Raph Koster's A Theory of Fun for Game Design is probably best described as attempt to do for videogames what Scott McCloud did for comics in his book Understanding Comics. Every other page of Theory of Fun is a cartoon illustration that parallels (sometimes loosely) the prose on the facing page. Koster brings a lot of skills and experience to the table. He's worked with Sony on the Everquest series, released a CD, done illustrations, creative writing, and written several articles for the game industry. He's something of a jack-of-all-trades, and you know what that usually means. Although Koster's book is occasionally brilliant and humorous, I felt that it was not as well-executed as McCloud's work. I frequently winced as Koster made attempt after attempt to be profound without genuine insight. (Cue drumroll) "Games are supposed to be fun!" (Dead silence) Uh, okay. Brilliant. Next, please. McCloud made you think--maybe every assumption I've ever made about comics is wrong. Koster makes you think, wow, it's too bad McCloud didn't write this. The problem seems to be that Koster really hasn't had many epiphanies about videogames worth sharing.
For Koster, fun is a type of natural high brought on by endorphins. He's no neuroscientist, of course, but I guess he thought such a thesis sounded plausible. "One of the subtlest releases of chemicals is at that moment of triumph when we learn something or master a task," writes Koster (40). Games, with their many puzzles that (in good games, at least) always teeter just at the edges of our ability to solve them, are great at releasing these "drugs" into our body. Once you master the patterns, the game becomes boring. In other words, games are really excellent teachers--"Fun is just another word for learning" (46). Here, of course, Koster's arguments have much in common with Gee's What Video Games Have to Teach Us About Learning and Literacy. Of course, Gee's book was written for a more academic audience, but it's worth the effort if you really want to explore this connection between learning, fun, and videogames. Koster's book just skims the surface.
Koster also has some interesting things to say about the role of story in games. He discusses how calling chess pieces names like "kings" and "knights" graft on a sort of Medevial theme that really is totally arbitrary. We could call the pieces chickens and foxes and still have basically the same game. According to Koster, stories merely "add shading to the game but the game at its core is unchaged" (86). He also adds that, as a writer, this "pisses me off" (86). On the other hand, he claims that games aren't stories and that the best they can offer is "learning in a context where there is no pressure" (98). For Koster, this context makes up for things videogames aren't good at--like telling stories.
Koster really loves dabbling in empirical science, which will probably annoy many of his readers who are far too posty for such things. He writes a lot about IQ and different forms of intelligence. Koster takes 7 types of intelligence from Howard Gardner (linguistic, logical-math, bodily-kinesthetic, spatial, musical, interpersonal, and intrapersonal) and how different kind of games can target each. Koster thinks that videogames can help people develop all these different types of intelligence. Koster buys into the theory that boys are naturally adapted to certain kinds of thinking--thinking that is rewarded by videogames. That's why so few girls are into gaming. However, Koster thinks that the transformative power of games might help reduce this gap.
When I read McCloud's book, I had the distinct impression that the author had a great academic mind that he was somehow able to channel into deceivingly simple cartoons and aphorisms. McCloud's book is something like a Rosetta Stone for folks interested in really deciphering the hieroglyphics of comic art--and, like the real Rosetta Stone, the more we learn, the more we realize how much we still don't fully comprehend. What appears simple in McCloud is always much deeper. In Koster, what appears simple is simple. We play games as part of a primordial program intended to keep our hunting and survival skills sharp. It's not that I totally disagree with this thesis, I just don't find it particularly compelling or interesting. Arguments grounded in some prehistoric past just don't work well for me. In fact, the more I study actual archeology and ancient civilizations, the more I'm convinced the simplistic "hunter gatherer" societies always presumed in such works never existed (at least not in the stereotypical ways we imagine from movies and bad fiction).
Perhaps more importantly, though, Koster's book really seems to miss the point. McCloud wanted to teach comics using comics. Koster wants to teach games using...comics and text. Why? Why not teach videogames using videogames? Perhaps the reason is that Koster's isn't a programmer--but that's a poor excuse. I don't want to just read about different kinds of theoretical problems posed by videogames; I want to experience them in context. McCloud provides those opportunities in Understanding Comics. Koster just alludes to them.
Where Koster really excels is his analyses of different kinds of interaction and how developers need to zero-in on players when designing games. It isn't about the graphics and so on; it's about what the players are asked to do and how (or if) they'll have fun doing it. Though there have been many works written to explore this relationship, most of the best ones are simply inaccessible to the general audience. Few actual game designers (at least the ones I know) are likely to read Brenda Laurel's Computers as Theater or Espen Aarseth's Cybertexts. It's safe to say that Koster's work won't furrow anyone's forehead. It's easy reading. Finally, I don't doubt at all that if more game developers would take what Koster is saying seriously, we would have more thoughtful and better games.
Note: Crossposted at Kairosnews.
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