Underground, of course, is a synonym for cool—out of the mainstream, not quite suitable for polite society. The worlds of video games are often underground, quite literally: Mario’s sewers and Link’s dungeons and Samus’s extraterrestrial underworlds. Playing video games in the real world may require a descent—into Mom’s basement, for instance.
If “Dire, Dire Docks” sounds celebratory of the developers’ achievement, the celebration is earned. Super Mario 64 turned 25 this month (its original release date, in Japan, was June 23, 1996), and it has aged remarkably well. More time has passed between Mario 64 and the present day than had passed between Pong’s release (November 29, 1972) and Mario 64’s. And yet Mario 64, while obviously blockier than current-gen graphics, still looks, sounds, and feels like a modern game.
When your world is ruled by another,
you are forced to perform, to spit,
to jump,
to be cruel when all you want is to be beautiful.
So much is defined by the shape of our pain.
The scar on my arm where my thumb rubbed through layer after layer of skin.
But what was important for me about SMB3 was that it was a “safe” environment where I could perform my homosexuality by chasing/desiring the princess. I had this limitless free space in which to explore.
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.
