Death Collector
By Jordan Reyne
☆☆☆☆☆☆ (4/10)
Published December 2018, ~300,000 words
I hope, dear readers, that you will forgive my slightly less positive tone in this review because the more I read Death Collector, the more irked I felt. It had pretty mixed or negative reviews wherever I looked, but I told myself to keep an open mind. I’m easy to please, right? (Not really, I know!) I’m afraid to say the criticisms are right. While Death Collector is not without merit—I adore the setting and Reyne’s prose—it does have glaring flaws. Frustrating flaws, even, such as a lack of romance, the most unlikable cast in existence, rigid stats, and the most rushed ending (a two-page epilogue) I’ve ever read. I’m grateful for the free review copy as always, but I think they can have this one back.
Pros:
A brilliantly macabre premise. Harvesting the tongues of the dead so history can literally speak for itself is incredibly unique, and it works so well! Death Collector takes that bizarre idea and builds an entire society around it: careers, politics, censorship, bureaucracy, and even office gossip all revolve around preserving and interpreting the voices of the deceased. It’s a world that’s simultaneously grotesque and oddly believable. There’s some good worldbuilding bits, too, like the growing consciousness of your invisibility cloak or the fighting factions (à la Harry Potter). I was particularly impressed with the portrayal of being a Death Collector: pretty much pure misery. You are a simple cog in a big machine, a junior bureaucrat in an uncaring institution, trapped beneath layers of office politics, impossible expectations, and a society that treats you as thoroughly disposable. Promotions are uncertain, your coworkers are suspicious, your bosses are indifferent, and even doing your job well rarely earns gratitude. It’s horribly depressing!
Rich, evocative prose. Whatever complaints I have about the mechanics, the writing itself is excellent. The descriptions are vivid, unsettling, and wonderfully tactile. Plus, there’s an atmosphere of gloomy despair and resentment. A routine trip to collect a tongue somehow becomes equal parts bureaucratic procedure and body horror. As one might imagine, you are witnessing people’s last moments, and it’s not peaceful, like in the movies. Nope, people are vomiting, weeping, begging, screaming, and so on. Of course, the job isn’t done until you collect their tongue—cutting those large, slimy muscles out with a knife. Yum!
Mixed:
Your role is often to observe rather than act. Much of Death Collector is spent reading lengthy passages about the world, its politics, and its characters before being asked to make another decision. The writing is certainly good enough to sustain this approach, but it can make the experience feel surprisingly passive. Like at the beginning of the game, there’s countless paragraphs on what your job entails, introducing you to your coworkers, reading instructions, getting shown around, and so on.
Cons:
An abrupt ending undermines everything before it. I’ve slowly grown to learn that this is my pet peeve. I can excuse poor romance or flat characters, but I can’t stand a rushed ending. And Death Collector’s ending soured the experience for me. After ten chapters of carefully managing relationships, collecting favors, navigating office politics, and shaping my character’s career, Chapter 10 lasts … two pages. I am being so serious right now. My career is suddenly over because the Ministry hates me; I’m told I’m now a successful writer, someone is following me, and then the game ends. That’s it. I still had two unused favors. Major plot threads were left hanging. Characters I’d invested in barely appear. For example, I befriended Kara, the librarian, got a favor from her, and still got called into court because of her. And, man. I want to be empathetic to writers, but having a two-page epilogue is like. Come on, now, there’s no good reason for that. Did I mention that Chapter 10 was two pages?
Stat checks are ridiculously punishing. Every other choice seems gated behind a stat or personality check, often for actions that should simply be roleplaying. It all came to a head when I failed two Empathy checks when trying to comfort someone. Oh, really? “Insecurity does not wash well within you, and your sense of empathy dissipates,” when I have 61% Idealism, 54% Empathetic, and 59% Honorable. I was always off by a percentage or two, even when wanting to do something as simple as smile reassuringly. After a while, I stopped asking, “What would my character do?” and started asking, “Which percentage is high enough to let me do this?” Plus, between the numerous personality traits, skills, and hidden values, the game can’t always account for the amount of possible character combinations. Many times, all my stat checks were in my lower skill, so no matter what choice I picked, I failed. Woop de doo.
What skills are checked is also unclear. Death Collector tracks an overwhelming number of stats, personality traits, and meta-progression systems—Integrity, Pride, Career, Renown, Story Points, Population, Job Security, even the condition of your cloak—but rarely explains what many of them are or actually do. More frustratingly, it’s often impossible to tell which skills or personality traits a choice is checking, and I frequently failed interactions without understanding why. (I also wasn’t sure why my Care of Cloak and Selection Likelihood stats were still 0 at the end of the game, but I wasn’t going to linger any longer than I had to.)
The cast is intentionally miserable to be around. Death Collector does an excellent job creating the feeling of working in a soul-crushing bureaucracy, but that also means spending most of your time surrounded by people who are bitter, hostile, and exhausting. I hated them; they hated me and each other, in turn. Every damn group scene was them bitching and moaning about stupid shit—and wow, I’m describing my job. All right, deep breaths, get back on track. The characters aren’t even interesting, and I found it hard to distinguish between them. I guess Perdita is the smart one; Roza is the conspiracy nut; Rashkolnikow is the charming one; Sabine is your world-weary boss; and Travis is a rich ne’er-do-well and one of my least favorite characters ever written.
The slowest slow burn imaginable. I picked a romance. I flirted. I made eyes. I made more eyes. I touched a hand. I continued making eyes. Then the game ended. No kiss, no meaningful confession, no emotional climax: just a mutual understanding that, yes, we had indeed looked at each other. Considering how abruptly the story wraps up, the romance feels less unfinished than simply forgotten. But at that point, I simply did not care!
Next review will be Life of a Mercenary!
