#oneaday Day 166: Only seven years late… and then some

Longtime readers of my blog and MoeGamer will know that the visual novel series Grisaia has been something of a defining influence on my media tastes for quite some time. Indeed, over on MoeGamer there’s probably a book’s worth of words on the first two games that I invite you to read at your leisure.

And yet. And yet. For some reason, despite coming to the end of second entry The Labyrinth of Grisaia in 2017 and being incredibly excited about the cliffhanger it ended on, and curious on how it might end up… I have only just got around to making a start on the final part of the original trilogy The Eden of Grisaia. I say “the original trilogy”, because since The Eden of Grisaia’s release in English, there have been numerous non-canonical spinoff titles released in the series, plus an entire second series of games known as Grisaia Phantom Trigger which, I believe, is eight volumes long. (Granted, I believe one “volume” of Phantom Trigger is a tad shorter than one of the original three Grisaia games, but still.)

Anyway, like I say, I have finally got around to starting The Eden of Grisaia. I was concerned it would be tough to get back into after seven years away from the series, but almost immediately I was reminded why I love this series, and why I’ve always considered it so important to me. So I’m definitely going to make reading through this final volume from the first trilogy an absolute priority, because I am thrilled to be back in the company of these characters.

But what is Grisaia? I mean, my simple answer to that is “go read the MoeGamer articles linked above”, but you may not have the time to read a five-figure word count on the subject. So I will attempt to summarise the series thus:

Grisaia is, in part, a coming-of-age story about people finding their place in the world. This might not sound particularly unusual for a visual novel, and indeed Grisaia initially looks like it’s doing its very best to be a fairly conventional high school romance sort of affair. There’s an unvoiced male protagonist, a harem of young women who all come to adore him for one reason or another, nookie (in the 18+ version, anyway, which is absolutely the version you should be playing) and multiple endings.

But there’s one fairly large spanner thrown in the works almost immediately, and that is the protagonist in question: Yuuji Kazami. He is anything but a “self-insert” or cipher for the player, and right from the opening moments of the first installment The Fruit of Grisaia it’s clear that something is up with him. We join him just as he has walked 150km to get to his new school, Mihama Academy, and over the course of his interactions with the five main heroines, we come to learn that he has a mysterious “job”.

Initially, the details of this “job” are kept exceedingly vague, but it becomes apparent very quickly that Yuuji is no ordinary high school boy. He is wise — and cynical — well beyond his years, and he uses this experience to help the heroines in various ways. He by no means acts as a “magic bullet” to solve all their problems for them, but his experience in the ways of the world helps him form an incredibly close bond with all five of them. In the original The Fruit of Grisaia, these bonds are implied to be exclusive, and indeed there are even “After Stories” in second part The Labyrinth of Grisaia that continue on that assumption.

But the main story of Grisaia really gets started in The Labyrinth of Grisaia. It’s there we learn all about Yuuji’s background — which I won’t spoil here for the moment, but it’s fair to say he is cynical, jaded and experienced in some curiously specialised skills with very good reason — and the whole thing concludes on a dramatic moment that effectively seems to take Yuuji completely out of the picture.

Now, it’s a bold series that seemingly removes its protagonist from proceedings two-thirds of the way through, but that’s exactly how final part The Eden of Grisaia starts. We switch to third-person narration and follow, for the most part, the exploits of the five heroines as they leave Mihama Academy behind and take on the seemingly impossible task of getting Yuuji back. We have occasional cuts back to Yuuji’s present situation, but the focus is still very much on the heroines. At least it has been for as far as I’ve read so far.

This is a really interesting narrative technique, because it makes it abundantly clear that while The Fruit of Grisaia very much had a kind of “dating sim”-style setup in which you had to pick the right choices to get onto your favourite girl’s route and then pick the right choices to get her “good” ending, The Labyrinth and The Eden of Grisaia have a very specific story to tell. Indeed, the main narratives of both unfold as a kinetic novel with no player input whatsoever. It’s testament to the quality of the writing (and the translation) that Grisaia remains so thoroughly compelling, even after it takes away both the player’s already limited agency in proceedings and the character they were supposed to be “inhabiting”.

Don’t mistake the switch to third-person narration as being boring, though. The Eden of Grisaia’s narrator may be omniscient and non-participant, but they very much have a personality of their own, and they have some exceedingly entertaining remarks to make at times — usually at the expense of Michiru Matsushima, the group’s resident “idiot”.

Thus far I am very much back in Grisaia mode, and I can’t wait to see what happens next. I also know that Grisaia games are a very long read — honestly, it’s knowing there are probably 30+ hours of reading ahead that caused me to put off Eden for so long — but I am going to take my time and enjoy it.

In the meantime, if you’ve never explored the series for yourself, I still highly recommend it. Yes, it’s a bit of a commitment to read all of it, to say the least, but it’s a journey well worth taking. It’s regarded as an absolute classic of the medium with very good reason, and my “Complete Box” version of it that I have on my shelf is absolutely one of my prized gaming-related possessions.

Want to read my thoughts on various video games, visual novels and other popular culture things? Stop by MoeGamer.net, my site for all things fun where I am generally a lot more cheerful. And if you fancy watching some vids on classic games, drop by my YouTube channel.

#oneaday Day 142: More sound novels, please

Playing through Death Mark and now its sequel NG, I’m once again struck by how much I like the “sound novel” approach to Japanese-style adventure games. I last encountered this style of presentation back when I looked at 428: Shibuya Scramble, and I liked it a lot there, too. And I’d like to see more of it.

For the unfamiliar, a “sound novel” is usually a form of visual novel in which audible character speech (as in, voice acting) is eschewed in favour of presenting narration and dialogue exclusively (or almost exclusively in the case of Death Mark and NG) through text. To counterbalance the “loss” of this aspect that is normally found in most visual novels these days, sound novels place a much stronger emphasis on ambient audio.

That means unlike many other visual novels, which tend to have continuous background music as their main accompaniment to the action, sound novels attempt to create a sense of “immersion” in the game environment via a slightly different means. It’s a uniquely “video game” way of doing things, and the more I experience it, the more I really like it.

Part of the reason I appreciate it is because I’m a fast reader, and when I’m playing a visual novel with full voice acting, I find it very difficult to make myself advance the text before the speech has finished playing — even if the speech is not in a language I understand. This is because I know that there is often some very good voice acting in visual novels — it tends to be where a lot of the budget goes — and I worry that I might miss out on some particularly dramatic or emotional moments if I skip the sound.

The game that got me into this habit was Corpse Party on PSP, which is kind of sort of a visual novel, only with RPG-style exploration. The voice acting in that game was so good that I not only listened to every line in its entirety, even though I don’t speak Japanese, I also made listening to the Japanese voice track my norm in most games (well, those that originated in Japan, anyway) I played from thereon.

But I’m always just a bit conscious of the fact that all that lovely voice acting is slowing me down, and since I inevitably read a line faster than it’s spoken — particularly if we’re dealing with one of those characters that speaks incredibly slowly — I can occasionally feel my attention wandering. Now, I could just skip the dialogue and move on to the next line, but like I say, there’s a little switch in my brain that’s flipped, and I can’t flip it back; it just doesn’t feel right to do that.

Sound novels, though, present no such difficulty. I can romp through Death Mark and NG (and indeed 428: Shibuya Scramble before them) at completely my own pace. I don’t need to wait for a voice actor, I don’t need to wait for a dramatic moment, I just read and advance. And I really like it.

This got me thinking more broadly about how I’m settling into a place where I feel like I actually prefer the games that deliberately hold themselves back from trying to be “realistic” in various ways. I played Death Mark immediately after the Silent Hill 2 remake, and while the Silent Hill 2 remake was indisputably excellent, I think I’m actually drifting into a place where I enjoyed Death Mark more in terms of the way it was presented to me. And I’m enjoying NG even more than Death Mark, because it’s doing a lot of the same things, only it feels a bit more polished and refined.

So I think I’m in a place where the “sound novel” approach is fast becoming one of my favourite ways to present an interactive narrative. It’s got the descriptive text and well-crafted dialogue I enjoy, it’s got incredibly atmospheric ambient sound to feel “immersive”, and I can play through it at completely my own pace, rather than being arbitrarily limited by my inability to skip through voice-acted lines.

Of course, in the other games I suppose I could just turn the voice acting off. But then I feel like I’m deliberately depriving myself of an important part of that game’s presentation.

Oh, woe is me. I realise, of course, that this is a completely pointless problem to be worrying about, and, to be honest, I’m not actually worrying about it at all. It just struck me as something interesting while I was playing NG this evening, and I hope I can find some more sound novels to enjoy once I’m done with the Spirit Hunter series.

#oneaday Day 86: Emio – Roll Credits

I just finished Emio – The Smiling Man: Famicom Detective Club, the new Nintendo Switch release that, as the name suggests, acts as an official sequel to the two classic Famicom Detective Club games that were first released on Famicom Disk System, and subsequently remade for Switch a couple of years back. You can read my thoughts on both of them here and here.

I’ll do a “proper” writeup on the game at some point in the next few days over on MoeGamer, but suffice to say for now that it was excellent, and acts as a wonderful successor to the already very good two predecessors.

For the unfamiliar, the Famicom Detective Club series unfolds as Japanese-style adventure games. That means you spend the majority of your time selecting actions from a menu, reading a lot of dialogue and searching for the next “trigger” to move the story along. Japanese adventures are more about the plot than solving puzzles; to put it another way, they are the modern equivalent of the narrative-centric “interactive fiction” versus the mechanics-centric “text adventures”.

The first two Famicom Detective Club titles occasionally lapsed into “click on every option multiple times until something happens”, which was mildly annoying, but this new third one makes the sensible decision of highlighting important words and phrases in the dialogue which generally gives you a solid idea of what you need to do next. You can actually turn this feature off if you prefer, but honestly just leaving it on is the best way to keep the story flowing.

The story this time around concerns a dead body that has been found. The corpse is a student named Eisuke, and he appears to have been strangled. Unusually, his corpse was found with a paper bag over his head, and a creepy smiley face scrawled crudely on the bag. What then follows is your attempts (as both the self-insert protagonist from the first two games and his long-suffering coworker Ayumi) to solve the case by interviewing suspects, examining important locations and gradually piecing everything together.

In the tradition of Japanese adventure games, you’re not really “doing” much beyond simply advancing the plot, but that’s fine. There’s no “moon logic” to worry about here; it’s just about enjoying the story unfold, and occasionally demonstrating that you’ve understood what you’ve witnessed through short “Review” sequences that quiz you on the most recent happenings. There aren’t really any consequences for getting these wrong other than Ayumi giving you the stink-eye, but that will be punishment enough for many players.

I’ll refrain from saying any more about the plot for the moment for the sake of spoilers, but I will say it’s refreshing and welcome to see Nintendo going unabashedly adult with this one. It’s PEGI 18 rated with good reason; it does not pull punches, and I mean that in several respects. The game is all the better for not holding back; it drives home the fact that the case you’re investigating is very serious for a number of different reasons, and the complex motivations of the many characters you’ll encounter over the course of the plot will keep you intrigued right up until the end.

I was also impressed by how comprehensively it wrapped things up by the conclusion. It pulls a little bit of a fast one on you in this regard, but I’ll leave exactly how for you to discover.

Anyway, yes; Emio – The Smiling Man: Famicom Detective Club is proof that the Switch very much still has plenty to offer in what most people are assuming is its twilight year. And it’s yet another reminder, if one were needed, that modern gaming isn’t actually all that bad, really — so long as you steer clear of the shit bits.

More on MoeGamer at some point this week.

2485: The Value of Short Experiences

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You know me, dear reader, I love getting my teeth into a meaty RPG as much as the next man — assuming the next man is as much of a loser as I am — but sometimes it’s nice to cleanse the palate with something shorter. Perhaps even something that you can finish in a single sitting.

I thought this with Outlast and its DLC, which I played recently, and I’ve also thought it with the visual novel Negligee, which I’m going to do a writeup for on MoeGamer later this week. I also think it whenever I play games that are friendly to bite-size sessions, like arcade-style games where the emphasis is on getting better at a short, sharp experience rather than slogging your way through hundreds of levels.

There seems to be something of an assumption among many people online these days that a game somehow lacks value if its developers don’t “support” it post-release with regular updates. Now, in some cases, this makes sense — massively multiplayer games like Final Fantasy XIV would grow stale quickly if they didn’t get an injection of new stuff to do now and then, for example — but in others, particularly games that are heavily story-based, there’s a great deal of value in simply drawing a line under it, saying “that’s it” and calling it finished.

This clamouring for constant updates is particularly pronounced in the mobile game sector, where a lot of games seem to have designs on being “massively multiplayer” experiences anyway, even when they involve little to no actual player interaction. Google Play and App Store reviewers (and, to a marginally lesser extent, Steam reviewers) will get seriously whiny if even the dumbest of timewasters doesn’t have regular updates with new levels or seasonal events or whatever — and even worse if the experience costs “too much” for what they perceive the mythical money-to-hours ratio is supposed to be — and it always bothers me a bit. Are they seriously saying that they don’t want that game to ever end, that they’ll be happy doing nothing but flicking birds at pigs or matching candy sweets forever? I can’t imagine feeling that way. I need new and interesting things to do on a fairly regular basis; while my longstanding love affair with Final Fantasy XIV would seem to run counter to this statement, that game does at least reinvent itself with new stuff every so often, and I play other things alongside it anyway.

Back to the original point, though: there is a great deal of value in shorter experiences that forego bloat and filler in favour of a concise but still enjoyable experience. Not everything needs to be a 50+ hour epic, at least partly because no-one has time to play all the 50+ hour epics that are already out there, let alone a new one.

Outlast would have got exhausting and tiresome if it was any longer than it was — the main game was already skating on that boundary by the time I finished it; I much preferred the snappier DLC — and Negligee tells the story it wants to tell in less than an hour, albeit with eleven different endings to encourage replays. A game that provides an enjoyable experience without taking over your whole life is something to be celebrated, particularly when you’re waiting for the next exciting thing to come over the horizon as I am right now with the imminent Final Fantasy XV. And I for one am glad that there are plenty of developers out there who don’t feel the need to add unnecessary bloat to their games for the sake of an artificially inflated playtime, or a set of Achievements, or simply because the ever-whiny general public insists that £15 is “too much” for a game that is over in two hours.

Short game developers, I salute you, and you’ll always have my business in that awkward period just before a big release! 🙂

2476: The Growth of the Visual Novel

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When discussing my full writeup on Supipara earlier today, it occurred to me that visual novels are in a much better place here in the West than they were even a few years ago.

When I first encountered visual novels — like, first first encountered them — they were like a hidden gem of the Internet. Gorgeous Japanese pixel art, interesting stories, memorable characters and porn, all in one happy package. Naturally, despite a number of them having been officially translated by the well-established (and still standing) JAST USA, they were mostly distributed through… shall we say, questionable means. (If I remember correctly, this was still the days of KaZaA and Limewire over dial-up, well before BitTorrent became a thing.)

I had a lot of fun with some of these early visual novels but was never quite sure if it was “acceptable” to talk about them, what with them being widely regarded as porn first and foremost. Fortunately, a number of friends and I all discovered Parsley’s wonderful True Love around the same time, and found ourselves thoroughly captivated by its wide variety of different characters, its interesting stat-based gameplay and the various mini-stories each of the game’s heroines got you involved with.

Other memorable early visual novels I encountered included Ring-Out!! which was about a young girl sold into essentially sex slavery dressed up as professional (all-lesbian) wrestling for the gratification of rich, bored playboys with nothing better to do and less-than-progressive attitudes towards women. While this game’s plot was a thinly-veiled excuse to have, well, lots of lesbian wrestling in lingerie, it stuck with me long after I first played it because it presented the protagonist as a very “human” character caught up in events beyond her control, not quite sure how to deal with what was essentially a horrific situation to be caught in. There were a number of different narrative paths through the game, each of which explored what might happen if the protagonist responded to her situation in different ways. Short version, though: if ever you wanted to feel really, really bad about popping a boner over some lesbians doing lesbian things, Ring-Out!! is the game for you.

I also quite vividly remember Three Sisters Story, because although it presented you with the opportunity to bump uglies with all three of the titular sisters over the course of the narrative, doing so would cause you to suffer the indignity of a bad ending where you didn’t end up with any of them after the dramatic finale. This was surprising to me, and confirmed something I already suspected: there was a lot more going on in many of these games than excuses to display lovingly-drawn images of depraved sexual acts.

It would be a good few years before I got back into visual novels, and Japanese games in general. I typically credit Katawa Shoujo with my current interest in Japanese popular media, despite it being largely Western-developed, and by this point, discussion of visual novels — including their lewd bits — had become much more “acceptable” to many, though still not all, people.

After Katawa Shoujo, I decided to catch up on a number of visual novels, primarily from JAST, who were still pumping them out, and a couple from relative newcomer MangaGamer. I had a great time with many of them, and still fondly look back on a number of these titles such as the gloriously silly My Girlfriend is the President and the lengthy, emotional road trip story that is Kira-Kira!

Visual novels still hadn’t quite hit the mainstream, though, and this was disappointing to me, as here was a genre of game — no, I’ve often argued it’s a distinct medium in its own right — that was exploring subjects and themes more traditional games typically shied away from for various reasons, whether it be concerns over the subject matter itself to simply not being sure how to make a game about people just living their life actually fun and interesting to play. I wanted more people to appreciate this fantastic medium and enjoy the stories I’d enjoyed, but it remained difficult to convince many people that they were anything more than just porn, even if I cited specific examples of how they clearly weren’t.

When I look around today, I see a very different landscape. Visual novels are everywhere on Steam, and not just from Japanese developers: these days we have works from English, American, Russian, Korean authors… authors from all over the world who want to tell their story in the distinctive way that the visual novel medium allows them to. And the genre/medium as a whole has, I feel, finally hit the mainstream.

That’s absolutely delightful to see for me, as someone who was around when they were very much an “underground” sort of experience; the growth of the visual novel sector — both adult and all-ages — has been wonderful to observe, and so long as there are great stories that people want to tell, there seems to be no shortage of new experiences to enjoy.

There’s still work to be done — most notably with regard to the distribution of adults-only titles, which can’t be sold on leading digital distribution platform Steam in their uncut forms, and which some companies are selling the sexual content for separately rather than simply providing a free patch or alternative download — but for the most part, we’re in a much better place than we were even a couple of years ago. And, I feel, it’s only going to continue to get better from here.

Also, buy Supipara. (Read more about why you should do this here.) I want to see the other chapters released!

2472: minori

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As I’ve noted previously, I’m going to do a full write-up on minori’s kinetic novel Supipara Chapter 1 (localised by MangaGamer — if you feel like picking it up, doing so through that affiliate link gets me a few very welcome cents) at some point in the very near future over on MoeGamer, but I have to finish reading it first!

In the meantime, I wanted to take a moment to appreciate what developer minori has done with Supipara and, I believe, with their other works, which I’m yet to familiarise myself with, but which I have bumped right up the list after getting about halfway through Supipara.

Most visual novels fall into one of two categories.

Novel types fill the screen with a text box and narrate everything, just like a regular novel, and images appear in the background behind the text box — usually a combination of unique images for the situation, and character sprites to depict who is present or talking. Good examples of this approach include Kana Little Sister and Kira-Kira!, both of which are highly recommended if you want some compelling, character-driven stories that will make you cry your eyes out on numerous occasions.

Adventure types look more “gamey” in that they have a smaller text window, usually at the bottom of the screen, and for the most part they unfold from first-person perspective, with characters looking “out of the screen” at you, or, more accurately, at the protagonist. Particularly important scenes are marked by “event” images that eschew the usual perspective in favour of a unique image to depict what is going on. In adults-only visual novels, the sex scenes fall into this category, but they’re also used to highlight important events in character development too.

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minori’s approach is closer to the adventure type, but with a much less game-like aesthetic, more carefully crafted and directed to appear almost more like an animated movie than a typical visual novel.

Your typical adventure type visual novel doesn’t tend to shift the perspective around too much. Characters all stand in front of the protagonist, regardless of whether they’re talking to him or to each other, and they all look “out” of the screen. In Supipara, meanwhile, there’s a much more dynamic approach to presentation: we get different perspectives and camera angles, mostly reflecting the protagonist looking in different directions, much as you would when interacting with real groups of people, but also to highlight important moments in conversations.

Perhaps most notably, minori isn’t afraid to show the back of characters’ heads, which isn’t something you’d think is particularly unusual until you notice quite how much they do it. Only then does it dawn on you that no, this doesn’t normally happen; the player-protagonist is normally the centre of attention, even if they aren’t being directly addressed, and it’s a little strange to see characters turning away from you to address other people.

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This adds an interesting twist to the aesthetic at times, allowing you to feel like you’re “standing with” a character while another addresses the pair of you. At other times, it is used to make it feel like you’re walking along behind a character, or that they’ve turned to leave. It’s a very effective touch that makes a big difference to the overall presentation.

And that presentation is overall absolutely stunning. Supipara is without a doubt one of the most gorgeous visual novels I’ve ever had the pleasure of reading, and its art is animated, too. Characters blink, mouths move, poses change in the middle of utterances. It gives the whole work a huge amount of personality and makes it enormously compelling. The characters are already well-written, but seeing them acting more “human” than simple static sprites helps make them even more adorable.

As for the story, well, I won’t spoil anything for now — at least partly because I haven’t yet finished it! — but it’s an interesting blend between light-hearted high school slice of life and some stranger, supernatural goings-on. It has a very pleasant tone to it with some wonderful characters and a gorgeous setting that I want to spend the rest of my life in. And irritatingly catchy music.

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Full write-up coming soon on MoeGamer, but in the meantime, pick up Supipara with confidence — both because it’s a great visual novel in its own right, but also because doing so helps fund the rest of the series’ development and localisation!

2470: The Not-Games

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There seems to be a perpetual struggle in the world of video game enthusiasts to define exactly what is and is not a game.

At the head of this nontroversy is Fullbright Studios’ Gone Home, a first-person interactive story where you walk around a house sans its inhabitants, piecing together a number of different plot threads scattered around the place, some of which are more explicit than others — and some of which are handled better than others. I liked Gone Home, but I felt like its “main” story — the one that lets you “finish” the game when you reach its ultimately rather mundane conclusion, despite what it has built you up to expect — was by far its weakest aspect, with much more interesting things going on through the “unspoken” stories: the bottle of whiskey hidden on top of a bookcase; the condoms in a drawer; the documents lying around the place.

To some people, Gone Home isn’t a game, much as similar games in the genre that has become semi-derisively known as “walking simulator” aren’t considered games either. Dear Esther, The Stanley Parable, Everybody’s Gone to the Rapture, and others like them: all too many people are far too hung up on the rather dull question of whether or not they are actually a game rather than unpacking the dense, interesting narratives that each of these experiences feature.

For some reason, visual novels appear to largely escape this sort of discussion, despite being less interactive than a walking simulator. In your average visual novel, you click through reams of text for hours and hours and hours and occasionally make a choice. In a particular subset of the visual novel called the kinetic novel, you don’t even make any choices: you just read and read and read, and then it’s over with you not having actually done anything.

Even these almost entirely non-interactive affairs don’t seem to get lambasted in the same way as Gone Home and its ilk, though, despite arguably being less of a “game” than something that has a 3D engine, WSAD movement controls and mouselook. In fact, even some of the most well-regarded games in the genre — The Fruit of Grisaia is the most prominent that springs to mind — only have maybe one or two meaningful choices to make in the whole game, with each acting as a fairly transparent means of setting a flag as to which character’s route you’re going to follow, and whether your get their Good or Bad ending.

I wonder why this is? Is it subject matter? No, I don’t think so, because while, say, Gone Home has its narrow-minded detractors for being “progressive” — I think the statute of limitations is probably up on it by now and we can say its main story is actually about a young lesbian couple running away together — there are certainly plenty of well-regarded visual novels out there that deal sensitively with homosexuality, both male-male and female-female.

Is it about artistic intent and the overall “honesty” of the work? Perhaps. Titles such as Everybody’s Gone to the Rapture often draw ire for being “pretentious” and, while I enjoyed all of the titles I’ve mentioned thus far, it’s kind of hard to argue with that label. Everybody’s Gone to the Rapture in particular feels very much like a case of “let’s make this as arty and confusing as possible” before kind of running out of steam in its final moments and getting just a bit too silly and implausible. Dear Esther suffers from a similar problem, deliberately mixing a number of different narratives together — with some randomisation in the mix, too — to try and obfuscate what the whole damn thing is actually about for as long as possible. The Stanley Parable, meanwhile, completely runs with this and knows exactly what it is doing, laughing along with the player at every opportunity, too.

Contrast with a visual novel, such as the one I’m currently reading/playing: Supipara, by minori. Supipara is a kinetic novel: there are no choices whatsoever. Yet it’s charming, compelling and addictive purely by virtue of its beautiful presentation, likeable and mysterious characters and intriguing premise that blends the mundanity of a slice-of-life tale with elements of the supernatural.

At no point does Supipara let any part of itself run away or overwhelm the rest of it. Its supernatural elements are incorporated honestly and without attempts to obfuscate or explain them away as quickly as possible, hoping we won’t notice — Life is Strange, I’m looking at you. It just is what it is, and it invites you to judge it on that basis. There’s no need to critically analyse it just to understand what the fuck happened in it — though this isn’t to say there isn’t value in applying some literary theory to unpack the various subtexts and themes in it — and thus it can be enjoyed on a number of different levels without Dear Esther’s implicit suggestion that “you must be this smart to enjoy this ride”.

I don’t have an answer to the question “is [x] actually a game?” because your definition of “game” will doubtless be different from mine. Ultimately it doesn’t really matter, anyway; the only thing you should be asking yourself when engaging with a piece of interactive entertainment — regardless of how interactive — is, quite simply, “is this a good use of my time?” If yes, great. If no, maybe put it down and try something else instead, while acknowledging the fact that some people might enjoy it more than you. There’s really no need for the bitter arguments that have ensued since technology has allowed developers to get a bit more “artsy” with their creations.

Supipara is great, by the way. I’m going to do a full write-up on MoeGamer in the near future once I’ve read the whole thing, but for now I’ll say it’s one of the most beautifully presented visual novels I’ve ever seen, has a compelling, if low-key story, and some grade-A waifus. And what more, really, do you need to have a good time of an evening?

2435: Memories: Read

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I finished Read Only Memories earlier. I liked it a lot! I posted a review on Steam, but I thought I’d post it here too because I’m feeling lazy.

Read Only Memories is an adventure game in the ’90s mould, seeming to draw specific inspiration from titles like Snatcher and Rise of the Dragon, and set in the same world as the (later, and wonderful) VA-11 HALL-A.

On the whole, it’s a great experience. The pixel art aesthetic really works for the game and has clearly been designed by people who know what good pixel art looks like. Everything about the interface, including the font, is well-designed to look like a retro adventure game, and the FM-synthesis soundtrack complements it nicely.

Puzzles are relatively thin on the ground but in a couple of cases are more interesting than “use the thing on the thing”, which is worthy of note, though the final puzzle in the game seems to play by some inconsistent rules that can lead to failure seemingly by no fault of your own.

The story is well-written and filled with interesting characters, plus deserves note for having a number of possible solutions to various situations, though not all will lead to the “best” ending. The game encourages you to consider the consequences of your actions and the things that you choose to say, even though those consequences may not become apparent until much later. I very much liked that your behaviour over the course of the whole game affected some later events rather than choices having an immediate impact on what was going on.

The overall plot is one of tolerance and understanding, and strikes a good balance between casting the player (whom you can name and gender as you desire, since you never see them) as an “everyman” sort of character prone to putting their foot in their mouth when confronted by groups they don’t quite understand, and presenting a solid message about acceptance, learning to trust one another and personal growth.

The only real criticism I’d level at the game is that its handling of gay and transgender characters feels a little ham-fisted, with their presence and the “reveals” of their identity seemingly being calculated to go “SURPRISE!” rather than simply blending them into the setting. Big burly, manly bartender dude? SURPRISE! Next time you meet him, he has another big hairy dude all over him calling him “hon” at every opportunity (though that said, I couldn’t help but like Gus). Meet an eccentric, long-haired, bearded TV producer? SURPRISE! They’re a lady! That and the presence of a non gender-specific character demonstrates just how awkward using singular “they” as a pronoun is in dialogue.

Ultimately it doesn’t hurt the overall plot at all, but these instances stick out like sore thumbs when they happen as they just don’t quite feel like they’re in keeping with the tone: the implication elsewhere in the plot is that society has moved beyond discrimination by gender and sexuality, and instead onto discrimination against those who are “augmented” in some way, either through cybernetics or genetic hybridisation. To specifically draw attention to gay and transgender characters in this way as the game does feels counter to this implication, which is otherwise well handled.

This game’s spiritual successor VA-11 HALL-A handles gay characters much more elegantly by them simply… just being there, no big deal, no big fuss about who they are, no sense that the game is holding you down and urging you to admire how progressive its views are.

I played this game before the big update that adds voice acting, and if you’re interested in this game, I’d encourage you to do the same. The few parts of the game that do already have voice acting (just the intro and epilogue at present) are immensely jarring with the rest of the game’s presentation, and the delightful beepityboopityboop noise that dialogue makes throughout the rest of the game is a much more powerful stimulus to the imagination than a voice actor whose interpretation of the character may not match the one you have in your head after reading the text.

Overall, Read Only Memories is a game I give a solid thumbs up. The issues I mentioned above are minor in the grand scheme of things, but hopefully the team will learn from them — and from the things VA-11 HALL-A did better, despite being produced by a different team — and produce even greater works in the future.

2359: Purupurupurino

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I took a chance on a peculiar-looking game on Steam the other day. It wasn’t a completely blind purchase, since the developer Front Wing were the creators of The Fruit of Grisaia, my favourite visual novel to date, but this looked like an altogether different sort of affair.

Purino Party is a puzzle game with a lightweight visual novel plot, loosely based on Front Wing’s Japan-only straightforward visual novels Pure Girl and Innocent Girl. (Indeed, Purino Party reuses a number of event images from both Pure Girl and Innocent Girl, much to the chagrin of those who have read said works, but as someone unfamiliar with them but very much in love with the work of artist Nanaka Mai — who also designed Grisaia’s characters — I didn’t mind at all.)

The plot is lightweight, stupid fluff straight out of a nukige, which is unsurprising given the source material. You come to a town for a vacation, but are quickly accosted by mysterious local landlord Kei, who decides that your clearly godlike puzzle game skills make you an ideal person to help the girls in her charge realise their potential. (And shag them.) Thus begins a series of eight short stories, each focusing on one of the girls — first the four Pure Girl heroines, then the four Innocent Girl cast members — punctuated with increasingly difficult puzzle game challenges, with your reward being the advancement of the story and a picture to add to your gallery, most of which are lewd. (Most of which are very lewd if you install the optional X-rated patch, which Front Wing have been ballsy enough to link to on their Steam Store page.)

The puzzle gameplay may initially seem to be straightforward Bejeweled-style match three, but it’s actually more akin to popular mobile game Puzzle and Dragons in that you can grab a piece and then slide it around the grid as much as you like, displacing other pieces along the way to shift them into advantageous positions, until a 10-second timer expires, at which point you’re forced to drop it if you haven’t already. Each level gives you a point target that increases with each episode of each girl’s story, and a limited number of moves in which to accomplish this score. Later episodes also present you with a time limit, though this isn’t normally too much of an issue.

The puzzles are really fun. The way in which you can move pieces around allows you to set up enormous chain-reactions of pieces, and indeed to meet most of the point targets in the game and progress, you’ll need to do so. The fact you have ten seconds to move the piece around and displace the rest of the board as you see fit allows you to be strategic and methodical about arranging the pieces to your advantage rather than it simply being a challenge of spotting matches as quickly as possible. There’s a touch of randomness that can sometimes screw you over a bit — if you start a round with a bad board layout, there’s not a lot you can do — but you can usually mitigate this to a certain extent by taking advantage of the few special mechanics. Firstly, each girl has a “favourite” type of piece that loosely corresponds to their personality or interests, and you get more points for matching or chaining these pieces. Secondly, matching three or more “heart” symbols puts you into Fever mode, accompanied by some thumping cheesy J-pop. During this time, the points you gain are considerably increased; combined with the favourite piece bonus, this is generally the best way to score a lot of points quickly.

Meanwhile, the story is also entertaining. Don’t go in expecting an emotional rollercoaster on the level of Grisaia, but each of the characters are endearing and appealing in their own way, and they all have their own personalities and stories to tell. A lot of it tends to descend into sex humour, particularly given that a number of the girls are total perverts, but amid the smuttiness (which, it has to be said, is amusing and curiously charming rather than weird) there are some genuinely funny jokes and some really likeable characters; it’s just a shame we don’t get to spend much time with them. Though I guess there’s always Pure Girl and Innocent Girl to see more of them after the fact — assuming you speak Japanese or can find a suitable translation patch.

Purino Party isn’t an amazing game or an amazing visual novel, but it does what it does well. It’s lightweight, enjoyable fluff, not meant to be taken seriously in the slightest, and its bright colours, cheery music and immensely endearing characters make it just the sort of thing you can relax with for half an hour when you don’t want to do anything too strenuous.

Kanae best girl. And not (just) because she looks a bit like Amane from Grisaia.

2324: A Portal to Quality Filth

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One of the things the video games industry has had trouble with over the years is the issue of “adult” games. I’m not talking about M-rated violence-fests — those are seemingly fine. I’m talking primarily about those that contain explicit sexual content and/or themes a little more ambitious than you might find in your typical focus-grouped commercial blockbuster.

The stigma attached to adult games is largely due to retailer concerns. Specifically, retailers like Wal*Mart and Target in America have historically refused to stock games that have an AO (Adults Only) rating from the ESRB (Entertainment Software Ratings Board), despite the AO rating existing and making it abundantly clear that the title is absolutely not for children. The situation is almost certainly the same in Europe when it comes to PEGI (Pan European Game Information) ratings, with the added awkwardness that different individual European countries have different rules on what is regarded as “decent”. Germany, for example, has less of a problem with pornography than some other countries, but is very strict on depictions of violence, with many high-profile triple-A games either not making it to Germany at all or being gutted (no pun intended) of violent content in the process.

In other words, making an AO game would historically have been commercial suicide for a publisher trying to make money from their product. After all, if you can’t get stock on the shelves of popular retailers, your avenues for selling your product are inherently more limited, and when it comes to big budget titles, you need every sales channel you can get.

But now we live in the age of the Internet, of course, and brick-and-mortar retailers are less relevant to our buying habits. It’s still nice to be able to go into a shop, pick up a product and walk out with it (having paid for it, obviously) immediately, but a significant number of people now err in favour of the lower prices offered by online stores. And when it comes to computer and video games, the rise of high-speed broadband and high-capacity hard drives has made games with no physical component whatsoever a prominent part of the digital landscape. In fact, the ability for software to be released as digital-only has allowed more developers and publishers than ever before to be able to bring their products to market — without overheads such as duplication and distribution, developers can focus all their time on their product and, subsequently, promoting their product rather than boring logistics stuff.

And yet we’re still stuck with the stigma over AO games. Console manufacturers won’t allow AO games on their platforms’ storefronts — presumably because it would be all too easy for minors to circumvent any sort of age gate technology and buy porn on Mummy’s credit card (suggesting that they should perhaps think about stepping their age gate game up) — and Steam, while allowing a couple of games with boobs in to be sold on the platform, still seemingly stops short of allowing outright porn/hentai games to be sold. (There is, of course, a whole argument about why it’s okay for The Witcher to have fairly explicit porking in it, yet the slightest hint of an anime titty gets the big red cross, but we won’t get into that now; nor will we get into the “double standard” argument re: violence vs. sexual content.)

This has meant that until now, AO games have typically been sold direct or through specialist distributors. J-List, for example, sells AO visual novels in both physical and digital format from its own publishing arm JAST USA as well as third-party localisation companies like MangaGamer. MangaGamer also sell their own products on their own website. Localisation powerhouse Sekai Project, meanwhile, have their dirty little not-so-secret arm Denpasoft to sell their AO titles (or AO versions of titles that get a wider, edited release for platforms like Steam). It’s good that we have all these places to buy AO titles, but until now there hasn’t been a unified Steam-esque platform for them.

There still isn’t quite that, but what Nutaku (very NSFW link!) is building is a step in the right direction. Nutaku, for the unfamiliar, is a website that sprang up relatively recently and provided adult browser games — typically the sort of gacha-driven free-to-play fare that you’d get on mobile phones, only with more porn. More recently, however, they’ve decided to launch a digital distribution platform for a variety of AO titles — primarily visual novels, as they tend to be — in collaboration with the popular publishers I’ve mentioned above.

This is a big deal. A centralised place for AO games to be distributed and for players to build up a library is a great thing, and helps deal with the inherent fragmentation of the market we’ve had up until now with everyone only distributing their own stuff (with the exception of J-List selling physical copies of some MangaGamer titles). While Nutaku’s implementation of its storefront currently leaves a little to be desired — you have to buy games with the “Nutaku Coins” premium currency that is also used in their free to play browser games, and you can only purchase this in bundles rather than the exact amount you need to buy a game — it’s very much a step in the right direction, and a system that is hopefully going to allow AO games to thrive in the online market. Perhaps it will even inspire some competitors to come along, or for services like Steam to have an age-gated 18+ section.

And it’s started strong; some well-regarded titles such as the 18+ version of Princess Evangile are available on Nutaku’s platform, and Sekai Project has even released the 18+ version of Sakura Dungeon first on Nutaku — even before the all-ages version hits Steam or the 18+ version releases on its own Denpasoft store. Let’s hope it keeps up this momentum — and if you want some quality filth, be sure to support what they’re doing.