A Midsummer Night’s Choice
By Kreg Segall
☆☆ (8/10)
RIP Shakespeare, you would have loved Interactive Fiction. Well, at least you would have loved A Midsummer Night’s Choice, a play (literally!) on A Midsummer Night’s Dream. I’ve been a huge fan of Kreg Segall, and I’m not surprised this game is so enjoyable. I can see so much of his later style in his first work: his emphasis on humor, wordplay, an ending chapter that branches, and Shakespearean allusions. Of course, there are so many allusions to Shakespeare, and I loved each and every one of them. A word of warning, though: I don’t think someone unfamiliar with Shakespeare will be so enthused. I genuinely think A Midsummer Night’s Choice stands on its own two feet, yet much of my delight came from meta knowledge about Shakespeare’s plays, life, and language.
Pros:
Shakespearean allusions. There are so many I could only scratch the service! But the allusions go far beyond surface-level references to A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Segall pulls from Shakespeare’s broader comedic toolbox: mismatched lovers, secret identities, nature as liminal spaces where social rules dissolve, and noble families whose problems can only be solved through theatrical excess. Character names, dialogue rhythms, and even joke structure echo Shakespeare’s habit of setting up misunderstandings purely so they can collapse in spectacular fashion later. There are moments that feel explicitly modeled on Shakespearean devices—overheard conversations, sudden reversals, identity reveals, and magical explanations that exist solely to restore order—and the game uses them knowingly, often with a wink. For readers familiar with Shakespeare’s plays, these choices feel intentional and rewarding, turning recognition itself into part of the pleasure. The prologue even begins as a stanza in iambic pentameter, which … okay, NERD.
Ending. Again, this is Shakespeare-related, but the ending is so … I literally laughed out loud. In many Shakespeare comedies, the plays ends with a happy ending: marriage, reunion or reconciliation, festivities, a restored order, perhaps a deus ex machina. Segall takes this trope and dials it a notch up, but it somehow makes perfect sense and is so ridiculous. It’s not just a happy ending; it’s every happy ending, stacked on top of each other, delivered with a straight face. And somehow, against all odds, it works. MAJOR, MAJOR ending and story spoilers, but at the beginning of the story, you pick a distinctive birthmark. You also have some unexplained control over magic. Your mother is mysteriously dead. Your father is deathly ill. You have gotten lost in the forest. Fairies hate humans, and vice versa. Well, SURPRISE! Your mother is actually the Faerie Queene who has given you up to your father but regrets it. You know this, of course, by your matching birthmarks. You’re the king or queen of the forest because of your blood. Your father is ill because of a curse the Queene has cast, but she lifts it. You get to marry who you wish. And you get to do whatever you want, even rule over your father’s (or mother’s lands). Yay!) This is so … it’s so absurd. It’s so indulgent. It’s so wildly over-the-top that it borders on parody—and yet it makes perfect sense within the logic of Shakespearean comedy. This is what those plays are doing, just usually with a bit more restraint. Segall refuses restraint entirely, and that commitment is what makes it land. The ending isn’t trying to be subtle or profound; it’s trying to be joyful, theatrical, and deeply silly. It’s fucking stupid in exactly the way it’s supposed to be, and that’s why it feels earned rather than cheap.
Writing. Segall’s writing is sharp, playful, and literate without ever feeling smug about it. The dialogue moves quickly, jokes land cleanly, and the prose understands exactly when to be light, when to be theatrical, and when to step aside and let the choice itself do the work. It captures the heightened, slightly ridiculous tone of Shakespearean comedy while remaining readable and modern, which is a harder balance to strike than it looks. Even when the story leans into absurdity, the writing commits fully, giving the world its internal logic and making the silliness feel intentional rather than sloppy.
Commentary Track. This is such a genius idea; I don’t know why more authors wouldn’t charge $1 for a Commentary Track. I would buy it in a heartbeat for my favorite works. Just as promised, you learn all about the jokes and references in the game. The way it works is quite simple, actually. You download the DLC as usual. However, when there’s a choice with available commentary, a choice will appear to look at the commentary. You can read it, then go back to where you were seamlessly. I was impressed by how through the commentary is! There’s notes for virtually every choice, and I honestly learned so much. It was like I was back in 9th grade English again. You get sneak peeks into character names, tropes that show up in Shakespeare’s plays, historical facts, literary jokes you might have missed, and the specific traditions Segall is riffing on or subverting. I enjoyed A Midsummer Night’s Choice so much more because of this DLC. Moments that were already charming became smarter; jokes landed harder once I understood the reference; narrative decisions felt more intentional.
Cons:
Linear. This is not an IF where you choose your protagonist’s background or backstory. Your character is largely fixed: you are a noble heir, and a bit of a prissy child. This, paired with the comedy of the title, might rub some readers the wrong way. Additionally, the chapters themselves are largely linear with little interaction, only in how you react to scenes. I didn’t mind this personally, but I wouldn’t recommend this to a beginner.
Quick romances. Segall stays faithful to Shakespeare’s fondness for love-at-first-sight and whirlwind romances, where intensity matters more than time spent together. That choice makes sense mechanically and thematically—this is a story drawing from theatrical tradition. But this decision doesn’t translate to the IF page as well as it does on stage. For example, you can have one (1) conversation with a fairy. In a later scene without having any interaction with her, you can say you love her. Similarly, you don’t get a lot of time with the ROs, as the story necessities you being alone, lost in a forest. While I understand it’s a stylistic choice, it was one of the most jarring moments in the narrative.
Not recommended for beginners or those unfamiliar with Shakespeare. To me, a great part of my enjoyment came from from recognizing the allusions, tropes, and structural jokes Segall is playing around with. While A Midsummer Night’s Choice can stand on its own narratively, readers without that background may find parts of it less funny, less surprising, or simply confusing rather than clever.