I just checked it out, and it’s by Mike Walter. I really enjoyed his LIfe of a Mobster. Wishlisted 
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Paradox Factor is still one of my favorites.
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When I first played it, it really threw me for a loop.
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I sure hope y’all enjoy reading these reviews, because I just bought 20 CoG/HG/HC titles, thanks to the Steam sale. Twenty. Two, zero! Or 22. I actually lost count and am bad with numbers. Listen, I hope the staff are very happy with my purchases! Happy fucking’ holidays, everyone.
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I am. Keep these coming, but don’t burn yourself out.
Do you have genres you’re drawn to more than others? Do you have any that you stay away from?
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Glad you like them! I don’t feel burnout at all; in fact, I feel quite the opposite haha.
I will say I’ll gladly try anything once, but I find myself being drawn to more “serious” works with strong writing and some sort of moral quandary (e.g. Infinity, Golden Rose, Night Road, Rent-a-Vice). Vague, I know! I’m also super into “medieval” or royal works or anything with a historical-ish background. I like reading about history I’m familiar with and piecing the clues together (Choice of Alexandria, Chronicon Apocalyptica, The Road to Canterbury, An Odyssey: Echoes of War). I am into romance, but I find myself getting more and more picky with the more IFs I read. Mystery is fun (Sordwin). So is slice-of-life or more simulator-y types (The Parenting Simulator, Hollywood Visionary, Breach: The Archangel Job, Life of a Mobster, Creme de la Creme).
I’ve started to stray from fantasy. I liked it when I was younger, but I have two problems with it: (1) how pages of exposition is always dumped as soon as I begin reading, and (2) how it’s difficult to write a believable fantasy world that includes magic. To me, if magic can do X, why can’t we use it to solve Y?
I’m also picky with horror. It’s pretty hit-or-miss, right? To me, a lot of (written) horror is pretty basic. “I am going to write in long, dramatic purple prose” or “I am going to add so many metaphors” or “let’s add cults or cannibalism or chanting.” Or maybe I’m thinking of Lovecraftian horror, in general.
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Or maybe not FH kind have all 3 of those things though the last one is not a huge focus mainly a backstory thing
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I did buy FH, so I’m going in with an open mind!!!
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The Magician’s Workshop
By Kate Heartfield
☆☆☆☆☆ (5/10)
Oh, Kate Heartfield. How I wanted to love The Magician’s Workshop—and not because we have the same first name! I loved her last work, The Road to Canterbury, and though there were a couple glaring flaws, I could excuse those. First project issues, and besides, the writing was lyrical enough to cover up any holes. However, The Magician’s Workshop has the same issues as Heartfield’s first work—and doesn’t include any significant improvement. Her writing, premise, and setting are fantastic as ever, but there are major problems with the ROs, ending, and surprisingly, stat system. As always, thank you to the staff for giving me a free copy.
Pros:
The setting is one of my favorites: Florence ruled by the Medici in the sixteenth century. Doesn’t everyone have one random time period they fixated on in middle school? The Medici family, with all their cunning, wealth, and politicking, were mine. (Caveat: this interest was helped by the Netflix show.) Heartield captures my impression of Florence expertly: she lingers on the feeling on walking down cobbled streets as vendors peddle their wares; the careful process of selecting materials and planning how to paint a fresco; the way clothing signals status and respectability; and how survival and success hinge on who funds you. As a result, Florence itself takes on a cinematic quality—dreamy, sun-warmed, and beautiful, yet always shadowed by the anxiety of patronage and precarity. It’s the Florence of movies, where artistry and desperation exist side by side.
Excellent use of historical figures. I delighted in the cast, specifically Giovanni de Medici, Lucrezia de Medici, Alfonsina Orsini, Henrique of Kongo, Judah Leon Abravanel, Girolamo Savonarola, and of course, our dear uncle figure Niccolò Machiavelli. Ironically, these figures are more alive than the actual ROs (more on that later). These are real people, but they’re rendered with a sharpness and clarity that stands out. Giovanni is charming, politically agile, and acutely aware of how power moves through art, religion, and money. Machiavelli is just what you imagine him to be—a practical, observant mind fond of the Socratic method. However, Heartfield gentles him by portraying him as a close family friend, one who will smuggle you out of trouble. Lucrezia and Alfonsina are literal #girlbosses, women who act as political actors, who understand the limits placed on them and the leverage still available within those constraints.
Fun and clear magic system. Usually, magic systems are hand-waved off as plot devices. I hate when this happens. Gimmie rules and systems to center the narrative. Thankfully, Heartfield goes into much detail. Soothsaying, alchemy, and animation are not treated as flashy powers, but as disciplines rooted in Renaissance beliefs about the natural world. Soothsaying feels less like predicting the future and more like interpreting signs—patterns, omens, probabilities. It’s cautious and indirect, avoiding the deus ex machina. Alchemy is similarly grounded, as it ironically follows the Law of Conservation of Matter. It isn’t about conjuring something from nothing, but about transformation and finding proper materials. Animation, when it appears, is framed as delicate and limited—an extension of intent rather than brute force. Objects respond imperfectly. Control is never absolute.
Cons:
Too many stats. I never have this problem, but in The Magician’s Workshop, I was actively checking the stats screen every page. First, you have three main magic stats, six skills, six traits, a whopping thirteen relationships, and four Reputation/Respect bars. Second, you have a resource management subplot. You’ll have to manage health, workshop morale, workshop resources, and money. Third, each choice requires a specific combination of stats. Instead of giving you more freedom, you feel constrained because you’re haven’t chosen the exact stats the author wanted. For a small, easy example, there are three choices to convince your stubborn donkey to keep walking. Let’s say the choices are (1) an Animation/Stubbornness check, (2) a Charming/Confidence check, and (3) a Dexterity/Strength check. Well, I failed all of these! I focused on Soothsaying, Caution, Reasoning, and Artistry. My problem isn’t with failing—but that I didn’t even have the chance to succeed. This issue comes up many times, and it made me feel like I built the “wrong” character or that the game couldn’t be bothered to take into account my build and choices.
Too many plotlines to juggle. This is the big one. The game asks you to manage five major projects plus a fresco plus some mysterious machine. You can only choose three projects, along with the fresco. You also are forced to choose how you manage your time. In addition, there’s a political subplot (support democracy or the Medici), another political subplot (if you want to be the next Master), family drama subplot, a criminal subplot, and a mysterious stranger subplot (that went nowhere, in my game). Heartsfield had a grand idea for how these intricate plot threads would coalesce but doesn’t give you the space to engage with any of it meaningfully. You’re constantly switching focus, checking stats, and wondering which of the ten competing pressures is actually going to matter in the next choice. You end up feeling constrained and spread too thin as the narrative rushes ahead without focusing on each topic.
Flat ROs. I kid you not, the third choice involving your co-magicians are “how do you feel about them?” Ah, drat, that blasted choice. I could excuse this once, but it happened again. Your first interaction with an RO that is your childhood friend again asks, “What is your backstory with them? How do you feel?” AND THEN, when you approach a daring thief RO, you are once again—you guessed it—how you feel about them. The ROs, in general, are paper thin. There are no dating scenes at all. There’s one or two flirt options, but that’s about it. There are five ROs but not enough time to actually talk to any of them; I managed maybe three meaningful exchanges with two of the five. At the end of the game, you get to ask someone to accompany you if you decide to leave the city. I focused on one (1) RO and still got turned down. At this point, I did not care what happened to me.
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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.
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(Belated) thank you for all of these, @Kate27! It has been an absolute pleasure seeing these, and also seeing your incredible comments over on Patreon.
Did you end up putting the Tally Ho review on Steam?
You helped get Cakes and Ale over the crucial 50 reviews to qualify for “Very Positive,” by the way!
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Yes, I did post it all on Steam! Gower, it’s my pleasure to give you this feedback; you know how I enjoy your universe!!!
All right, I can drop out of school and quit my job now! I’m an #influencer
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Changeling Charade
By Ruth Vincent
☆☆☆ (7/10)
Changeling Charade, and by extension, Heart’s Choice is an interesting beast. For the uninitiated, Heart’s Choice is a recent subsidiary of Choice of Games, focusing specifically on romance. The reception to HC has been mixed from what I’ve seen (specifically on Reddit). To some, the genderlocked protagnists and/or ROs are a hard sell. Additionally, some view the catalog as lower quality than the main labels. Personally, I do harbor some of the same beliefs. I don’t care about genderlocks; I only care about quality. Nor do I care about what label a game is published under—don’t the same people run it overhead anyway? Like I said, the actual content is what matters. Which is why it’s ironic that for a company focusing on romance, its games lack … spice. When I say spice, I don’t mean smut. I mean a spark. I’ve only read a couple titles, but most of them seem somewhat stale. Lacking in its cookie-cutter romance. Mechanical, even. I can’t quite put my finger on it.
I bring all this up to say that sadly, Changeling Charade is aligned with my initial low impressions. The demo was enough to give me hope! The premise hooked me instantly—you are a young female fairy, or a “changeling,” posing as a highborn lady getting ready for her debut in a Victorian London-esque society. When I say posing, I really mean it; you have the power to copy someone’s whole appearance. The only catch is that (1) magic is outlawed, (2) your contract to pose as the young lady is for life, and (3) you will have four possible suitors vying for your hand. So maybe there’s more than one catch after all.
You are also introduced to three out of four possible suitors: (1) a genderlocked male earl who is the epitome of a charming, gallant prince; (2) a gender-selectable flirtatious, scandalous noble with a pet fox; and (3) a gender-selectable reserved, passionate tutor. The writing is quite descriptive, with paragraphs lingering on setting, clothes, feelings without being too dense. And yet, I find myself disappointed by the end. There are two major issues I have: the romances—while loving—lack any spark and a political plot is quite obvious. However, over all, [i]Changeling Charade[/i] is a promising read for less picky readers 
Pros:
Good worldbuilding. The worldbuilding is where the game is at its most confident. Victorian London–inspired society is rendered with a clear understanding of class, reputation, and performance, which pairs nicely with the changeling premise. There’s always an interplay of conflict: appearance vs reality, magic vs. being “normal”, and even who you decide to give your heart to. Magic being outlawed adds an extra layer of stakes without overwhelming the narrative, and the rules governing glamour and transformation feel consistent rather than convenient. You have a “Soul Rose,” and its overall health dictates your changeling abilities. If you are connected with yourself, happy, or in nature, your Soul Rose grows in health. If not, your Soul Rose will lose petals, and you won’t be able to change. This is an excellent design decision: it establishes clear, internally consistent boundaries for magic. No deus ex machina here; you always know why magic fails and what it would take to restore it.
Prose. Vincent’s prose is consistently readable and often elegant. There’s a strong sense of atmosphere. Drawing rooms feel stifling, but nature scenes are wistful and freeing. My favorite stylistic choice, however, is how Vincent’s prose turns 
yearning:sparkles:. Vincent truly has a knack for romance (except for one flaw, see below). One motif in her work is flowers and its significance, as well as hidden meanings. Your suitors will wear different flowers to express affection, loyalty, unrequited love, etc. On the day of your debut, you also get to choose a flower to well. There’s also a love language involving hands and gloves: a thumb out of a glove (supposedly) means a suitor wishes for more physical affections. It is so Pride and Prejudice-coded, and I wish Vincent focused on this aspect of love more!
Cons:
Political plot. I’m not usually an observant reader, but the political plot in Changeling Charade was quite obvious. Spoilers ofc but magic is outlawed, and changelings are looked down upon. Part of this animosity is the Queen’s doing, using the usual xenophobic rhetoric. The fairy revolutionary RO positions themselves as the counterforce, advocating for magical rights and proposing a plan to reverse the ban with the help of a powerful ally. The plot even flirts with the possibility of violence, which initially suggests moral complexity and actual stakes. Now, I didn’t mind the political plot, except for the ending. You, a changeling, can somehow get elected as a representative to the magical version of Parliament. And suddenly, life for magical folk turns out for the better. In theory, I don’t object to any of this. “Fantasy racism is bad” is a perfectly serviceable theme, and one that fits the genre. My issue is with how abruptly and implausibly the story resolves it. The speed and ease with which this happens is almost comical. There’s little sense of coalition-building, resistance, or compromise. One moment, magic users are an oppressed underclass; the next, systemic change is achieved because you’re… persuasive? Likeable? The result is a political arc that feels rushed and detached from the game’s otherwise careful attention to social hierarchy and reputation. Earlier sections emphasize how rigid and unforgiving this society is—how class, birth, and appearances constrain you—yet the ending seems to abandon those rules for the sake of a tidy resolution. Instead of grappling with the messy, incremental nature of political change, the story opts for a feel-good shortcut that undercuts its own worldbuilding.
Romances lack conflict. This is THE biggest problem. I was thinking as to why I felt “meh” about the game. The romances were fine—ah. That was the issue; there were just fine. You see, no matter what actions you chose, you will get the suitor you wish. You can flirt freely with all four ROs without consequence. What appears to be a love triangle between the earl and the noble never generates real tension; they are consistently friendly, unbothered, and remarkably accommodating. Rejection is taken gracefully. Secrecy about your true identity causes no strain. Even turning down a marriage proposal carries no emotional or narrative fallout! Everyone is progressive, supportive, and ideologically aligned from the outset.
I feel like this is a recent trend in IF: create safe or affirming romantic spaces at the expense of conflict. Romance thrives on friction—on secrets that matter, mismatched desires, the risk of losing something. Here, there is little sense that you could make a wrong move, hurt someone you care about, or jeopardize a relationship through choice or timing. As a result, the romance feels more like a “yes man.” Ironically, this smoothness clashes with the game’s broader themes of disguise, risk, and societal pressure. You are a changeling hiding an outlawed identity in a rigid social world—yet your romantic relationships exist in a strangely consequence-free bubble.
Uneven/rushed romances. I had only two flirt scenes with the tutor and fairy revolutionary, yet by the debut they appeared wearing flowers symbolizing unrequited love. Woah, now, I know my character’s aura is off the charts, but where did that come from? So I thought of my past interactions with the two ROs. To my surprise, I realized I only had the two scenes. But already, the characters fell for me? I also felt that the earl and noble RO were the more favored ones, thanks to their high status, established friendship, and potential for poly romance. The tutor RO felt neglected; I barely saw them throughout the game.
Poly romance lacking. I was ecstatic when I saw there was a poly romance! There have been a couple poly romances in IF in the last couple of years, but not a lot are equal and fulfilling. So, I had great hopes. The potential was there: the earl and noble are friendly with each other, as mentioned. The noble first initiates the romance: they are a free-spirit and are willing to share you. Problem is, the poly romance follows as such: I went on the noble’s romance path, affirmed my desire for a poly relationship, get proposed to by the noble, and married both ROs. That’s it. That’s the arc. See the problem? For a poly romance, there’s shockingly little content with both—the whole reason I chose the route! What’s missing are the conversations that would give the relationship actual meaning: negotiating boundaries, addressing jealousy or reassurance, moments where affection is shared rather than merely parallel. Instead, the poly romance plays out as two largely separate monogamous threads that converge at the end without any emotions to support it. The result is something that checks the box of representation but is shockingly, disappointingly hollow.
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Hunter: The Reckoning — A Time of Monsters
By Paul Wang
☆☆☆☆☆ (5/10)
Everyone and their mother knows how much I like Paul Wang’s Infinity series. Seriously, even my mom knows—I literally discussed this game and review with her. His strengths are clear: in-depth political worldbuilding, nuanced moral choices, and stat systems that are logical yet fair. I wasn’t sure how his writing would translate to a modern setting, however, and I’m super bummed to find Hunter: The Reckoning — A Time of Monsters (“AToM”) a real letdown. While the mechanics and setting are fascinating, the characters and themes are incredibly heavy handed, almost preachy, flat, and full of exposition. I don’t disagree with Wang’s viewpoints—far from it, actually—but to me, an IF game should stand on its own two feet. Interactive fiction lives or dies by player agency and subtext, and here the messaging often feels spelled out. Super spelled out. The emphasis on police brutality, privilege, and homelessness are so blatant that it turned me off, a pretty progressive person. I wouldn’t recommend this to a World of Darkness fan, as the game isn’t truly about vampires or werewolves; the game is about Society™️. Nor would I recommend this to either a conservative or progressive reader—the former will be turned off by its “talking down” to the reader, while the latter would find such ideas explored better elsewhere.
Pros:
Simplification of stat system. Stats must be in every IF, but it’s so hard to get right. Too few, and choices feel weightless; too many, and the player feels boxed in. Wang is known for his disciplined, coherent stat systems. You have plenty of time to improve your skills, but you are encouraged to keep track of all of them. Your stats always matter, whether it’s in flavor text of major decisions. However, his systems are on the tricker side; the margins of error are quite thin. In AToM there is only Health, Willpower, Desperation, Trust/Suspicion, Money, and Food. No standard personality traits. I was a bit skeptical, but the slimmed down stats makes the game more accessible. Thanks to the Storyteller system, outcomes are easier to read, failure feels more legible, and the focus shifts away from micromanagement toward survival and momentum—where it belongs! Desperation and Trust/Suspicion were the highlights. They are treated as flexible descriptors instead of locking you in to one trait. For example, I initially played as a low Desperation and low to high Trust build. To my surprise, my changes in personality were taken into account by the narrative. My low Desperation meant I couldn’t physically push myself, but I was a more focused individual with High Willpower. I did not trust any of my companions at first. However, I began spending time with them. By the end of the game, my high Trust meant I couldn’t choose cynical options, but I did have many “Friendship is magic” moments.
Interludes. In many IFs I’ve read, authors don’t allow time for the narrative to breathe. There’s no discussing past events or companion banter, like in many RPGs. It’s just go, go, go. However, Wang’s creation of Interludes solves this problem brilliantly. In each Interlude, you have about four Actions to spend. Your options are spending time with any of your four companions, working for Money, spending Money on tools, or spending Money on food. You actually feel the consequences of your choices: maybe you spent too much time scavenging and missed bonding with someone, or maybe you focused on keeping yourself fed but skipped upgrading your tools. It turns what could be a boring “downtime” into meaningful decisions. Plus, it makes the characters feel more real! You get long conversations to talk, joke, or reflect with them, which is rare.
Cons:
Flat MC. There’s always going to be pros and cons with how established a MC is. But in AToM, their growth is quite limited. Every companion has a defined identity—trans, Chinese immigrant, wealthy, etc. You, on the other hand, are nothing. I like to self-insert: as a Vietnamese woman, I was delighted when visiting the Tianshanghui, or discussing Zheng’s typical Asian parenting skills. I am also from an upper-class background, like Mandy, and I could not disagree more with her (more on that later). But in general, the MC reacts like a child just learning about intersectionality: a lot of the choices are “Can you tell me more?” or “I’m so sorry to hear that.” I see why Wang didn’t include predefined backgrounds—playing as trans or Chinese would add a lot of work—but in AToM it was too glaring to ignore.
MC background, pt. 2. You are a nobody, and you are homeless. Yikes. But you don’t learn why someone so young is homeless, or their relationship with their parents. So, my own MC felt bland. I didn’t really get to decide how I felt in most social situations. Learning a whole new supernatural world made my MC angry, I suppose. And they were scared to be hunted. But that was pretty much it. We should have an edge as a survivor, but instead we were just a blank slate.
Preachy writing. Hmm. Where to start with this bomb? Let me first start with my qualms. It seemed like a lot of characters would just literally preach to the MC about their troubles. For example, the introduction to Dead Red is literally her monologuing about the plight of sex workers. She does this again later in the narrative without any prompting from the MC. That’s all I can remember from her. Zheng also falls into this pitfall. He is quite a fan of long speeches, and his climax with his son was literally him talking for five paragraphs straight. All characters talk about how the cops always target poor people, and how poor the community is. Mandy is the worst example of this for me. Modern settings require modern phrases, so I guess I’ll say she reminds me of a “Privileged Liberal” stereotype on Twitter who thinks activism is posting cute infographics. I know people like her in real life pretty well, so her depiction rubbed me the wrong way. Please tell me if I’m missing something, but she ran away from her home and parents because . . . they were upper middle class? Her parents were snobbish and hypocritical? Hmm. Online, there’s a lot of (valid) talk about male privilege or white privilege or wealthy privilege. But Mandy took that way too heart. In every scene I had with her, she circles the same talking points—how privileged people don’t do enough, how homelessness is misunderstood, how giving food is the bare minimum—without ever evolving beyond them. Girl! It seemed so melodramatic. She just seemed to resent the good life she was born into so badly she let her guilt eat her up. I’m not sure if Wang was trying to critique this stereotype, but on a personal level, it irked me and doesn’t make for a compelling character. Quite a lot of the marginalized characters felt like the author’s mouthpieces, which—Wang has never done before! I hate to compare AToM to the Infinity series, but I felt sympathy for elves, women, men, soldiers, Royalists, Tierrans, nobles, the poor, everyone, without feeling talked down to. (And a minor nitpick: I found the vampire asking for our pronouns at the start a bit tacky. Like, murdering me is okay, but misgendering me is not?)
I think that nuance helps breathe life into any work of art. The Infinity series was the perfect example of this. On my first read, I did not care about engaging with any of the political commentary. You are, after all, a member of the hereditary nobility, and you benefit from the injustice in the world. As such, I found it quite easy to roleplay as a lord who, though progressive socially, supported the aristocracy and monarchy. I loved how the text accepted my traditionalism; I wasn’t forced to side with Wulfram or support democracy. Sure, democracy is good and all that, but this is a game, at the end of the day. You could play as a romanticized soldier covering himself in glory or as a bitter, cynical war veteran. Both paths were valid! Your choices have depth and aren’t shoehorned into one “correct” ideology. The systems accept diverse perspectives and let you roleplay authentically, even if your views don’t match Wang’s personal beliefs. But in AToM, there is no nuance. “Well,” you might say, “there’s no nuance when it comes to homelessness!” Perhaps, perhaps not. But gender and class were treated with thoughtfulness in the Infinity series. I think the modern setting removes an “objective” lens, and the commentary is too close to home for the majority of the readership to be, well, impartial.
Little consequences to low Money/food. The game emphasis getting money and food. But I had four Money at the end of the game, and I also didn’t bother with food for multiple chapters, yet nothing bad happened. I wouldn’t have liked an instant Game Over scene, but maybe you lose Health or Willpower if you hit zero?
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I honestly agree with every point you made in this review. You hit on pretty much every issue I had with the game and phrased your critique much more eloquently than I did when I attempted to review the game in the AToM thread. Love your reviews, I hope you keep them coming!
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I haven’t played A Time of Monsters, but in general “preachy writing” is super super tempting to do and writers have to consciously fight against it.
Like, I have strong views on various Hong Kong topics, and when I’m writing for my game I’m always converting them into subtext to avoid alienating the reader. Keeping such restraint over hundreds of thousands of words is not easy.
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NGL this is so silly that it felt like intentional parody. IDK if you played his route but Rod is EXACTLY the kind of guy who would think misgendering is wrong but murder is excusable.
11 Likes
[Insert If I had a nickel meme here] cause I believe the same/similar thing (how you pick the MC’s gender/pronouns) happens in… Luminous Underground? Sins of the Sire? one of these, can’t double check right now.
2 Likes
I’m fairly sure he was trying to, in the route where you meet Mandy’s parents if you act how she wants you to act, rubbing their wealth on their faces and saying they’re not doing enough, then they remain on bad terms, because you’re confirming her bias and how she is right, however if you act polite and thankful for the charity they already do then they seem to patch things up, because she seems to realize she might have gone a bit too far when someone from the community she wants to help seems to get along with them.
It could have been implemented better, her development being mutually exclusive with Zheng’s (who I think everybody found a much better character) might not have been the best idea, and that still means that for most of the game to increase your relationship with her you must agree with everything she says where the others are a bit more nuanced, or at least not exclusively focused on only 1 thing so it felt more natural.
4 Likes
I don’t want to derail Kate’s thread, but re:Mandy, I had the same issue with her being nothing more than a stereotype. Wang may have been trying to critique that kind of person/character, but it falls flat for me because there is quite literally nothing else to her. Every single interaction with Mandy is about how she’s a privileged activist, there’s almost never a piece of dialogue where she isn’t going on about the plight of the marginalized. She feels like a caricature of a privileged liberal, because I know those kinds of people do exist irl, and I’ve met many of them, they’re not as insane about it as Mandy. They have a personality beyond their politics (or, at least they can hold a normal conversation about something else), while Mandy cannot, and so she comes off as shallow, melodramatic, and strawman-like.
The lack of depth is also an issue with Zheng, and the other characters, but not as much as it is with Mandy, since the other characters also only seem to exist to convey the games themes to the PC (Zheng), or act like a flat stereotype (Wil and most others).
4 Likes