After some prodding, I finally relented to DS ‘s
urging me to try playing a computer game he insisted he knew I would like.
It was a revelation.
Don’t get me wrong; I’ve seen computer games, read
about computer games, and even critiqued a colleague’s MG book that was in
essence a tale taking place in the mind of a MC playing a computer game. But I
have never experienced one such as this, where I
found myself the protagonist of a surrealistic philosophical story,
experiencing first-hand the anxiety, despair and elation of a full-fledged
existential crisis.
It was like reading a novel, only I wasn’t identifying
with the main character, I was the main character.
It was wrenching. It was stressful. It was amazing.
I’m still old-school, and this will not replace good
reading for me. But it got me thinking about the dawning of a new age of
writing. The possibilities that will come with electronic books, when they
finally realize they don’t have to just be cheap versions of print, are almost
here. They can tell a story in a new way, merging what literary narration and
technology they are capable of, to give the deep personal experience readers
seek.
We can use games such as Wii to play virtual athletic games, waving our arms and watching a screen. But
can we enter fully-fledged stories? I can see it now.
The death of the novel has been predicted for a long
time. I don’t foresee death, but a re-birth with new dimensions.
