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A bit on how I think games workMarch 5th, 2006 |
Abalieno at The Cesspit reacted kinda negatvely to “The Healing Game” and raised some interesting points. But I think we’re talking past each other to a degree, so I wanted to take a step back, and make sure we agree on terms. The below is the framework that I am using in thinking about “How Games Work,” which I am thinking about a lot because that is, broadly speaking, the next book.
First, there is a part of the game that is the bare mechanics and rules. This part is irreducible; if you take it out, what you have left is no longer considered a game. These bare mechanics and rules form a system that players can interact with; poke and prod the system, and you will get back various responses. The player is not in the system, but they might have a very evolved proxy that is (such as a character in an RPG).
Then there is what might be called “content.” It’s statistical variations on the system. It’s slightly different input provided to the same rules. Keep in mind here we are still oeprating fully in the abstract.
Then there is the presentation of the game. This is not at all a simple subject, either, and it is tremendously important. Games without presentation barely exist (there are a few, such as playing chess entirely in your head). Now the mechanics are called “combat” and the statistical variation is called “monsters” and so on. Basically, what we have is a metaphor that encompasses the mechanics and the content.
Above and beyond the presentation is another layer of what typically gets called “content,” which includes things like narrative. Now we’re into familiar territory, so I won’t elaborate too much on this, save to say that instead of being statistical variation on the mechanics, it’s variation on the metaphor.
Abalieno is arguing that the healing example is bad because game design should always proceed from the narrative end. My example proceeded from the mechanical end.
I am going to insist that both approaches are valid. Many many games have been created that are classics that started from the mechanical end — particularly in the realm of boardgames, but also in the arcade with things like say, Tempest or Qix. And many are the classic games that started from the narrative end. But perhaps most telling are all the games that originated somewhere in the middle — one can easily imagine Joust starting there, for example.
- Were I to do a game “about healing” I would be starting with the metaphor.
- Were I to do a game about wiping disease from the face of Africa, I would be starting with the narrative.
The best games will achieve a marriage of mechanics and metaphor to the degree where you won’t be able to tell where it all began; both will be considered holistically. (They will still be susceptible to the above analysis, however).
Seen in this light, we have much to examine and think about in each of these layers.
- At the mechanical layer, we have issues such as how to design game systems, the thoughts on game design grammars, much of the thoughts on ludology though not all, and perhaps most importantly, the discussion of innovative gameplay.
- At the statistical variation level, we have questions such as what is “balance,” emergent behaviors, repetitiveness, game scope, levels, and so on.
- At the metaphor level we can have thought experiments such as “The Healing Game” and discussions of whether or not our metaphors are the right ones.
- Finally, there’s a ton for all of us to learn at the narrative layer, from maximizing our learning from other media to mastering the tools of storytelling, of art design, of architecture, and so on.
This breakdown is, perhaps, why game designers must be multidisciplinary. After all, the layers correspond roughly to science, mathematics, philosophy, and creative arts. To make something that works holistically, you’ll need to draw on all those ways of looking at the world.
The one that feels irreducible to me, of course, is the core mechanic. That is what makes this medium be games, and not something else.

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[...] Raph has posted about layers of game elements. I have replied, he has replied, I have re-replied, and I suppose he’s likely to re-re-reply.There are four layers, according to Raph, and it seems to be a fine distinction:Mechanics, variations, theme, and narrative.These all reflect on each other, providing and restricting how the others can manifest. In a simple example, the nature of the gameplay in most FPS games means that melee weapons are essentially useless, which restricts your choices of theme and narrative. It can just as easily go in the opposite direction.The thing is, these are all one thing:Gameplay loops circling the mechanics.Mechanics are the basic rules of interaction and “logic”. You can shoot, you can run, you can stack bricks, whatever.Exactly what shooting, running, and stacking you’ll need to dance with is a question answered by his “variations” layer. Here, you might have to shoot lots of little, fast guys at long range. There, you might have to shotgun a melee demon.These variations provide the many methods of interacting with gameplay to keep things interesting. Sometimes, the rules are simple. In Tetris, the variation is “one of these six blocks will come next, at random.”I think this is intrinsically tied to “theme”. Your theme guides your gameplay variation so closely they might as well be thought of in the same breath. You don’t put much sword-themed into a ranged FPS, because the variation doesn’t exist. You put gun-themed things in, instead.But what drives these variations? When you get sick of “one of six random blocks”, how does the game keep your attention?Why, it puts variations into the variations. It leads the theme around by the nose, thus producing hundreds of new variations. As you go from level to level in a game, more than just the aesthetics change. Maybe one level is more open, allowing for more sniper work. Another has more puzzles. A third is about platforming. Any and all of these are gameplay variations which are “allowed” by the narrative. By which I mean, knowing the narrative makes the players think, “oh, okay, that makes sense” instead of “why am I surfing down the side of a pyramid?”There is often more than one kind of gameplay mechanic, and the various gameplay loops interact with the various mechanics in various ways. This is what keeps our attention. These variations.Here’s the real question: is there a layer above “narrative”? [...]
[...] Raph’s Website » A bit on how I think games work [...]
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[...] over on raph’s site, he talked about making a healing game. a gentleman over on the cesspit has taken up the flag in argument against it. while his argument reflects some of the same feelings i have, i don’t think he’s conveyed it very well. [...]
[...] I’ve been thinking about a game based around amorphous and locked terrain. After glancing over Abalieno’s and Raph’s (among others) discussion of games, I believe the mechanic is amorphous terrain which can be locked by player action, and the metaphor is settlement of a wild forest by a vigorous and adventuresome people. (Mechanic and metaphor provide vocabulary, a scaffolding which allows me to explore the game.) Metaphor: the world outside is amorphous Not far beyond the golden fields of the village were serried ranks of forboding trees, the beginning of the wild forest. Good villagers didn’t venture very far into the darkness under the gnarled boughs, only much needed firewood and medicinal herbs could persuade one to enter that dim wood. It was rumored that trails shifted and that the way that explorers ventured out was rarely the way that they came back. [...]
[...] over on raph’s site, he talked about making a healing game. a gentleman over on the cesspit has taken up the flag in argument against it. while his argument reflects some of the same feelings i have, i don’t think he’s conveyed it very well. [...]
[...] A recent post on Raph Koster’s site , A bit on how I think games work, poses an interesting breakdown of game design into four layers; the mechanical, the statistical variation or content, the metaphor, and the narrative layer. [...]
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