My story

My shoulders ached and each day the weight got heavier and heavier. I was in the middle of my first semester of graduate school, and the stress was mounting. I was lost; not in the sense that I was at a crossroads. Instead, I was in a foreign city, unable to even read the map. I knew that in the next four semesters I needed to write my thesis, but I had no idea what I wanted to research. I had done a lot of pondering and soul searching, but hadn’t reached a conclusion. I knew that I didn’t need to choose a topic for my thesis, but the sooner I chose the sooner this weight and stress would leave.

My younger brother was binging on the old family N64 console to unwind from the stress of his business degree. I went over to hang out with him and caught him trapped in the Water Temple from Ocarina of Time, and something fell into the hole in my heart. I hadn’t played a Zelda game in close to a decade, and had played minimal video games for a long time. I had no idea what would fill this gap in my research interests, and had never thought it would be video games. I had played a lot in my youth, but had become distracted with the responsibilities of life: getting a college education, getting married, and raising two sons.

But watching my brother struggle with this 18-year-old game startled me into remembering my love for Zelda. After my short exposure to Ocarina of Time, I knew what my thesis had to be about.

During my preliminary research, I expected there to be scholarly articles and studies on The Legend of Zelda. I had previously dipped my toe into the waters of what academics were saying about Harry Potter, and expected a similar tidal wave. I was mistaken, and bewildered. The studies performed on video games have not tapped into this iconic series, which includes some historic hits. This game series changed my life and my childhood, so I was disheartened to discover very little has been said about it, and decided that this would be my niche—writing about The Legend of Zelda.

My mission

Following this determination to become a video game scholar that specializes in the Zelda games, I felt a need to replay the series. So I dusted off a game I haven’t played since my first experience in high school, The Wind Waker. I sat down one week and crammed in as many hours of gameplay as possible into a few nights. In just a few days I got through the first two acts of the game, with only two dungeons and the Triforce quest left. But while my marathon gaming got me that far, it was probably the most fun part of the game. I’ll talk more about my experience with the third act of this game in my upcoming book, The Mythology of Zelda: Textual Analysis of The Wind Waker.

 

Following this revelation, I’ve devoted myself to writing my thesis on Zelda and crafting a manuscript on my recent experience with The Wind Waker. I’m 33,000 words in, and revising my second draft. I hoped to have it finished by September, but its looking more likely that I’ll publish in February or March.

Video games are still a relatively new medium and their effects are still being researched. They do not yet carry the same scholarly weight as literature, or film. However, when asked what this source of entertainment could offer, Tom Bissell gives this reply:

So what have games given me? Experiences. Not surrogate experiences, but actual experiences, many of which are as important to me as any real memories. Once I wanted games to show me things I could not see in any other medium. Then I wanted games to tell me a story in a way no other medium can. Then I wanted games to redeem something absent in myself. Then I wanted a game experience that points not toward but at something.

This quote, from his nonfiction book Extra Lives: Why Video Games Matter, is his reflections on the months he spent playing Grand Theft Auto. He came to the conclusion that perhaps all games can do is point the player back at themselves, exposing what the player wants and embodying what they seek. So for me, Zelda games embody what I want them to. They are portals into my desires, reflecting what I seek for in entertainment.

But why do video games matter? Why am I writing a book about my experience with The Wind Waker and what I find valuable about this game? Why do I want to specialize so heavily on game studies and Zelda as a professor? The Legend of Zelda is a powerful, classic series of video games that continues to resonate with and impact me and my scholarship. This series is full of games that suck 50 hours or more out of players, with multiple playthroughs—significantly more time than a movie and other forms of entertainment. This large investment of time and interaction makes the Zelda series valuable and worth researching to better understand the potential of this art form.

Review of Spelunky (Boss Fight Books 11), by Derek Yu

I’ve been tempted to dive into Boss Fight Books for a while now. As my first book in the series, it was a pleasure to read. I enjoyed the chronicles of Derek Yu and his development of the game. His voice resonated from the beginning of the book and followed until the end, bringing his passion from the project into each chapter. There were quite a few insights that stuck with me—such as discovering that a computer programmer could hate writing code—making this a great book and journey. More than just learning about Spelunky was learning about game development and what Yu felt was important about the experience of playing games. I’m of the opinion to distrust art historians who can’t pick up a paintbrush, and yet I ironically value the opinions of video game scholars—like myself—who have never created a video game before. Studying the process of game development changes the perspective of game studies.

As a book, Spelunky was a captivating and fun read, as it is an autobiographical account of developing one of the greatest indie game hits. However, when describing the final (and secret) level, Yu argued that games don’t need to increase in difficulty for the sake of being difficult. When he was designing the level Hell, he approached it as being different than the others, but not more grueling. Yu did not want to have players feeling fatigued during this final level. However, according to the psychological concept of flow, there is a balance between challenge and skill to achieve this emotional state. For players, or other creatives and athletes, to engage in flow, or a state of being “in the zone,” where enjoyment is at its peak, they must have a high level of skill and be challenged at the highest level. This means that players of video games will only have the greatest enjoyment by being in a state of flow when they are skilled and challenged. So in a sense, greater difficulty is needed for players to enter the zone and lose track of time.

But I can agree to disagree with Yu. His argument is that there is no need for an arms race in difficulty—because the point of video games is not to be impossibly hard, but hard enough. There are so many complaints from players about the difficulty of video games, it seems that most reviews of a game include a comment about it being too easy or too difficult. As a designer it must be frustrating that groups will find your game too hard while other groups will find it too easy.

Yu also outlines his opinions on game design that I agree with: like returning to the roots of gaming with arcade-style video games, of focusing on the details and polishing them, and of just finishing your projects instead of being stuck in a cycle of redeveloping. This book is great, and a valuable asset to game scholars. I would rate it as 4.5/5 hearts.