I can barely form a coherent thought about what I just finished but I feel weirdly seen by Final Fantasy VIII and its protagonist in particular as this understanding of specific feelings of capitalist alienation that I've been unable to articulate for the longest time. I don't have any official diagnosis and especially do not want people I barely know armchair diagnosing me online but Squall's struggles to process the most basic social interactions in terms of anything other than capitalist obligations like school or work, "shut up and get the job done" mentality, and specific jaded outlook are core parts of myself I never expected to see reflected in this fashion. While I narrowly prefer the basic bitch choices of VI and VII in terms of Final Fantasy games, this surreal response to the cultural zeitgeist of the latter game and weird as fuck (complimentary) use of Marxist theory (specifically the "annihilation of space by time" described in Grundrisse and expanded upon over a century later by David Harvey) in the same way that most RPGs use religious/mythological concepts solely because it sounds cool is a game that will no doubt have a special place in my heart from now on.

     ‘This was the only earthly love of my life, and I could not, then or ever after, call that love by name.’
     – Umberto Eco, Il nome della rosa, 1980.

Capturing the contours of a sixteenth-century society in the Holy Roman Empire is a difficult task. Central Europe was undergoing complex transitions as a result of demographic recovery, religious innovation and the administrative mosaic of Germanic territories. Recent historiography emphasises the interlocking and overlapping of forces that shaped regions and societies: it is difficult to generalise local observations to the rest of the Empire, but it is also unwise to paint the portrait of a village on the basis of generalities alone. For example, the forms of feudalism differed on either side of the Elbe. A theoretical simplification is to consider the regions south and west of the Elbe as being under the rule of Grundherrschaft [1]. This form of feudalism developed from the 14th century onwards with the decline of the traditional smaller lords and the demographic collapse caused by the Black Death. This situation allowed the surviving peasants to expand their farms and establish stronger hereditary rights over the land. Although still subject to the authority of their local lord, they had greater freedom of action.

     History, fiction and myth: the Umbertian gaze

Towards the end of the fifteenth century, friction between the nobility and the peasantry increased as the former sought to assert their authority over land that seemed to have been de facto freed from serfdom. Another factor in the social crisis was undoubtedly the demographic upturn from 1470 onwards, which swelled the cohort of landless peasants, while small landowners were no longer able to take advantage of the economic opportunities of the previous century. In some southern regions of the Holy Roman Empire, agricultural production was no longer profitable, so it became mainly subsistence farming. These factors led to a widening gap between the peasants and the lords. The lords, sometimes nobility, sometimes clergy, were in latent conflict for other economic and political reasons.

It is difficult to summarise several thousand pages of social history in a few lines, so these few elements of context will suffice. Pentiment makes the bold choice of setting its action in this complex historical background, in a locality centred around the village of Tassing and Kiersau Abbey. The project explicitly borrows from Umberto Eco's The Name of the Rose (1980). Although the historical context is different, the themes and structure are similar. Eco's readers will find themselves in familiar territory: Pentiment allows the player to assume the role of Andreas Maler, a Nuremberg artist commissioned by the Abbot of Kiersau to illustrate a Book of Hours as part of his certification as a master artist. During his stay in Tassing, Andreas gets to know the many members of the local society, until a murder takes place. For personal reasons, Andreas is thrust into the role of detective and must unravel the many secrets of the community.

Like The Name of the Rose, Pentiment multiplies points of view and semantic layers. The game is at once a general dissertation on the social history of the Holy Roman Empire, a detective story, a philosophical debate, a theological meditation and a discussion on the value of storytelling. It is through this literary device, borrowed from Eco, that the title manages to find a great deal of coherence in its storytelling [2]. The investigation – i.e. the criminal story – is interwoven with the socio-political narrative, so that the player is constantly confronted with both general and specific elements. Andreas Maler acts as a bridge between these two worlds. Firstly, because he finds himself at the crossroads of very different social universes: as a traveller, he is used to many cultures; as a young artist, he associates with the powerful without being fully part of their universe. Above all, he is a stranger to Tassing, and his gaze is that of a witness whose interest in local politics, however altruistic, is rather weak. In other words, his view is certainly subjective, but it is all-encompassing. These characteristics are very similar to those of William of Baskerville, who had a complex theological background.

     Depicting the Middle Ages through the new social studies

In terms of narrative economy, such a protagonist captures the player's attention in a number of ways. For classically trained historians, Andreas provides access to the ancient and medieval literary world; for mystery fans, his role as a detective is crucial. The choice of Andreas' background means that, in addition to the interactive gameplay typical of CRPGs, players can personalise their experience around the themes that interest them most. As a Latinist, I was pleasantly surprised to see Pentiment commanding a very solid Latin, and to read the classical locutions quoted by Andreas. The title has a rare encyclopaedic quality, in tune with recent scholarly developments. There remain a few very minor approximations, such as certain onomastic choices (Else Mülleryn should rather be spelt Müllerin) and Kiersau's remarkable and exagerated interregionalism. On the latter point, the choice was certainly motivated by Umberto Eco's vision of a universalist abbey and a political response to Kingdom Come: Delivrance (2018): the figure of the Ethiopian priest Sebhat seems a rather explicit foil to Daniel Vávra's ultra-conservative claims about the absence of people of colour in fifteenth-century Bohemia.

Pentiment always uses its encyclopaedic knowledge wisely to illustrate medieval mentalities. Arrogantly imparting knowledge is the best way to undermine the friendship and support of the game's various characters. The game constantly seeks to highlight the limits of Andreas' knowledge and the subjectivity of the concept of truth. As such, Pentiment seeks to portray the situation of women in the Middle Ages with real nuance. The game's fictional micro-history project features women who are involved in their village's economy and are pillars of the community. Discussions with the Benedictine nuns also provide an opportunity to explore women in religion, and Pentiment clearly illustrates the prejudices of the time, as well as Andreas' very masculine perspective. In contrast to the Christian tradition, which leaves no place for women in its traditional hierarchy – women's religious offices generally disappeared in the central Middle Ages, which is exactly the situation described for Kiersau Abbey – and restricts them to religious life or marriage, Pentiment constantly emphasises their agency and the ways in which they can circumvent the restrictions. Amalie illustrates the extreme spiritual experiences that women can voluntarily inflict on themselves through her retreat and mystical visions. Illuminata embodies a mastery of the literary classics, while the other sisters stand out for their practical knowledge and integration into Tassing society.

     To write, to read and to die in the universal library

Like Umberto Eco's library, that of Kiersau Abbey is intended to be universal. It seeks to circumscribe all known knowledge through the possession of rare volumes, be they erudite treatises or chivalric romances. Writing and rewriting are at the heart of Pentiment's project. The narrative is subjective and subject to numerous corrections: when the dialogue is presented, mistakes punctuate the text and are corrected in front of the player. Similarly, the choice of script depends on the impression the speaker makes on Andreas. He presents the discourse of the educated clergy in a Gothic style, while the villagers have a much less polished script. Above all, it is noteworthy that Andreas changes his representation according to the information he receives. For example, when he learns that the shepherd is actually an avid reader of Latin books, he updates the script used in the dialogue. These elements are linked to a concern for memory, and Pentiment sets out to question what deserves to be left to posterity, rejecting the idea of a monolithic history. The truth is in a constant state of flux and varies from different perspectives: it is this insight that guides Andreas' investigation into the various murders. The game is less about finding the culprit than about writing Tassing's story. The game forces the player to accuse one of the suspects for each murder, but it is remarkable that all the solutions seem unsatisfactory. Pentiment is not about solving murders, but about understanding how Tassing society reacts to events that upset its internal balance.

Pentiment borrows its idea of humour from The Name of the Rose [3]: laughter is used to subvert the order of the world, because it reveals – through sarcasm or astonishment – the way in which the world turns. The comic scenes in the game anchor the narrative in a plausible reality, not just a cold, theoretical illustration of 16th-century Tassing. Pentiment's dialogue system is not so much a mechanic that supports 'choices' leading to different endings, but rather a sincere exploration of the world. Comedy is necessary because it is an instrument of freedom and truth, which all the characters seek in one way or another: to laugh is to break free from social bonds, hence Saint Grobian's irreverence. Conversely, silence allows the player to conform to the social mould, to maintain the status quo. Such a position is sometimes necessary to make progress in an investigation without alienating potential allies. The great strength of Pentiment is that it strikes the right balance between laughter, speech and silence. The characters, including Andreas, have to take a stand, and the question is how to do it.

There are no straightforward answers, and the game is never preachy or pretentious. The complexity of the world, of social relations and social transformations explain the hesitations. Uncertainty is part of the truth: Pentiment shines through its unique artistic direction, borrowed from manuscripts and engravings. In a stroke of genius, the game moves drawn characters on fixed backgrounds. There's something magical about seeing sketches move in this way, evoking a kind of collage. The practice of cutting out and reusing figures and backgrounds is well documented in the production of medieval manuscripts, underlining the plasticity of art in the representation of history [4]. In a fifteen-hour adventure, Pentiment creates such a vast universe. I find it difficult to write more, given the extraordinary richness so elegantly condensed into a game, from religious issues to economic innovations. In this respect, it is worth mentioning the welcome presence of an indicative bibliography in the game's credits. Umberto Eco concludes The Name of the Rose with a variation on a line by Bernard of Cluny: 'Stat rosa pristina nomine, nomina nuda tenemus', he writes. The original rose lives on in its name, we keep the names naked. To Bernard of Cluny's 'ubi sunt...?', Eco adds the persistence of memory. The memory of people who existed centuries ago should persist even more; Pentiment is a sublime fresco in their honour, coming as close as possible to the historical truth without ever being able to fully circumscribe it: 'Since I tell to its end my story, then joyful shall be my days.' [5]

___________
[1] Joachim Whaley, 'Economic Landscapes, Communities, and their Grievances', in Germany and the Holy Roman Empire, vol. 1, Oxford University Press, Oxford, 2012, pp. 122-142.
[2] José-Marie Cortès, 'Itinéraires interprétatifs dans Le Nom de la Rose', in Synergies Inde, no. 2, 2007, pp. 289-306.
[3] Michel Perrin, 'Problématique du rire dans Le Nom de la Rose d'Umberto Eco (1980) : de la Bible au XXe siècle', in Bulletin de l'Association Guillaume Budé, no. 58, 1999, pp. 463-477.
[4] Anna Dlabacová, ‘Medieval Photoshop’, on leidenmedievalistsblog.nl, 18th February 2022, consulted on 13th June 2023.
[5] Wolfram von Eschenback, Parzival, II, XVI, l. 676 (trans. Jessie L. Weston), c. 1210.

IF YOU'RE NOT A FAN OF THE WORDS
PEAK FICTION
GOAT
RAW
FIRE
Click off the review rn!

Tired from a long day at work, the Nintendo fan's tired mother returns home to a household. Dread in her voice, she calls to the basement.
"Did you run the dishwasher" she said into the abyss, drearily
"GameFreak", called a tired voice from the basement

She breathed a sigh of relief. She knew the dishes were washed.

In 1983, Yuuji Horii – the future creator of Dragon Quest – made the first game of a trilogy that was to become the foundation of an entire genre: Portopia Renzoku Satsujin Jiken. Then a new employee of Enix, his projects led him to create games for microcomputers and the release of Deadline in the West made him want to make a detective story. In 1985, the renaissance of console video games with the Famicom led Enix to bring Portopia to the market. The title then gained popular success, not least because of a radio broadcast where Takeshi Kitano, playing the title, exclaimed 「犯人はヤス！」("The culprit is Yasu!"), which became a meme across Japan. This publicity undoubtedly helped establish Portopia as the spearhead of Japanese text adventure games. In particular, it gave birth to and solidified a whole tradition of investigative games in a realistic setting. In 1988, Nintendo tried its hand at the genre, with the figure of Yoshio Sakamoto, then known as the creator of Metroid. Famicom Tantei Club: Kieta Koukeisha was released, which also imposed its own narrative rules, founding an important part of Japanese fiction.

This title puts us in the shoes of a young high school student who has amnesia after falling off a cliff. He is taken in by Amachi, who offers him to go back to the cliff to regain his memories. We then meet Ayumi Tachibana, colleague at the Utsugi detective agency, who tells us that we were investigating a case in a small village. A series of murders follows, which must be solved while trying to recover our memory. It is particularly amusing to see how much the title draws from other works and departs from what Nintendo is used to doing: if the reference to Portopia is obvious, as the plot and the resolution are similar, Sakamoto adds a mystical, almost supernatural tinge to it, thanks to his viewings of Dario Argento's films. Very classical in its construction, the investigation can only remind one of the mysteries of the Golden Age of Detective Fiction. It is thus obvious that The Missing Heir draws heavily from the works of Seishi Yokomizo, in particular from two of his post-war works, Yatsuhakamura (1949-1951) and Inugamike no Ichizoku (1950-1951). These include the idea of a series of murders and the aesthetics of small country villages, allowing for supernatural elements and the feeding of superstition, as found in Dickson Carr.

Perhaps even more important to the history of Japanese pop-culture is the second title, Ushiro ni Tatsu Shoujo, released in 1989 and often considered the better title of the two. It is a prequel to The Missing Heir, which places us two years in the past, when Ayumi Tachibana is a freshly minted high school student. One day, the corpse of one of her friends, Yoko Kojima, is discovered in a river. Our protagonist decides to investigate and soon learns that the victim was investigating a mystery in her high school: fifteen years ago, a girl disappeared and her ghost is haunting the school buildings. Things get more complicated when it is understood that the current case is linked to an old murder. Nevertheless, the mystery is more condensed than in the first title: no complex family history here, but a few people and a school as a general setting.

It is striking to see how the games are anchored in their time. The aesthetic of The Missing Heir is reminiscent of Japan, still in its very positive economic growth, allowing for family conglomerates. The representation of high school in The Girl Who Stands Behind is more reminiscent of 1980s manga: Hitomi's hairstyle is reminiscent of the iconic haircuts of Be-Bop High School (1983) and the little romances can be reminiscent of Miyuki (1980), or even Kimagure Orange Road (1984). In the other direction, Famicom Tantei Club paves the way for many works that take up the idea of the high school detective. The idea existed before – Robert Arthur Jr.'s The Three Investigators (1964), if you magnify the line – but there is no denying that Famicom Tantei Club sets a new standard for the genre. In particular, Kindaichi shounen no jikenbo (1992) is completely inspired by it.

Iconic titles, then. Major inspiration, no doubt. Nevertheless, like almost all Japanese adventure games, Famicom Tantei Club was never taken outside the archipelago. There was a remake on Super Famicom, but without a Western localisation. The first images of the Switch remakes were revealed in the September 2019 Nintendo Direct. A postponement of the release to 2021 was announced in October, suggesting a Western localisation. This is how we can enjoy these games in their "final" version.

The remakes follow the logic of the Super Famicom ports: that is to say, the story and the general flow of the game are maintained, but the graphics, sound design and quality of life options (e.g. the notebook, the open questions or the colours to facilitate menuing) are significantly improved. The prolific development studio Mages was put in charge of this update and one cannot argue that the result is sublime, possibly at the top of what Japanese textual games/visual novels offer. The backgrounds are rich and blend well with the elegantly semi-animated character sprites. The sound design is effective and the new instrumentation is particularly pleasant, especially since it is still possible to use the original soundtrack or the one from the Super Famicom. Finally, the full dubbing is led by a high-flying cast, since it brings back Yuko Minaguchi (Nadeshiko Kinomoto, Sailor Saturn) for Ayumi Tachibana, already dubbing for the Satellaview opus, but also Megumi Ogata (Shinji Ikari), Atsuko Tanaka (Motoko Kusanagi), Tomokazu Sugita (Kyon) or the well known Shigeru Chiba.

Nevertheless, the archaisms of the Famicom era remain in the game design. The game works with a series of triggers, so that nothing will happen until such and such an action has been done, for example asking a person a third time about a particular subject, using the function to think or interacting with an element of the scenery. The pace suffers greatly, especially towards the end of The Missing Heir, which lacks momentum. In The Girl Who Stands Behind, the pace was already better articulated and only a few cryptic interactions can be a problem, not unlike the obtuse puzzles of Western point&clicks. While this may put some people off, it is also a certain aesthetic of preservation. As I pointed out above, Famicom Tantei Club is a dilogy of its time, and it's completely understandable – especially as we know Nintendo's stance on the subject – to decide to keep the game as is, without trying to change it more than necessary. Especially in 2021, the atmosphere of both titles really does appeal nostalgically to a certain representation of Japan: archaic gameplay similarly appeals to what Japanese adventure gaming was like in the 1980s – of course, some might argue that Hokkaido Rensa Satsujin: Ohotsuku ni Kiyu (1984), the sequel to Portopia, was better done in these aspects.

While this is a valuable object for the preservation of the medium, one cannot help but be dubious about the price. Each title takes about eight hours to complete, even though the experience is very enjoyable. 60€ thus seems particularly expensive, when it is the only opportunity to play the games legally – there is a fan translation for the second title, when the West became aware of the series, via Ayumi Tachibana's trophy in Super Smash Bros. Melee –, more than thirty years after their original release. With the proliferation of remakes in recent years, keeping prices so high is problematic, especially in cases like Super Mario 3D All-Stars, where improvements are almost non-existent, as they are very basic roms. This financial argument raises the question of what is and isn't worth preserving, which shouldn't be a criteria. Unfortunately, anything created for the Satellaview is unlikely to be revived and the original experience is more or less lost, as it was an extension of the Super Famicom, connected to the St. GIGA TV station, which transmitted news, features and updated the games. However, no real content was officially preserved, including the well-received BS Zelda no densetsu.

Either way, Famicom Detective Club is a rich addition to the Switch's catalogue, helping to revive a genre for a new generation of players. Western audiences know little about the Japanese adventure game, as it has been supplanted by visual novels. As the overwhelming majority of PC-98 games have not been localised, it is a genre that has fallen into obscurity. But the new interest in the Ace Attorney franchise among the general public with the re-release of the trilogy for modern platforms or the success of Danganronpa among the otaku public has democratised the investigation game genre. This has led to the unexpected localisation of Dai Gyakuten Saiban, which has been requested since 2015. The future is therefore bright and we can only hope to see more titles like these, and why not a sequel to Famicom Detective Club!

The right choice isn’t the one you want to make. Every choice comes with sacrifice, and each person will always be leaning towards things that vie for their heart. People are inevitably in conflict and choosing is never going to feel easy. Triangle Strategy mechanically make choices feel difficult. It will fill you with regret and show you the reminders of the path you have chosen? It’s wondrous.


Triangle Strategy as a tactical RPG is FRESH. A SRPG in the way of Final Fantasy Tactics, I just want to first give adoration to its class systems. The recharge of actions and how that affects abilities ( a little bit of cribbing from the Bravely actions) is something that affects the entire combat. In some ways it limits you, to get great use out of mages, you can’t spam magic, you have to plan its use. While many times it felt like I underused elements, they create unique items (such as ones that add action points upon a kill) or unique support units, that can give away their actions or manipulate the actions of other enemies. These actions in game are called TP, technique points. I think so much about Julio and how he ruins enemy units and expands others because all his actions are about changing yours and enemies. In many ways the magicians get to really be the unique component of this game. The effects of their magic affect the map and are dynamic. If enemies are on metal train tracks or in water, thunder magic (and items that work like them) are exploitable. You can freeze walls around you to affect how enemies will try to engage with you. You can throw oil on the floor and burn them to create fire walls that enemies will avoid to lose health. You can manipulate so much. They even can work together, melting ice with fire to create puddles you can electrify. I just wish that the magic was just a bit more powerful and doled out a bit more . That when getting to use the magic or plan in terms of environment synergy , that I would really gain an advantage and feel powerful. When I talk about a mechanically amazing system, I want to even mention Jen! He was an MVP, a blacksmith who was a trap setter is so unique, I have never used a character like him. He has ladders he can create that make scaling walls different and he can lay traps on the floor that will fling enemies into differs parts of the map or even to each other. As a game very much with the format of individual movement moment to moment rather than army to army, it just feels like you have an assortment of options and this ignores that I didn’t use everyone.


I think what stands out with Triangle Strategy is how that choice making affects how you maneuver the story. At key junctures you have choices with he core story cast. You have 7 characters that judge to make decisions that are not clear cut. They vote on the decisions and you ahem dialogue trees to see where people will vote. However you have to convince them based on who they are as a character. What values do they have, and can you pick choices that lean them towards what you care about. It makes all these characters feel alive. It’s been heart wrenching at moments to disappoint some with the path you have chosen or seethe your conversation with them couldn’t sway them. You can’t always get your way. 
In order to have the upper hands in some of the conversations the other part of the game come into play, exploration of the maps.

At most junctures you can enter the surrounding area to talk to player characters and npc and find items. This was so effective, you got the opportunity to try to get more information from the world, and use them in your deliberations with teammates. In the world you see and learn different elements of the maps. It makes these maps feel like real places, and you even see these places return for future cutscenes or even totally different maps. What this really has done is create a sense of place. Norzelia: with the Aesfrost, Glenbrook and Hyzante countries feel real, lived in and you play battles where people truly breathe.

I think the weakest part of this game is that you never feel powerful and that can affect how the pacing of this game can feel. On one hand never feeling truly more powerful even at higher levels sometimes, means that often when you win a map, you truly feel like it is your wit at work. The satisfaction that you were able to get he best on your opponent is great. Strategies of unit placement , team composition, being aggressive or patter truly radically affect the outcomes. Maps like Chapter 16 and 20 for Frederica’s route demonstrate the unique predicaments and gimmicks that challenge your thinking. From a map design it’s great. But feeling weak with such detailed customization (but low numbers) can feel disheartening. It means often in games after several turns of great plays, that if you make one mistake , it’s unlikely you will recover. There were many moments where the minute the other team gets more units than me alive, that my wits couldn’t out do the lack of offensive power. It also makes it feel peculiar about how to upgrade units when the improvement is so minimal on defense and attack. Again it makes for feeling you are smart but I think of a time where it ended up being a map ending at a one on one at the very end with one of the strongest units and grunt enemy and I couldn’t beat them without consistent use of health items. It makes battles feel a tad longer and feel like you are behind.


These issues are minor when great that the cast and story is on display. People have lamented that this is a talky game but I can’t imagine what people would have wanted them to truncate. The game circles Benedict, Frederica and Roland primarily and they are a sensational trio. It makes decisions that let some of them down feel like heartbreaks. Benedict in particular as a machiavellian schemer is the best character in this game and adds so much to the feeling of decision making here. No one is completely right and you can’t always win. I love that you can always look at the bio of who is speaking, it means for later you can always catch up on the story if you leave it BUT even better seeing characters bios change because of choices you made, feels like the world is evolving.
This game really does ask you: do you courage to stick to your convictions? I appreciate that it asked me that both in and out of battle. Special game.

     ‘The dead themselves have no regrets; how could they? They are dead and that is all. Only those remaining regret their passing.’
     – Natsuhiko Kyogoku, Ubume no natsu, 1994.

Played with BertKnot. The game and this review mention extremely difficult events related to crimes, violence and abuse.

Contemporary Japanese culture is fuelled by a cycle of moral panics generated by high-profile criminal cases. Some, though mysterious, do not escalate into the gruesome, such as the 300 million yen robbery (1968), but others take a far more horrific course. The murders of Tsutomu Miyazaki are an enduring trauma for the Japanese, who associate them with the figure of the otaku, who has sunk into deep madness to the point of committing monstrous acts of violence. Other individuals have followed in his footsteps and continue to fuel the hatred of marginalised groups. Such events are not unique to Japan, but its artistic production always flirts with these traumas without ever completely overcoming them.

     The shakai tradition in Japanese crime fiction

However, there is a long literary tradition built around these themes, and the detective genre is no stranger to them. Critics refer to these titles as shakai-ha, a literary trend that is primarily concerned with its social dimension. The mystery plays a fundamental role, not because of its complexity or brilliance – although these are not excluded – but because it reveals the malaise of a society whose social norms are no longer accepted by its members. The historical roots of this genre can be found in the works of Seichō Matsumoto. Suna no Utsuwa (1961), undoubtedly his most famous work, features a detective whose obsession with a criminal case disintegrates his personal life. Depicting a post-war Japan in the midst of hectic reconstruction, the novel describes a family in which the father is absent and the wife is in charge of the household and the children's education. Moreover, the reasons for the crimes underline the plight of Japanese women, caught between the ideal of yamato nadeshiko and rapid modernisation.

The prevalence of suicide in Matsumoto's works raises the question of its chronic nature in Japan. Masāki Kato has analysed a large sample of suicides and notes their anomic nature after World War II, to borrow Durkheim's terminology. [1] It is a feeling of general dissatisfaction with the inability to find one's place in society. For these individuals, it is necessary to adhere to particularly rigid social rules, and the slightest deviation from these idealised norms is grounds for suicide. Taking one's own life and that of others is the fundamental question that runs through the shakai genre. After Matsumoto, a tradition of female writers has emerged, especially since the 1990s. These stories focus on female characters who are confronted with a changing world. They face a socio-economic crisis that exacerbates the systemic sexism they experience. In Miyuki Miyabe's Kasha (1992), crime gives women a new independence after being denied by the social contract of Japanese society. As the losers of urbanisation and modernisation, they can escape from their low-paid jobs, fuelled by desperation and the desire for a better life – or to escape unbearable situations such as debt harassment.

     The paranormal to create a chilling horror

If Japanese video games were quick to adopt the detective genre and produce remarkable adventures, starting with Portopia renzoku satsujin jiken (1983), they were inspired above all by the honkaku and shin honkaku genres, which reject shakai realism. On the contrary, the murders have to be particularly complex and have an aura of impossibility, which creates an intellectual game between the author and the reader. Social themes are not completely absent, but they are relegated to the background in favour of the mystery itself. There is certainly a sense of tragedy in the murders, which can be explained by difficult circumstances or sociological trends, but they explain the mystery in retrospect rather than being the crux of the narrative. Famicom Tantei Club: Kieta Kōkeisha (1988) touches on the issue of the zaibatsu and their influence on the economy of certain regions, but it is a very secondary element in the plot.

Paranormasight: The Seven Mysteries of Honjo goes against this tradition, anchoring its story in the shakai style while incorporating elements of shin honkaku. At first glance, it appears to be a horror game inspired by Japanese mythology – the Honjo Nanafushigi are genuine legends and have been adapted in films by Shinko Kimura (Honjo Nanafushigi, 1937) and Katano Goro (Kaidan Honjo Nanafushigi, 1957). However, after the prologue, the tone shifts to become a long investigation depicting the malaise of Japanese society as the years of prosperity come to an end and the first signs of the bursting of the economic bubble in the early 1980s are felt. The player takes on the role of several characters caught up in a curse that has engulfed the Honjo district of Tokyo's Sumida. They are awakened by terrifying ghostly apparitions that urge them to commit murders in order to perform the Rite of Resurrection. This ritual would allow them to bring back to life a person of their choice, at the cost of the soul dregs collected from murdered people. Each protagonist is then able to use a curse to slaughter any person at night, as long as the conditions, inspired by urban legends circulating in Honjo, are met. The first protagonist, Shogo Okiie, meets Yoko Fukunaga in the prologue, who asks for his help in uncovering the truth behind the legend of the Whispering Canal; he is drawn into a series of violent deaths that the player must understand in order to unravel the Seven Mysteries of Honjo and the murders taking place in the neighbourhood.

The game is characterised by its atmosphere, which is supported by a unique art direction. The cold blue colours make Honjo's atmosphere frightening and underline the subtle tension between the various curse-bearers fighting for their survival. Gen Kobayashi's character design alternates between realistic softness and frightening expressions of terror. Dread is conveyed through wide eyes and plays with off-screen action. The player is frightened not so much by the jumpscares, but by the prospect of having to turn around to see them. The backgrounds, slightly distorted as if through a short focus lens, convey a sense of unease through the hollowness of their composition. Paranormasight brilliantly uses oblique shots and atypical staging of characters to emphasise the brooding nature of the discussions, while the architecture of the city overwhelms them.

     On social representation through cultural references

Komagata High School is thus a reference to Ushimitsu High School from Famicom Tantei Club Part II: Ushiro ni Tatsu Shōjo (1989), with identical shots, but the coldness of the colour palette in Paranormasight makes the high school very disturbing; it is less a place of education to prepare students for the future, but rather a place where social inequalities and violence are reproduced, something that Japan accepts without flinching. The inadequacy of the teaching staff and the prevalence of juvenile delinquency are signs of the failure of Japanese social policy. The various female characters suffer from this, condemning them to academic failure or worse. Paranormasight takes up the plot of Sukeban deka (1976), a pivotal shōjo manga of the 1980s: it features Saki Asamiya, a delinquent high school girl who ends up helping the police solve several investigations, notably the apparent suicide of one of her best friends, Junko Yuina. The game very explicitly recreates the character of Saki through Yakko Sakazaki, be it in personality, appearance or motives.

In general, the game takes familiar elements of Japanese culture to modernise and comment on them. This is particularly the case with the female characters, who regain a high degree of agency in the pure shakai tradition. At first glance, Harue Shigima seems to be the embodiment of the yamato nadeshiko, full of the ideals associated with a traditional Japan, but the death of her son and the curse give her the energy to fight against the weight of society. Despite her tired appearance, she displays a very subtle wit through her careful and respectful speech. Yakko is particularly proactive and confident, following the example of Sukeban deka, while her friend Mio, a specialist in occult matters, is presented as a voice of reason, contrary to the cliché of the mad witch. This complex nature of the female characters is echoed in a more fragile representation of masculinity. The various male characters are presented with characteristics that undermine the myth of traditional, honour-bound masculinity. They are generally cowardly or display marginal masculinity. If Tetsuo Tsutsumi represents the serious and unyielding inspector, he is often the comedic force of the group, with deadpan remarks that take the edge off the game's terrifying tension. Richter Kai portrays a more jovial and chaotic manliness through his love of childish things, which leads to Harue's amused comments.

Paranormasight quickly reveals itself to be a title with a sharp critique of all forms of authority. The police are portrayed as an institution incapable of preventing crime and serving the public. While officers like Hajime Yoshimi try to be more akin to a social worker for troubled teenage girls, he is generally unable to structurally solve their problems, offering only what he can, namely a shoulder to lean on. The characters lament the fact that Japanese law prohibits police officers from intervening in cases of domestic violence – a situation that only changed with the Act on the Prevention of Spousal Violence and the Protection of Victims (2001). Hierarchical frameworks dictate behaviour in Japanese suburbs. Paranormasight repeatedly emphasises the importance of the dichotomy between the public face (tatamae) and the private face (honne). Michiyo Shiraishi's neighbours are sympathetic until the Shiraishi family strays from the discretion expected in a neighbourhood. Even within the working class, solidarity is not taken for granted and depends on adherence to social rules, however rigid and conservative they may be. The title also insists on the hypocrisy of the family myth, with reference to the coin-operated locker babies, who, for various socio-economic reasons, were abandoned newborn babies in lockers and left to die. This phenomenon, which was widespread between the 1970s and 1990s, haunts the various characters in the game.

     Instantiating horror in a real setting: how to modernise a social representation?

It is precisely because these elements are central to Paranormasight's horror and mystery that the game works. The soundtrack is particularly effective in creating a strong atmosphere, alternating between dissonant tracks and music inspired by the emerging city pop of the time. The game is concerned with social modernity in its discourse: it is about representing 1980s Tokyo with respect to the social progress of 2023. The title is therefore against prison and in favour of rehabilitation, rejecting the idea that crimes are inherited through blood. Paranormasight, even though its plot is based on elements of Japanese mythology, stands out for its ability to tell a story whose social motives would remain the same even without the occult. In an eternal Buddhist cycle, the ills of society remain the same until structural measures are implemented by decision-makers, as illustrated by the chronic pollution of the Sumida River, the visual centre of the title.

In terms of gameplay, Paranormasight clearly borrows from recent adventure games, notably the Switch port of Famicom Detective Club (2021) and the second Ace Attorney trilogy. The grammar remains that of 1980s games, with the necessity to repeatedly bring up the same topic of conversation, but the game clearly indicates when all actions have been completed, or if further exploration and dialogue is required. The title uses the Story Chart system inherited from Kono Yo no Hate de Koi o Utau Shōjo YU-NO (1996) and Kotaro Uchikoshi's games, and tries to be as clear as possible about the branching paths the player needs to explore in order to follow the different narrative threads. It is only towards the end of the game that Paranormasight becomes more cryptic, although this does not cause any major problems. The title really tests the player's understanding of the case with relatively open-ended questions. These sequences are particularly effective because the player is always in a strong position compared to the protagonists. Having a transversal knowledge of the events, they are able to theorise in advance and identify the blind spots in the characters' deductions. This narrative style helps to create the impression that the protagonists are conducting a real investigation, with all the complexity this implies.

Paranormasight manages to modernise the adventure and detective genres with a believable story, despite the presence of supernatural elements. Carried by a deep and touching cast, the title presents an ingenious mystery rooted in the malaise of a society on the verge of collapse. Poverty, pollution, a crisis in education and a sense of alienation exacerbate a generational clash. The protagonists, although caught up in a curse that transcends them, are only individuals among others in Tokyo who harbour regrets, remorse and sadness. As the sun sets, the Sumida River turns bloody. The real killer is a city that is oversized and relentless. Paranormasight illustrates this unease with a unique horror texture, instantiating it in the physical reality of Honjo. If Japanese crime fiction has always insisted on the importance of locales while promoting mindful tourism – indeed, since 2001, this has been the function of the Mystery Tours in Meitantei Konan (1994) –, the game accomplishes an astonishing tour de force and establishes itself as a modern shakai staple for the video game medium.

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[1] Masāki Kato, ‘Self-Destruction in Japan: A Crosscultural, Epidemiological Analysis of Suicide’, in Folia Psychiatrica et Neurologica, vol. 23, no. 4, 1969, pp. 291-307.

The struggle for me to understand this series has been unreal. I have a myriad of things that turn me off from Pokemon, just as a franchise, that is the reason why I’ve only finished a handful of the games despite enjoying a lot of qualities about them. My main issues come from pacing and gameplay, I like JRPGs but Pokemon often feels too slow for my liking and I prefer having multiple party members out at once in my turn based games compared to being 1v1s where you swap your party out. Factor in added frustrations because of my impatience regarding level curves, exp distribution, finding which mons I want etc. and it’s a recipe for something that I can’t enjoy. But, oddly enough, I don’t try giving up on it, because I want to understand. I really do.
Out of the games in the series I played prior to this, the original Black and White was my favorite. Not just because of the story, but the pacing and linear progression made it more consistently engaging for me, and the very clearly western inspired region of Unova hit close to home. Tie that with a fantastic OST, character designs, and risky design decisions like the pokemon distribution being solely new mons during the story it was the one game that I could say I genuinely liked as a complete package.
So, clearly, the next step would be to play the sequels. And that’s correct! But this was at a time before I knew how to emulate games, and ALSO the time where this game was artificially inflated to a 100+ USD value and uh… Well yeah I didn’t get an opportunity to even try it. After getting access to emulation tools I’ve sampled this game a handful of times here or there, but out of nowhere earlier this year I finally pulled together the energy to just sit down and finish this damn game for once, because I knew I would like it.
And like it I did. Shockingly even more than I expected. BW2 pulls everything I liked about the first game and amplifies it to a crazy level. The presentation is absolutely INSANE, with all the added trainer animations, flashier UI, and drop dead amazing soundtrack. BW1 already looked great but this game makes it look like a beta by comparison. Even the character designs in this entry are an upgrade, alongside my absolute favorite art style in the whole series. Rosa’s design is still up there for me as a character design I’d put as one of my favorites in general, it strikes the right balance of colorful, cute, flashy, but practical. Nate is also amazing with his stupid Pineapple cut lmao. I think Pokemon fans are overly negative for some absurd reason but I cannot entirely blame them for being harsh on the presentation of more recent entries because of the bar set by this game.
Story was also a major draw of BW1 and… I think it’s still pretty good here! BW2’s story does something only a sequel can do. The schism between old and new members of Team Plasma is such a unique facet of the story here. Those who live in regret because they truly believed they were helping the world, vs those who still side with Ghetsis solely because they desire world domination. Hugh is regarded as a weaker side to the story, and I do agree on that. Even so, I think the intent behind his inclusion is really interesting, and opens up an odd thread regarding the use of Poke Balls as a concept, which… the game oddly drops immediately after its brought up? I’m not sure why, though. Personally the most disappointing aspect of the story to me is that we are never given a followup on what happened to Hilbert/Hilda in this game. They just sorta… disappear which is a letdown. Not even as some postgame superboss like Red from G/S/C… Oh well. It honestly would’ve been cool if they served a role in the story similar to Vent/Aile in Mega Man ZX Advent, but no use mulling over it. Overall I don’t understand why this game’s story gets so much flack. I’ve seen it criticized as being “just another pokemon story” but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Structurally, maybe, but many things it touches upon are rarely a thing in these games.
Also I need to highlight the density of content this game offers. Not only do you get so much to do in the main story, but beating the campaign is just the beginning. Pokemon World Tournament is a HUGE loving tribute to the first four generations of the series, having battles against every gym leader and champion from those games alongside full remixes and reanimated sprites. The pokemon distribution in this series is among the absolute best, giving you access to plenty of fan favorites from the older games combined with Unova’s already great new original monsters. I was constantly switching out my team because there’s so many great ones to pick from! This game also introduced wild Eevees which should’ve been a thing since the beginning, but I’m glad it’s finally here! It’s just so much fun.
Maybe the rating I gave is a tad exaggerated. Just maybe. But I also really needed this game. There’s so many things I could still write about, like how Iris is handled (so proud of u :)) or the insanity of Colress’ battle theme, or how much I adore Pokestar Studios and how it finally breathes personality into the protagonists. Regardless of my opinions on whatever Pokemon games I try after this one… Man, I’m just so glad I finally found one of these games (alongside the original Black and White) that I can say I fully understand.