Dragon Quest IX's grottoes have a strange difficulty curve. In one found through following a map called "Rock Mine of Doubt Lv.29," the monsters you encounter change thrice.
At first they're throwbacks to the early part of the game, then they're the sort that give about 300 experience points each (whereas monsters in the Realm of the Mighty give about 1750 per group per battle), then the boss is a machine with two attacks per turn.
Attacks that do damage ranging from 50 to 120 HP.
When party members have about 200 HP a piece a one-two punch from this boss just leaves them reeling. If my healer has a miss timed turn, one character - or the whole party - could wind up dead. Balancing on a pin like that makes for a tricky fight.
At least there are some Metal Medleys lurking in this grotto. So level grinding isn't impossible, just drawn out.
Writing of balancing on pins, though, I think that my party could get through the fight with Corvus at this point. And, not that it isn't fun, wrapping this game up sooner rather than later is definitely something I'm keen on doing.
Off-the-cuff writings about, and sometimes reviews of, books and video games from a nerd's boxes of backlog. Warning: this is not a spoiler-free blog!
Wednesday, April 30, 2014
Tuesday, April 29, 2014
A stock market warning from 1720
The Madness of Crowds (a convenient short version of the book's full title, Extraordinary Popular Delusions and the Madness of Crowds) verges on being a Victorian miscellany. I write "verges on" since it covers a lot of topics, but it gives quite a bit of space to each.
Reading about the stock market crazes of France and England in the 1710s/20s makes me wonder how the Western world has come to rely entirely on such markets for its economy. Times have definitely changed drastically since the eighteenth century and credit is a much stabler thing than it was when trade was nowhere near worldwide nor running through manifold channels.
But to read Charles Mackay assessing the people who fell for the "scheme" of early stock trading as "fools" makes it difficult to see how our world evolved from one so far removed from our own.
Yet, there's still some truth to what Robert Walpole, the one English member of parliament who spoke out against trading on credit alone, had to say against it: Having such a system "would divert the genius of the nation from trade and industry."
As big as the stock market is today, I can't help but wonder what those on Wall Street (and Bay Street, for Canadian readers) would be doing with their wits were it not for the draw of potentially immense, relatively easy wealth.
Reading about the stock market crazes of France and England in the 1710s/20s makes me wonder how the Western world has come to rely entirely on such markets for its economy. Times have definitely changed drastically since the eighteenth century and credit is a much stabler thing than it was when trade was nowhere near worldwide nor running through manifold channels.
But to read Charles Mackay assessing the people who fell for the "scheme" of early stock trading as "fools" makes it difficult to see how our world evolved from one so far removed from our own.
Yet, there's still some truth to what Robert Walpole, the one English member of parliament who spoke out against trading on credit alone, had to say against it: Having such a system "would divert the genius of the nation from trade and industry."
As big as the stock market is today, I can't help but wonder what those on Wall Street (and Bay Street, for Canadian readers) would be doing with their wits were it not for the draw of potentially immense, relatively easy wealth.
Monday, April 28, 2014
Starting to see light in the Dawn and Dusk Towers
My progress through the interconnected Dawn and Dusk Towers continues to be slow. But, with all of the beasts that Aeron's been thrashing and the "Skill Band" he has equipped he's building levels quite quickly. Level 40 should be sufficient for the games' final few Masters, but we'll see.
Actually, I'm feeling better about my struggles with this game's final two towers.
Perhaps it's that quickly rising level of my player character.
Or, maybe knowing how tightly linked these Towers are has forced me to see them less as two distinct towers and more as one singular construct. Not to mention their chains are usually paired together. So the anchor for a chain in the Dusk Tower is usually just a teleport away from an anchor in the Dawn Tower. I have just one more to break in that Tower and two more in the Dusk Tower.
Nonetheless, from a gameplay perspective it still feels like a hassle to get through Dawn and Dusk.
Yet, at the same time, forcing the player to finished two dungeons in tandem so that they become one dungeon seems to be the only clear way to advance the difficulty of a dungeon to what's necessary for a game's final bit. Outside of simply making a longer dungeon (which combining two is a form of, but still).
With my continuing level-grinding, though, I'm feeling certain that whatever the Masters of these two towers are, they'll be pushovers. And, that the game's final boss will probably be a step down from them in difficulty.
Actually, I'm feeling better about my struggles with this game's final two towers.
Perhaps it's that quickly rising level of my player character.
Or, maybe knowing how tightly linked these Towers are has forced me to see them less as two distinct towers and more as one singular construct. Not to mention their chains are usually paired together. So the anchor for a chain in the Dusk Tower is usually just a teleport away from an anchor in the Dawn Tower. I have just one more to break in that Tower and two more in the Dusk Tower.
Nonetheless, from a gameplay perspective it still feels like a hassle to get through Dawn and Dusk.
Yet, at the same time, forcing the player to finished two dungeons in tandem so that they become one dungeon seems to be the only clear way to advance the difficulty of a dungeon to what's necessary for a game's final bit. Outside of simply making a longer dungeon (which combining two is a form of, but still).
With my continuing level-grinding, though, I'm feeling certain that whatever the Masters of these two towers are, they'll be pushovers. And, that the game's final boss will probably be a step down from them in difficulty.
Friday, April 25, 2014
Telling all undercuts Dwayne's drama
For all of the speed and shock value that Vonnegut's bullet point style can generate it has one major failing. Since most of what Vonnegut does is tell, anything emotional falls flat.
In the scene where Dwayne is freaking out at Francine about her idea to open up a KFC near the correctional institute, we're not really shown any of what Dwayne does. Instead we're told.
The few bits of imagery we are given (like Dwayne's appearing coiled like a rattlesnake) are stripped of their power as soon as their illustration appears.
Scenes of emotion that are more effective, though, despite Vonnegut's "tell-all" style, are those with Trout. Mostly because the things that Trout goes through are more abstract and thus refuse to be drawn.
With nothing to trivialize or poke fun at the drama occurring around them, his emotions are able to breathe and to be empathized with. Though that we can empathize more easily with Kilgore Trout than with Dwayne Hoover makes sense, since Trout is the story's prime mover and more or less main character.
Dwayne on the other hand, is a caricature from his introduction onwards. His big house, his dead wife, his homosexual son, his relationship with his dog, and his commercial empire all work together to create a character who's about as much of a caricature of middle class white success as you can get. As such, I think it's harder to really empathize with him. Though were we shown more, I'm not sure that would be necessary for his more dramatic scenes.
In the scene where Dwayne is freaking out at Francine about her idea to open up a KFC near the correctional institute, we're not really shown any of what Dwayne does. Instead we're told.
The few bits of imagery we are given (like Dwayne's appearing coiled like a rattlesnake) are stripped of their power as soon as their illustration appears.
Scenes of emotion that are more effective, though, despite Vonnegut's "tell-all" style, are those with Trout. Mostly because the things that Trout goes through are more abstract and thus refuse to be drawn.
With nothing to trivialize or poke fun at the drama occurring around them, his emotions are able to breathe and to be empathized with. Though that we can empathize more easily with Kilgore Trout than with Dwayne Hoover makes sense, since Trout is the story's prime mover and more or less main character.
Dwayne on the other hand, is a caricature from his introduction onwards. His big house, his dead wife, his homosexual son, his relationship with his dog, and his commercial empire all work together to create a character who's about as much of a caricature of middle class white success as you can get. As such, I think it's harder to really empathize with him. Though were we shown more, I'm not sure that would be necessary for his more dramatic scenes.
Seeking hidden grinding spots
After my second attempt on Corvus went even worse than the first (since he was much more aggressive), I've decided to sit back and grind for a bit. But, rather than just going on a prolonged metal liquid slime hunt, I'll be exploring another of Dragon Quest IX's features: the secret grottoes.
These hidden areas are found through the use of various treasure maps. Those grottoes that I've been in so far have been laughably easy, but there are some that promise much more challenge and much greater rewards. I imagine that eventually they'll get to the point where even the regular enemies give decent experience and something of a challenge.
However, I'm not going through all of the game's secret grottoes. That would add way too much to my time with this game. Instead, I'm just aiming to get all of my party members from level 41 to level 45. I've alchemized the Rusty Sword found in the Realm of the Mighty into Erdrick's Sword, but that wasn't boost enough. So I figure that once the whole party's reached level 45 they'll be much more prepared for the game's final story-related battle.
As long as Corvus doesn't end up as aggro as he was in my most recent attempt.
These hidden areas are found through the use of various treasure maps. Those grottoes that I've been in so far have been laughably easy, but there are some that promise much more challenge and much greater rewards. I imagine that eventually they'll get to the point where even the regular enemies give decent experience and something of a challenge.
However, I'm not going through all of the game's secret grottoes. That would add way too much to my time with this game. Instead, I'm just aiming to get all of my party members from level 41 to level 45. I've alchemized the Rusty Sword found in the Realm of the Mighty into Erdrick's Sword, but that wasn't boost enough. So I figure that once the whole party's reached level 45 they'll be much more prepared for the game's final story-related battle.
As long as Corvus doesn't end up as aggro as he was in my most recent attempt.
Thursday, April 24, 2014
The Victorian eye for flow
I don't expect that much will change with Extraordinary Popular Delusions and the Madness of Crowds. It at first struck me as something vaguely tabloid-like and it's not really changed course.
The end of Law's saga has been revealed, but as I'd expected, little analysis has come with it. Mind, there has been some, but it comes across as more chatter rather than anything really substantial. All the same, The Madness of Crowds is quite readable. It has yet to be so pre-occupied with itself that it becomes choppy or ill-edited.
It seems, then, that even if they too often fell victim to sensationalism, the Victorians knew quality when it came to the appearance and flow of the printed word.
The end of Law's saga has been revealed, but as I'd expected, little analysis has come with it. Mind, there has been some, but it comes across as more chatter rather than anything really substantial. All the same, The Madness of Crowds is quite readable. It has yet to be so pre-occupied with itself that it becomes choppy or ill-edited.
It seems, then, that even if they too often fell victim to sensationalism, the Victorians knew quality when it came to the appearance and flow of the printed word.
Wednesday, April 23, 2014
Feeling the need for an overworld in Pandora's Tower
Pandora's Tower is starting to feel a bit over long. Admittedly, it might be the way that I'm playing it in bits every four days. But it's starting to feel tedious.
Play style aside, the game itself is lacking something that any action/adventure/RPG game featuring mazes and puzzles requires: Distractions.
Aside from getting pre-set numbers of the varying grades of beast flesh in different towers the game offers no sidequests.
There's no marble maze type game that rewards wins with a monetary prize or a piece of heart, either. Nor can you get a fishing rod and cast into wells scattered across the land. There aren't any minigames.
And there's nowhere to go to just fool around because the game's only areas are the Towers, the Observatory, and the generally event-less stretch of grass in between.
This isolation from non-essential story-driven game standbys definitely generates a strong sense of loneliness. There is no comic relief character, no underdog to root for, no brooding swordmaster with a mysterious past. Just Aeron (you), Elena, and, when you call her up, the witch merchant Mavda. That's it.
Out of everything that Pandora's Tower is designed without, though, I definitely miss the presence of an overworld the most. In most games this area might be nothing more than big empty space intended to pad out average play time. But I think such open spaces serve another purpose.
Overworlds offer players a place of respite. They're areas where you can feel a definite sense of being in transit, of being between plot points. As such, overworlds tend not to be stressful places in video games. Enemies will likely hang out on the overworld, sure, but if you don't want to fight, you can run away. And actually escape. Unlike when you're cooped up in a tower.
In a game that's almost entirely dungeons with very little in between in the way of low pressure exploration, I think some sort of overworld in Pandora's Tower would be a welcome resting place.
I've been playing Pandora's Tower for 32 1/2 hours. Translated into in-game time, that's roughly a few months. Strange as it sounds, after feeling isolated right alongside Aeron for so long, I'm about ready
to have this game done. There're just another five chains to break in the Dawn and Dusk Tower. Just five more.
Play style aside, the game itself is lacking something that any action/adventure/RPG game featuring mazes and puzzles requires: Distractions.
Aside from getting pre-set numbers of the varying grades of beast flesh in different towers the game offers no sidequests.
There's no marble maze type game that rewards wins with a monetary prize or a piece of heart, either. Nor can you get a fishing rod and cast into wells scattered across the land. There aren't any minigames.
And there's nowhere to go to just fool around because the game's only areas are the Towers, the Observatory, and the generally event-less stretch of grass in between.
This isolation from non-essential story-driven game standbys definitely generates a strong sense of loneliness. There is no comic relief character, no underdog to root for, no brooding swordmaster with a mysterious past. Just Aeron (you), Elena, and, when you call her up, the witch merchant Mavda. That's it.
Out of everything that Pandora's Tower is designed without, though, I definitely miss the presence of an overworld the most. In most games this area might be nothing more than big empty space intended to pad out average play time. But I think such open spaces serve another purpose.
Overworlds offer players a place of respite. They're areas where you can feel a definite sense of being in transit, of being between plot points. As such, overworlds tend not to be stressful places in video games. Enemies will likely hang out on the overworld, sure, but if you don't want to fight, you can run away. And actually escape. Unlike when you're cooped up in a tower.
In a game that's almost entirely dungeons with very little in between in the way of low pressure exploration, I think some sort of overworld in Pandora's Tower would be a welcome resting place.
I've been playing Pandora's Tower for 32 1/2 hours. Translated into in-game time, that's roughly a few months. Strange as it sounds, after feeling isolated right alongside Aeron for so long, I'm about ready
to have this game done. There're just another five chains to break in the Dawn and Dusk Tower. Just five more.
Monday, April 21, 2014
Trout's unachievable slew of stories
Every time Kilgore Trout appears in Breakfast of Champions I feel conflicted.
Trout's a fine character. Who couldn't enjoy the observations and musings of an old writer who's at peace with the world as it is. But he (for the purposes of the all too aware man behind the curtain, Vonnegut) gives away ideas like candy on Halloween.
There are so many short story synopses in this book it seems that Trout's written a story about nearly every grand political or cultural issue.
And they all sound compelling.
Even stories like This Year's Masterpiece, about a world in which the value of artworks is determined by the annual spinning of a game show-style wheel. For this story and the rest we're given the sort of synopsis an editor might find in a query letter. Were I that editor I'd express definite interest.
What bothers me about these stories, though, is that Vonnegut's just throwing them all away. There's no way that he could turn around and write them all out. And that's a shame. Because, satirical take on science fiction writers aside, I'd really like to see Trout's stories fleshed out.
Trout's a fine character. Who couldn't enjoy the observations and musings of an old writer who's at peace with the world as it is. But he (for the purposes of the all too aware man behind the curtain, Vonnegut) gives away ideas like candy on Halloween.
There are so many short story synopses in this book it seems that Trout's written a story about nearly every grand political or cultural issue.
And they all sound compelling.
Even stories like This Year's Masterpiece, about a world in which the value of artworks is determined by the annual spinning of a game show-style wheel. For this story and the rest we're given the sort of synopsis an editor might find in a query letter. Were I that editor I'd express definite interest.
What bothers me about these stories, though, is that Vonnegut's just throwing them all away. There's no way that he could turn around and write them all out. And that's a shame. Because, satirical take on science fiction writers aside, I'd really like to see Trout's stories fleshed out.
Dragon Quest IX's still got some fight in it
Well, Corvus doesn't quite follow in Zoma's footsteps, but his final form still overwhelmed. Two attacks per turn and quite powerful ones at that.
So it happened like this.
After a few more oddly easy mini-bosses and more climbing I reached the game's big bad: the fallen Celestrian Corvus. Dragon Quest IX's end was in sight.
My party first fought a semi-Celestrian, semi-demonic Corvus. In this fight I was forced to shift tactics since he regularly used a technique that nullified my stat boosts. So my troubadour, thief, and wizard attacked while my priest healed. This fight went well. A fine success.
Then my party was pitted against the dragon Barbarus. Another steady battle, one in which my old stat-boosting strategy worked perfectly. The only problem with this fight was that it took a toll on my party's MP.
Normally this wouldn't be a problem, but Dragon Quest IX's quick save feature seems to trigger a bug that breaks the Goddess Ring. This accessory is supposed to recover its wearer's MP with every step he or she takes. But after loading quick saves this power, more often than not, de-activates. Unfortunately, I was working off of a quick save.
Nonetheless, I had curatives to spare so I bolstered my party's MP and then faced Corvus' full demon form. Without bothering to manage my in-battle inventory beforehand. Who needs a Yggdrasil Leaf (this game's revive item) when two characters have the equivalent spell?
I'm convinced that is just what decided the fight.
My priest, my party's steadfast healer fell first. My main character and troubadour tried to sing her back from the brink of death, but with no luck. Not before he joined her there.
Then the battle became nothing more than a window onto Corvus' attacks. Interestingly, he flashed no stat-boost nullifier in all twenty or so turns of the battle. The most frustrating moves being a healing technique that recovered 500 HP and another that restored all of his MP.
So, having been the mop rather than the mopper in the answer to "who will mop the floor with whom?" I'm left with three choices. Extend this game's time on this blog with quests and more grinding, things that could well stand to make that final fight a breeze; re-configure my battle inventory and try again, this time fighting much more conservatively (healing every round); or just grind and give it another go.
Considering Dragon Quest IX's fairly full post-game game, I'm drawn to just trying again. Maybe after just one more helping of this game's grinding.
So it happened like this.
After a few more oddly easy mini-bosses and more climbing I reached the game's big bad: the fallen Celestrian Corvus. Dragon Quest IX's end was in sight.
My party first fought a semi-Celestrian, semi-demonic Corvus. In this fight I was forced to shift tactics since he regularly used a technique that nullified my stat boosts. So my troubadour, thief, and wizard attacked while my priest healed. This fight went well. A fine success.
Then my party was pitted against the dragon Barbarus. Another steady battle, one in which my old stat-boosting strategy worked perfectly. The only problem with this fight was that it took a toll on my party's MP.
Normally this wouldn't be a problem, but Dragon Quest IX's quick save feature seems to trigger a bug that breaks the Goddess Ring. This accessory is supposed to recover its wearer's MP with every step he or she takes. But after loading quick saves this power, more often than not, de-activates. Unfortunately, I was working off of a quick save.
Nonetheless, I had curatives to spare so I bolstered my party's MP and then faced Corvus' full demon form. Without bothering to manage my in-battle inventory beforehand. Who needs a Yggdrasil Leaf (this game's revive item) when two characters have the equivalent spell?
I'm convinced that is just what decided the fight.
My priest, my party's steadfast healer fell first. My main character and troubadour tried to sing her back from the brink of death, but with no luck. Not before he joined her there.
Then the battle became nothing more than a window onto Corvus' attacks. Interestingly, he flashed no stat-boost nullifier in all twenty or so turns of the battle. The most frustrating moves being a healing technique that recovered 500 HP and another that restored all of his MP.
So, having been the mop rather than the mopper in the answer to "who will mop the floor with whom?" I'm left with three choices. Extend this game's time on this blog with quests and more grinding, things that could well stand to make that final fight a breeze; re-configure my battle inventory and try again, this time fighting much more conservatively (healing every round); or just grind and give it another go.
Considering Dragon Quest IX's fairly full post-game game, I'm drawn to just trying again. Maybe after just one more helping of this game's grinding.
Sunday, April 20, 2014
The Victorians *would* like a 728 page tabloid
Charles Mackay's Extraordinary Popular Delusions & the Madness of Crowds almost reads like a tabloid newspaper. Its first 24 pages are filled with anecdotes and recountenances written in an almost chatty style.
But, thus far there's almost no analysis to be found. There's been no look at what allowed John Law's Mississippi Scheme to succeed as it did aside from human greed.
For a book from 1841 (second edition printed in 1852) such a shallow tone is odd. Especially considering that this book is non-fiction. But then, I've never really read anything that could be called a miscellany before. Especially not one of the Victorian ilk.
In fact, considering its length of 728 pages, I wonder if The Madness of Crowds was more of a conversation piece. Obviously it was a popular book if it went through two editons, but it doesn't strike me as something people would sit down to read cover to cover. Perhaps Mackay's voice and tone are attempts to encourage that, though.
Regardless of its original purpose I'm in it for the long haul. No doubt there'll be a pleasant surprise or two along the way.
Friday, April 18, 2014
Dawn and Dusk linked and locked
It's become completely clear to me now. Pandora's Tower's Dawn and Dusk towers need to be finished in tandem. Teleporting between the two is essential for getting around either. But what I don't understand is how I can progress beyond the weird Möbius strip-like section of the two towers that I've seen so far.
Rubble on the stairs keeps me from getting to another teleport point. Rubble in a room keeps me from getting to what looks like another door. And so on.
Also, all available chains have been broken and each tower still has three remaining.
Though, being stuck once again at least means that Aeron will see a few more level-ups. Possibly enough to expand the equip grid.
At any rate, tying two towers together as Ganbarion has here makes for an ingenious final puzzle.
Not just because it's a puzzle bigger than a single room or floor, but because it's also a puzzle that calls on what I'd consider the hardest skill to master in any game: Keeping two separate maps straight in your head while also overlaying them. Without drawing out these maps or going to GameFAQs (which could still happen), I'm nearly stumped. This is definitely Pandora's Tower's greatest challenge.
Not even some sort of multi-form final Master could top it, or so it seems right now.
Rubble on the stairs keeps me from getting to another teleport point. Rubble in a room keeps me from getting to what looks like another door. And so on.
Also, all available chains have been broken and each tower still has three remaining.
Though, being stuck once again at least means that Aeron will see a few more level-ups. Possibly enough to expand the equip grid.
At any rate, tying two towers together as Ganbarion has here makes for an ingenious final puzzle.
Not just because it's a puzzle bigger than a single room or floor, but because it's also a puzzle that calls on what I'd consider the hardest skill to master in any game: Keeping two separate maps straight in your head while also overlaying them. Without drawing out these maps or going to GameFAQs (which could still happen), I'm nearly stumped. This is definitely Pandora's Tower's greatest challenge.
Not even some sort of multi-form final Master could top it, or so it seems right now.
Breakfast of Champions shows notes of Infinite Jest
The cast of Breakfast of Champions is far from the size of Infinite Jest's. However, after Wayne Hoobler's introduction I find myself starting to get the same feeling I had while reading Infinite Jest. This book of Vonnegut's is important. It's literature. It's stirring whatever that thing called "humanity" is within me.
Maybe it's the bullet point format that gives the impression of a story told in snapshots. Maybe it's the tightness of the relationships and how we're shown the way that Trout and Hoover are gradually whirling together (shown it in a way similar to watching two cars driving for a minute (from each driver's perspective) in slow motion and then crashing).
In fact, I think it's the second one. Definitely the second one.
Vonnegut's telling us how the story ends gives his book a definite end point. As I read I can see things moving toward this endpoint. But at the same time, there's some sort of sense that I have that maybe - just maybe - things won't end the way we've been told they will.
As a reader and a writer, I had a similar feeling throughout much of Infinite Jest. Not because I knew how it would end (although *technically* it ends with its first chapter) but because I knew that a cast of that size would eventually curl in on itself. I knew that characters would meet, either directly or merely in passing.
Knowing that two characters will cross paths isn't the same as knowing how a story ends, though.
Given the difference between those two, you might think that knowledge of characters would give a stronger feeling of humanity than a knowledge of plot, but I can honestly say that I feel as much anticipation for Breakfast of Champions' climax as I did for seeing Infinite Jest's characters finally crossing paths.
Maybe it's the bullet point format that gives the impression of a story told in snapshots. Maybe it's the tightness of the relationships and how we're shown the way that Trout and Hoover are gradually whirling together (shown it in a way similar to watching two cars driving for a minute (from each driver's perspective) in slow motion and then crashing).
In fact, I think it's the second one. Definitely the second one.
Vonnegut's telling us how the story ends gives his book a definite end point. As I read I can see things moving toward this endpoint. But at the same time, there's some sort of sense that I have that maybe - just maybe - things won't end the way we've been told they will.
As a reader and a writer, I had a similar feeling throughout much of Infinite Jest. Not because I knew how it would end (although *technically* it ends with its first chapter) but because I knew that a cast of that size would eventually curl in on itself. I knew that characters would meet, either directly or merely in passing.
Knowing that two characters will cross paths isn't the same as knowing how a story ends, though.
Given the difference between those two, you might think that knowledge of characters would give a stronger feeling of humanity than a knowledge of plot, but I can honestly say that I feel as much anticipation for Breakfast of Champions' climax as I did for seeing Infinite Jest's characters finally crossing paths.
Thursday, April 17, 2014
Dragon Quest IX's final dungeon: Underwhelming (despite its transformation)
You know a final dungeon means serious business when it's alive. Dragon Quest IX's is special though since you get to see it come into being.
Once you choose to go to the Realm of the Almighty to finish off Corvus you're treated to a scene in which the once simple architecture of the Realm breaks apart as tendrils and muscle tissue erupt at oblique angles, making it into a strange perversion of a world tree. As is the usual for the game's cutscenes, it's done in the game's usual graphics.
No fancy animation is shown for it (though the transformation would definitely work as a cinematic piece).
But, somehow, seeing the final dungeon take shape before your very eyes in the general graphical style of the game makes the transformation more shocking.
A clean, entirely separate, animation sequence would definitely give much more detail and personality, but showing this transformation in the game's quasi-16-bit, 2.5D style makes the transformation truly look like the work of a greatly powerful being. One that can rend the very ground over which you've watched your characters walk for the whole game and turn it into something twisted and deranged.
Although that powerful being's henchmen are worryingly easy.
The monsters in the Realm of the Mighty tend not to give chase. And those that do don't take more than two rounds to trounce. I took down the second iteration of Goreham-Hogg in so few turns I was left asking myself and the game: Really?
Is this really the game's final dungeon?
I know that there's more to do once the game's story is complete. There are more treasure maps to find and grottos to clear. Side quests are likely to still be accessible, too. But, my characters are sitting at levels 39-41 and it looks like the only challenge the rest of the dungeon will hold is its sheer size.
Unless, of course, it turns out that Corvus took some lessons from this game's version of Zoma (found in a grotto) and attacks at least twice per turn, doing well over 200 damage per attack. But somehow I doubt that.
Once you choose to go to the Realm of the Almighty to finish off Corvus you're treated to a scene in which the once simple architecture of the Realm breaks apart as tendrils and muscle tissue erupt at oblique angles, making it into a strange perversion of a world tree. As is the usual for the game's cutscenes, it's done in the game's usual graphics.
No fancy animation is shown for it (though the transformation would definitely work as a cinematic piece).
But, somehow, seeing the final dungeon take shape before your very eyes in the general graphical style of the game makes the transformation more shocking.
A clean, entirely separate, animation sequence would definitely give much more detail and personality, but showing this transformation in the game's quasi-16-bit, 2.5D style makes the transformation truly look like the work of a greatly powerful being. One that can rend the very ground over which you've watched your characters walk for the whole game and turn it into something twisted and deranged.
Although that powerful being's henchmen are worryingly easy.
The monsters in the Realm of the Mighty tend not to give chase. And those that do don't take more than two rounds to trounce. I took down the second iteration of Goreham-Hogg in so few turns I was left asking myself and the game: Really?
Is this really the game's final dungeon?
I know that there's more to do once the game's story is complete. There are more treasure maps to find and grottos to clear. Side quests are likely to still be accessible, too. But, my characters are sitting at levels 39-41 and it looks like the only challenge the rest of the dungeon will hold is its sheer size.
Unless, of course, it turns out that Corvus took some lessons from this game's version of Zoma (found in a grotto) and attacks at least twice per turn, doing well over 200 damage per attack. But somehow I doubt that.
Tuesday, April 15, 2014
Seabrook goes too far beyond Bowie In Berlin
Capping off a book about Bowie in the seventies with a section about the influence of the music he made then makes sense. But naming the final chapter after a song from an album outside of the realm covered by said book is a sure sign that things will go too far.
The impression that I'm left with after finishing Bowie in Berlin is that Seabrook wanted to write a compendium about Bowie but was limited to a single era for a reason that remains a mystery. Branching out, as he does, into a swift overview of the rest of the twentieth century, strikes me as more than the necessary capstone about the influence of Bowie's 70s output.
Ultimately, because of this extended end point I'm left wanting to know more about Bowie in the seventies. What the musician got up to in the final two years of the decade might not have been music-related, but surely it would shed some light on Bowie's state during the music making of that era and the next.
Not to mention, cramming the remainder of Bowie's career up to the 2000s into less than 30 pages leaves it little room to breathe.
Though what I think Seabrook covers justifiably he covers well. With a definite lean towards the musical side of things rather than Bowie's life and practice more generally.
But still.
Thomas Jerome Seabrook's Bowie in Berlin is a good starting place for those interested enough in Bowie in the 70s to not mind the odd hole left for another source to fill.
The impression that I'm left with after finishing Bowie in Berlin is that Seabrook wanted to write a compendium about Bowie but was limited to a single era for a reason that remains a mystery. Branching out, as he does, into a swift overview of the rest of the twentieth century, strikes me as more than the necessary capstone about the influence of Bowie's 70s output.
Ultimately, because of this extended end point I'm left wanting to know more about Bowie in the seventies. What the musician got up to in the final two years of the decade might not have been music-related, but surely it would shed some light on Bowie's state during the music making of that era and the next.
Not to mention, cramming the remainder of Bowie's career up to the 2000s into less than 30 pages leaves it little room to breathe.
Though what I think Seabrook covers justifiably he covers well. With a definite lean towards the musical side of things rather than Bowie's life and practice more generally.
But still.
Thomas Jerome Seabrook's Bowie in Berlin is a good starting place for those interested enough in Bowie in the 70s to not mind the odd hole left for another source to fill.
On Vonnegut's infinite breakfast
Breakfast of Champions continues to evoke some of the same feelings that Infinite Jest did. As such, I've been able to home in on their cause a little bit.
Two parallels between these books that I can confidenty point out are its characters and its plot's concentration on convergence.
Both books involve an extensive cast of characters. Infinite Jest trounces Breakfast of Champions in terms of the number of its cast, but the ratio of major to side characters is comparable.
Vonnegut's brought in a bunch of incidental characters that are as interesting as the mains over the last few pages, and it's clear that they're there primarily for the sake of the book's ultimate convergence.
Like the ever closing circle of Infinite Jest's various character groups, Breakfast of Champions is entirely about the meeting of two people who are a whole country apart. And this convergence is explosively climactic, just as much of Infinite Jest's final convergence is.
These two similarities also point toward a shared style. Sort of.
Breakfast of Champions is far from being a hyper-realistic novel, yet both involve a strangely effective sort of telling that simultaneously shows to varying degrees.
They might not match up one to one, but anything like Infinite Jest practically reads itself while in my hands.
Finding the connection between Dawn and Dusk
The final two towers of the thirteen in Pandora's Tower are made available as a pair for a reason. As one represents light and the other darkness, one dawn and one dusk, one male and one female, the two towers are connected.
Yes. Connected. But not through those mysterious locked doors that I keep coming across.
Instead of standard issue doors, the towers of dawn and dusk are connected by vortexes. Holes in the floor surrounded by an aura the colour of the Tower that you're teleporting into (purple for dusk, yellow for dawn). These connections are essential since the two towers share a design but have fallen apart in different ways. It's a neat mechanic for a pair of dungeons to use.
And it makes me feel quite uneasy.
Since you can close and open portals with stones that you find in these two towers, I'm dreading an intricate teleportation puzzle.
Something complex would be out of step with the rest of the game's focus on combat, though. But combat is kind of scant in the Dawn Tower. There are some servant beasts wandering around all kitted out, but they're no major threat any more. Even taking on two such beasts at once doesn't present much danger.
So far one chain in the Dawn Tower is broken, leaving three to find. As much potential as warping between the Dawn and Dusk towers has for making progressing complicated I'm hopeful that I'll be facing the Master just a couple of play sessions from now.
Yes. Connected. But not through those mysterious locked doors that I keep coming across.
Instead of standard issue doors, the towers of dawn and dusk are connected by vortexes. Holes in the floor surrounded by an aura the colour of the Tower that you're teleporting into (purple for dusk, yellow for dawn). These connections are essential since the two towers share a design but have fallen apart in different ways. It's a neat mechanic for a pair of dungeons to use.
And it makes me feel quite uneasy.
Since you can close and open portals with stones that you find in these two towers, I'm dreading an intricate teleportation puzzle.
Something complex would be out of step with the rest of the game's focus on combat, though. But combat is kind of scant in the Dawn Tower. There are some servant beasts wandering around all kitted out, but they're no major threat any more. Even taking on two such beasts at once doesn't present much danger.
So far one chain in the Dawn Tower is broken, leaving three to find. As much potential as warping between the Dawn and Dusk towers has for making progressing complicated I'm hopeful that I'll be facing the Master just a couple of play sessions from now.
Monday, April 14, 2014
Vonnegut tells all (and draws us pictures, too!)
"Show, don't tell" is gospel in just about every creative writing class, group, or circle these days. But Kurt Vonnegut writes like he's anathema.
All the man does is tell. He tells us what his characters are doing, what they're thinking, their measurements (dress measurements for women, penis measurements for men), he even tells us in advance how his book ends. Yet, Breakfast of Champions is just about the most compelling book I've read since starting this blog over a year ago.
It has to be the drawings.
Part of what Vonnegut makes horrible fun of in Breakfast of Champions is the idea that revelatory literature is marketed as/within pornography. "That's the only way it will sell," the publishers that the in-novel writer Kilgore Trout deals with surely say. More so to each other than to Kilgore, from what I've read so far.
And so I wonder if the same prurient curiousity that's inflamed by a racy magazine cover is what's driving me through this book.
Surely bullet points about the two psychologically complex characters Dwayne Hoover and Kilgore Trout work similarly. They don't let us plumb the depths of these two, but instead offer only snapshots taken in their most vulnerable moments and states. It's almost as though Vonnegut has sat you down in a room and is throwing Polaroid after Polaroid on the table, with a brief narrative/explanation/description accompanying each.
Formally, the books been just brilliant and ridiculous all at once.
All the man does is tell. He tells us what his characters are doing, what they're thinking, their measurements (dress measurements for women, penis measurements for men), he even tells us in advance how his book ends. Yet, Breakfast of Champions is just about the most compelling book I've read since starting this blog over a year ago.
It has to be the drawings.
Part of what Vonnegut makes horrible fun of in Breakfast of Champions is the idea that revelatory literature is marketed as/within pornography. "That's the only way it will sell," the publishers that the in-novel writer Kilgore Trout deals with surely say. More so to each other than to Kilgore, from what I've read so far.
And so I wonder if the same prurient curiousity that's inflamed by a racy magazine cover is what's driving me through this book.
Surely bullet points about the two psychologically complex characters Dwayne Hoover and Kilgore Trout work similarly. They don't let us plumb the depths of these two, but instead offer only snapshots taken in their most vulnerable moments and states. It's almost as though Vonnegut has sat you down in a room and is throwing Polaroid after Polaroid on the table, with a brief narrative/explanation/description accompanying each.
Formally, the books been just brilliant and ridiculous all at once.
Sunday, April 13, 2014
An angelic archfiend revealed (spoilers below)
That Celestrians are constrained by strict rules makes perfect sense. Angels are considered beings without free will, after all. And so such rules would constrain the angels of the Dragon Quest IX world.
As such, it makes good sense that Corvus the famed and captive Celestrian (who was finally revealed to be the game's big bad) couldn't be attacked when faced in battle because of his senior rank. And after I'd spent a good twenty minutes walking around with the Goddess Ring equipped to refill everyone's MP.
Oh well.
The Oubliette beneath Gittingham Palace was enemy ridden enough to make up for the lack of a boss battle. It's narrow twisting halls also made it difficult (but not impossible) to avoid fights. But I can't see the newly renovated Realm of the Mighty being bigger than the Oubliette. Unless in his ascending to this game's high heaven, Corvus radically redesigned the Realm of the Almighty.
Finally standing at the precipice of Dragon Quest IX's end I am faced with a question. It's the same question that faces any gamer at the end of an RPG. Should I barrel onward or take a step back and do some quests and such to (eventually) get the game's best equipment?
This game's definitely reminded me of Radiant Historia with its limited (though well-composed) music. Maybe its final boss will be just as much of a pushover.
As such, it makes good sense that Corvus the famed and captive Celestrian (who was finally revealed to be the game's big bad) couldn't be attacked when faced in battle because of his senior rank. And after I'd spent a good twenty minutes walking around with the Goddess Ring equipped to refill everyone's MP.
Oh well.
The Oubliette beneath Gittingham Palace was enemy ridden enough to make up for the lack of a boss battle. It's narrow twisting halls also made it difficult (but not impossible) to avoid fights. But I can't see the newly renovated Realm of the Mighty being bigger than the Oubliette. Unless in his ascending to this game's high heaven, Corvus radically redesigned the Realm of the Almighty.
Finally standing at the precipice of Dragon Quest IX's end I am faced with a question. It's the same question that faces any gamer at the end of an RPG. Should I barrel onward or take a step back and do some quests and such to (eventually) get the game's best equipment?
This game's definitely reminded me of Radiant Historia with its limited (though well-composed) music. Maybe its final boss will be just as much of a pushover.
Saturday, April 12, 2014
Lodger left out
Something I'd been wondering after I realized that "Heroes" was the last album Seabrook would break down song-by-song was: "Why won't Lodger get the same treatment?"
Now I know that it does. Sort of.
Pages 221 to 236 feature Seabrook's writing purely about Lodger. He goes over the album song-by-song and points out how it was received, how Bowie reacted to that, and the general impact that the album had. Just as he did for "Heroes", for Low - even for Iggy Pop's The Idiot.
Except Seabrook doesn't set his break down of Lodger apart from the book's regular text with headings and credits.
Except Seabrook doesn't set his break down of Lodger apart from the book's regular text with headings and credits.
Not doing so seems like an oversight to me.
Maybe Seabrook didn't think he had enough material to justify giving Lodger the full treatment, or that there just wasn't enough to say about the songs themselves. So far, it sounds like he, along with the rest of the music critic world, doesn't regard Lodger very highly. Perhaps his not setting the album apart then, is a kind of snub.
Whatever the reasoning behind this editorial choice, not giving Lodger equal treatment definitely throws off my notion that Low, Heroes, and Lodger form any kind of trilogy. Having mentioned the fact that many critics saw Lodger as an anticlimax after Low and "Heroes" on page 234, Seabrook is certainly asserting that the album does not fit with the previous two.
Friday, April 11, 2014
Truegold cracked, two Towers to go (spoilers below)
Two more towers. There are still two more towers to go.
I knew that Truegold Tower wasn't the end of the game. I know that there are twelve laws of Aios. I no know that there is supposed to be a Master for each of these laws, since they were made to embody the laws.
But I had thought that the last two Masters would be mini-bosses in some final tower/dungeon. Possibly in a two-on-one match.
That's not the case though. There are still two more towers to go.
At the very least, after finishing Truegold I was rewarded with one of the longest of Elena's dream sequences yet. The quasi-occult diagram of elements represented as body parts that's shown is definitely a nice touch. Especially since the dream itself states outright that humans are vessels for the Masters, for the gods of Aios. Plus, after this dream sequence Mavda reveals that the masters are creatures from The Scar (the bottomless chasm below the Thirteen Towers) that have traded places with the human vessels on offer. And, that the curse is the mark that these creatures' vessels bear.
With that revelation, the first thing that comes to mind is the plain and simple fact that there are some totally whack creatures in the Scar. Not just because they're made of metal, but because some of them are fixed into place. Kind of like the Master of Truegold Tower. Though she can jump.
Actually the fight with Truegold's Master should have made it obvious that there's still more game to go before the true final dungeon opens up. It's not that it was an easy fight. Rather, it was a strangely frantic, almost puzzle-based, fight.
Instead of hacking away at this or that or tricking the Master into letting you on its back or anything like that, you have to align the master flesh in the Master's inner ring with the opening in its outer ring. A process that sounds similar to cracking a primitive safe. And that would be perfectly appropriate since a safe is a fine place for gold.
But is Truegold a fine place for a safe?
Not so much.
Although I needed to check a guide to discover that you can move both the inner and outer rings of the Master to line up the flesh with the opening (a necessary manoeuvre in the Master's second half), there really wasn't much to the fight itself. It was a lot like the previous Master in that you needed to juggle using the chain and dodging the Master's strangely slow-moving attacks.
Hopefully a humanoid mech-type creature is one of the next Masters. Though, given the maniacal scream laughter Truegold's Master let loose it wouldn't surprise me if the towers representing man and woman were a little more on the nose about the distinguishing features of the two in their Master design.
I knew that Truegold Tower wasn't the end of the game. I know that there are twelve laws of Aios. I no know that there is supposed to be a Master for each of these laws, since they were made to embody the laws.
But I had thought that the last two Masters would be mini-bosses in some final tower/dungeon. Possibly in a two-on-one match.
That's not the case though. There are still two more towers to go.
At the very least, after finishing Truegold I was rewarded with one of the longest of Elena's dream sequences yet. The quasi-occult diagram of elements represented as body parts that's shown is definitely a nice touch. Especially since the dream itself states outright that humans are vessels for the Masters, for the gods of Aios. Plus, after this dream sequence Mavda reveals that the masters are creatures from The Scar (the bottomless chasm below the Thirteen Towers) that have traded places with the human vessels on offer. And, that the curse is the mark that these creatures' vessels bear.
With that revelation, the first thing that comes to mind is the plain and simple fact that there are some totally whack creatures in the Scar. Not just because they're made of metal, but because some of them are fixed into place. Kind of like the Master of Truegold Tower. Though she can jump.
Actually the fight with Truegold's Master should have made it obvious that there's still more game to go before the true final dungeon opens up. It's not that it was an easy fight. Rather, it was a strangely frantic, almost puzzle-based, fight.
Instead of hacking away at this or that or tricking the Master into letting you on its back or anything like that, you have to align the master flesh in the Master's inner ring with the opening in its outer ring. A process that sounds similar to cracking a primitive safe. And that would be perfectly appropriate since a safe is a fine place for gold.
But is Truegold a fine place for a safe?
Not so much.
Although I needed to check a guide to discover that you can move both the inner and outer rings of the Master to line up the flesh with the opening (a necessary manoeuvre in the Master's second half), there really wasn't much to the fight itself. It was a lot like the previous Master in that you needed to juggle using the chain and dodging the Master's strangely slow-moving attacks.
Hopefully a humanoid mech-type creature is one of the next Masters. Though, given the maniacal scream laughter Truegold's Master let loose it wouldn't surprise me if the towers representing man and woman were a little more on the nose about the distinguishing features of the two in their Master design.
Thursday, April 10, 2014
A hearty breakfast indeed
Breakfast of Champions is a welcome reprieve from Russian literature - even from reading about Bowie.
Part of the rest comes from the speed of Vonnegut's bullet point style. Yet, at the same time what he's writing about isn't fluff to be carelessly zoomed past.
It reminds me of Frank Zappa's rock/pop output: it uses popular means but strives to say something verging on the unpopular, making it perfectly counter-cultural. Though Vonnegut seems far less virulent than Zappa. Perhaps that's just an inevitable difference between a performer and a writer.
I'm really getting into Vonnegut's illustrations, too. They add a self-effacing quality to the book that gels excellently with the storytelling method that Vonnegut's chosen.
However. I do wonder one thing. Having read Slaughterhouse-Five, a book written in standard paragraph form, why is Breakfast of Champions not?
Part of the rest comes from the speed of Vonnegut's bullet point style. Yet, at the same time what he's writing about isn't fluff to be carelessly zoomed past.
It reminds me of Frank Zappa's rock/pop output: it uses popular means but strives to say something verging on the unpopular, making it perfectly counter-cultural. Though Vonnegut seems far less virulent than Zappa. Perhaps that's just an inevitable difference between a performer and a writer.
I'm really getting into Vonnegut's illustrations, too. They add a self-effacing quality to the book that gels excellently with the storytelling method that Vonnegut's chosen.
However. I do wonder one thing. Having read Slaughterhouse-Five, a book written in standard paragraph form, why is Breakfast of Champions not?
Wednesday, April 9, 2014
Grinding through Goresby-Purrvis and Godwyn
Once again, all it took was gaining a single level all around and Goresby-Purrvis went down. With a fight, but nonetheless. I chalk most of the victory up to my new strategy, however (mostly because everyone who reached level forty didn't get any skill points for their trouble and so nothing new and powerful was learned by anyone).
Keeping this setup running and using Coup de Grâces as they came up saw me through the fight with Purrvis.
First there's the assist duo. Thoth, my wizard, increases the party's speed and then attack power while my priest Peridot heals and boosts defense.
Then there's the attack duo. My thief Kleftis (weirdly tank-like) attacks or heals my main character Nizk. Nizk, always uses the "Falcon Slash" ability since it attacks twice (and after all the magic buffs he hits for around three times the damage of a single strike).
And the bout with the the Gittingham big bad himself, King Godwyn.
Not to mention the battle with bad King Godwyn's second form as well.
Though being levels 40, 40, 39, and 38 (Nizk, Kleftis, Thoth, Peridot) no doubt helps, I think my strategy is doing more than grinding ever could. And this, using the game's stat-boosters to concentrate attack power in a few select characters, is definitely the way to play. Dragon Quest IX's combat is purely turn-based after all.
RPGs like Chrono Trigger, where there's less time to make decisions about stat-boosts cut back on the players' ability to do so.
RPGs like Tales of Phantasia, where the battles play out like arcade fighting games, include such abilities usually only for the AI controlled characters. In doing so, these games release the player from having to actively use them in combat and thus release them from case by case strategizing for the most part.
But purely turn-based games like Dragon Quest IX are much more contemplative. Having finally figured that out, I'm now ready for the last leg of the game. And surely that's what's coming next.
Tuesday, April 8, 2014
Truegold Tower almost too easy
The final two chains of Truegold Tower are a breeze to break. As I opened the door to the fourth and final, I couldn't help but think: "This was too easy."
But maybe that's the point.
As a final dungeon, Truegold Tower's not meant to be long, but instead it's meant to be dense. That is, it should do a lot with a relatively small number of rooms. And that is just what it does. Puzzles, monsters, roundabout routes - all of it.
The thing with Pandora's Tower though is that much more often than in any Zelda game (for example) what it considers a "floor" is actually a physically recognizable piece of a structure.
As an example, Truegold Tower has five floors.
This is obvious in its floor plan and in what you encounter within it, spatially. There's a central column that's open on the bottom two floors for the statue of the Aiosian goddess the tower represents, and that central column continues through floors three to four with Truegold's generator. Atop that central column, on floor five, is the Master's room. And so Truegold Tower feels like a real structure, like the thing that it purports to be: A tower.
Going back to Zelda, most of the dungeons in those games feel more like a collection of similarly-themed rooms. Of course, dungeons that are called "Towers" do look like towers. But what exactly is a Water Temple supposed to look like (and why does it have so many rooms)? Or is the inside of a whale really that compartmentalized?
For all of its fantastical setting and plot points, I think that making dungeons more accurately reflect what they are (and making that a recognizably real thing) helps to give Pandora's Tower its edge. It also makes the differences between the towers stand out all the more - beyond simple thematic differences. Every dungeon being a tower makes it easy to feel the different ways that you're (sometimes) forced to progress through them.
After running through fire and swinging over water, simply climbing upwards and knocking a few giant hammer heads loose is just plain easy. Though I didn't have quite enough time left to take a peek at Truegold's master. Ah well, I'll just have to wait until Thursday.
But maybe that's the point.
As a final dungeon, Truegold Tower's not meant to be long, but instead it's meant to be dense. That is, it should do a lot with a relatively small number of rooms. And that is just what it does. Puzzles, monsters, roundabout routes - all of it.
The thing with Pandora's Tower though is that much more often than in any Zelda game (for example) what it considers a "floor" is actually a physically recognizable piece of a structure.
As an example, Truegold Tower has five floors.
This is obvious in its floor plan and in what you encounter within it, spatially. There's a central column that's open on the bottom two floors for the statue of the Aiosian goddess the tower represents, and that central column continues through floors three to four with Truegold's generator. Atop that central column, on floor five, is the Master's room. And so Truegold Tower feels like a real structure, like the thing that it purports to be: A tower.
Going back to Zelda, most of the dungeons in those games feel more like a collection of similarly-themed rooms. Of course, dungeons that are called "Towers" do look like towers. But what exactly is a Water Temple supposed to look like (and why does it have so many rooms)? Or is the inside of a whale really that compartmentalized?
For all of its fantastical setting and plot points, I think that making dungeons more accurately reflect what they are (and making that a recognizably real thing) helps to give Pandora's Tower its edge. It also makes the differences between the towers stand out all the more - beyond simple thematic differences. Every dungeon being a tower makes it easy to feel the different ways that you're (sometimes) forced to progress through them.
After running through fire and swinging over water, simply climbing upwards and knocking a few giant hammer heads loose is just plain easy. Though I didn't have quite enough time left to take a peek at Truegold's master. Ah well, I'll just have to wait until Thursday.
Monday, April 7, 2014
Seabrook hits a nerve writing of opening notes
Without having to worry about analyzing an album, Seabrook's writing about Bowie has markedly improved. Bowie in Berlin's third part is instead full of interesting facts and observations. It's the sort of narrative construction of a person's life that I genuinely enjoy reading.
And within that narrative, there's a welcome twist.
Bowie's bringing the violinist Simon House on for the "'Heroes'" tour is quite interesting to me. Not because I'm familiar with House's work, but because I've dabbled in playing the violin.
Throughout my self-tutelage I was always trying to figure out the opening riff to "Ziggy Stardust" by ear since I couldn't then (and still can't now) reliably read violin sheet music (or translate guitar tablatures). And what did House most remarkably do while on tour with Bowie? He played the opening riff to "Ziggy Stardust" on electric violin.
So now I just need to dig up a copy of Stage and try to work through it with an actual example. Any book that broadens your listening (or reading) like this is definitely a success.
But, not everyone is an amateur, self-taught violinist.
Obviously this is a very specific example of Seabrook's retelling of Bowie's life and music affecting me, but it still goes a long way to confirming my suspicion that without albums to focus on Seabrook's general attention to detail would increase. Sure, most biographers would likely include Bowie's bringing a violinist in for his tour, but only a handful would mention House's playing the opening of Ziggy Stardust with Seabrook's enthusiasm.
And within that narrative, there's a welcome twist.
Bowie's bringing the violinist Simon House on for the "'Heroes'" tour is quite interesting to me. Not because I'm familiar with House's work, but because I've dabbled in playing the violin.
Throughout my self-tutelage I was always trying to figure out the opening riff to "Ziggy Stardust" by ear since I couldn't then (and still can't now) reliably read violin sheet music (or translate guitar tablatures). And what did House most remarkably do while on tour with Bowie? He played the opening riff to "Ziggy Stardust" on electric violin.
So now I just need to dig up a copy of Stage and try to work through it with an actual example. Any book that broadens your listening (or reading) like this is definitely a success.
But, not everyone is an amateur, self-taught violinist.
Obviously this is a very specific example of Seabrook's retelling of Bowie's life and music affecting me, but it still goes a long way to confirming my suspicion that without albums to focus on Seabrook's general attention to detail would increase. Sure, most biographers would likely include Bowie's bringing a violinist in for his tour, but only a handful would mention House's playing the opening of Ziggy Stardust with Seabrook's enthusiasm.
Sunday, April 6, 2014
"Master and Man" and "The Death of Ivan Ilych"
"Master and Man" says less about those statuses than I'd expected. Instead, its message echoes that of "The Death of Ivan Ilych": don't live for materialism or monetary gain, but for other people.
The difference in this later story is that the apparent master of the story, Andreev, gives his life to save the peasant Nikita whom he finally acknowledges as a fellow human being. With that in mind the English title of the story suggests that "master" and "man" are exclusive categories. Someone can be either one or the other but not both.
This retread of a the theme of "The Death of Ivan Ilych," but in a much bleaker setting fits perfectly as the final story in this collection. Not just because it's chronologically the last written among this collection's four, but because it works as denouement after the emotional action-thriller that is "The Kreutzer Sonata."
But taken on its own, I don't think "Master and Man" is Tolstoy's best work. Trading in the tight third person perspective of "The Death of Ivan Ilych" for split attention between Andreev and Nikita and a more or less omniscient narrator brings both of these characters close to being caricatures of their particular social stations.
Yet, the situation of the story, two men and a horse getting lost in a snowstorm who are given several chances to rest in town until morning but refuse and wind up stuck in the middle of nowhere, seems all to realistic considering the coincidences involved. It's a structure that mirrors the strange happenings of life too closely to be written off as mere contrivance.
And that's what sets "Master and Man" apart from the other three stories in The Death of Ivan Ilych and Other Stories. It is the only one in which characters take a back seat to plot and setting.
Moving from Russian literature to something lighter, the next book on the list is Kurt Vonnegut's Breakfast of Champions.
The difference in this later story is that the apparent master of the story, Andreev, gives his life to save the peasant Nikita whom he finally acknowledges as a fellow human being. With that in mind the English title of the story suggests that "master" and "man" are exclusive categories. Someone can be either one or the other but not both.
This retread of a the theme of "The Death of Ivan Ilych," but in a much bleaker setting fits perfectly as the final story in this collection. Not just because it's chronologically the last written among this collection's four, but because it works as denouement after the emotional action-thriller that is "The Kreutzer Sonata."
But taken on its own, I don't think "Master and Man" is Tolstoy's best work. Trading in the tight third person perspective of "The Death of Ivan Ilych" for split attention between Andreev and Nikita and a more or less omniscient narrator brings both of these characters close to being caricatures of their particular social stations.
Yet, the situation of the story, two men and a horse getting lost in a snowstorm who are given several chances to rest in town until morning but refuse and wind up stuck in the middle of nowhere, seems all to realistic considering the coincidences involved. It's a structure that mirrors the strange happenings of life too closely to be written off as mere contrivance.
And that's what sets "Master and Man" apart from the other three stories in The Death of Ivan Ilych and Other Stories. It is the only one in which characters take a back seat to plot and setting.
Moving from Russian literature to something lighter, the next book on the list is Kurt Vonnegut's Breakfast of Champions.
Saturday, April 5, 2014
From boss to boss, from grind to grind
After having gone through a grind session with metal slimes in the Bowhole, it's time to start another one up. That session was enough to help my party take down Hootingham-Gore, but Goresby-Purrvis has proven to be a different beast all together. Literally and figuratively.
The fight is against only him, but he attacks twice per turn and has a one-hit KO move that he uses regularly. The difficulty here is that for all of its difficulty Dragon Quest IX is stingy with the full-party healing spells. Maybe I need to upgrade Peridot (my priest) to a sage to gain these skills, but gaining them would no doubt require some levelling up as well. Which brings me back around to my bafflement with the game's job system.
You get six points (after passing level 30 or so) every few level ups (it seems almost arbitrary, but happens regularly enough) and most of the skills or stat boosts cost 10 or more points.
So even if, for example, I put all of Peridot's skill points towards her "Faith" attribute, it would take three level ups to get a major boost to her magical mending (so long as each level yields six points to put towards it). On average Peridot requires about 17,000 experience points to go from level to level at this point in the game.
Now, in Gittingham Palace there is a place with a restorative tile, so it's possible to grind indefinitely there. Plus, you'll get around 900-1300 experience/fight doing so.
But at that rate of experience you'd need to fight (at most) 18 battles to level Peridot up.
The average battle takes about a minute to play out, so that's around 20 minutes per level.
Assuming that the experience Peridot gains from these fights doesn't drop too drastically from level to level, I could, in theory, grind in Gittingham Palace for an hour and gain three levels (and enough skill points to actually get something out of my character's "job").
An hour of grinding isn't necessarily terrible. Especially not in a JRPG. But having to do so to reap the benefits of your character's job - one of Dragon Quest IX's major mechanics - is ridiculous.
The job system in the Final Fantasy series, with its separate "Job Points," isn't necessarily any better. But at least in that system you're building up your characters' jobs with nearly every fight and not every 20.
At any rate, skill points aren't entirely relevant to facing Goresby-Purrvis. One level more should be enough to be well-matched with the sword-wielding cheetah. And that, if my calculations hold, will just take about another half an hour (after his last level up my main character needed some 32000 experience points to do so again).
Hopefully whatever is beyond the door that Goresby-Purrvis blocks doesn't involve an even stronger boss.
The fight is against only him, but he attacks twice per turn and has a one-hit KO move that he uses regularly. The difficulty here is that for all of its difficulty Dragon Quest IX is stingy with the full-party healing spells. Maybe I need to upgrade Peridot (my priest) to a sage to gain these skills, but gaining them would no doubt require some levelling up as well. Which brings me back around to my bafflement with the game's job system.
You get six points (after passing level 30 or so) every few level ups (it seems almost arbitrary, but happens regularly enough) and most of the skills or stat boosts cost 10 or more points.
So even if, for example, I put all of Peridot's skill points towards her "Faith" attribute, it would take three level ups to get a major boost to her magical mending (so long as each level yields six points to put towards it). On average Peridot requires about 17,000 experience points to go from level to level at this point in the game.
Now, in Gittingham Palace there is a place with a restorative tile, so it's possible to grind indefinitely there. Plus, you'll get around 900-1300 experience/fight doing so.
But at that rate of experience you'd need to fight (at most) 18 battles to level Peridot up.
The average battle takes about a minute to play out, so that's around 20 minutes per level.
Assuming that the experience Peridot gains from these fights doesn't drop too drastically from level to level, I could, in theory, grind in Gittingham Palace for an hour and gain three levels (and enough skill points to actually get something out of my character's "job").
An hour of grinding isn't necessarily terrible. Especially not in a JRPG. But having to do so to reap the benefits of your character's job - one of Dragon Quest IX's major mechanics - is ridiculous.
The job system in the Final Fantasy series, with its separate "Job Points," isn't necessarily any better. But at least in that system you're building up your characters' jobs with nearly every fight and not every 20.
At any rate, skill points aren't entirely relevant to facing Goresby-Purrvis. One level more should be enough to be well-matched with the sword-wielding cheetah. And that, if my calculations hold, will just take about another half an hour (after his last level up my main character needed some 32000 experience points to do so again).
Hopefully whatever is beyond the door that Goresby-Purrvis blocks doesn't involve an even stronger boss.
Thursday, April 3, 2014
Seabrook gives his all for "Heroes"
Seabrook's build up to his song-by-song analysis of "Heroes" and said analysis are exactly what I was looking for.
There's trivia, there's Seabrook's standard in-depth look at all of the production that went into each song, and there's a reflection on how each of them contributes to the whole of the album. Everything is there.
The only problem I have with this part of Bowie in Berlin, in fact, is that the rest of the book doesn't measure up. "Heroes" (the song and the album) being what they are, it's to be expected that the most attention be paid to it. But why deliver only what readers expect?
Seabrook's constant winking references to incidents given more page time in other works or that are already well known to fans of Bowie in earlier sections of the book are fine for those fans. But what about people for whom Bowie In Berlin is their initiation into the secret life of the man and his music?
Surely things like Bowie's seeing Visconti and Antonia Maass smooching in the shadow of the Berlin wall and then integrating it into "'Heroes'" happened on Low and Station to Station.
Oddly enough the only comparably deep cut of information that Seabrook gives about another of the albums that he covers can be found in his analysis of Iggy Pop's "China Girl." Maybe "real" fans already knew about Iggy's affair with Jacques Higelin's then girlfriend Kuelan Nguyen and how it inspired that song.
But again, why isn't there more there and in his writing about the other albums?
Oddly enough the only comparably deep cut of information that Seabrook gives about another of the albums that he covers can be found in his analysis of Iggy Pop's "China Girl." Maybe "real" fans already knew about Iggy's affair with Jacques Higelin's then girlfriend Kuelan Nguyen and how it inspired that song.
But again, why isn't there more there and in his writing about the other albums?
The worst part of this inconsistency in coverage is that it looks like it will continue to the end of the book.
Heroes is the last album that Seabrook gives the song-by-song treatment to. Perhaps, though, with his attention turned from musical analysis, more of it will be paid to illuminating just what in the world was going on with David Bowie as he moved on to Lodger and beyond.
Heroes is the last album that Seabrook gives the song-by-song treatment to. Perhaps, though, with his attention turned from musical analysis, more of it will be paid to illuminating just what in the world was going on with David Bowie as he moved on to Lodger and beyond.
Breaking chain no. 2 and breaking fast
Truegold Tower's second chain is as straightforward as the first. There are some more servant beasts in the way and a platforming puzzle to solve, but otherwise it's a very quick thing to take out the second chain. Probably because it's meant to be the first one you go for. After all, you reach it by going through the otherwise unused half of the first real room. Ah well.
But it looks like that's the end of Truegold's handouts. Especially since the monsters that show up aren't just random but also appear to be time-sensitive.
My first venture into the tower took place at night. So the monsters were predominantly sword-wielding servant beasts. During my second visit, a day-time visit, one of the armoured and spear-handed servant beasts showed up. Though the military scythe made short work of it.
And that was it for the tower in tonight's session. The other fifteen minutes of thirty were spent exploring Elena's life at the Observatory. Though, only incidentally, since I really just wanted to see if Aeron gets any more dreams at this point in the game. Maybe four hour blocks of sleep aren't enough to trigger his REM sleep, but they are enough to observe Elena's various activities.
At 7pm she's found sowing. At 11pm she's standing by her bed. At 3am she's willing to chat. At 7am she's whipping up breakfast. Apparently a breakfast of...well...maybe thoroughly mixed bibimbap?
It's a big bowl of something that looks like a cross between spaghetti sauce and shredded wheat, at any rate. What's stranger is that her cooking is apparently improving as the game progresses. There's no benefit to you as a player because of this, it just is.
Now that might sound like a pointless element to include in a game. But it's neat to see that the people at Ganbarion put such detail (going so far as to give Elena a whole routine!) into the Observatory side of the game. Though that is a side that, except for when the towers are quickly worked through, is likely to be overlooked.
But it looks like that's the end of Truegold's handouts. Especially since the monsters that show up aren't just random but also appear to be time-sensitive.
My first venture into the tower took place at night. So the monsters were predominantly sword-wielding servant beasts. During my second visit, a day-time visit, one of the armoured and spear-handed servant beasts showed up. Though the military scythe made short work of it.
And that was it for the tower in tonight's session. The other fifteen minutes of thirty were spent exploring Elena's life at the Observatory. Though, only incidentally, since I really just wanted to see if Aeron gets any more dreams at this point in the game. Maybe four hour blocks of sleep aren't enough to trigger his REM sleep, but they are enough to observe Elena's various activities.
At 7pm she's found sowing. At 11pm she's standing by her bed. At 3am she's willing to chat. At 7am she's whipping up breakfast. Apparently a breakfast of...well...maybe thoroughly mixed bibimbap?
It's a big bowl of something that looks like a cross between spaghetti sauce and shredded wheat, at any rate. What's stranger is that her cooking is apparently improving as the game progresses. There's no benefit to you as a player because of this, it just is.
Now that might sound like a pointless element to include in a game. But it's neat to see that the people at Ganbarion put such detail (going so far as to give Elena a whole routine!) into the Observatory side of the game. Though that is a side that, except for when the towers are quickly worked through, is likely to be overlooked.
Wednesday, April 2, 2014
"Master and Man" begins
"Master and Man" is unlike any of the other stories in The Death of Ivan Ilych and Other Stories. For the first time in this collection Tolstoy writes about a peasant.
Every other story features the lives and problems of members of the middle class. Peasants and other labourers are mentioned, but never at any length. They're just the ones keeping the basis of society running. "Master and Man," no doubt to make a point in the end, instead puts Nikita, one of these labourers, front and center.
The style of Tolstoy's writing has also changed over the six years between The Kreutzer Sonata and "Master and Man." No longer does Tolstoy explicitly dwell on the interior lives of his characters. Instead, things are more active (the main action of "Master and Man" being a sledge trip to a nearby village in a light snowstorm), and characters are drawn less through description than through action.
Nonetheless, after over twenty pages I have the same sense of disorientation as the main characters (likely in part due to my utter lack of knowledge of Russian geography).
Noting this lost feeling might sound backhanded, but it's very clear that being so lost is part of the story's point.
Putting his characters, Andreev (the master) Nikita (the man), into a snowstorm is putting them into a liminal space. A space in which not even the snow-laden landscape is stable, try as people might to make it so with markers and signs.
In such a space it's hard to say how Tolstoy will make his point (whatever it is), and that spurs me on.
Every other story features the lives and problems of members of the middle class. Peasants and other labourers are mentioned, but never at any length. They're just the ones keeping the basis of society running. "Master and Man," no doubt to make a point in the end, instead puts Nikita, one of these labourers, front and center.
The style of Tolstoy's writing has also changed over the six years between The Kreutzer Sonata and "Master and Man." No longer does Tolstoy explicitly dwell on the interior lives of his characters. Instead, things are more active (the main action of "Master and Man" being a sledge trip to a nearby village in a light snowstorm), and characters are drawn less through description than through action.
Nonetheless, after over twenty pages I have the same sense of disorientation as the main characters (likely in part due to my utter lack of knowledge of Russian geography).
Noting this lost feeling might sound backhanded, but it's very clear that being so lost is part of the story's point.
Putting his characters, Andreev (the master) Nikita (the man), into a snowstorm is putting them into a liminal space. A space in which not even the snow-laden landscape is stable, try as people might to make it so with markers and signs.
In such a space it's hard to say how Tolstoy will make his point (whatever it is), and that spurs me on.
Tuesday, April 1, 2014
Grinding for metal slimes
Level grinding in RPGs is a curious thing.
Across the board, in just about every J-RPG, there's a location (or a handful of them) where tough or special monsters reside. Monsters that give you several times the experience points other monsters do.
Games that do this well, like Breath of Fire II and Chrono Trigger, have these monsters dominate or stand out in these areas.
Dragon Quest IX doesn't quite do the same, though.
The best way to level grind in this DS RPG is to seek out metal slimes. However, the tricky thing here is that metal slimes of all variations have a considerable tendency to flee. Not to knock your block off with some ultimate attack. Not to instant-kill one of your party members. But to run away. When this happens there is no way to save the fight as in the other two scenarios, you are simply forced to restart your hunt.
And sometimes it can be quite a hunt. Metal slimes will sometimes show up with other monsters, but most reliably you need to find them on their own. Even then, they're just as likely to run.
The slimes' tendency to run away can be very frustrating.
But, in The Bowhole at least, the non-slime monsters can offer around 1000 experience points per fight. Considering most of my party members need about 20,000 points to level up, that means I'll need to go through about 20 fights. That's not terrible, but it still makes for some pretty intense grinding.
I'm still hoping that I'll run into a heroic slime or two.
Across the board, in just about every J-RPG, there's a location (or a handful of them) where tough or special monsters reside. Monsters that give you several times the experience points other monsters do.
Games that do this well, like Breath of Fire II and Chrono Trigger, have these monsters dominate or stand out in these areas.
Dragon Quest IX doesn't quite do the same, though.
The best way to level grind in this DS RPG is to seek out metal slimes. However, the tricky thing here is that metal slimes of all variations have a considerable tendency to flee. Not to knock your block off with some ultimate attack. Not to instant-kill one of your party members. But to run away. When this happens there is no way to save the fight as in the other two scenarios, you are simply forced to restart your hunt.
And sometimes it can be quite a hunt. Metal slimes will sometimes show up with other monsters, but most reliably you need to find them on their own. Even then, they're just as likely to run.
The slimes' tendency to run away can be very frustrating.
But, in The Bowhole at least, the non-slime monsters can offer around 1000 experience points per fight. Considering most of my party members need about 20,000 points to level up, that means I'll need to go through about 20 fights. That's not terrible, but it still makes for some pretty intense grinding.
I'm still hoping that I'll run into a heroic slime or two.
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