Hi, I'm Tomcat.

I blog about books over at Tomcat in the Red Room, but these days I probably spend as much time playing games as I do reading novels; and so, with that in mind, I thought I'd start a second blog here at Gamespot.

So, welcome one and all to: Gaming in the Red Room, my new blog. Please be gentle; this is my first time etc.

My aim with this blog is to apply strategies of critical thinking common in the study of literature (namely; aesthetics, narrative theory, formalism and (post/)structuralism) to games. Partly because it's fun to do so, but partly because the sorts of critical theories usually reserved for the analysis of literature can, I believe, produce some very fruitful readings of games.

Here goes with post numero uno:

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In the study of Literature we will frequently talk about paratext. The "paratext" comprises all those aspects of a book which dont form part of the literary text itself, but are nonetheless there to be read. Examples might be: the cover, the copyright notices, chapter headings, page numbers, author biographies, website information, appendices, publisher information, ISBN numbers -  all of these are examples of so-called paratext.  Whether they are designed by the writer or editor or publisher doesn't matter; if they form part of the physical book - but not the actual work itself - then they are "paratextual".

Every book has a paratext, even if it's something as simple as page numbers: it's all the stuff that surrounds the literature, without actually being a part of it. Of course, this doesn't mean that the paratext can't inform and direct a reader's experience of a book in significant ways.... but that's a discussion for a different kind of blog.

Unsurprisingly, then, its strikingly easy to transpose this notion of the paratext from novels and onto videogames. Like books, all videogames also have a paratext: the information that forms part of the product, but not actually part of the gameworld. It's the stuff that surrounds the game. Examples of gaming paratext might be: publishers' logos flashing on-screen when you insert a disc, options menus, H.U.Ds, credits, level titles etc. These things dont physically exist in the world of the game, but they form part of the object "the game" nonetheless.

Paratext in gaming is most commonly employed by publishers and developers to self-advertise: plastering their logos all over their products, often in highly creative ways. An early example of a game company taking creative advantage of the paratextual space can be found in the original Sonic the Hedgehog, which opens with what is arguably the most famous publisher ident of all time. I expect you're all familiar with the white screen over which a distorted SEGA logo gradually increases in clarity, a group of digitally re-created voices simultanesouly chanting the company name. I don't have the exact figures to hand, but apparently this used up a staggering percentage of the cartridge's available memory.

SEGA went one step further with Sonic 2 by adding the anthropomorphic tyke himself into the paratext: the SEGA logo is swiftly revealed in the distortions that trail behind Sonic's zooming.  This obviously required a great deal of effort and energy to animate - somebody at SEGA was taking the paratext seriously.  Yes, in many cases the gaming paratext may seem insignificant, but from a marketing and aesthetic perspective, putting time and exertion into a game's paratext definitely pays off: almost every gamer in the world recognises the famous SEGA chant that precedes the original Sonic games.

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It's my contention, however, that it's the current generation of games that have enjoyed the most fruitful experimentation of the paratextual. It took developers a while, but we gamers are finally starting to see some amazingly creative handling of paratexts. 

One of my favourite examples comes from Ubisoft's Assassin's Creed: Revelations.  Many gamers are familiar with the Ubisoft company logo that frequently pops on-screen at the start of their games; it's a kind of smooth, white, swirling movement accompanied by a pleasant electronic whooshing and pinging sound.

When it comes to Assassins Creed: Revelations, however, some clever dude or dudette had the fantastic idea of manipulating the Ubisoft logo in such a manner as to make it sympathetic with the events of the game.  Usually publisher/develop indents are entirely separate from the gameworld: neither visually or phonically consistent with the art style of the game in question. Assassin's Creed Revelations, however, is different.

In this game, the protagonist Desmond is comatose, trapped in the Animus; something has gone very definitely wrong. A dead man is speaking to him, his ancestors' memories are all jumbled and out of whack, and Desmond himself has access to the deeper code structures of the programme.  In a really cool reflection of this, the game opens not with the familiar Ubisoft logo, but with a deliberately glitched and distorted one:

Not only is this a fantastic paratextual representation of the game's aesthetic themes, it's also a great aid to player immersion. The animus is glitched and wrong and spreading into Desmond's mind - accordingly, these problems are also spreading into the paratextual aspects of the game, even the designers' logo. It's breaching the usual boundaries of the gameworld. Spilling the visual ideas of the game into its own paratext really gives the opening a kick. It functions as a frankly beautiful microcosm for Revelation's story: just as the memories of Ezio AND Altair AND Desmond are converging, slipping over one another and glitching together, so too is the game's aesthetic spilling over into its own paratext. Great stuff.

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Another example of paratext in gaming is the seemingly ubiquitous HUD. Heads-up-displays arent part of the world of most games, per se. They're on-screen information presented for the benefit of the player, and most definitely not accessible to the characters. Kratos never looks at the corner of the screen and comments on how many red orbs he's collected; Ratchet never pauses to think about how many more aliens he needs to kill before his upgrade bar fills; Nathan Drake cant really see a white line predicting the curve through the air of the grenade he's about to throw. This stuff is on top of the game; it surrounds it, but it's not part of the environment: it's paratextual.

But recent years have seen several developers willing to toy about with the idea of HUDs, usually with the goal of increasing player immersion. One of the better examples is to be found in Dead Space and its sequels. 

In Dead Space, there isnt a H.U.D., as such; instead, all of the information the player needs is incorporated into Isaac Clarke's suit: his remaining ammo is displayed on his weapon, his health bar is a line of lights traced up his spine, his options menu is a hologram projected from his suit.  In essence, the designers of Dead Space have disregarded the H.U.D. as a purely paratextual object, and have incorporated it as a literal part of the game world:

Ostensibly the developers did this to create a greater sense of empathy with the character.  Unlike most games, in which players have access to information that the characters dont have access to (health bars, options menus, level stats etc), the protagonist of Dead Space has access to everything the player has access to. It means that the player is reduced to the same level as the protagonist (or, if you prefer, the protagonist is elevated to the same level as the player) in terms of the information available. This gimmick is particularly successful in Dead Space, because DS is a horror game and, let's face it, no other genre is more dependent on the player feeling at one with the character than horror. If horror is to fulfill its mandate to shock, disturb and terrify, then the reader/viewer/player (whoever) needs to feel as close to the character as possible. If the HUD gets in the way of this, then what better solution is there than to incorporate the HUD into the physical world of the game?

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Elsewhere, the various inventories and menus associated with them can usually be considered as part of a game's paratextual arrangement. 

When Nathan Hale wants to swap weapons, the character isnt supposed to see a digitized wheel of firearms at his disposal: that's merely a cipher, a means by which the player can swiftly interact with the world of the game. In the gameworld, Nathan Hale supposedly just pulls whichever gun he needs out of whichever hidey-hole its kept in.

One of the best, most creative ways a developer has experimented with this aspect of paratext is in the Fallout series.  Like Dead Space, the menu used by the player to navigate her character's items, stats etc. isnt something abstracted from the gameworld, its something that's part of it.  The pipboy attached to the protagonist's wrist is a literal artefact in the game; consistent with its environment. When the player accesses menus, the character is, him/herself, simultaneously accessing the same menus. Its a small but infinitely satisfying addition, and especially important for RPGs because it contributes to a sense of oneness and shared experience with the character:

A similar idea was used by Bethesda in the earlier game Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, in which the character keeps all of his information recorded in a book or parchment-like thing, which is then accessible to the player:

Unfortunately, Bethesda decided not to carry this over into Skyrim, and instead opted for a different style of menu and inventory.  Im not saying that the menu system in Skyrim is flawed in a practical way: its very sharp and easily navigable etc. But how does the character experience this black and white sequence of lists?  There's an experiential gap or a divide between the player and the character, and it's created by the abstract menu.

The menu system in Skyrim was disappointing because whereas previous Bethesda games had manipulated this aspect of paratext to create a feeling of shared experience between player and character, they decided to abandon the concept for ESV. Big shame, I think.

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Anyways, I've rambled on about paratext for some time now. But I hope I've managed to make some interesting points: that paratext - the stuff that surrounds a gameworld, but isnt part of it - can be manipulated in very successful ways. Whether it enhances a game's marketability (as weve seen with Sonic the Hedgehog), or whether it echoes the design of the game itself (as weve seen with Assassin's Creed: Revelations) or whether it contributes to a sense of empathy with a character's experience: paratext is something that shouldnt be ignored.

I'd love to see more developers playing with it.

And I'd love to hear your own examples of times when the paratext of a game (that's menus, publisher logos, H.U.D's, credits etc. ) have surprised you.

Thanks for reading,

Tomcat.