“When you read a book, you’re totally lost in your own private world, and society says that’s a good and wonderful thing. But if you play a game by yourself, it’s this weird, fucked-up, socially damaging activity. What sort of narrow-minded moron propagates this lie? When your grandfather plays solitaire, is he isolating himself? Get a grip, people.” – Douglas Coupland, JPod

My first warning should have been the tagline inside the dust jacket: “Douglas Coupland updates Microserfs for the Google generation.” Is there even a Google generation? I assume that the search engine is so ubiquitous that it makes capturing a particular demographic irrelevant. More accurately, JPod reads like Coupland was using Google to surf for every meme to circulate the Internet in the years since writing Microserfs, and tried to transcribe it to paper. Where Microserfs was comfortable to tell a story at the beginning of the “new economy” wave, JPod desperately tries to catch up with it.

Microserfs started off innocently enough inside the soon-to-be omnipotent Microsoft, and inadvertently leads into the world of independent game development. But that contrivance doesn’t bear the burden of moving the story forward; rather, the relationships between the characters are allowed to develop inside an entirely new environment apart from their corporate prison. It was evident that Coupland was more about putting forth interesting ideas in the book, with the characters able to carry them through the story.

Similarly, the story of JPod centers around six cubicle workers who sit next to each other – all with names starting with “J” (therefore, JPod) at a game development studio in Vancouver. They are stuck making an idiotic, game-altering change to an almost complete product at the whim of the project’s head of marketing. It’s clearly a jab at the companies too huge and out of touch to create anything but terribly uninspired games, even if they are playable. But these corporate antics only serve as a walk-on part to the rest of the book, in favor of creating storylines full of the oddest characters and situations one could think up, in the name of keeping the reader’s attention.

By the first 50 pages, the reader is introduced to the characters by way of a series of fact sheets – labelled “Living Cartoon Profiles”, no less – in preview of the shallow character development to come. At least Microserfs handled this contrivance with a little more tact through a series of “Jeopardy” categories for each character.

The characters are constantly worried about being boring or uninteresting, and ironically enough, the characters are boring; the entire group provides an excellent foil for John Doe, obsessed with being average because of his zany lesbian commune upbringing, which he tries to distance himself from throughout the story.

Coupland doesn’t describe scenes or characters anymore; he places products and drops culturally significant items in an effort to fatten the text. The best he can come up with in the wake of the “Hot Coffee” and hidden game content is JPod setting out to create a secret area in the game they’re working on, featuring a subservient Ronald McDonald who takes to arms in his thirst for vengeance against his fast-food consuming oppressors. It’s a clumsily inserted interlude, and the story’s focus jarringly shifts to developing this part of the game instead of what they’re supposed to be working on. Given the excess of hours the characters have to work on the project anyway, it’s not believable how much time is spent on their side project. Are video game programmers that spiteful? Coupland would like to think so.

While it was slightly tolerable to watch Coupland fumble his way through video game culture (his use of timing, comedy and modern colloquialisms is still impeccable), he still spends too much time intermixing an array of completely over-the-top social situations that seem constructed to shock than to add dimension to the book. And then the author makes an appearance himself. I couldn’t possibly fathom the purpose behind it, but Douglas Coupland makes an appearance on the same flight as the protagonist, portrayed as some self-important prick that we’re supposed to laugh along with as he humiliates the main character. The self-depreciating humour surrounding the Coupland character was too forced for me to wink and nudge along with the author; it served no purpose except to insert yet another cultural reference. He then goes on to save the protagonist from being stranded in a sweat shop in China, creating one of the lowest points of the novel.

About the only insight we get to game culture is a statement by one of the supporting characters about violent video games: “It’s the best. It allows me to park my evil in one place so I can be a better person in the real world.” I found it a little ironic that the character that says this is a criminal, but a likable criminal – he takes ballroom dancing and interior decorating very seriously, after all.

I looked forward to reading JPod. I thought the setting of a game development house would be a great vehicle for exploring game culture. Instead, Coupland mistakenly tries to duplicate Microserfs, with a message that sounds even more embittered with corporate culture. The story is played out by a cast of caricatures who seem to be made up of the last 10 years of cliches for the digital generation – ironically, ones that he probably helped form. JPod doesn’t delve into game development either; rather, it simply exploits the mainstream headlines to forge only the weakest of links to its inspiration. I expected a lot more from Coupland; it’s unfortunate he’s simply feeding off of his own hype and getting caught up in the zeitgeist he used to be able to interpret.

I recently finished re-reading Douglas Coupland‘s Microserfs, a well-written tale about a group of Microsoft employees that leave the company to start up their own. I first read it back in 1999, partway through University. Though published in 1993, I had avoided the book due to the overwhelming praise heaped upon it by media that had become newly obsessed with the growing subculture of the tech savvy “geeks” that would be storming the business world with big ideas and half-baked business plans for the next seven years. I felt that it captured the sentiment of this period very well, despite having been written before this subculture went mainstream. I give Coupland credit for that. The first project for the start-up company in the book is a free-form “game”, and through that he tackled the concept of “multimedia”: the software industry’s favorite buzzword at the time, and something most gamers were exposed to through games like Myst and the infamous Sewer Shark.

Besides the nuances of geek culture described within the book, what remains startlingly relevant is the main character’s list of “The 8 Models of Interactivity”, which were summarized after he attended a multimedia industry conference (see pages 139-143 for some very thoughtful remarks). I think these observations are entirely applicable today, and provide an effective touchstone in witnessing the evolution of the game industry.

The following are “The 8 Models of Interactivity” cribbed from Microserfs as I see them applying to some of today’s games:

1. The Arcade Model – Like Terminator: kill or be killed.

I’m assuming for the sake of argument that this doesn’t describe every single game in existence, and that it’s meant to address the core principles behind action-heavy titles like fighting games, platformers, FPS, arcade racers, and shmups. The object or purpose of play for these games is obvious as soon as you start, and the experience is mostly empty. I would consider the formulaic Real Time Strategy games to be partially covered by this category as well (such as the ‘Crafts, Age of Empires, etc.). The current MMORPG model also adopts this philosophy, especially when Player vs. Player combat is involved.

2. The Coffee Table Book model – enter anywhere, leave anywhere. Pointless in the end; zero replayability.

I consider puzzle games to be in this category, though I would strongly argue against their lack of replayability. Services like Reflexive and Popcap Games are providing this experience to the masses, and doing quite well for themselves. I’d also place Mario Party, and rhythm games like Guitar Hero or DDR in this category. Yes, there are new tracks to unlock, and a “game” to proceed through, but that doesn’t mean someone out there doesn’t get tired of playing the same board over and over again.

3. The Universe Creation Model – I built you and I can crush you.

Detailed empire-building sims like Sim City, Civilization and 4X games (Space Empires, Master of Orion, Galactic Civilizations) fall into this category. Well constructed Real Time Strategy games should be more at home in this category than #1. The satisfaction of these games lies in the details, and the feeling of omnipotence as overlord of the game world.

4. The binary tree model – Limited number of options; reads from left to right; tightly controlled mini-dramas.

Adventure games, and some RPGs that are heavy on story would be in this category. Planescape: Torment is a great example of blending RPG conventions and adventure game sensibilities.

5. The Pick a path model – You decide what main character does [and there are believable, dynamic repercussions]. Expensive; Unproven entertainment value. Audiences don’t pay money to work.

Both RPGs and Adventure games possess this quality to some degree, but none have really managed to believably work consequence into the gameplay by creating meaningful results to your choices. I tend to agree that they are expensive, as well as time consuming for development and the player (what if they make the “wrong” decision). I disagree with Coupland’s statement that audiences don’t pay money to work – the acceptance of the current MMORPG model is directly contrary to that, but he would have never known this at the time of writing. I would gladly pay money for a game that reacts to my decisions; this is the direction all games should be heading. However, at what point are we drifting into the realm of programming AI? I’m not satisfied that we’ve reached a happy medium yet.

6. RPGs – For adolescents: half-formed personalities roaming (in packs) in search of identity.

All CRPGs and Japanese RPGs would be in this category. Though the latter would tend to follow #4 in the sense that you have little control over character stat development or story possibilities. This is too accurate and needs to change. MMORPGs are helping in a small way, using the randomness of human interaction to flesh out the game environment. Still, MMORPGs are drifting from the human element into paper doll and stat pumping exercises as the immense popularity of World of Warcraft shows (see #1).

7. The Agatha Christie model – A puzzle is to be solved using levels, clues, chases and exploration.

Almost all adventure games, and well-rounded action/adventure games like the original Tomb Raider and Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time would meet this criteria. The experiences are challenging and entertaining, but mostly linear, with few game-shaping choices (see #4). I would change the name of this category to be more inclusive, however – it seems to want to limit itself to adventure games.

8. Experience Simulation models – flight sims, sports games.

Assuming “sports games” covers off racing games, there are obvious examples abound. Historically accurate turn-based wargames would fall into this category. I would also be tempted to add games like Rainbow Six, SWAT 4 and Brothers in Arms, as well as other games that try to recreate an authentic experience, and focus less on exaggerating physics that would require a suspension of disbelief.

After listing the 8 Models, the book also heralds some important points that are equally pertinent:

• How will games progress as 30somethings turn into 50somethings? It’s been said in many places that aging gamers do not move on or get replaced – they keep gaming. We have already seen a shift towards games that can be enjoyed in short bursts, or a gradual shortening of single-player campaigns. Furthermore, these aging gamers introduce their offspring to the hobby as a way of preserving it. Nintendo has already positioned itself in this market as someone who supplies games to be enjoyed by the entire family (Mario Party being an excellent example). This is a very lucrative demographic, in my opinion, yet no other software publishers have really gotten into it. Microsoft’s “Zoo Tycoon” and EA’s “Sims” series come to mind, however.
• In the end, multimedia interactive won’t resemble literature so much as sports. I see this as more of a statement about the current shape of console gaming. As set-top consoles have increased in power, more games that were traditionally at home on the PC are being adapted for consoles to make them accessible to a wider user base. The so-called “dumbing down” of these titles has decreased their value in the eyes of veteran PC gamers. As a result, the expectations of what constitutes a “good story” have changed (mass generalizations here).
• Games are about providing control for nine year olds… “the bigger and neater the entity I can control, the better.” I’d say this statement is only partially true; going back to the first statement above, the industry’s audience is aging, but not leaving. As a result developers are trying to create content for this demographic. While the game should still prompt the same “gee whiz” reaction, the underlying experience should remain deep and complex enough to grab and maintain the attention of someone who’s basically seen it all before.
• Multimedia has become a “packaged goods” industry now. The box copy is more important than the experience. But how do you write cool sexy box copy for a game like Tetris? You can’t. Replace the word “multimedia” with “games”. Given the current direction of the game industry and its insistence on producing sequels and copycats, this statement names the current marketing machine for what it is. New ideas are almost impossible to get funding for – Publishers want the sure thing. They want prior successes as a guarantee of return. Something they can write on the box. Katamari Damacy and Nintendogs come to mind here as exceptions. If it wasn’t for the internet spreading the meme, would they have had the same success? Think about the masses of non-gamers that bought a Gameboy/Tetris, with it being the only game they would ever play on it. Would they have given Katamari Damacy a second look? Are the masses too easily satisfied, such that innovation has been reserved for the jaded gamer?
• There’s a different mental construction in operation when you’re playing tennis as opposed to when you’re reading a book. With adrenaline-based competitive sports the thought mode is: “I want to kill this fucker.” It’s the spirit of testing yourself; accomplishment. You are gripped. Suspension of disbelief is not an issue. This prompts the comparison of the wayward adventure game versus the self-sustaining FPS genre. The former is carefully plotted; the action is limited to small, discrete events whose sole purpose is to advance the story. It allows you to think and digest all of the information that is presented. Though the deliberate pacing also provides ample oportunity to experience – and disect – the game’s faults. The action-heavy FPS, on the other hand, often contains unbelievable weaponry, absurd physics and paper-thin plot, and yet we are transfixed by clouds of blood and frag counts and explosions. The only thing you really think about is how many bullets it should have taken to kill an enemy. Furthermore, licensing an engine to create the next FPS is more financially justifiable than trying to come up with a good story and gameplay to accompany it.

I had no idea reading this book again would provide such an interesting topic, or that Coupland was able to capture the world of games so succintly before it became a multi-billion dollar culturual phenomenon. I’d be curious to read his latest book jPod, which is about a small game development studio in Vancouver. I’m sure it shares more than one similarity with Microserfs. I doubt I’ve covered all the possibilities for pigeonholing games though, so feel free to continue the discussion in the comments. Where would you put a game like Second Life, which essentially blends elements from every video game ever created? Is it even a game anymore? With a lot of talk of “post genre” in wankish new game journalism lately, I’m sure some other categories have evolved as games intermix core genre design elements (Savage, Full Spectrum Warrior, the Total War series).