But is that a bad thing?  What are the sacrifices we’re willing to make in a game?  Where’s the balance between games where you can choose to do anything you want, at the expense of having any engaging story at all (as in Bethesda titles like Skyrim or Fallout 3) or having a story that is extremely well-constructed and engaging, but completely linear (such as Uncharted)?

Overall I found that turn of events in DA2 to be frustrating—but it was a good ending, so it was hard to be actively angry.  Once I played as a mage I felt that the narrative followed an interesting turn and ended in a satisfying and appropriate way, so all in all I was appeased.  But I still remember being really irritated—why is it that all of my various choices and accomplishments couldn’t shape the fate of Thedas?  Why is it that Anders had the final say, and not Hawke?

But then Mass Effect 3 came along.   It’s worth noting that ME3 has a completely different team of writers from DA2 so to compare them is a little silly—but they are both Bioware games and both pride themselves on the same choice-based story development, so they get  compared.  Tough beans.

This is also where I start swearing a lot more, because the wound is still fresh.  Motherfucker.

As far as choices go in Mass Effect 3, they are myriad and engaging.  It’s hard to feel any kind of tension or rush when you know that the game isn’t timing you, that you can return to Earth at any point and things will be in the exact same state—so as far as an active plot goes, it’s sort of non-existent.  ME3 is simply the last hurrah, the last chance to shoot some Husks and have adorable moments with Garrus the love interest of your choice Garrus.

But there are some excellent choices.  You can choose to stop the genophage or to contribute to the Krogan’s extinction.  You can give an entire fleet of AI foot soldiers free will so they can attain individuality, or you can destroy them.  If you choose to give them free will your Quarian allies might die, unless you have enough reputation to convince them to back down, thus securing a truce between the two peoples.

That’s all excellent stuff, and it’s reward-based: do enough of the side quests, and you’ll have the reputation to get the better solutions.  Great.  Simple and effective.   There’s plenty of room for variety, and players are rewarded for good behaviour.

The problem with ME3 is that none of that shit matters.  None of it.  When it comes down to the very ending of the game, regardless of how ‘well’ you played the rest of it, your three choices are always the same—and, to be honest, those three choices are really, really awful.

I’ve seen a few critics commenting that the reason why people are unhappy with the ME3 ending is because it is sad and we the mindless masses can’t possibly comprehend that sadness can be a good thing.  That is … I mean, really?  Go fuck yourself.    Patronizing doucheduffle.

It’s okay that Shepard dies.  That’s all right.  In fact, it was kind of expected—back before I beat the game and I was talking about it with my husband, I actually theorized that this would be the one game where I pick the worse story option—where I actively choose to keep Shepard alive, rather than sacrificing herself (which would obviously be the better story) simply because I had spent so much time with this one character that I just didn’t want her to die.

Because I never questioned that there WOULD be a survive-and-be-happy option: I just knew it wouldn’t be a very good option.   When it comes down to it, Mass Effect is a video game, and you have spent collectively almost 100 hours keeping Shepard alive and well and investing in this character.  It’s not a book, or a movie, where you can get your cathartic kick and be satisfied: this is a video game.   If Shepard dies, it’s like you, the player, dies.  And that’s just kind of a bummer.

But it does make for good story.  So I simply assumed that of the possible endings, there’d be the paragon sacrifice ending, the edgy renegade ending, and then the happily-ever-after stupid ending.   For my first playthrough, I was thinking I was going for the happily-ever-after stupid ending, because I didn’t want to be sad—yet.    The paragon sacrifice ending would come from my perfect-story-second-run.

But the thing about the paragon sacrifice ending is that Shep sacrifices herself (or himself, for you mansheps out there) to save those that she loves.   That’s the dialogue line I pursued, anyway—everything I did, I did for Garrus, and Tali, and Liara (Joker, Chakwas, etc).  So if I’m sacrificing my Shepard for the greater good, it’s because I want to know that those guys are alive and well.

But in ME3, it doesn’t matter—none of it matters.  No matter how well you played the game, it all effectively results in the same thing: the Reapers are stopped, but galactic civilizaton as we know it comes to an end as the relays are destroyed.

We all know from the Arrival DLC that when a relay is destroyed it emits enough radiation and energy to essentially go supernova, destroying the associated solar system (and possibly seriously fucking up any neighbouring systems, as well).  So if all the mass effect relays are destroyed, does that mean that every single solar system in the galaxy gets wiped out?  Is the Normandy sucked through a wormhole that puts it someplace safe, and that’s why Joker  & Co are able to survive?  I mean, really, what happens?

But let’s assume that the relays are destroyed without actually killing anyone nearby or having any serious consequences—after all, if you choose the one ending where Shepard actually survives, she wakes up on an intact Earth.   So if that’s the case, then with the relays destroyed the entire fleet that Shep had amassed to take on the Reapers is left stranded on Earth.  That’s probably fine—with the amount of casualties,  the planet can probably sustain those numbers.

I mean, especially when you consider the fact that once the Quarian and Turian fleets run out of their own food reserves, they’ll just starve—what with the whole incompatible amino acid thing.  So, sucks to be them.  Good thing I secured a truce with the Geth and Krogans on their behalf and everything.

Or that the Krogan that I personally worked so hard to cure are now likely to all die out anyway.  Without a mass effect relay they’re cut off from the rest of the galaxy, and there’s no Council in place to grant them a new homeworld.  It was implied that Tuchanka may be recovering, but can it recover fast enough to produce enough food to keep the soon-to-be-booming population fed?  Are we led to believe that they’ll figure it out, that their scientists will re-prioritize and figure out effective ways to feed the population?  Or is it much more likely that their already delicate new society will just fail, and that they’ll all return to a life of tribal murder and competition for the few resources their planet can offer?

And what about your own party members?  It’s sad enough that your love interest has to go on without you (but this is an acceptable sadness—unless you chose to rekindle your relationship with Kaiden or Ashley, in which case they’ve already had to survive you once, and it kind of turned them into douchebags in ME2, so … sucks to be them) but also that they’re all cut off from their families and loved ones.  Tali, remember, is so distraught by the loss of her people (if you fail to have the influence to save them) that she kills herself—but in this ‘happy’ ending provided by the game, she ends up cut off from her people, presumably for the rest of her life.  Not to mention that while she could get used to this mysterious new moon, she still risks a suit rupture, infection, and subsequent early death.  That is, of course, assuming she and Garrus don’t simply starve within the first few weeks, stranded as they are on that mysterious Jungle moon that is unlikely to produce both levo and dextro amino acid strains.

So, in ME3, you have a variety of excellent choices to make throughout the game… but it all comes down to nothing.  No matter what you do, your three possible endings will always be the same—and all three choices nullify any of the paths you took throughout the earlier part of the game. Krogan-Turian alliance? Doesn’t matter, they’ll never see each other again.  Quarian-Geth truce and giving the Quarians back their homeworld?  With the bulk of both fleets wiped out and stranded on Earth, that hardly means anything.  In addition to undermining Shep’s sacrifice, this also kind of screws over both Mordin and Legion—who gave their lives to cure the genophage and grant awareness to the Geth, respectively.

So, when readdressing The Bioware Dilemma—I think we can safely establish that ME3 kind of fucked it up a little.  If all the endings result in the same thing—sadness for everyone, destruction and chaos for the characters I’ve grown to care about—then why the hell would I ever replay it?  It won’t change anything; the choices that I make in the game are completely pointless since the ending eradicates any possible influence Shep could have had during the course of the game.  And if I won’t replay ME3, then I have to seriously question whether I’ll ever replay the other two again—after all, what’s the point of anything, if all Shep can ever do is simply hurt the ones she loves?

I could go on and on talking about what exactly was awful about the game, and how the endings didn’t even make sense or were stupid, or how they directly contradicted stuff said in the earlier games which made them especially fucking inane—but I’ve already taken up 3500 words of your time, and I’m sure you’ve heard it all before.

The Bioware Dilemma is how to tell a good story while still accounting for the freedom of choice that Bioware likes to give to its players.  Can you really truly feel that your Shepard had a profound effect on the galaxy when all of your choices are whittled down to only one possibly ending?   Even if the three choices had actually had different consequences, is it really okay to leave the ending up to that kind of call, making all actions you chose prior to that completely irrelevant?  ME3 writing team, what the heck were you thinking?

Above all this blog post should stand as testimony that I am CRAZY about Bioware games—the reason why I’m able to sit down and pound this out is because the ending disappoints me so much.   But Bioware needs to take a step back and realize that this kind of storytelling only works when the player is in control.  When working on games like these it is not the writer’s job to come up with one engaging story and then railroad the player into following it—its their job to come up with multiple, different engaging stories that allow the player to really feel like they’re in control.  It’s just tragic that the ME series had to be sacrificed in order for us to realize this.

Goodbye, Shepard.

- Shan

How Gay is Gay? The DC Apprehension

So some of you may have heard that DC is going to be launching a new character for their Teen Titans franchise and you may have inferred from the title of this blogpost that the character will be gay.

This isn’t a new trend to comics, for anyone who’s wondering– Northstar, Apollo, and the current Batwoman are all openly gay, and they’re in good company.

But Bunker, the newest addition to the DC force, is going to be the first flamboyantly gay character, which is causing a bit of controversy.

Personally, as a writer, I’m often tasked with trying to create realistic characters who behave in realistic ways.   Among many of my friends homosexuality is simply one aspect of their lives–they happen to be gay, but they’re also pessimists and optimists, romantics and cynics, black and white, liberal and conservative.  Some of them consider their sexuality a defining trait and some of them don’t.  (This shouldn’t be a difficult concept to grasp–how many straight people consider that one of their defining adjectives?  “Hello, my name is Joe, I’m an artist, a student, and also straight”?)  So, in a perfect world, it would be nice if we could just accept that being gay is like being left-handed, or blue-eyed.  Sometimes it’s a badge of honour, and sometimes it’s just a fact.

I suppose up to this point the comic book industry has been relatively advanced in that regard: gay superheroes just happen to be gay, but they still face the same difficulties and pressures that come about from being a superhero; their sexuality is pretty irrelevant as far as saving the world goes.

But there is such a thing as pride, and you may have heard that the LGBT community is kind of famous for it.   And amongst my array of LGBT friends there are definitely one or two who you might term “very gay” (in the same way that a woman can be “very pregnant”, I suppose, to speak in absolutes).   In addition to falling in line with one or two stereotypes, they announce their homosexuality at every opportunity, they relish in it–sometimes as an open challenge to a conservative society, sure, but for most of them it’s just because it’s who they are.  And why not?  If straight people had to face situations in which they had been forced to hide or at least downplay their heterosexuality, they, too, might find themselves tempted to wield it with great fanfare when finally permitted to do so.

And so: Bunker.  A gay character who acts gay.  He wears pink and dresses adorably so, clearly, he must be pretty flaming.  And he doesn’t fly under the gaydar.  So what?

I’d like to step back a moment and point out that this is DC we’re talking about.  For those not entirely familiar with comic books, DC tends to be known for its larger-than-life-idealogies-not-individuals style of superheroes: characters who are defined by their great crushing metaphors inner turmoils and not for their personal habits or grounded personalities.  This is in contrast to Marvel, who regularly humanize their characters and (though it’s often a struggle in the comic book industry) at least try (and sometimes even succeed) to refrain from sexism or racism on a regular basis.

The problem that immediately comes to mind with DC portraying an actively gay character is that they’re not particularly, well, tactful.  People in the loop may be familiar with the recent controversy of the DC universe reboot, where they decided to restart all of their most popular lines. There were many changes to take place under this new world order but it attracted a lot of criticism for its unfortunate depiction of women. Out of the staggering 52 series for the reboot launch, only one member of the creative team is female. That’s with enough writers, illustrators, inkers, and colourists to create 52 new books. But, let’s be honest. There’s no such thing as women in comics.

Wait, what? That’s bullshit.

Their neglect of female creators really only comes second, however, to their depiction of the female characters in the universe. For the relaunch, pre-existing characters were given edgy new re-designs, often with disastrous results.

Compare the original Bruce Timm design of Harley (on the left), already a fairly psychotically-sexual design in terms of the angles and body language, with her reboot redesign on the right. Now imagine they did this to every character. It may seem like one thing for a batshit crazy villainess like Harley, but as you can say in this now infamous Justice League cover, she was not the only victim. (“The men may have their muscles but I will OWN YOU with my hips, evil-doers”)

Anyway this feminist tangent was only meant to highlight that I am not sure DC is right for this job. They’ve demonstrated time-and-time again that they cannot handle sexuality in a responsible manner. So why should they be trusted with Bunker’s?

To be fair, interviews with Bunker’s creator seem to suggest that he is coming from the right place, and hopefully the story will reflect that–hopefully Bunker will be engaging, not just as a stereotype, but as an interesting character and dynamic hero.

But we (and by “we” I mean the morally-outraged left that tends to react most strongly to this kind of thing) have been burned before, DC. And we’re watching you.

- Shan

Puppy post! Also, Haruki Murakami

Hey, look! Another one of those ‘comic’ things. Holy carp.

On another note, check out this literary review of Haruki Murakami’s latest beast tome.

I haven’t read it yet! So I can’t really step in and discuss this review with the thoughtful analysis I’m sure it deserves. But, I mean, Haruki Murakami is definitely guilty of … something from time to time, isn’t he?

I was introduced to him by my older brother when I was about 15; and my virginal offering was Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World, which remains to this day my favourite of the lot. I used to try and devour as many of them as I could get my hands on–not a simple task, since I was operating under a student’s budget and Murakami’s paperbacks are expensive, even when rescued from used book stores like the Incan gold they are. So it took me a long time–at least 6 years of hard devotion–to realize that they were all the same.

I picked up another Murakami book for my library and I was half-way through reading about a middle-aged divorcee with a penchant for spaghetti al dente and the Beatles before I realized I couldn’t tell whether or not I’d read that book already. His shtick had gone one book too far and left me confused and, dare I say, disinterested. Later I picked up a copy of After Dark which renewed my interest, but now I always approach a Murakami release with trepidation.

So I will, eventually, be reading 1Q84 … but only if there’s no spaghetti.

- Shan

HP Lovecraft, 1945

I came across an old HP Lovecraft book in my family’s library.

Wordlubbers

“What’s your word count?”

It’s not just the size of the number that matters, it’s all those singular words that comprises it. Maybe I’m just a closet statistics nerd, but as soon as I finished my novel, I set about finding out just how many times I used certain words— characters’ names, recurring metaphors, and so forth.

I first started doing this when I was editing a friend’s novel a few months ago. I began to notice that characters said the narrator’s name a lot; so, since it was first person, doing a Find All on her name brought up the number of times that it was uttered. It ended up being around 220 times. That’s a bit more than advised.

So then I started doing it for other things. Like how many times “leather” was mentioned in a fifteen page chapter from another writer. Or hands. Or eyes. (She does romance, could you guess?)

Find and Replace has become Find and Destroy in my twisted writer mind so that I don’t fall into the trap of overuse and repetition. And it’s useful toward other nefarious, secret writer ends, too.

There’s a cool article about how two databases are being used to trace word patterns across time and genre. What I loved most about the COCA (Corpus of Contemporary American English) database in particular was that it will spit out a shiny bar graph for any word you can think of, showing its use across spoken word, fiction, and other published mediums, along with a timeline. And it will tell you how many times an author used a specific word.

use of the word "awesome" over the last twenty one years

SO COOL.

These databases are a lit-stat nerd’s wet dream. I’d personally recommend the Pereus Project, as I tend toward old literature anyway and the website is much friendlier.

Next up from Al: why a self-destructive goth kid from Denmark should slip poison into Orson Scott Card’s goblet.

A comic!

So Al and I were actually going to try and do this on a regular basis. I keep thinking I’ll upload this on a Saturday or Sunday and make it a weekly thing, but then I forget and the day is over. So maybe I’ll just try to remember to upload them while they’re still topical. Like this one? This one is still topical? Right?

Featuring the amazing artistic talents of Al.