Perhaps the ending has not yet been written... so what do we do now?

Book V

The last three chapters of the entire book recount the next chapter in the Uru story with a look toward the future of not just the Uru saga, but all MMOG and MMOWs.

In an interesting twist, Pearce was given the opportunity to take an even more active role in the Uru community by becoming a ‘consultant’ of sorts in the project of resurrecting Uru, what became MOUL: Myst Online: Uru Live. Pearce was a small part of the “arguably unprecedented collaboration,” a ‘middle man’ between the corporation (“the Man”) and a small but fiercely dedicated fan community (265). She relates the marketing tactics adopted by the Uru groups in There.com and (eventually) Second Life. The signs, interactive billboards, and coordinating the reopening of Second Life’s D’ni Island (which was change to Myst Online Island) with the launching of MOUL are just three of the methods implemented by Uruvians to generate and restore excitement/ enthusiasm for the newest Myst game.

Here Pearce notices a (perhaps unexpected) trend: the first wave of Uruvians, as well as the second wave of Uru fans inspired and trained by the first wave, migrated to MOUL but remained active in the Second Life and There.com Uru instantiations. Uru refugees even began branching out into the previously too violent MMOGs like World of Warcraft, Guild Wars, and Lord of the Rings Online. Pearce also briefly looks at what happens when game designers appear in their created worlds.

Chapter 16 asks game designers how they can use these patterns of emergence for their benefit, as design material. Pearce encourages creators to basically create the worlds and then allow the players to take over from there. She cites examples Star Wars: Galaxies when designers attempted to step in and “fix” the situation (redesign) and they not only failed to interest new players but alienated their existing fans. She also mentions The Sims Online and its move to EA-Land, which was another disaster, specifically the company’s decision to disregard expert advice and not allow players to move over their own created content in the 

single-player version into the multiplayer one.

She examines which “job” would be the best to help designers learn how to guide this emergence; community managers can be semi-useful but are often seen as “sent from management” and not available during typical game-play hours (managers work from 9-5 like a large number of gamers). Cyberethnographers (the job title Pearce used in her study of the Uru culture) can be as useful, if not more so, in helping understand the game community on its own terms. Cyberethnographers can act as sort of free agents; they can be confided in by players of these MMOGs and MMOWs with information that community managers for example can’t find out. (For example, Uru players revealed their hesitance for Second Life stems from a view that the world is a “virtual red-light district” (274).)

What is a global playground? Pearce focuses on global playgrounds (or global villages) in her final chapter, and how, hopefully, the global culture has begun to associate ‘play’ with a more positive connotation. Some issues that need to be addressed in this global village begin with identity. Players more and more have multiple identities, multiple lives, and multiple bodies (avatars). “Play” has moved outside the boundaries of “the game” and into other forms-YouTube, memes, etc. Games with educational purpose now become an issue.

Returning to the idea of including user-created content in multiplayer games as a way of incorporating emergence into games, Pearce states that “man the player is also man the creator” manipulating media, giving these forms of media and games new cultural meanings and goals.

In the final paragraph of the entire book, Pearce poses an important question that she seems to have been hinting at all along. “How much power do the corporations that own these networked play spaces within the ludisphere, the global playground, really have?” (280). She concludes her book with a nod to the culture she spent eighteen months not only studying, but actively participating and developing relationships in, The Gathering of Uru; Pearce echoes the Uru character Yeesha’s final words: “Perhaps the ending has not yet been written.” I’ll close here too, and ask all my nagging questions as discussion starters.

Discussion Questions

1. Is there a balance of power to be found between the corporations and players? Would games controlled, even developed, solely by the players be a good thing? Would it continue the process of emergence or take a step in a whole new direction?
2. This question is arguably an opinion question, but how do you feel about Pearce’s involvement in the reopening of the Uru game? Did it negate her study? Did it enhance her research? Did she take her participation to a level that she was unable to objectively study and make conclusions about TGU culture?
3. In addition to allowing the players to develop or bring in their own created content, how can game designers harness and use patterns of emergence? What are some examples you can think of?

Celia/Artemesia the Ethnographer

Book III

Pearce begins the next section of our reading with Book III, an explanation of the various research methods she employed in her study of this virtual culture.

One of the first steps Pearce took was to create avatars (named Artemesia) in each of the gaming platforms (Second Life, There.com, Until Uru, etc.) Artemesia/Celia the ethnographer had to embody herself within the virtual environment; she by nature of the study had to actively participate. However, her initial approach to gathering information and conducting research took an “off-hands” perspective. She “visited” the field two to four (or more) times a week, watching activities and events. She spent much of the time talking and conducting interviews, via the available chat logs and other text options. She also documented her time spent “in-world” by capturing images, taking virtual photographs, what she calls “visual anthropology” (203).

After the collection process (not a linear, but a continual process), she analyzed data for “patterns of emergence” using word searches in her database and other qualitative research methods (204). Pearce’s goal was for “crystallization” (rather than the traditional triangulation, she wanted to appropriately represent the multi-faceted, ever-changing methods to approach the world). As far as the process of writing the work (assuming she means her thesis), she settled on a narrative approach to remove the distanced stigma of gaming culture. She wanted to put “a human face on the avatar” (207). Pearce integrated direct quotes and annotations by subjects as well as players’ own writings and poetry to emphasize that although she was the primary “ethnographer” the work itself was a collaborative effort, one that involved not only Pearce and those helping her with her research study, but the group she studied (TGU or the Uruvians) as well.

It seems odd that Pearce would explain her research methods in the central book of her text, but it makes some semblance of sense when the rest of the text is laid out around it (an introduction, an in-depth look at the culture of Uru and TGU (a baptism by text and images), an explanation of her methods, an examination of how her methods and herself/avatar developed in the role of ethnographer through the study, and a conclusion that reaches “Beyond Uru”).

Book IV

This section may be the most interesting (on a personal note). Pearce states that she writes this chapter from the perspective of her avatar, Artemesia, but the interesting part is how she weaves the voice of Artemesia back and forth between the voice of Dr. Celia Pearce, intertwining “journal entries” from a past/ hindsight perspective and a present/current perspective. What I mean here gets confusing because some of the subsections seem written soon or immediately after particular encounters during her study, while others seem to look back and recollect past experiences; still other subsections appear to speak from a present (while she was writing the book) tense, with a look forward to the future reader. (If you’re even more confused, I sincerely apologize.)

Pearce describes in this section how she discovered and began her study of The Gathering of Uru, a happy accident. Artemesia was created 10 days before TGU relocated to There.com and around one month after the servers of Uru Prologue were closed. She was led from an initial interest in a group of The Sims Online “refugees” to the more “interesting” Uru people (218). Two months later, when There.com threatened to shut down as well, TGU sprang to life to save their group from being exiled once again.

Pearce recounts the memory of TGU’s shy leader Leesa’s virtual wedding to the avatar Revelation, a player she had never met (but eventually did meet and become partners with in real life). She also writes entries about obtaining the game Uru and beginning (or not wanting to begin) to play Until Uru, the player-run servers reverse engineered by “the hackers.” She felt her reluctance as strange, believing that playing the “real” game would remove the magic, the mystical view she had of this culture (yes, that pun was intended).

Since I don’t have much space left, I want to look at one event (or process), the crisis and its aftermath. First, Pearce allowed a journalist to write what became a detrimental article about her research on TGU; the players felt judged and betrayed by this “outsider” who viewed them from the sidelines but was not “participating” in the community. As a result, Pearce was forced to change anthropological tactics and engage in the community, posting on the forum, communicating with voice chat instead of text to accommodate handicapped players’ preferences (a common practice for members of this community), even becoming the ball of a Buggy Polo game. She also conducted several presentations to other groups, incorporating the game and community into her presentations.

Discussion Questions:

1. How does the explanation of her research methods benefit our class as “game developers” within a pre-designed platform (Second Life, Minecraft)? What can we learn from the dozens of games/events planned by TGU, like Buggy Polo in There.com?
2. What about her study of the people/avatars and their relationships? What can we as English/ Communication students (expert analysts of the written and spoken English word that we are) learn from her retelling of how these people interact with one another, with their environments, with their leadership, with their resident ethnographer? 
3. Her use of the game (There.com) in her conference presentations was interesting. How would using these technologies, even involving the studied culture, change the presentation (as opposed to a presentation read primarily from a text, for example)? How can we utilize this method of presentation?

Pearce-Book II "The Uru Diaspora"

Book II of Pearce’s text focuses on explaining the details of the cancelled game Uru: Ages Beyond Myst (Prologue) and its loyal but displaced fan base. Features of this game included breath-taking images, simple puzzles integrated into the environment, and slow paced gameplay. These aspects attracted a certain kind of game player, one that was usually accustomed to playing alone.

Uru presented a new perspective than previous Myst games, using a third person point of view instead of a traditional first person (which fit the anonymous, mysterious feel of the Myst world and games). In fact, the first thing players were guided to do in Uru was to create/design an avatar. Pearce spends the majority of this chapter (Chapter 5) explaining steps like this and other key components of the game itself (like the six major geographical areas) to set up her conclusions and theories in later chapters.

In Chapter 6, the ‘tragic story’ of Uru’s cancellation is told; Pearce begins by setting up how the core group she studied “The Gathering” (later “The Gathering of Uru”) came into being before the servers were shut down. The group developed quickly (the entire timeline for the Uru community seems to move quickly, like six location moves in two months in There.com, but more on that later). Leesa, a self-professed loner, began by helping a newbie, a spark that spawned a group so big it needed three shards (with 138, 157 and 49 members in each respectively). This group contained several gifted leaders in different areas that helped the group remain together after the multiplayer aspect/game was discontinued.

When the game was shut down, members of this devoted community experienced real (I think the distinction here is “not virtual”) grief. A forum/chat site unofficially became the new place to communicate with other players. However, this way of continuing correspondence did not fill the need or gap left by the game of “play,” something that was emphasized in the text as important to handicapped members unable to do many of the in-game activities in reality. The group members were officially “refugees” or a “diaspora,” players dispersed (forcibly exiled) from their virtual homelands. Key group members began the search for a solution. One group ‘scouted’ out There.com, a smaller group explored the possibilities of Second Life, a solitary member (Erik) learned about 3D technologies to recreate Uru in a way (his final product is known as the Atmosphere hood), and still others, known as “hackers” reverse engineered the game’s software, contacted the company and obtained permission to reopen the game in a limited sense by offering keys to players (this was known as Until Uru). (Others investigated popular MMOGs like EverQuest, but these were deemed to violent and dissimilar to Uru.)

Pearce briefly recounts the general move to There.com, and the huge adjustment this exodus was for both Uruvians and “indigenous” Thereians. She details the conflicts and griefing that occurred, the five to six “moves” of TGU within There.com.

An interesting section of this chapter discusses the assimilation and transculturation that occurred in and between Uru players and There.com players. These two groups even adjusted to one another, with the immigrant group (Uruvians) making major contributions into their new society, and even after the servers for Until Uru were reopened and made available to them, many remained active (primarily active) in the There.com and There.com’s Uru community.

Pearce returns to the idea of avatar representation in Chapter 7, a concept I believe Emily was drawn to in class discussion. What I found striking is that often, avatars are considered the desired representation of the player by the player, but Pearce asserts that the creation of the avatar is largely dependent on the (conscious or unconscious) desires and intention of the game designers. Even the fact that avatars are shown to “breathe” (as they do in There.com) represents this. Pearce suggests too that avatar creation is a social process, not just an individual one, requiring feedback from and among the player, the community and the game designers (and the game’s ecosystem). It seems that a player’s avatar (almost independently) develops a social identity, as Pearce explains through Leesa’s example, a shy person whose avatar morphed into the leader of a 450 person group. The author also makes special mention of the unusual lack of cross-gender avatars in the Uru community (she made mention of only 3 cases in the entire study). Pearce concludes that the strong emotional bond players develop with their own avatars (as well as the strong connection have for the association between other players and their avatars) unsettles the prominence of the first person perspective within video games. Being able to see a virtual version of oneself enhances “the sense of presence, as well as the sense of embodiment” (122).

Discussion Questions

1. My husband recently completed the game Assassin’s Creed: Brotherhood. In this game, the player “follows around” (from a slightly raised 3^rd person camera angle much like Second Life’s) Ezio Auditore. What I think I’m trying to ask is if Pearce’s conclusion of an enhanced experience applies only to avatars created by the player, or can this kind of strong emotional bond occur between a player and an “assigned” character like Ezio? How does this happen?
2. If this “TGU” group had not had the Koalanet forum/chat site, do you think the following bonding and strengthening of the group would have occurred? Was the existence (and use) of this site the turning point in the Uru diaspora exile/immigration?
3. How can this class define “productive play?” She mentions Mardi Gras and the Burning Man festival, but this seems to me to involve work to enable play (in which case, the play itself may not be productive.) Does that make any sense? What is a relevant example in this class of “productive play”? Maybe the incident with the wolf pack?

Introduction to Pearce

Communities of Play and the Global Playground (Chapter 1)

Pearce introduces her book by asserting that play and communities are not new to the Internet. Pearce, similar to Gee’s “play is inherently social” idea, continually refers to “social play” and “play communities” (3-4). She then defines “play” and “community” separately (an interesting tactic, since she asserts elsewhere that games cannot be dissected and defined by their individual parts because the whole equals more than the sum-but she applies this ‘dissection’ here). The title of the book “communities of play” is meant as a counter to the anthropological term “communities of practice” (5). Her intended focus for the book seems to be about adult play, specifically something called the “Uru Diaspora” (or the group of ‘refugees’ without a ‘home’ after the game Uru was shut down, twice).

Before looking at virtual multiplayer games, she gives a brief history of multiplayer games from 3500 BCE to the 21^st century. One interesting note is H.G. Well’s title Little Wars (which implies in the title that only intelligent girls-and those seem few-are interested in “boy’s games”). She makes sure to mention table-top role-playing games, such as Dungeons and Dragons (from this point on, she makes frequent mention of Tolkein’s Lord of the Rings). Pearce seems to suggest that fantasy and sci-fi genres have the corner on the MMOG and MMOW market.

Virtual Worlds, Play Ecosystems, and the Ludisphere (Chapter 2)

The most striking section of this chapter “Playing with Identity: The Rise of the Avatar” examines player’s bonds with their avatars, and how players will often refer to themselves as “real-life avatars.”

A large portion of the chapter is dedicated to the difference between ludic and paidiaic (or fixed synthetic and co-created) worlds. Fixed synthetic worlds tend to be more ludic, with examples being World of Warcraft and Uru. The creators of the game have absolute control, over narrative, over the world rules, over the world’s design. Paidiaic worlds are open-ended, co-created, primarily an “environment designed for spontaneous play and creative contribution” (32). The game platforms we are using for this course, Second Life and Minecraft, seem to be apt examples of this type of environment. These types of games can also be referred to as “sandbox” games.

Emergence in Cultures, Games, and Virtual Worlds (Chapter 3)

It isn’t until the third chapter that Pearce brings in her idea of ‘emergence’ in general and then in video games. Something Pearce takes care to mention is that “historically, emergent cultures can take hundreds or even thousands of years to develop” (38). With the invention of the Internet, this time has exponentially decreased. She waits until halfway through this chapter to define ‘emergence,’ which I find an odd approach. This is where she believes that the sum of a game equals more than its individual parts. She lists several properties that can lead to emergence within a game: discrete (a closed system with a particular set of consistent rules), open-ended (no definitive win-lose conclusion), persistent (allows for cumulative, building action), synchronous and asynchronous (this sounds contradictory, and isn’t really explained by Pearce), long-term (one player’s behavior builds on another, or similar to the 3 minute, 3 hour, 3 month deadlines we discussed in previous class discussion), accelerated (everything, relationships, etc seems to move at a faster pace, even though tasks can take longer than in the physical world), networked (populated by people, easily connected), and finally diverse (this allows for many types of behaviors. Pearce notes that homogenous groups will tend to perpetuate similar actions, preventing emergence.)

In order to examine the “Uru diaspora group,” Pearce made certain that they met all criteria for emergence. There are six components Pearce considered when making her choice: emergent behavior (the patterns exhibited by the Uru group were evident even outside the realm of the game), events over time (Pearce decided to study this group for eighteen months, more than enough time in this accelerated environment), scale (a large enough group to study-the Uru group contained upwards of 10,000 members, but 160 to 450 were enough to adequately complete Pearce’s study), components versus system (emergence outlines any of the elements within the system, which is true of the Uru game and group), system versus environment (the Uru network ‘traversed’ several different virtual worlds, contacting different ecosystems each time), and lastly method (three components-system, parts and ecosystem- must be able to be viewed concurrently).

Discussion Questions

1. Since many of us have no background in sociology or anthropology, how would we define the term 'emergence'? How does that relate to the medium of video games?
2. How does a virtual diaspora differ from a physical diaspora? Why?
3. Do the properties that apply to 'emergent games' apply to 'emergent cultures (physical ones)'? If some do and some don't, explain why.

“Learning from Bogost”

The 831 class has been learning a lot from Bogost for the last week, but Bogost finally reaches the topic of “Learning” and video games in this final section.

The first chapter (8) addresses the question “Are videogames educational?” (233). There are three approaches to education covered by Bogost: behaviorist, constructionist, and constructivist. As far as applying these educational theories to video games, Bogost begins with Flight Simulator and SimCity; these both take the behaviorist perspective, teaching the ‘basics’ of content through experience. He uses the examples of Ninja Gaiden and Grand Theft Auto as ‘negative’ behaviorist games (or ones that may be construed negatively through a behaviorist view). Sim City also contains constructivist learning principles, teaching “about complexity and other approaches to the general operation of dynamic processes” (240).

In the section “From Programming to Culture,” Bogost brings up the term “procedural literacy” (244). Two programs, LEGO Mindstorms and RAPUNSEL, (one designed for boys and the other for girls) teaches students about procedures and how to read them. Mateas’s definition says that procedural literacy is “the ability to read and write processes, to engage procedural representation and aesthetics…” (245).

Bogost also gives a brief “procedural history” using Jared Diamond’s Guns, Germs, & Steel (book). Games that couple a procedural rhetoric of ‘material accident’ with a procedural view of history are Civilization (a game we’ve looked at in class) and Europa Universalis.

 To conclude this examination of “procedural literacy” I’d like to use Bogost’s words, “Procedural rhetoric is a type of procedural literacy that advances and challenges the logics that underlie behavior, and how such logics work” (258).

Chapter 9, “Values and Aspirations,” seems in a different vein than the previous one; it doesn’t make use the defined educational theories in relation to video games but examines topics like consumption, work values, morality and faith. Bogost first applies “consumption” (which sounds like a disease) to principles taught to students through American public education. Students are taught how to be effective consumer, mindless drones in society, acquiring possessions and debt. (Here he brings up the difference between schooling and education.) The first game he discusses as ‘consumptive’ is Mansion Impossible, a game which reveals an effective real estate strategy to be investing in one area and “keeping as much capital as possible” invested in the market (266).

Nintendo Gamecube’s game Animal Crossing also effectively displays the issue of consumption (and ‘affluenza’). Some features of the game (Tom Nook’s store, the HRA, etc.) successfully mount a procedural rhetoric of debt, or affluenza (the spiritual emptiness and guilt that accompanies wealth). Other features, such as the animal’s disdain of Tom Nook, the ‘portability’ or evanescence of material possessions (the fact that even large items can be ‘compressed’ into the size of a leaf for transportation), and the museum can cause “increased deliberation about the player’s need for his virtual possessions” (271).

The games Shadow the Hedgehog and Deus Ex return (from Gee) in a section on morality and faith.  For Shadow and Sonic the Hedgehogs, Bogost poses that morality is attempted within the game through ‘arimethic logic.’ Like the more recent Fable series (1, 2 and 3) America’s Army, Black and White, and Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic, good and evil are the only two choices; the player/character’s morality is the sum of good and evil deeds or actions. Deus Ex attempts a different strategy; according to Bogost, it “mounts a procedural rhetoric of moral uncertainty” (286).

Oddly, in the section on ‘Learning,’ a chapter discussing exercise is included. Unfortunately, this book was published in 2007, before the Wii, Xbox Kinect, and PlayStation Move really became functional accessories for current game consoles. He relies primarily on “dance pads” like the Power Pad and the Dance, Dance Revolution pad to make his arguments concerning exergaming. An interesting thing to note is that Bogost uses sports and dance games for the prime examples of exercise games. Even with the advent of the Wii (and the prospective Project Café/Wii U), the Kinect sensor and the PlayStation Move, games that utilize these accessories are either sports, fitness or dance-related. The only example I can find that seems to break out of this pattern is Ubisoft’s new Child of Eden, but even then this game relies heavily on music to push the game forward (as a dance game or possibly even a fitness game would). I also failed to understand what exergames teach players (other than how to dance, exercise, or manipulate controls to get the best results).

Discussion Questions

1. What do exergames teach players? Why do they belong in the “Learning” section of this text?
2. What other educational theories apply to video games? Do the ones mentioned in this section have the “right” to categorize video games (does it fit to categorize video games through these theories)?
3. The idea of procedural literacy is interesting. Is there a way to incorporate it into the games we are creating in Second Life and MineCraft?

Bogost Chapter 5-7

Advertising Logic

Advertisers are “quick to colonize media” (148). This includes television, outdoor (billboards, posters),

A ‘trend’ advertisers are now having to deal with is known as “cynicism,” where consumers resist the simulation of freedom and the colonization of advertising in media. Also, with the popularity of technologies like TiVo (DVRs), Netflix & Hulu, and video games advertisers must ‘change tactics’ to reach the prime demographic (18-34 year old males).

Bogost spends a significant portion of Chapter 5 defining the three types of advertising, demonstrative, illustrative, and associative. Demonstrative is ‘the original,’ the type that provides direct information and is necessary to be effective within the realm of video games. Traditional demonstrative advertising features a lot of text and highlights functionality. Illustrative advertising focuses on indirect information. Associative advertising, the final kind, also focuses on indirect information, but in an intangible way. Bogost associates (pun intended) this type of advertising with “lifestyle marketing” (156).

It’s at this point that Bogost discusses the state of ‘advergames’ (advertising games). Associative games are the most common, the most prevalent, but demonstrative advertising most closely correlates with the “procedural properties” of video games (158). Two examples he gives of associative games are Mountain Dew Skateboarding and Chester Cheetah: Too Cool to Fool. Games like Coca-Cola Kid and Coke’s Sportstron TV game don’t “perform procedural representation” but attempt to associate the brand with video games. The company hopes that by associating their brand (in this case, Coke) with a niche market, ie video games, then members of that group will fall prey to their advertising strategies. “Whew. That was a really hard level; I’m thirsty. I need a Coke.” Or “Coke spends money on video games because they think they’re cool. I think video games are cool. Coke and I have a lot in common.”

Licensing and Product Placement

In Chapter 6, the author addresses (not in a comprehensive sense, but enough to introduce and persuasively argue) the connection between licensed products (television, film, etc.) and video games. Unlike “branded lunch-boxes” or stickers or folders with images of the licensed products on them, video games must incorporate in some new way the operational rules, become a procedural representation of the product. An a propos example used in the text is the Harry Potter series (it will be interesting to see how this particular market transforms now that the books and films are complete). For the game Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (and many of the other games closely following the cinematic version) allows the player repetitive actions, or minor actions like collecting cards (simply the “accrual of virtual property” (177)) intermingled with rendered cinematics for “unplayable” sections.

One thing learned from this game is that although the player has the choice of playing as Harry, Ron or Hermione, Harry is the focal character. The game seems to be supporting the idea of teamwork, but in ‘reality,’ Harry is who the books and movies center around (the opposite of teamwork). A game that perhaps unintentionally reveals this discrepancy as well is Quidditch World Cup. Quidditch is a combination of the sports soccer and basketball, but in both these real life sports, the emphasis is truly on teamwork (sports stars like David Beckham must still be team players). The added component of the golden snitch and seeker (which can automatically win a game) highlights the value of one person over the group.

Advergames

One of the most notable advergames (a Bogostian term) from Chapter 7 was Johnson and Johnson’s Tooth Protectors. This ‘sophisticated’ game (given its constraints) prompts the player to think of tooth/dental care as a “logical system rather than a moral one” (203). (“I brush my teeth to keep them from decaying and protect them from plague and gingivitis” instead of “I brush my teeth because Mommy says it’s good for me”)

Bogost also discusses the games Stow ‘n Go Challenge and Xtreme Errands (a game designed and developed by Bogost’s studio). The two games focus on “the procedural configuration of abstract space” or operationalizing “limited time and resources” (213). The games developed by beer and soft drink companies also interestingly present the idea of procedural representation of a licensed product.

This section on advertising concludes with a short address of ‘anti-advergames.’ In The Sims Online, players that oppose corporations such as McDonalds are encouraged to actively work against it through the medium of the game. Games like Coke is It! reveal the absurdity of advertising and its invasion of all forms of media.

The final kind of anti-advergame Bogost is more subtle than the aforementioned (example: Book and Volume). His studio’s Disaffected! examines FedEx Kinko’s dysfunctionality and inefficiency. The game effectively ‘lives out’ the problems encountered at this business in a way that writing a letter of complaint is unable.

Discussion Questions

1. If advertising must move from a visual rhetoric to a procedural rhetoric in order to be effective in video games, how can this be realized? Instead of placing billboards in Need for Speed games, how can advertisers incorporate products in a ‘believable’ way?
2. How could a licensed product/company create a game with the ‘correct’ procedural rhetoric? Look at the comparison of the Stow ‘n Go Challenge with Xtreme Errands. The former fails to truly present the player/potential buyer with the features and functionality of the product; how could this game be changed to accurately portray the Stow ‘n Go Seating?
3. In what ways could video games be used to reveal and demonstrate idiosyncracies and ideologies of licensed products (for example, movies and books-in this section, the Harry Potter franchise)?