Where Shall Wisdom of the World Be Found?

On questions within–and in conversation with–the MOTHER/EarthBound games

All images from the let’s play archive

My point of departure is a question: Where shall wisdom of the world be found?

I frame it like this, as a mashup of quotations–

But where shall wisdom be found? and where is the place of understanding? – Job 28:12

Show me the wisdom of the world
Tell me the secrets of the heart
And the sweet mysteries of love
– “Wisdom of the World,” MOTHER arranged album. Catherine Warwick/Keiichi Suzuki. Lyrics by Linda Hennrick

–because the works cited are very dear to me. And because I believe other people might feel the same, I wanted to sit with them awhile, to share some of the ways in which these words and these games have helped me with the very deep questions they ask.


The reader is asked to consider the role played by questions within the MOTHER/EarthBound games in an open-ended, poetic and philosophical light, both in service to replaying and wondering through the games and as a guide to related questions surrounding their significance, development, and reception. From “Which style of windows do you prefer?” to “THE END… ?” EarthBound, our principal focus, like its precursor EarthBound: Beginnings and its successor MOTHER 3, continually poses questions. Whether direct or implied, with or without affording players (to say nothing of the silent protagonists) ways to respond to them in-game, these questions present an opportunity to think more deeply about the games and what they mean for us who play them. Taken together, the games’ questions and our responses suggest a model for such thinking and meaning-seeking through play, reading, and dialogic inquiry.


The present essay expands on an article written for NES Pro Magazine, “In the EarthBound Beginnings…There was Shigesato Itoi.” That piece, in turn, augments and flows out of a long-running podcast project, Bookwarm Games: EarthBound. Illustrated transcripts from the podcast have been graciously published on The Pixels, with further course material hosted on Video Game Academy. Both online, through outlets like these, and in-person, in my video game studies courses at The Community School (Spokane, WA), my hope is that the scholarly conversation around these games should be ongoing and open to all.

I owe many of the ideas presented here, elliptically, playfully professorial and earnest, to discussions with friends and students. With thanks to them and acknowledgement that any errors or misrepresentations are my own, I invite you to join the dialogue. So much for housekeeping. Now on to a little homework, a little light reading and replaying to begin with.

Reviewing the Literature, or, Which style of windows do you prefer?

Naturally our main texts will be EarthBound Beginnings (1990-2010), EarthBound (1994), and MOTHER 3 (2008 localization patch). We should first of all and as much as possible allow the games to speak for themselves–more on that below. But besides the games themselves and the interpretations we form as we play, whose do we take to be some of the dominant voices in the conversation around EarthBound? Who are the main players in the critical discourse we are about to plunge into, around whom wavelike lines of force, whether of argument or personality, tend to concentrate?

There is Shigesato Itoi, of course. The creator and face of the franchise has gone on record many times in many contexts to share thoughts about his work. On the one hand, this makes for an invaluable source of information for fans and students of the games. Itoi is in a position to speak on his intentions, his inspirations, and tensions in the process of casting of his vision into a reality; he knows things, or can be understood to know things, no one else possibly has access to finding out definitively about these games. As I’ve argued in NES Pro despite my qualms with “the personal heresy” CS Lewis argues against in such cases, Itoi’s biography inscribes itself into his creation in unmistakable ways; as everyone who plays will discover, Itoi loves breaking the fourth wall to make us aware of his presence as writer–and of ours as player.

But on the other hand, Itoi as author, as author-insert or character, and as commentator alike must still be filtered through the same critical judgment: the player’s– “yes, you, the one holding the controller,” as Tony says. Authoritative as his statements can appear, Itoi amplifies and evolves his thinking from one interview to the next (cf. versions of the pitch to Nintendo, or meanings of the title MOTHER). He would be the first to insist upon his own human fallibility and proneness to errors of recollection, and to insist upon the importance of the players’ own memory and attention to detail (from the original MOTHER trailer to the Switch virtual console announcement). If I appeal to Itoi’s words in public pronouncements to undermine Itoi’s authorial-canonical status, let that logical tangle be the least of our worries. Instead of throwing up our hands, though, my hope is that we lend an ear to Itoi, but not so much that we close off and silence a world of other possible readings. Like the Hobonichi logo, let’s hope we have our great big ears open both ways.

Another caveat we have to bear in mind, apropos of language and logic, is the issue of localization. Whatever the games or Itoi or any of his Japanese-speaking interlocutors might actually be saying, not only are we ultimately speaking for ourselves in hazarding our judgments on the work, we’re mostly doing so in English. We’re mediated in our readings of the games’ meaning in all the ways so far considered, but also by the choices made by a chain of official and unofficial interpreters who have rendered us the service of reproducing everything about them in a language we (presumably the majority of us reading this, anyway) can read best.

In connection with this underlying concern, one whose importance can hardly be emphasized enough, let’s not go any further without bringing on board the discussion the only person whose importance for understanding the MOTHER games and their many meanings might rival Itoi’s, at least outside Japan: Clyde Mandelin, aka Tomato. After years of active leadership within the starmen.net community, concurrently running EarthBound Central, a clearinghouse for news and history, Mandelin led the team that made MOTHER 3 available to play in English. With Fangamer, he has turned his talents to publishing books on his expertise. Legends of Localization Book 2: EarthBound painstakingly walks us through nearly every line of the game’s text, providing insight and context for each choice by the developers and translators (one of whom, Marcus Lindblom, provides the foreword. Toby Fox, creator of Undertale and Deltarune, who honed his composing and game-developing skills on ROM hacks for the same starmen/ Fangamer community, contributes a lovely blurb). Let who will keeping hoping for an official MOTHER 3 release outside Japan; I’m hoping that an official biography of Itoi and translations of his books will be forthcoming from Mandelin and his collaborators.

Inventory Management

To take stock of our (limited) inventory so far: playing and replaying the games absent any rigorous theory of either the author or the material and ideological grounds of game development; reading up on the developer and localization while lacking much understanding of the original language or firsthand knowledge of the culture, our scattered, slovenly bibliography evincing familiarity with only a handful of significant sources–we’ve yet to really dive in, and yet all these challenges, or indeed any one of them, could sink our project before we begin. That is, if we really were by profession academic writers, and not just amateurs pretending like this for the fun of it, we’d need to do a better job of shoring up our basic premises. Then we’d want to find a peer-reviewed journal or institution more or less in agreement with our presuppositions. Wherever we decided to land on these issues, and wherever we were fortunate enough to end up researching and teaching part- or full-time, publishing-or-perishing our way to tenure, we’d meanwhile read a good deal more specialized material in our chosen corner of the field. However, let’s muddle on in our own way.

Having spent some time playing through the games, researching Itoi–his biography, interviews on his games, and other works–and looking through Mandelin’s EarthBound book, what’s next? For me, it’s Shakespeare and the Bible. EarthBound’s opening sequence sends me back to Hamlet via Hamlet’s exclamation “buzz, buzz,” and his own late night visitor inspiring the questions he asks (and we ask) throughout the play. Buzz Buzz’s reference to the Apple of Enlightenment leads more directly still to the drama surrounding the fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil in the third chapter of Genesis. From there I follow the reverberations of their language and themes through the poets, Milton and Blake, much influenced in my reading by the work of Philip Pullman. Time and again this thread leads me to the conviction, in Blake’s phrase, that “eternity is in love with the productions of time.” Apropos of time-travel and the wisdom we’re after (or is it after us?), his next Proverbs of Hell run:

The busy bee has no time for sorrow. The hours of folly are measur’d by the clock, but of wisdom: no clock can measure.

Undisciplined as this may seem, I tend to agree with Pullman when in homage to Muhammad Ali he says, in the afterword to His Dark Materials, “read like a butterfly, write like a bee.” Yet all this flows from and brings us back to our opening question, still unanswered and all but unformulated. We might put it like this:

Who or what is Buzz Buzz, this bee-like being inciting the beginning of EarthBound, and what is the Apple of Enlightenment whose message he bears?

In the original MOTHER 2, Bunbuun, the Japanese onomatopoeia for Buzz Buzz’s name, is “actually a rhinoceros beetle (or not),” while the Apple of Enlightenment is called a “prophecy-telling machine” and “The Apple of Wisdom” in Tomato’s literal translation. That’s seems promising. Still more helpfully, his Legends of Localization volume explains,

Throughout the game there are mentions of a prophecy given to Giygas by something called the Apple of Enlightenment. General information about the prophecy can be surmised from bits and pieces of the game’s script, but the full details are never revealed in the game. The official MOTHER 2 guide provides those details, though! Below is a translation of the discussion between Giygas and the Apple of Enlightenment, which is described as an ‘ultra-prophecy device’.





Wisdom found, right? A whole Apple of it. And questions answered–albeit in such a way that Giygas decides to set the events of the game in motion based on what the Apple tells him. Deep Thought meets Oedipus Rex.



If we are like Giygas in our dealings with this Apple of Wisdom (the games themselves unfolding Itoi’s story), or if we are like Pokey’s mom with respect to Buzz Buzz (messengers like Clyde Mandelin, bringing us new knowledge about it all these years later)–that is, if we are impatiently demanding discursive answers to these questions, they will only lead, at best, to playing the game through again from the beginning (an attempt to go back to the past), and at worst, to doing a violence to the text of the game, silencing it and moving on from its words without giving it another thought. If we are like Ness, though, these questions set us on a journey here and now to grow in “wisdom, courage, and friendship,” and to find “Your Sanctuary.”


I can understand how that trajectory may seem idiosyncratic. Let’s hope that wherever you turn for help answering underlying questions of this sort, besides replaying the MOTHER games you’ll try reading and revisiting for yourself some of the literary stepping-stones thrown out there above, arrayed as it were in mid-air like the platforms in ur-NES games, Mario Bros. and Donkey Kong. I hope you go clambering Shadow of the Colossus-like onto the shoulders of those giants and enlist the aid, Breath of the Wild-like, of those divine beasts we’ve been citing. But it really depends on what interests you, what scholarly questions you’re pursuing.

In lieu of Shakespeare and the Bible and the rest, the student of MOTHER/EarthBound interested in canon-completionism might want to turn first to the official novelizations by Saori Kumi, recently made available in English translation, and to other paratexts accompanying the games, such as published scripts, advertising materials, trade show videos, box art and instruction booklets, and the official (and official-esque) player’s guides.

For another sort of research, what matters most is fandom and reception, so diving into decades-old forum posts, viral tweets (Terry Crews’ “localize MOTHER 3” @ Reggie Fils-Aime), fan productions, and discussions of the influence of these games on social phenomena, like online communities, and works significant in their own right, like Undertale. The secondary sources shedding light on the games and bringing more attention to them, (in much the way EarthBound, for me anyway, brings attention and light to Shakespeare and the rest), might include the likes of The Angry Video Game Nerd in one of his more heartfelt efforts; Ken Baumann’s memoiristic account of the impact EarthBound has had on him; the gonzo journalism of Tim Rogers; and other video essays, analyses, and blog posts loitering unassuming yet insightful somewhere down the lists generated by the almighty search algorithms.

More academic studies of EarthBound do exist, but the conversation on the game and its place in history remains in its infancy, for the simple reason that we’re still too close to it to really appreciate it. What we’re attempting here is a prophecy or a promise that these games will remain significant, as much as an essay seeking to explicate their possible significance.

Does a place called paradise
Wait beyond the azure skies
Bright as day?
Look into your crystal ball
Read the future in the stars
Does it say?
– “Wisdom of the World”

To paraphrase the not-bee himself, thanks for listening to my long prolegomena. On to more questions.

The Grasshopper and Cricket – Podcast Review: Game Studies Study Buddies

The poetry of earth is ceasing never. Same goes for the discourse of games. It’s never dead. Long may it live! The fun of playing and thinking, writing and reading about video games; the critiques on more general topics opened up thereby; the further discussion that in turn entails… chef’s kiss. Influential texts in game studies, promising new releases, and wild cards–and the meta-discourse. The nitty-gritty, the airy-fairy. Philosophical presuppositions. Utopian politics and metaphysical claims. The poetry of earth and the poverty of spirit–it’s all there in your podcast feed with Games Studies Study Buddies, which releases new episodes monthly.

As Jacotot noted long ago, but not so long ago as Plato, everything is in everything. But let’s not just quote dead white men. Let’s break the canon open and dismantle this. I mean, Universal Teaching: Mother Tongue and Meno are pretty good, but maybe Lauren Hill says it best in her Miseducation:

After winter must come spring

Everything is everything

Long-awaited summer of classics, let me know what your vibe is.

Continue reading “The Grasshopper and Cricket – Podcast Review: Game Studies Study Buddies”

A Wild Sheep Chase: From “Childhood and Poetry,” by Pablo Neruda

One time, investigating in the backyard of our house in Temuco the tiny objects and minuscule beings of my world, I came upon a hole in one of the boards of the fence. I looked through the hole and saw a landscape like that behind our house, uncared for, and wild. I moved back a few steps, because I sensed vaguely that something was about to happen. All of a sudden a hand appeared–a tiny hand of a boy about my own age. By the time I came close again, the hand was gone, and in its place there was a marvelous white sheep.

The sheep’s wool was faded. Its wheels had escaped. All of this only made it more authentic. I had never seen such a wonderful sheep. I looked back through the hole but the boy had disappeared. I went into the house and brought out a treasure of my own: a pinecone, opened, full of odor and resin, which I adored. I set it down in the same spot and went off with the sheep.

I never saw either the hand or the boy again. And I have never again seen a sheep like that either. The toy I lost finally in a fire. But even now, in 1954, almost fifty years old, whenever I pass a toy shop, I look furtively into the window, but it’s no use. They don’t make sheep like that anymore.

I have been a lucky man. To feel the intimacy of brothers is a marvelous thing in life. To feel the love of people whom we love is a fire that feeds our life. But to feel the affection that comes from those whom we do not know, from those unknown to us, who are watching over our sleep and solitude, over our dangers and our weaknesses–that is something still greater and more beautiful because it widens out the boundaries of our being, and unites all living things.

That exchange brought home to me for the first time a precious idea: that all of humanity is somehow together. That experience came to me again much later; this time it stood out strikingly against a background of trouble and persecution.

It won’t surprise you then that I attempted to give something resiny, earthlike, and fragrant in exchange for human brotherhood. Just as I once left the pinecone by the fence, I have since left my words on the door of so many people who were unknown to me, people in prison, or hunted, or alone.

That is the great lesson I learned in my childhood, in the backyard of a lonely house. Maybe it was nothing but a game two boys played who didn’t know each other and wanted to pass to the other some good things of life. Yet maybe this small and mysterious exchange of gifts remained inside me also, deep and indestructible, giving my poetry light.

From “Childhood and Poetry,” by Pablo Neruda

I find this passage cited in an edition of Neruda and Vallejo: Selected Poems, edited by Robert Bly (p 12-13). Fittingly the book was a gift from Don Teodoro of the Spanish tertulia, formerly meeting at Lindaman’s in Spokane, Friday afternoons. I should have given a pinecone in return, but I took some time getting around to reading it and the restaurant has changed hands, and the group no longer meets regularly, so far as I know. So instead I pass the gift on; as for a pinecone, how about this one by Vi Hart, Doodling in Math Class.

Though this lovely passage from Neruda, presumably in Bly’s own translation, gets cited here and there online, I haven’t found a full English version of the text from which it is taken. Perhaps for this reason, his echoers, of whom I am one, do not bother to give the full citation. But the almighty algorithm and the Chilean Proyecto Patrimonial 2020 have us covered.

Mi infancia y mi poesia

Pablo Neruda

Conferencia pronunciada en la Universidad de Chile.
Publicado en revista Capricornio N°6. Buenos Aires, junio – julio de 1954

A pdf can also be found at AmericaLee. Muchas gracias, amigos!

Little by little I’ll work on a full translation (or search harder, the old-fashioned way, including books). Either way, whatever I come up with, I’ll link it here. Update: Another version of the story appears in Confieso que he vivido (1974), translated as The Complete Memoirs.

Meanwhile, with due respect for the great service he has done bringing Neruda’s words to a wider audience, I have to diverge a bit from Bly’s reading of this passage. Sandwiching the text, he adverts, “In ‘Childhood and Poetry,’ Neruda speculates on the origin of his poetry”; “This curious and beautiful story, which Neruda carefully links to the origins of his own poetry, is a conscious rejection of the connection between poetry and sickness, so often insisted on by Europeans.”

Leaving aside the contrast posed there, which seems more rhetorical than accurate, I don’t think any sort of “conscious rejection” or even the “origin of his poetry” is Neruda’s main concern. Rather, the essential thing here seems to me to be this “game,” as Neruda puts it, of gift-giving between strangers. This is what goes to the roots, not just of Neruda’s poetry, but of all poetry as it is given to us in the tradition from Homer and the Bible on. And not just poetic inspiration is at stake for Neruda: it is his “precious idea: that all of humanity is somehow together.” As a glance at Neruda’s life will show, he sought to unite the poetic with the political, the ideal with the practical. Understandably, the poet-translator might seize upon the poetry side of things; for the student of games, though, and of their significance, the passage in its fuller context becomes intriguing for what light it might shed on our playful and serious subject. What is poetry, politics, or language itself but a kind of “game of two kids who don’t know one another and who want to communicate the gifts of life”? (My translation and italics, because I don’t know a better way than the literal cognate for this phrase, “comunicarse los dones de la vida.” Cf. NT on gifts; St-Ex on sheep; Ana Maria Matute, Shaun Tan, and Shakespeare on looking through holes; bell hooks on belonging; Robin Wall Kimmerer on reciprocity).

The Inner Courtyard of “No Other Country” – Tales from Outer Suburbia, by Shaun Tan

Then, concluding Bly’s June 12, 1966 interview with Neruda as transcribed at the end of the selected poems, there is this exchange:

[Bly:] In one of your essays you described something that happened to you as a boy which you thought has had a great influence on your poetry. There was a fence in your backyard. Through a hole in it one day a small hand passed through to you a gift–a toy lamb. And you went into the house and came back and handed back through the hole the thing you loved most–a pinecone.

[Neruda:] Yes, that boy passed me a lamb, a woolen lamb. It was beautiful.

You said that somehow this helped you to understand that if you give something to humanity you’ll get something else back even more beautiful.

Your memory is wonderful, and this is exactly right. I learned much from that in my childhood. This exchange of gifts–mysterious–settled deep inside me like a sedimentary deposit.


Neruda’s poetry reading on this occasion, or rather the day before, is available online, but I can’t find a recording of this interview. Perhaps it will turn up, like this. I’m mainly curious whether it was conducted in English or Spanish, or both… In any case, Bly insists this time on the reciprocity of giving. In the intro he does also remark, along the same lines, “it was clear from that reading that his poetry is intended as a gift” (14). That I would certainly agree with, and I’d add that entering into a dialogue with it can be as playful as any game, earnest as any gratitude.

Games in Print and Podcast

Some light reading for you: Boss Fight Books are on Humble Bundle at the moment. Enjoy!

And for listening, a conversation with C. Thi Nguyen on The Ezra Klein Show, in which they talk about The Grasshopper, by Bernard Suits, and Baba Is You, among many other things.

If you’re feeling inspired to do a little writing, a CFP came out recently for a volume on the theme of “Gardeners of the Galaxies.”

Reading, writing, listening–whatever you’re up to, hope it’s going well!

In the Shadow of Huizinga: Games Studies and Cultural History

I first became aware of Johan Huizinga and his keywords homo ludens via the upper warrens of the video essay rabbit hole a few years ago, but once I was on the lookout for him, I started to see him everywhere. Not only in references and footnotes from other amateurs and scholars in the field of games studies, where his work is foundational, but all around me, subtly: in everyday interactions, in the fiction I read, in politics I couldn’t tune out; in just the way when you learn a new word, you suddenly find it coming up serendipitously left and right. Even where his name is absent, Huizinga’s key insights and concepts–the play aspect of culture, the game-like nature of human reality delineated by the magic circle or field of play–are so universal and so interesting as to crop up almost of their own accord and in the strangest places.

Continue reading “In the Shadow of Huizinga: Games Studies and Cultural History”

Breathing Fire

Red, white, and blue. No green in the United States’ flag, unlike Brazil’s. Nothing green about our leaves, either. Those that haven’t turned to ash and smoke are changing color and falling on their own.

The fire next time has sparked every year by this time, somewhere in California or the Amazon, and it burns unabated somewhere down the front page. I take it to be a kind of hunger, a parched thirst, an insanity, really–or bewitchment–that we go on reading the news at all. But we read it compulsively, first thing in the morning and in the middle of the night, be it on an actual news outlet or the ever-expanding hell of social media, and like Tantalus, we can only gnash our teeth.

In that time we could, if we chose, write our myriads of books, or read the myriad more books we’ve been wanting to read or re-read, or play a little video games. The uses of free time, even for such small choices as what to read or whether to write, are an enchanted wood, in which besides the many paths not taken, there are the will o’ the wisps luring us off to impossible feasts and dances, to deep darknesses thronged with monstrous spiders. The wood is crossed by forgetful streams, but it’s also flown over by emperor butterflies, if The Hobbit is any guide:

In the end he poked his head above the roof of the leaves, and then he found spiders all right. But they were only small ones of ordinary size, and they were after the butterflies. Bilbo’s eyes were nearly blinded by the light. He could hear the dwarves shouting up at him from far below, but he could not answer, only hold on and blink. The sun was shining brilliantly, and it was a long while before he could bear it. When he could, he saw all round him a sea of dark green, ruffled here and there by the breeze; and there were everywhere hundreds of butterflies. I expect they were a kind of ‘purple emperor,’ a butterfly that loves the tops of oak-woods, but these were not purple at all, they were a dark dark velvety black without any markings to be seen.

He looked at the ‘black emperors’ for a long time, and enjoyed the feel of the breeze in his hair and on his face; but at length the cries of the dwarves, who were now simply stamping with impatience down below, reminded him of his real business.

– in The Hobbit, or There and Back Again, by JRR Tolkien

Somewhere in the wood live the elves, and somewhere else, off-stage, lurks the Necromancer…but that’s a story for another time.

Like The Hobbit, most video games sooner or later face us with a dragon. It might not be the ultimate evil within the world of the game, but for symbolic power a dragon is hard to beat. Tolkien, again, makes the point once and for all:

A dragon is no idle fancy. Whatever may be his origins, in fact or invention, the dragon in legend is a potent creation of men’s imagination, richer in significance than his barrow is in gold.

– from Beowulf: The Monsters and the Critics

Along with a handful of other images–trees, fire, water, the underworld–dragons have to be about the most concise way of imagining all of what is at stake in our favorite stories. They incorporate each of the others, with their green scales, fire breath, flowing movement, flight and depth–and they guard the treasure.

Starmen.Net EarthBound Walkthrough: Magicant (2)
The dragon sings you the sixth melody in MOTHER
In EarthBound, in exchange for a book, we get the power to breathe fire…
…with an item that temporarily turns us into dragons

So when the real world gets to be too much and we’d really rather read fantasy books or play video games than watch another debate between the Red Dragon and the Blue, I don’t think it’s just escapism. If there is a solution to the real problems we face, I think it is there, implicit, in The Hobbit and EarthBound and Final Fantasy and the rest. In playing and reading, we are getting closer to it: saving the world.

Video Game Studies in Brazil

The idea of learning from video games could take us to some unexpected places. It’s not too much of a stretch for me to say (with Toby Fox, so I feel like I’m in pretty good company) that playing old RPGs taught me to read. Even a fighting game like Street Fighter II, besides the hand-eye coordination it builds up and the discipline it instills, has an element of geography to it.


And spending enough time reading online, in turn, leads back to video games. For whatever reason, lately academia.edu has been recommending papers to me via email, like this one on teaching Final Fantasy X. (Be careful about clicking any of these links if you have an account on academia, because their overeager algorithm will probably start sending you a bunch of emails, too.) I don’t mind so much, but it’s a little stressful to realize just how much is out there. And I worry that the more I read, the more rabbit holes I’ll fall down.

Oddly enough, the majority of the papers on video game studies turning up in my inbox have been from outside the US, hailing above all from Brazil. My reading knowledge of Portuguese is very limited, but the convention of including an abstract in English provides a glimpse of the content at least. And there’s always google translate.

If nothing else, skimming through them and browsing their references turns up other material undergirding the arguments, suggesting authorities in the field and unexpected connections.

There’s a “Conversation on Archaeogaming”, whatever that is. I’m sure I’ll contact a few of the authors to see if they’re willing to set up some further conversations about these papers and their current research. A piece on “Video Game Music on the Internet: Nostalgia and Esthetics on YouTube” sounds right up my alley, as does another on literature and video games.

Reading just the epigraph to that one sent me to find the lyrics to this variation on Terra’s Theme, and then to the Pray vocal compilation. Uematsu’s message there is reminiscent of Itoi’s beautiful “What EarthBound Means to Me,” and both of these seem to recall the function of prayer in EarthBound, so crucial to the message of that game as a whole.

Which brings us back to Undertale… so more on that next week.

One last essay in this connection, “The music is the only thing you don’t have to mod” takes its title from the ROM-hacking and modding community. Music and modding, of course, are key for the development of Undertale, and both are high on my personal list of things I wish I knew more about.

I can’t think of a better way to keep on learning than by playing the Zelda theme on the piano and reading everything about game design that comes my way.

Professor Kozlowski Recommends

Cribbing and quoting loosely from the tail-end of this lively, expletive-laced Bonus episode of Ben’s podcast, where you can also find lectures on mythology and philosophy, here are some great starting points for the aspiring video game academician.

Hume Lecture, Sections 10, 12 by Professor Kozlowski Lectures • A ...

Obviously, the first one is Extra Credits. If you want to know anything about history or mythology, there’s some fascinating stuff, but they started as a video game show. Their list of recommendations highlights games in the weird, alternative indie scene.

I can’t recommend Crash Course enough. Series on world history and philosophy, but also history of science… Even more to the point, explore their series on navigating the internet. If you want to know how to distinguish good news from BS, go watch that.

Errant Signal is a web series dedicated to deep dives into themes and gameplay, with insights on big new games and games from otherwise unknown developers. The work is meticulous, treating both the business of making games and the question of what games can say and do.

Innuendo Studios’ flagship, the alt-right playbook, explores how bad actors dominate the media and manipulate people. To understand how social engineering functions and how to get your voice heard, or how to protect yourself from those who do, is invaluable, whichever side of the political spectrum you’re on.

Just as a fun one, Super Bunnyhop uses video games to talk about really smart stuff in the industry and the world at large.

Lastly, myself! Why not?

Reviewing the Literature

For a while now, we’ve been making podcast courses as we play through great video games together. We’re running our first live course now, an Intro to Video Game Studies. Another thing we like doing here at the Academy, and that we want to do more of in the future, is reading great books together. It’s awesome to see the whole world catch on to the possibilities of online discussion, though the circumstances are not ideal. Perhaps there’s something about getting to talk in person which doesn’t come across in a video chat, and we’ll all be glad when we’re allowed to see our friends again face to face, but there are still wonderful kinds of connections we can make across the distance that separates us. Books, which have always found a way to speak to us through time and space, are more valuable than ever, particularly well-suited to the demands of distance education.

“Here is a ‘you’ in which my ‘I’ is reflected; here is where all distance is abolished.” –Stefan Zweig, Montaigne

If only I could read Japanese, the Kato-Mitsuda collaboration Kirite would be an open book to me

The more we study games, the more it behooves us to familiarize ourselves with the existing scholarship on them, and with people currently engaged in it. So this is the main kind of literature we have in mind to review. There’s never been a better time to access the wealth of information out there; our aim is to make it better known and applicable for those, like us, just starting out in the field.

Patrick Holleman, one of those scholars we’ve been fortunate to talk to on the Xenogears podcast, very graciously sent his shortlist of video game studies resources to add to our own. He singled out Jon Peterson’s Playing at the World for the student of RPGs and recommended the research gathered at the Critical Distance Compilation. In terms of the peculiar intertextuality Xenogears invites, he suggested a range of works of literature, psychology, mysticism, and popular culture to consider, which we’ve added to the course page. And though he didn’t list them, rest assured that his own books on games such as Chrono Trigger and Final Fantasy VI and VII are on our shortlist to read.

In the coming weeks, we’ll begin offering our takes on more of the major texts in video game studies, classic and contemporary alike. If you’d like to participate, keep an eye out for courses on ludology and intertextuality inspired by playing games and dedicated to promoting the old-fashioned joys of reading books.