One pixel becomes two, two become four, four turn into eight, and slowly, gradually, the square grows until the grey stone slabs of the dungeon are washed out and fall away, and the white square is all there is, and Magnus feels warm sunlight and a breeze upon his face, and he is outside.
My only other friend here is a girl named Lucca, and she has already amazed me with what she can build from scraps. Can we just own cats, Marle? Can we visit the inn whenever we get bored, and can we hope that Lucca someday invents something to solve your ennui?
I haven’t even beaten my favorite game, the one I started with: Ocarina of Time. I have tried many times since my dad beat it. I can easily navigate the Great Deku Tree, Dodongo’s Cavern, and Lord Jabu-Jabu’s Belly. Once, I got stuck at the Water Temple (a classic spot to fail). The last time I tried, I got stuck in the Gerudo Fortress. Even looking up how to sneak past the busty Gerudo women, I couldn’t figure it out.
In 2003, Jesse Petrilla developed
Quest for Saddam, a first-person shooter
where the player storms a crude temple
and viciously rips through scores
of turban-crowned enemies. On the walls
hang pixelated pictures of Saddam in lingerie.
Here, rabbits’ coats change color in winter,
berry bushes morph to agave, an old mariner appears only
when it rains – unbreathing – to tell me
what I’m not ready for.
We think video games are literature, and so why shouldn't there be literature about video games? That's the question we're hoping to answer here. Read more.
