Everything Old is New Again

Dual review extravaganza!

First of all: I am now prepared to say that A Song of Ice and Fire is the best fantasy series this side of Tolkien. I just wrapped up A Storm of Swords, the third entry in the saga, and was just blown away by it. This is a series to treasure, one that gets better and deeper as you plunge further into it, instead of petering out like Raymond Feist's Midkemia books or spiraling out of control like Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time.

As I described earlier when reacting to A Game of Thrones, these days I'm reluctant about reading new fantasy. It's time-consuming and too often frustrating. I'm glad I did with this one, though.

Before plunging into spoiler territory, I wanted to share some random musings on the subject.

First of all, while I said that ASoIaF is the best fantasy this side of Tolkien, I think most of my peers would actually place it above. This difference gets to the heart of a tension among fantasy writers and readers: emphasis on plot versus emphasis on the world. Most of my friends, who have great taste and who I respect a great deal, cannot abide reading Lord of the Rings due to the lengthy scenes of journeying, storytelling, and conversation that fill its pages. They love the story and action, but are frustrated by everything that gets in the way. In contrast, I wouldn't love the series nearly as much if it wasn't for those interludes: they transport me out of a Hollywood movie and into a world as vast, complex, and perplexing as my own. Middle-earth feels real to me in a way that no other fictional realm has achieved, and a big part of that is because Tolkien made the story serve the world, not make the world serve the story.

So in this classic division, where does Martin come down? He actually bypasses this dilemma. He has pulled off a neat trick, one that he couldn't have done with a shorter series, and one that shows he had a great deal of confidence going into this. To start with, I'm now realizing that Westeros (his fictional realm) is nearly as fully realized as Middle-earth. Let me put this in perspective: let's imagine a logarithmic scale of 1 to 10, with 10 being the world of Middle-earth and 1 being the world of Willow (the movie, not the Buffy character). Randland would be a 5, Stephen Donaldson's The Land would be a 3, and Narnia would be a 2. After three books, I'll put Westeros as an 8. I don't think any other book would rate higher than a 5. To be more specific: George R. R. Martin has invented thousands of years of history, a complex system of heraldry, at least three religions, complex and interleaving codes of chivalry, honor, and fidelity, economic systems, and still more details that elevate the realm and make it plausible.

And yet! Unlike most other authors, Martin never beats you over the head with it. Nor does he spoon-feed this complex, engaging history. Instead, he plunges you into the heart of this world, and trusts you to catch up. As a result, the experience of reading ASoIaF is a great deal like growing up in our world: your vocabulary expands as you are exposed to more words, but it takes a while for you to understand the meaning behind those words, and still more time to grasp all the nuance and significance.

I want to give one specific example which is a
MINI SPOILER
Early in the first book, when the Starks are riding near Winterfell, they come across a dead direwolf impaled by an antler. Reading this scene, you the reader occupy the same mental position as the Stark children. You can sense that Eddard and Catelyn are bothered by this scene, but can't tell why.

A book later, I thought back on that scene. Without re-reading it, I now realized the significance: the direwolf is the Stark symbol, while the antlered stag is on the Baratheon coat of arms. For people living with these symbols, that scene would certainly be ominous. Martin could easily have made sure that before we came to that scene we understood those things, but he didn't. Instead he kept the action going. He never slows down for dry exposition; rather, through sheer osmosis, as we are exposed to these details in the course of the plot, we come to gradually understand these things.

END MINI SPOILERS

Anyways... that's a minor thing, but very illustrative of the way Martin operates. Where Tolkien would stop for a song to describe a moment in history, Martin will, over the course of several hundred pages, provide enough snatches of conversation, glimpses of paintings, and musings that the reader eventually develops a composite understanding of that historical moment. He shows rather than tells.

A side effect of this is that, the deeper you get into the series, the more engrossing it becomes. At first I was reading to learn what would become of the Starks; now, I'm seeing this as the culmination of thousands of years of history. The scope of the book broadens as you are exposed to more, both becoming wider and deeper.

The world, therefore, is excellent. However, I still have to say that Martin's best strength remains his excellent characters. They're like almost nothing else in fantasy. Intriguing, ambitious, cowardly, desperate, prideful... the whole range of human emotion and ability is on display. Martin doesn't just cut across genders, bringing a much-needed female perspective into the center; he also explodes the traditional age category, moving outside the 18-to-25-male-hero who dominates the genre. Narrators can be as young as seven or as old as their golden years; major non-narrating characters cut even younger and older. The characters aren't merely fascinating in their own right, though; it is their interaction that stuns me. The evolution and transformation people go through is as compelling as it is believable.

("Narrator" is a misnomer. The book is told in a third-person narration, but focalized through a character that shifts in every chapter. Hopefully it won't scare you off if I say that the effect is a bit Joycean. Even though the narration is third-person, the color of the narration is strongly influenced by the perspective it is attached to. For example, when a young boy centers the chapter, it will tend to have shorter sentences, be focused on physical stimuli, and not pay much attention to long conversations. In the third book, a very sarcastic and proud person starts centering chapters, and this snide tone is adapted when the narrator describes the people and situations encountered. Anyways. The narration isn't really flashy, but it's quite interesting, and I'm probably not the only English Lit major to be struck by it.)

It's painful, too. I'll warn you up front that Martin has a bad habit of making you care about people and then making nasty things happen to them. It's a tad manipulative, but also powerful. Bad things happen to good people all the time in the real world; why not in fantasy?

One last note on characters before moving on: I think that Martin is the best fantasy author since Stephen Donaldson in crafting morally ambiguous characters. Even though most of the primary characters can be thought of as "good," they often cannot stand one another. The characters for whom I have the most sympathy are also the ones who make tragic mistakes that result in horrible bloodshed; on the other hand, characters with cruel or vindictive streaks can be a great force for good. Actually, I should be careful about using the word "good"... Martin doesn't exactly have the same good-versus-evil calculus that is found in a lot of fantasy. Well, let me rephrase that: there are some characters and situations that we would unquestionably call evil, and there are forces which oppose that evil, but the reader is kept off balance about whether those opposing forces are necessarily better than their foes. It isn't unusual to cheer for a savior, only to find that they turn into a monster. I guess this is kind of a depressing worldview, but it makes for fascinating reading.

So how does Martin manage to pull off this amazing blend of exciting action, intriguing plot, realistic world, and great characters? Partly by hewing to our own world when it suits him. It becomes clear during the first book that the events in Westeros bear a great deal of resemblance to the War of the Roses in England. It isn't a one-to-one allegory at all, but many of the details (banners, the feudal system, importance of marriage in alliances, chivalry, etc.) are carried over wholesale, giving an instant weight and believability to the book... we know that this could happen, because it DID happen. He then playfully writes on top of that foundation, exploring the brutality of war, the fickleness of those alliances, the suffering of peasants... all stuff that we know would be real, even if we have no first-hand acquaintance with it occurring. Having gotten a leg up in his first book, he can move beyond the medieval European setting of Westeros and move more into the realm of pure fantasy as his scope widens to include foreign lands, foreign gods, and the vast reaches of prehistory and mythology.

One more thing worth noting: Martin works for everything he gets. Robert Jordan used to churn out Wheel of Time books every year; Martin took five years between the third and fourth book. I'm therefore in the rare enviable position of getting to a series late... if I play my cards right, I'll be wrapping up the fourth book shortly before the fifth, A Dance with Dragons, comes out. He seems to have things planned out very well. Part of what's stunning about the third book is his revelation of some mysteries from the very start of the first book. There's plenty of drama left to unfold, but he tightens things up as much as he spins them out, giving me a good feeling for the direction of the series. Along the same lines, he has a handle on the whole series, with a total of seven books scheduled. Of course, there's no guarantee that things won't fall apart, but he has gone for three thousand pages without disappointing me yet.

I want to discuss a few more things which will be considered
MINI SPOILERS

First, Things That Annoy Me about A Song of Ice and Fire (a short list):

• The way Martin uses words and names that are a single letter off from well-known English words. "Ser" for "Sir", "Joffrey" for "Jeffrey", "Eddard" for "Edward", etc. It just seems a little arbitrary and annoying. Why do people say "Lord" but not "Sir"? Why "Brandon" but not "Richard"?
• Killing off characters I like.
• It seems a tad sloppy to use real English swear words instead of inventing his own, especially when he is reworking so much language anyways. I guess it does help make it clearer that this is an adult book before the really bad stuff starts happening.
• Um.... I think that's it.

Also, for the record: I love the way Martin has handled magic. The word "magic" isn't even uttered for the first five hundred pages or so of the series. Now, the very first scene is decidedly supernatural, but still, the majority of the action so far has taken place in "civilized" lands, where magic is thought of as something that used to happen in other places. By the end of the third novel, it had become clear that magic is real and is growing more important, which makes its overall effectiveness far higher than if it had been a major plot element from the start.

And now, random thoughts:

• Favorite Character: Wow, this is like impossible. It was probably Jon and Eddard early in the first book. By now, I'd have to say Arya and Tyrion.
• Favorite Battle: I love the way that news of Robb's battles gradually drift back to the narrators... you hear a snatch of conversation about a victory, rumors about his magical powers, and finally, a hundred pages later, word from his lips about how he won that fight.
• I'd love to see a pencil-and-paper RPG made of this. Has anyone done it yet? If not, why? If so, is it in print?
• Favorite Book: I'll stick with Storm of Swords. I think I've covered this above - the deeper you get, the more impressive it becomes. I expect that Feast for Crows will continue the trend.
• Favorite New God: The Stranger.
• Favorite Writing Quirk: I love how Martin always describes every meal anyone eats. Seriously. Why don't people do this more often? My mouth regularly waters when the characters feast in a castle.
• Favorite City: I actually want to see more of the southern cities; Oldtown in particular sounds intriguing. That said, I think Pyke is the coolest so far. If I had to pick somewhere to actually live, forget Pyke. I'd go with the Bloody Gate.
• Favorite House: Stark, natch. Though I get more impressed with Tully as the series continues.
• Least Favorite House: Going with Frey for now, though it has changed before and will likely change again!
• Favorite Member of the Small Council: Petyr Baelish (aka Littlefinger) is fascinating. What IS he up to?
• Favorite Foreign Land: Probably the Free Cities.
• Favorite Weapon: It wasn't on stage long enough, but I love the influence that Needle continues to hold over the series. I'm also attached to Ice for sentimental reasons.
• Favorite Villain: This is just impossible! Joffrey is one of the purest monsters in writing. I may give the edge to Gregor Clegane. All of Arya's tormentors deserve special treatment, though.
• Favorite Song: Not the Maid and the Bear... that's a little too perverted for me. Probably the wedding song.
• Favorite Tale: I like the one about the crannogman who jousts at Harrenhal. Oh, wait: favorite is probably the Rat Cook.
• Craziest Person: There actually are surprisingly few crazy people in this series, especially if you discount the psychopaths (like Gregor) and the fanatics. Of those remaining, I think Lady Lysa... she seems quite normal when you first hear about her, but she has a very skewed vision of reality, particularly when it comes to her son.
• Favorite Dead Guy: Jon Arryn is a towering figure for someone who dies before the book begins. Rhaegar as well - it feels like he had a lot of potential, and yet I hardly knew him. Same with Eddard's elder brother. Man... a LOT of people are dead. That's yet another thing I like about this series: Martin sets this fascinating civil war over a decade in the past, and makes it so interesting and important that you still feel its aftershocks.

That's all I can think of for now, although I'm sure there will be more coming. Looking forward to the fourth and fifth books!

END OF MINI SPOILERS

Now, let's turn to our second installment. The Cobweb by Neal Stephenson is the second of his Stephen Bury books that I've read. Like the first one, Interface, it reads like an innovative Tom Clancy novel: a nominal thriller, it is as interested in technology and the workings of government as it is with mysteries and spies. It's solidly B-level Stephenson, which means it is still far more entertaining than most books out there.

I want to talk about the content of this book, but first, some spoiler-free thoughts. Stephenson completists needn't fear picking up this book... while not one of his best efforts, it is entertaining and stylish. That said, this feels even less like a "normal" Stephenson book than Interface. He seems to really tamp down on his trademark digressions, and does not explore technology with the same vigor that he did in the first book. If you only read one of the books, I'd recommend "Interface."

Where Interface focused on the front end of politics - campaigning - The Cobweb focuses on the back end - career bureaucrats who actually do government work. It does include a token political campaign, but everyone considers it far less important than the actual work being done. And its view of the bureaucracy is truly frightening, far closer to "Brazil" or "Office Space" than "24" or "Law & Order". Weirdly, Stephenson (and George - I don't mean to slight his co-author) is able to craft a lot of tension out of this ossified world. Red tape becomes an enemy, the joint committee a threat, and you start to quiver when an Inspector General takes the stage. Dense acronyms fill the Washington section of this book in the same way that coinage filled Quicksilver.

Let's see, what else... besides the campaigning/governing dichotomy, I can think of some other oppositions. Interface was neurology, The Cobweb is biology. Interface was the struggle to reach Washington, The Cobweb the struggle to effect things outside it. Political gurus in Interface are geniuses, and in The Cobweb they are clowns. All that to say, these two books decidedly occupy the same space while decidedly being very different works.

All right, I think that's all I can cover without dipping into

MINI SPOILERS

Another division is that Interface is set in the near future, while The Cobweb is set during a very specific period: the run-up to the first Gulf War. This means that, unlike Interface, we get walk-ons from some real historical figures. I was startled when Dick Cheney made an appearance, and again when George H. W. Bush himself enters the scene. The book was published in 1996, and it's impossible to read it today without thinking about the present war.

Side note that doesn't belong in the spoilers section but fits the flow here:

The first Gulf war is the earliest political story that I remember. Unlike my parents, who (sensibly) were worried about the potential conflagration in the Middle East, I was an enthusiastic supporter in the way that only a little boy could be. I thought the vehicles were cool, the war was just, Saddam a bad man, and our soldiers heroes. I'd still consider all these to be true (only the second item being even slightly questionable), but I still doubt I'd muster the same level of enthusiasm in the same circumstances today.

I recall that the war was a big, positive part of my popular culture exposure. I remember being in my elementary school cafeteria, eating juicy gummy candies that were shaped like U. S. Air Force planes; the coolest ones were the stealth bombers, and I'd save those for last. I also bought some collecting cards. You know how a baseball card shows the player on the front, and their stats and a small bio on the back? You could get cards of the same stuff for the war: schematics on our aircraft, bios of military leaders, cards for battleships and submarines and allies... all pretty remarkable, and all pretty commercial.

So, while the first Iraq war made a pretty big impact on me, over time my attitude towards the war has shifted, from less of a "Yay, woo-hoo! Let's invade this thing!" to a "Well, if we had to fight that war, we did it the right way." And, circling back to Interface, I keep thinking about our current role in there.

In some ways, the situation with the current war would be both similar and opposite to the war in the book. The heroes in this book are struggling against an entrenched Washington bureaucracy that is trying to keep the U.S. from war, and shoots down all attempts to uncover Saddam's plans for acquiring weapons of mass destruction. They need to operate outside the conventional channels in order to uncover the truth.

If the same book were written today, of course, the heroes would be struggling against an entrenched Washington administration that is trying to push the U. S. to war, and shoots down all attempts to explain that Saddam does not possess weapons of mass destruction.

The situation in the book is actually a bit more complex than real life. In the book, there is kind of a sandwich effect: people at the bottom know what's going on, and people at the top want to do the right thing. The struggle is working through the middle layer, whose only interest is protecting the status quo. Whereas in the rush to the second war, the analysts who determined that there was not a strong case of war faced a President who was convinced that there was. In the hypothetical modern version of The Cobweb, the only hope would have been reaching the media or the public directly... and in the case of the threat faced by protagonists in The Cobweb, doing that may not be an option.

Race plays an interesting role in the story. The African-American characters' race does not seem to have much influence, but a large number of the minor characters are international students primarily from south Asian and Middle-Eastern nations. Stephenson pays a lot more respect to their immigrant experience than I was expecting... the really digs into native's attitudes towards foreigners, the overwhelming strangeness of American culture, and the odd sort of power games that are played when American universities poach the best and brightest from their homelands. Before one character dies, he earnestly urges another to convert to Islam and save his soul, a scene that I found quite touching.

One thing that I really appreciated about both this book and Interface is its grounding in the American Midwest. I grew up there, and so I'm especially attached to its portrayal in fiction. All too often the Midwest is used as a blank, featureless canvas on which crazy action can take place, with maybe some funny accents tossed in if you're lucky. Stephenson grew up in Iowa, though, and he really shows an understanding of this land and its customs. You can sense the difference between Clyde Banks, born and raised in Iowa, from the suave FBI agents out of Washington. He perfectly paints the land grant university system... Eastern Iowa could never be confused with a school on the East Coast. Even little details, like the social functions at the church, rang very true with me. Stephenson isn't showing off his knowledge here, all of it is background, but it's a rare and therefore most welcome example of a positive, accurate depiction of the Midwest in a novel.

Now, this wouldn't be a Stephenson novel unless there were some plot threads that never went anywhere. A while ago the New Yorker printed the letters between Raymond Carver and his editor -this was utterly fascinating, a glimpse behind the curtain at the "magic" process by which raw inspiration is turned into what we actually read. I would LOVE to see the equivalent letters between Stephenson and his editors. Hopefully they're bright enough to recognize that, when he breaks the rules of good writing, he is achieving a greater good. A big part of the fun of reading Stephenson is the wild, sloppy, gee-whiz-isn't-this-cool? attitude that he brings to his stories. So, while I claim I would have liked resolution on the murders and intrigues which are never properly explained, I also recognize that that wasn't part of the deal... I'm sharing a good yarn with Stephenson, not reading a complete and accurate history, and should just focus on enjoying the ride.

END OF SPOILERS

That's that! For the record, I HAVE read more books since my last "review", but these were the first ones about which I had anything specific to say. I think I am now finally, officially, finished with all of Neal Stephenson's novels, although I still would like to chase down his short stories and travel writing. Just now I hopped on Wikipedia to make sure that this last sentence was accurate, and so I just now discovered that his next book is FINALLY scheduled: Anathem. It's been about four years since System of the World was released, and I'm far from alone in eagerly anticipating his next offering. Also, that Wikipedia page links to a blog entry describing an interview Neal Stephenson gave at Google Kirkland. I really hope he does a tour with Anathem, I'd love to see him.

On a related note, if you haven't already read his Slashdot interview, please do so now. It's among the greatest things I've seen on the Internet. (Disclaimer: I am a huge nerd.)

In any case, I have my work cut out for me... I was about a third of the way through Midnight's Children when it came due, so I need to take another crack at that, plus there's some nonfiction I've been waiting to tackle. There's never enough time for everything I want to read, but it always feels good to put another few notches in my belt.

The Wright Stuff

I've been looking for this for a long time, and have finally found it. You know those 15-30 second clips of Rev. Jeremiah Wright that have been played endlessly? It's been bothering me, not just for the obvious reason, but because I know from long experience that you can take a section of something and make it sound bad.

What exactly was Rev. Wright saying? What was the sermon about? Was it typical of his messages?

At last I can get the answer, and I encourage you to do the same. The San Francisco Chronicle has uploaded an mp3 of his full sermon. I won't tell you what to think about it, but I'd urge you to give it a listen before you criticize based on what you've heard so far.

Thanks to the Chronicle for making this available. Frankly, the whole experience has been one of the most disturbing spectacles I've seen out of the media. No matter how many times I've been disappointed, I continue to hope that our papers, radios, and televisions will be used to educate and inform us. A national media should bind us as a nation, help us learn about our neighbors and their circumstances.

In the twenty-first century, it is still true that Sunday morning is the most segregated time in America. Even among "people of faith," there is a huge chasm between churches, a chasm born of culture and language as much as theology and doctrine. There is too much estrangement between us, and I fear that the whole Rev. Wright episode has served to exacerbate the situation. It would be good for our nation to understand itself better, but instead we are being exploited for a twisted, sensationalized caricature of preaching.

This isn't an Obama thing, though obviously I'm a fan. It's a disturbing sign of where our culture is at, and how far we have to go. I'll keep trying to find primary sources, because I cannot depend on my media to explain what is really going on.

Except, apparently, the San Francisco Chronicle.

(All right, all right: for the record, I disagree with a lot of what Rev. Wright says in the sermon. Still, now I actually know what he was saying, and can look at him as a human being who is bright and makes some erroneous statements.)

Thing I Love, #72,483

I'd like to give a heartfelt "Thank you!" to the kind cyclist who rescued me today on Hicks Road near Guadalupe Reservoir. I was sixteen miles from home and nine miles from civilization, and without your generous gift of a spare patch, this would have been an intolerable end to an ignoble week.

On a related note, I don't think I'm going to forget this any time soon. The whole thing was my fault, as is generally the case, but in a particularly dumb way this time. I always bring my patch kit and tools with me every time I ride to work, which is just about 8 miles each way, and really close to transit and stuff should anything happen. The one day that I went on a longish trip was the one day I did not bring my kit, and of course this was also the one day that I did get a flat during a ride. The whole thing is almost comical: it happened at the very tail end of the ride, at precisely the point where I had decided I would turn around. Any earlier or later and it would have been a shorter limp home: it happened in the absolute worst place possible, as far as distance is considered.

I do count myself lucky, though. Not only for the good Samaritan with a patch: also because I had discovered a flat tire on my bike just a few weeks ago, in the comfort of my home, where I could turn to Sloane and take my time figuring out how to safely change a tire. So I was fortunate to have that knowledge fresh in my head when I was sitting in the dirt at the side of the road, cheerfully manhandling rubber.

In totally unrelated news: I have discovered that Picasa web albums have a hard limit of 250 albums. This annoys me. Granted, I'm predisposed to be in a bad mood, but it's especially aggravating because there is no official documentation anywhere explaining this. I still have ample free space left, and I had to dig around online for a while before I found an (unofficial) explanation of the problem.

So, how did I get up to 250 albums in just a few years? First, I post a new album for each of my hikes, which means about 50 a year just from that. Second, I took a ton of pictures in my trip to Japan, and split that into a whole bunch of albums... there's just under 100 albums there. So, that doesn't leave a lot of space for the other, incidental pictures I occasionally take.

As a solution, I think I'll start manually deleting my oldest albums. I haven't decided yet whether to trim them all equally or focus on removing old hikes, which are of minimal interest to people other than me. This is just a heads-up to let everyone know that I'm not trying to disappear myself or rewrite history... I'm just reacting to the situation on the ground. If you happen to want copies of anything, I still keep originals of all my photos on my hard drive and am always happy to share!

Thing I Hate, #3

Almost every console game I play has a main menu when you start it up. It will have the options "New Game" and "Load Game". I will select the first item once, and the second item anywhere from a dozen to hundreds of times before I beat the game. Yet the first item is selected by default. This is infuriating and should end!

Frickin' Fantasy

In the continuing series "Chris reviews games several years after they were released," we come today to Final Fantasy XII. After a self-imposed hiatus, I returned to and beat the game this past week.

My verdict? It's good, if you like that sort of thing, which I do.

In terms of story - more details below in spoilerland, but while the story was good, I'd have to put it below my top 3 FF games - VI, VII, and X. Honestly, part of this is probably due to the way things start to blur together for me when a franchise has been going for this long. Haven't we already seen these plot elements before? That being said, there are still some unique thematic things they do here which keeps it interesting.

Apart from the story, I'd have to say that the world they've created here is one of their best. They have some advantages here - by returning to Ivalice, rather than starting from scratch, there is already some weight behind this planet. Even if we didn't have Tactics, though, this would stand as one of the best FF worlds ever, due to its full realization of cultures, history, and politics. You spend a surprisingly long time at the beginning of the game in a single city, and it feels more overwhelming than limiting: the hum of the bazaar, the twisty streets and labyrinthine underground, everything feels very lived-in and hints at more to find. And more you do - as you move between cities, you find that each has its own unique dialect, different accents, concerns, and relations to one another. I think we've permanently moved beyond the days when cities in RPGs are only differentiated by their name and merchant goods.

FFXII's gameplay is probably its single most controversial aspect. Personally, after getting used to it, I came to love it, and can confidently say that, minute by minute, I enjoyed playing this game more than any other entry in the franchise. As you've probably heard by now, FFXII works around a system of "Gambits", which are equivalent to the macros people use in online RPGs. What this means in practice is that, rather than pressing "Attack" dozens of times in a fight, you can instead instruct your characters what they should be doing - "Raise anyone who has died, then make sure that everyone has at least 70% of their health. Then, find the nearest enemy and start attacking them." By papering over the routine actions that dominate 90% of combat, the game frees you from minute tactical concerns and lets you focus on strategic considerations. "Can I win this fight? Is it worth using a Megalixer? When should I unleash my Mist attack?"

This is an imperfect analogy, but one that's fresh in my mind since Gary Gygax died: I'm reminded of what the Baldur's Gates games did to the D&D ruleset. I loved how those games honored all the details and intricacies of the system, yet did not force the player to roll virtual dice every time they wanted to swing a sword. Being a geek, I enjoyed peeking at the console to see how my 3D6 damage was being dealt, but when I was fighting a horde of Mindflayers I had more important things to think about. Both Baldur's Gate and FFXII understand that game mechanics are only fun if they support the game, and are not fun in and of themselves.

Oh, and the graphics are stunning. That seems to go without saying... Square has always been a genius at extracting more from their console than any other developer.

My biggest complaint with the game is actually with myself: it is addictive as heck. All FF games have offered two styles of play: you can try to beat the game, or you can try to beat everything in the game. Especially since FFVII, Square has included hidden monsters and quests that are far more difficult than the actual end boss. The final boss of VII is hard, but Ruby Weapon is much more difficult; beating the game takes a while, but taking the steps to get every character and every summon takes even longer.

Mentally, I've tended to group FF players into two groups. First are the "regular" players, like myself... I don't want to say "casual", because they will still be spending several dozen hours playing a vast and complicated game, but their interest lies in beating the game. In the other corner are "obsessive" players, ones who strive for 100% completion. They'll end up investing an order of magnitude more time into the game, will level all their characters up to 99, get the ultimate weapons, and unlock everything the game has to offer.

I've shunned the second path for two reasons. First, it doesn't seem very fun. Completing the game yields a high ratio of story to gameplay; you are, in essence, investing the minimum time to get the maximum cut scenes, cool boss battles, and new worlds. Fighting for hundreds of hours to get 100% dramatically lowers that ratio - yes, you unlock some more cool stuff, but at a far higher cost. The fleeting achievement of, say, getting a golden Chocobo just doesn't provide me sufficient fun to justify the grinding it took to get it.

The second reason is more pragmatic: I seem to always have more games that I want to play than time to play them. In the time it would take to get 100% in a FF, I could beat two other RPGs, or a dozen normal games. I like Final Fantasy, but I also love Baldur's Gate, Ultima, and the Elder Scrolls... I'm not about to sacrifice the latter to squeeze everything I can from the former.

Anyways, that's been my objection. What's insidious about FFXII, though, is that it provides a very slippery slope for people in the first camp - regular gamers - to fall into the second camp - obsessive players. In the past, there have been pretty solid barriers between the two. If you want to fight Ruby Weapon, you can, but there's nothing that really prepares you for it, other than repeatedly fighting ordinary enemies. FFX moves us closer to the slope - by capturing monsters, which was rather easy, you could then create super-monsters, who required a lot of work to defeat. FFXII, on the other hand, has a really fun set of side quests called "Hunts". You know how boss battles are way more fun than normal battles? Well, a Hunt is an optional unique boss battle, and there are over 40 of them. Very often, a Hunt will take place along a route that you are traveling anyways. You'll do a cool fight, which often has a slight puzzle element, and be rewarded with gil and unique items or weapons that directly help you later in the game. Why would you not want to do it?

Before long, I found myself with a few dozen Hunts completed. At this point I started to dream. I knew that I would not want to do everything in the game - there were some side quests that I was adamantly avoiding - but Hunts were fun, I was well on my way, and wouldn't it be nice to get 100% on at least SOMETHING? So, as I approached the end of the game, I started to get more serious about hunts, accepting ones that were off the beaten path, often traveling for miles to chase down an obscure clue, before engaging in a fight that was taking increasingly long to finish.

I eventually realized that I was spending twenty minutes or more just to find a monster, which in some cases would only appear randomly. The actual battles were uneven - by the end of the game I was dispatching some of then in just a few blows, while other fights could stretch on for half an hour or more. The rewards were getting better, but I was getting to the point where my characters were powerful enough that they didn't have much use for the latest rewards.

Eventually, I got all the way to completing 42 hunts. There were two left on my list, and I could not for the life of me find either of them. I broke down and checked Gamefaqs. As I read what I would need to do to defeat those final two, my jaw dropped. When I read what new mission I could undertake after defeating them, I felt sick to my stomach. This wasn't a game! This was... a job! And I already have one of those!

So, regretfully and with a bit of pique, I grounded the game for a week or so, before picking it back up. On the bright side, I was now so powerful that the endgame was almost absurdly easy. All that time chasing down hunts had buffed my characters to extreme levels, and unlike earlier FF final battles which were often nail-biting affairs, this one was a breeze, easier than a few of the optional boss battles I had taken. Best of all, it was packed thick with amazing scenes, nifty revelations, and stunning imagery. That's what I play Final Fantasy for.

Gameplay aside, let's return to the story. Be forewarned that you are in the land of

*** MINI SPOILERS ***

I said earlier that FFXII's plot is reminiscent of earlier games. That isn't entirely fair. One pretty cool thing they do is set you as a character in an occupied country.

The pre-game story describes a proud but weak independent kingdom that is defeated by a powerful empire. This sort of thing happens all the time in RPGs, but what's new is living in the aftermath. The game's protagonist is a young boy who is growing up in an occupied land, filled with tales and dreams of an independent Dalmasca, but chafing under the presence of Arcadia. Their loud, boorish soldiers clank up and down the streets, rudely demand service in the bars, and in dozens of petty ways make the lives of Rabanastrans miserable.

There are all sorts of parallels one can draw to the real world, where occupation has been a hot topic for most of the past century. The immediately obvious connection is with Iraq. In both cases, a vastly superior military power invaded and defeated a sovereign state, then installs a consul who speaks grandly about peace and progress. In the real world, the US was "good" and Iraq "bad," but I can't imagine the average Iraqi civilian in the street being overjoyed whenever they see an American Hummer roar by their house. What I often found myself thinking of more often, though, was Japan in the post-WWII era. This has to be an extremely important event for the Japanese psyche, and it's kind of surprising that this political situation isn't depicted more often in games. It may be that the scenario is too raw for many Japanese, and too foreign for many Americans.

One interesting aspect of the game is how there are both species and nationalities, but the two are separate distinctions. There are Rabanastran Bangaa, Rhujerban Bangaa, and Archadean Bangaa. They all look similar (at least to my species-ist eyes), but hold their allegiance to their home country. It's an interesting dynamic. Unlike, say, Ultima VI, I can't really tell if the creators are trying to say anything significant about race, but at the least it's a different experience.

*** MEGA SPOILERS ***

A lot of familiar Final Fantasy themes are here - loyalty, cleverness, purity - and to be honest, much of it just washes over me. There is a religious angle which is kind of interesting. This world has several gods, but they are not omnipotent. One of the most interesting characters is Cid, a brilliant researcher who seeks to divorce the race of humanity from the gods, charting a new course free of their oppression. Much like His Dark Materials, the game could be seen as making an anti-theist statement rather than an a-theist one... except that the people opposing the gods are bad. Honestly, I did feel some sympathy for Cid's quest... although I don't necessarily agree with his aims, and certainly not his methods, there is something quite admirable about his striving. In some ways it is the parallel to Ashe's virtuous goal: while she seeks to politically free Dalmasca from Archades' control, Cid seeks to free all humanity from the gods' control. Why is her struggle good and his bad?

Finally, let's close out with the box!

• Favorite Weapon: Masamune, of course.
• Favorite Cant: "bhadra".
• Favorite Villain: Cid
• Favorite Hunt (Battle): Behemoth King
• Favorite Hunt (Story): Gilgamesh
• Favorite Character: By the end it was Balthier, but for most of the time it was Ashe.
• Least Favorite Character: Vaan. I didn't like Penelo much at first, but she grew on me.
• Favorite Ally: Reddas.
• Favorite NPC: Marquis Ondore's story is the most interesting.
• Favorite Esper: None! I hated all these battles. Well, the death one was pretty good, I guess. I didn't even bother to learn these licenses after the first few.
• Favorite City: They're all really good! Rabanastre is the most fully developed one. Balfonheim has the best stuff. Bhujerba is the prettiest. Archades is really cool, especially for its stark depiction of social striving and class, but is surprisingly annoying to get around in.
• Favorite Dungeon: The one that isn't a mine. Barenheim Passage, I think?
• Favorite Spell: I was so happy when I finally got Curaja. The coolest ones are ones that I almost never cast - Reverse, one or two more.
• Favorite Technique: The only one I regularly used was Steal. I did Poach for HOURS and HOURS before I realized that poaching an enemy didn't yield any XP. Dark you, Square! Telekinesis would have been really cool, but I could never find where it was. Most hunts and bosses are immune to the techniques that would be useful.
• Favorite Theme: The music was really catchy in this game! Hard to pick... maybe the Deadlands music.

That's it from me. I don't regret playing this game, but in retrospect, I shouldn't have sunk so much time into the hunts. Ah well, live and learn! At least I've beaten this game before the next one comes out.