Games history ezine
Issue seven Histories of language and games February 2015
Histories of Issue seven language and games Volume two February 2015
After Hinterland A postmortem of the London Poetry Game
An Bhfuil Gaeilge Agat? The Alien World Of Montagueâ€™s Mount
Deviant dialects Linguistic profiling and racism on Xbox Live
Edited Oscar Strik by and Zoya Street
Editorial Oscar Strik
Oscar Strik lives in the Netherlands, and is a PhD researcher in Language and Cognition at the University of Groningen, and a contributor at Ontological Geek.
Language is a part of human cognition that weâ€™re mostly unaware of - we use it automatically, only paying conscious attention to it when it is problematic or surprising for us: when we are composing a difficult text or a speech, when we donâ€™t understand what someone is saying, or when we are confronted with an unexpected turn of phrase or accent. The role of language in games goes unnoticed most of the time. In the vast majority of cases, language in games is a means to an end: instructions need to be clear, dialogues and descriptions must just be adequate. Language is not often considered anything other than a medium for information.
Yet, language is more than just a medium. It can be part of a virtual world’s setting, much like landscapes, characters, architecture, visual art, etc. It can be part of the ludic structure of a game: language foregrounded as a challenge and mechanic, rather than just a carrier of meanings. And it can be a practical factor outside of the game, but within the game’s social context: as players, we chat with others in writing and speech, which can colour the communities of gaming in various ways. The articles in this issue take up some of these less obvious but important roles that language may play in games. Corey Milne takes us to the island of Montague’s Mount, and explores how the game’s use of the Irish language positions the setting of the game, and how it caused him to reflect on his own relationship with the second mother tongue of his home country. Alex Fleetwood invites us on a journey through several iterations of the design of Hinterland — a game about poetry and translation played out on the streets of our cities. Along the way, we encounter insights into the nature of translation as a game mechanic, the social consequences of monoand multilingualism, and the linguistic landscape of modern cities. Finally, Kishonna Gray examines the role of linguistic profiling in the online voice chat rooms of Xbox Live, how it enables racism and sexism in particular ways, and also how language may be used to express online gamer identities. These are but three of the ways in which the role of language in games may be studied. It is my hope that you will be inspired by these articles, and perhaps you will discover new ways of looking at language.
Memory Insufficient is published on a Creative Commons Attribution - Non-commercial NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
A postmortem of the London Poetry Game Alex Fleetwood
alexfleetwood.com @ammonite A game designer & entrepreneur, Alex founded and ran the design studio Hide&Seek from 2006 – 2013. His current work links IoT, the experience economy and new kinds of game design, and consulting with Somerset House, London.
This is the story of the first game I ever made — a game I’ve made three times so far. The first two times, it was called the London Poetry Game, and the last time it was called Hinterland. It’s a game about talking to strangers in cities, about language and translation, and about the relationship between games and poems. In every version, players have been charged with a responsibility to find speakers of certain languages, to persuade them to translate something, and to phone the results into an automated hotline. That
audio material is then spliced together to create a poem. “...There is no such thing as the State And no one exists alone; Hunger allows no choice To the citizen or the police; We must love one another or die....”
September 1, 1939 by W.H. Auden
Back in 2007, at the very first Hide&Seek live event, it ran like this: I took some verses of ‘September 1, 1939’ by W.H.Auden and translated each line into a different language, and printed the new poem out with the rules on the back. Players had to go out and find bilingual speakers of those languages, and persuade them to phone in both a reading and an English translation of the line. Those lines were then compiled into a presentation of the poem at the end of the festival, which was supposed to consist of three parts: a reading of the poem in the many languages; a reading of the poem in the multiple translations and a reading of the original poem, by me.
Except it didn’t work out that way, of course. This was my rookie effort and we encountered a bunch of problems in the field. Players weren’t so interested in the task, describing it as ‘a bit stressful’ and ‘difficult to do’, and so we only got a handful of responses. It also turns out that WH Auden is hella untranslatable, especially when taken in single-line chunks.
London poetry game.wav
The performance at the end, therefore, consisted of me playing the short audio file I had managed to put together, and then manfully reading a rather long poem to a patient audience. The way I understood the problems with the game were primarily practical – I thought if I could fix the way we communicated the game, and fix the way we created the audio file, then the project would work fine. In 2010, we were able to fix all those things. I had an amazing team, a dedicated website (londonpoetrygame.org) a bit more budget, and the Hide&-
Seek Weekender was now a vibrant thing with a big pool of players to draw on. It worked! Ross created a video document of the project which summed it up wonderfully. Symphony (The London Poetry Game) from Ross Sutherland on Vimeo.
And yet… This smoother, more efficient, more effective execution of the game now yielded a different set of problems. Players still participated in the game more out of enthusiasm for the concept than out of any real sense of fun. I started to think more about the second set of participants in the game – the people who the players seek out in search of translations. What was in it for them?
I had hoped that the London Poetry Game would ‘say something’ about our multicultural urban lives. That a game which brings speakers of different languages into proximity with one another was by definition a good thing, that it ‘created dialogue’ and ‘opened our ears to the different languages spoken in a single street’ (those two culled from various application texts for the project over the years). But maybe the aims were muddied by the framework in which the game operated. An English-speaking creative team, making a game and a poem in English, which gets English-speaking players to act on its behalf, by requiring (forcing) bilingual (‘native’) speakers of other languages to
perform limited actions. Unwittingly, I had reproduced a kind of colonialism in the structure of the game. Working with Ross and in-house programmer Tom Armitage, we went back to the drawing board to make Hinterland.
The development process prompted a thorough investigation of what it means to be an English-speaking artist making a game about language and cities. The act of talking to a stranger is not, in itself, a good one; an order can be given, or an insult delivered. A central concern of the development process was to analyse the dramaturgy of these moments of interaction between the player of a street game and a stranger they meet â€“ to think about how we could make that experience interesting and valuable for both parties, how we could energise genuine exchange. The risk of all pervasive games is that they attract players drawn from a creatively confident, financially secure cohort and gives them permission to act according to their whims in the public realm: Hinterland was founded on a desire to find a structured mode of interaction and reflection where the artwork contains both the invitation to play and the requirement to think about why and how that playing occurs. Language is the scaffolding upon which we build our understanding of the world. As members of the Anglophone creative class, itâ€™s easy to lose sight of how weâ€™re limited by our monolingual outlook. Hinterland became a series of games that an English-speaking player played with strangers who are privy to more information about their interaction. In doing so, the player was forced to confront the hinterland that exists between their desire to
communicate and take control of a situation, and their ability to make themselves understood. The game (which was played at Forest Fringe, Edinburgh, in 2011) now worked like this. Players received a book. The book was created by The Operator — your narrator and guide through the Hinterland. The player found that each mission was partly written in a different language. The missions instructed participants to find a stranger who spoke that language to help them. Once they found a willing partner, together they translated and followed the mission instructions and phoned in their answers to The Operator via their mobile phone. An example of a mission instruction might be (once translated from French) – Both think of a something that you find ugly. Now, together, decide which of those things you feel is the uglier. Some mission instructions required a choice to be made – If the two of you were to go for a drink together after this encounter, what would you have? 1 – a glass of water; 2 – a cup of tea; 3 – a glass of wine; 4 – a beer; 5 – a cocktail. Soon after the Operator received a player’s words, he sent them a poem back. The structure of the poem was altered in two ways by the player’s encounter with the stranger: You can listen to some of the poems at:
Words that they agreed on together (such as the word for something ugly) are inserted into the poem’s text in a ‘mad lib’ fashion. Choices that they made together (such as what drink to have) predicate whole sections of text which are inserted into the poem. These elements, together, created a unique poem for each player. These words are to mark this moment, under, yes, an unmistakable CityMood sky. A five minute walk from NewBuilding A Time walk from HomeTown.
At the centre of the Hinterland where the very idea of distance can be pulled down like a cheap set. The bird that circles the mountain turns out to be grit on your contact lens. And the mountain itself, turns up next to you in the audience of Show wildly shouting the subtext during a quiet bit. Or ShowComedian, that walking barrel of sarcasm, becomes the moon itself, Which in turn becomes a PocketObject Suddenly so close, it could be a pixel on a screen. PlayerName. you get the idea. Excerpt from Hinterland, Canto IV template
Hannah Nicklin, Where Games Break
As the game progressed, the missions and the poetry they received became more and more personal. The challenges got harder - the penultimate mission was printed in Korean. Writer & game designer Hannah Nicklin described her experience of the mission in her essay â€œWhere Games Breakâ€?: This game broke where it was supposed to. This game broke because I am racist. Or at least because I grew up in a very big, very quiet, very hard to leave county, that was 98.5% white. This game broke in a way that was deeply political. Canto 3 required me to find someone who spoke Korean. There were ways to solve this
Look up a Korean restaurant in Google. But somehow that felt like cheating. I stopped playing then. Because I knew I would not know the difference, on the street, Between a Chinese person, a Japanese person, someone Korean It broke where it was supposed to. In a way that was reflective.
I operate unconsciously in structures that reinforce my status. I don’t just live in London — I live in white, university-educated, ‘creative class’, coffee-and-culture-affording London. I think this final iteration of the game — to which I attempted to bring all of my game-making expertise and professionalism — succeeded in creating something that ‘broke where it was supposed to’. The game peeled back those layers of privilege and showed that there is always a hinterland that we could cross if we chose, to domains of the city where different languages are spoken, where different laws pertain. I think in some way the design recapitulates the experience of making the first version of the game. I remember spending a day in Finsbury Park library, talking to people, asking for their help in translating lines of Auden. I was at their mercy — I didn’t have the budget or the resources to get professional translations, and this was before Google translate worked at all well. It was a great day — I met all kinds of people, and my opening conversational gambit of ‘would you help me with my art project’ was met with patience, enthusiasm and curiosity.
Hannah’s choice — to fail the game, to not complete — was a wonderful response to the questions Hinterland posed. She looked over the boundary between her privilege and the world nearby and made the choice that there was no way of stepping over it — at least, not one that she could make meaningful. In many ways Hinterland was a failed game. It got no press, very few people played it, no IGF nominations or GOTYs . But I think it failed in ways which touched people deeply, and I’m glad we made it for that reason. Reactions like Hannah’s made me feel like we’d succeeded in reworking the structure of the game to make it something that admitted more of the complexity that exists in any moment of play or translation. It was a conclusion to a creative process that lasted for the first four years I spent making games. It was no longer about translating someone else’s words, according to someone else’s rules’. AS W.H. Auden put it in the final line of the poem I’d started with - ‘we must love one another or die’.
Resources W.H. Auden (1940) ‘September 1, 1939’ Poets.org Hannah Nicklin (2014) ‘Where Games Break’ HannahNicklin.com Image: Hinterland logo by Ross Sutherford, 2011
An Bhfuil Gaeilge Agat? The Alien World Of Montagueâ€™s Mount Corey Milne
A freelance writer who specialises in examining video games from a cultural standpoint, originally from Ireland, Corey spent 10 years living in Spain and now calls Scotland home.
Language is identity. It is perhaps the clearest indicator of where a person has come from, the cultures and histories they embody. Yet even in close proximity a language can change, such as with the diverse mix of regional dialects that inhabit Britain. The further away a language is from one personâ€™s point of reference, the more likely it becomes inexplicably alien. The tonal significance of Mandarin is a characteristic that may take many Europeans by surprise, whose words generally mean the same no matter how they are uttered. There are not only dialects that can inhabit one
nation. Spain plays host to Spanish, Catalan and Basque, while Papua New Guinea houses an incredible 830 languages. So too does Ireland play host to several tongues. Unlike Spain in which the people of Catalonia and the Basque country can be identified as their own people, separate from the Spanish, Ireland takes up a rather odd position in which the native language is perhaps more alien to its people than the English language, which the turns of history have granted them.
I seem to have a crisis of identity at least three times a year. Having left Ireland at the age of 9 and lived in Spain for 10 years, I know far more Spanish than I do of Irish. I am fluent in English, but this does not make me British. There are plenty among the English that are still quite happy to look down their nose at me when they hear my accent, because centuries of institutionalised racism against my country is a very hard thing to undo. Irish comedian Tommy Tiernan sums up rather well what it’s like juggling that kind of personal duality: “I curse a lot, and it’s not because I am uncouth or unintelligent. Far from it. […] I’m an Irish person speaking the English fucking language, and the English language does not suit my soul. I should be speaking Irish, but I don’t understand a fucking word of it! So I have to use what I’ve got.” We arrive on Montague’s Mount in a violent manner. A ship passing in the night is picked up and smashed against the rocks, in a violent display of power. Alone and beneath a grey sky a sole survivor stirs on an unfriendly beach. Accompanied by the incessant drizzle of rain and thunderflashes on the horizon. Surprisingly there exists a game that actually embodies in part the existential bane I find myself grappling with. Montague’s Mount takes place on the northwest coast of Ireland, on an island surrounded by the harsh Atlantic. The game tasks the player with uncovering the is-
land’s secrets, and making their way through its relatively light horror plot. Iit is one of only a small handful of games I have come across that features Gaeilge. As you explore the island you can examine any object you come across with the click of a mouse button. Doing so will bring up the object’s name in Irish, with its English translation underneath. Much like road signs that crowd the edges of the country’s roads, the original Irish words take pride of place at the top, with the English names nestled underneath.
Whenever I have travelled in Ireland with a British companion, they never fail to recognise and be utterly surprised that our road signs are not solely in the English tongue. With our use of English, coupled with the two countries’ deeply connected history and proximity to each other, it may be easy to forget that Ireland is a foreign country nestled in the British Isles, despite the many commonalities we share. Despite its very Gaelic form, Montague’s Mount was created by Matt Clifton, who originally hails from the UK. The game serves as a quasi-autobiographical account of how he coped with being a fish out of water, having emigrated to Ireland. They say if you want to see the real Ireland you need to travel to the west country. Travelling from Dublin to Donegal, nestled at the north western tip of the island, a gradual change occurs. As you begin to leave the low hills and expansive agricultural land, the landscape begins to rise up to meet the traveller. It is an untamed country of high mountains and crags. Where sheer cliffs stand tall against the constant battering of a turbulent Atlantic. This is old country that has witnessed kings clash with sword and shield,
and ragtag groups of men with stolen rifles stand against a superpower.
A wild and hostile place, in which the wind and rain appear to be unceasing. It is a perfect representation of the feelings one might have, having left a familiar home for something new. Thrown into that grey maelstrom, as you explore the abandoned cottages and begin to piece together the mystery of Montague’s Mount, there is a sense that land isn’t fighting against you, it merely does not care about your presence. It will remain long after you have gone. Language, then, is used to reinforce this feeling of otherness. Investigating the world you are greeted with this strange tongue. The player is first confronted with a foreign text, and then must scan their eyes down to the smaller lettering to discern its meaning — unless you’re part of the 4.4% of the population who speak Irish on a regular basis, according to the 2011 census. During an interview Clifton remarked that, “in the game every object you see is described in Irish, and I added that to convey the feeling of alienation. The narration is in the player’s default language [English] but the in-game descriptions are in [Gaeilge], with a very small subtitle, and I did that to heighten that emotion and force the player to read what is actually going on.” Although you are required to learn Irish in school until the age of 16, there was a sense that the language was being lost on the younger generations. Certainly if the pupils had the same notions as myself when I had to go through that gauntlet, then I can certainly relate. I did not enjoy learning Irish when I was younger. I considered it a chore, and convinced myself that I just wasn’t very good
at it, so why bother? Looking at the census, it would seem that there has been an upswing in the use of Irish since the 90s, with 41.4% of the population now having some mastery of the language. Quite the turnaround from the historic lows the language was at in the mid-twentieth century. I cannot help but think that games such as Montague’s Mount will become more important as time goes on. It serves as a soft introductory point, which at least lends the language some visibility to those that would otherwise overlook it. Teaching tools are increasingly becoming more interactive, and perhaps taking the lessons out of stuffy classrooms and into the virtual world could lend language programs that much more of a vital outreach. I can remember my time as a child playing Final Fantasy X, and spending no small amount of time hunting down the game’s Al Bhed primers and deciphering that fictional language.
Ireland has gone through some radical changes of late. After the boom years dubbed the Celtic Tiger, the country was struck hard and mercilessly by the recession. Those who had gotten a taste of the good life now found themselves treading the gutters, as the fickleness of globalisation was laid bare for all to see. It has, I think, lent a certain air of introspection to people: that not much in this life lasts forever, and if we’re not careful we might end up losing what we hold most dear. Even though I live abroad, the distance between me and Ireland measurable by kilometres across a sea, the distance I have with my country’s past can be seen to be similar to those who have remained in Ireland. The changes in recent years may have caused some soul searching into what it means to
In the information age, I do not see a dilution of culture onto the web. I see an opportunity to mould that information to fit around our daily lives. So what if you couldn’t get to grips with the classroom setting, or couldn’t stomach a few months in the Gaeltacht? Language does not become so much of an obstacle when it’s intertwined into the entertainment you consume, day in and day out with rules and parameters which shift to suit your needs. That journey may even start on a windswept beach on a grey, wind battered island in the boiling Atlantic Ocean, with a mysterious lighthouse waiting to be explored. Playing Montague’s Mount, however briefly, gave form to an idea that had been nestled at the back of my mind for some time. My desire to learn Irish comes from the longing for a connection to a place I hold very dear to me. A home I feel both intimate and distant with, and which causes my desire to return to ache in my breast just a little bit more with every passing year. It would seem then that Britain, after all this time, just does not suit my soul. Image from Montague’s Mount (c) 2013 Polypusher Studios
Linguistic profiling and racism on Xbox Live Kishonna Gray kishonnagray.com
Dr. Grayâ€™s work focuses on race, class, gender, and criminal justice, and sheds light on the importance of understanding how intersectionality impacts the experience of gaming.
The following is an extract from Kishonna Grayâ€™s book Race, Gender, and Deviance in Xbox Live, reproduced with kind permission and generous help of the author. Real-time voice communication plays an important role in the play of online games over Xbox Live. Due to the nature of this kind of communication, it is a possible vector of of racism and sexism directed towards players. Much of the racism and sexism that occurs stems from linguistic profiling. Similar to racial profiling, linguistic profiling occurs when auditory cues as opposed to visual cues are used to speculate on the racial background of another person.
Because of the anonymous nature of virtual spaces, online gamers are compelled to say and do things that they otherwise wouldn’t say and do. Thompsen, P. (2003). What’s fueling the flames in cyberspace? A social influence model.
One concept that leads to acts of deviance in virtual gaming communities is known as flaming. Flaming refers to negative antisocial behaviors, including the expression of hostility, the use of profanity, and the venting of strong emotions. Gamers who engage in flaming use outwardly hostile speech toward other gamers using text- or voice-based communication. This is the category which includes sexist, heterosexist, and racist speech and is the only definition that encompasses what gamers of color and women experience in Xbox Live. As Dorwick explains, flaming can be understood as the spontaneous creation of homophobic, racist, and misogynist language during electronic communication. This definition is useful to explaining what occurs because of the incorporation of the word “spontaneous,” because most of the hostile speech is unwarranted and comes out of nowhere. …
Suler, J. (2004). The online disinhibition effect. Cyber Psychology and Behavior, 7(3), 321–326.
In some online spaces, an individual’s identity may be known, but being “physically invisible amplifies the disinhibition effect”. Avoiding eye contact and face-to-face interaction can sometimes lead to disinhibition. Within text-based communities, people don’t have to worry about how they look or sound when they type a message. They don’t have to worry about how others look or sound in response to what they say. Seeing a frown, a shaking head, a sigh, a bored expression, and many other subtle and not so subtle signs of disapproval or indifference can inhibit what people are willing to express. The incorporation of emoticons has allowed some level of emotion within text-based
communities. But again, in voice-based communities such as Xbox Live, emotions have the ability to be more easily heard.
LINGUISTIC PROFILING: THE ORIGIN OF DEVIANCE IN XBOX LIVE When on the phone with a stranger, many Americans can guess that personâ€™s ethnic background and gender from the first hello (or many attempt to guess). But what often occurs is that many people make racist judgments about the person on the other end who may have a unique dialect. This type of profiling based on linguistic cues is what occurs in voice-based virtual communities daily. Baugh, J. (2003). Linguistic profiling
Similar to racial profiling, linguistic profiling is based upon auditory cues that may include racial identification, but which can also be used to identify other linguistic subgroups within a given speech community. Scholars have long studied linguistic stereotypes, finding discrimination based on accents and dialects against speakers of various ethnic backgrounds. What is seen in the American context is that voice discrimination and linguistic profiling is used as an effective means to filter out individuals who may be deemed inferior, leading one to not engage in meaningful relationships with this type of other. â€Ś
Joinson, A. (2001). Self-disclosure in computer mediated communication: The role of selfawareness and visual anonymity
The anonymous spaces of the Internet compel users to disclose personal information about themselves, knowing that the party on the other end will never find out their true identity. For example, if I were engaged in a conversation with someone and disclosed my occupation, the person on the other end would have no true way of confirming this information. Additionally, I could
create a false identity altogether with no way of really knowing my true self and true identity. Physical identifiers are a bit different. In virtual, voice communities, some information that we might not normally disclose, such as our race or gender, can be automatically relayed in the space. So when a male gamer speaks through his headset, the gamers on the other end can immediately decipher his gender. When women speak, most often, gamers can ascertain the gender. Although race and other identities are not easily translated into virtual space, profiling still occurs to confirm one’s identity. It is true that some individuals can use outside modifications to alter the voice. The Xbox system does not come with these kinds of alterations or features, so the real voice can be heard. As many women and people of color explain, this mere technological advance creates the most havoc in their virtual lives—racial and gendered hatred based on how people sound.
There is a particular sequence of actions that leads from linguistic profiling to racism.
Gray, K. (2011). Deviant bodies resisting online: Examining the intersecting realities of women of color in Xbox Live.
Questioning is the first. The simple question asked is “are you black?”, attempting to confirm the sound of blackness. As illustrated in previous studies on Xbox Live, the majority of observed racist behaviors did in fact begin with this question or another similar racial inquiry. The second step in the process is provoking. This provoking takes the form of harassment similar to griefing. However, racism should be understood independent from flaming and griefing. The difference is that this harassment is always linked to the body, an aspect out of gamers’ control. Returning to provoking, many gamers who used racist language recited offensive black and/or immigrant jokes, challenged the penis size of black men, challenged citizenship of Latino-sounding gamers, explained
disgust for big lips, criticized the use of Ebonics, and even disrespected black mothers.
The purpose of this provoking seemed to be a means to situate blackness as inferior, deeming it deviant within this space. Most of the time the provoking would lead into instigation, but oftentimes instigating preceded provoking. Either way, instigation was the only step that sometimes would not occur. But when it did, gamers using this racist speech would enter a game room with friends and this group of friends would fuel the “flames” of the offending gamer. Oftentimes the friends will ad lib the statements of the offender or just joke and laugh at the comments made. This provoking and instigation leads to the ultimate act of racism, which is the black-sounding gamer being called “nigger.” No matter what the previous responses of the gamer of color was, the offending gamer would eventually say “nigger.” Once this word was uttered, either diffusion or a virtual race war followed. If diffusion occurred, either the offending gamer or the gamer of color would leave or get removed from the game by the host of the gaming session. If there was no diffusion, then the black-sounding gamer would enter into a heated argument using profanity and racist language as well. The racism and sexism that many gamers experience within Xbox Live is more than the harassment described by griefing and should not be replaced by the term flaming (Gray, 2011). The fact that racism and sexism have a historical context deems it more serious and it needs to be researched and studied separate from other antisocial behaviors. Importantly, the explanations offered on griefing and flaming do not seem to fully encapsulate what is witnessed in Xbox Live. The gamers who commit acts of racism and sexism are not viewed as deviant within the space.
There is not a massive effort to restrict these individuals or punish them in any way, even with the feedback system in place.
The victims of these acts essentially become the deviants for failing to conform to the norm of the default gamer. Resources Philip Thompsen (2003) ‘What’s fueling the flames in cyberspace?’ A social influence model. In L. Strate, R. L. Jacobson, & S. Gibson (Eds.), Communication and cyberspace: Social interaction in an electronic environment John Suler (2004) ‘The online disinhibition effect’ Cyber Psychology and Behavior 7(3) John Baugh (2003) ‘Linguistic profiling’ In S. Makoni, G. Smitherman, & A. S. Ball (Eds.), Black linguistics: Language, society, and politics in Africa and the Americas Adam Joinson (2001) ‘Self-disclosure in computer mediated communication: The role of self-awareness and visual anonymity’ European Journal of Social Psychology, 31 Kishonna Gray (2011) ‘Deviant bodies resisting online: Examining the intersecting realities of women of color in Xbox Live’ Image credit: FlickrCC Marc Wathieu
Arcade Review Issue Four $10 CAD Arcade Review is a quarterly digital magazine that publishes criticism on experimental videogames and digital art. http://www.arcadereview.net/
Games history ezine
Like on Facebook
Subscribe by email
Memory Insufficient is published on a Creative Commons Attribution - Non-commercial - NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Memory Insufficient volume two issue seven