Sadly eclipsed by the self-devouring #gamergate monster is a simple truth: computer games are fun. Like, really, really fun. And, as fortunate as we are to live in a Golden Age of processing power, it was almost more fun for us to have shared gaming's gangly teenage years. By 'us', I mean the first generation of folks that got to grow up with fairly easily accessible computer games - an era where there was visible, palpable improvement with every new release.
I personally grew up with (at? on?) my Apple IIe. I remember when we finally swapped to a (now) 286 - even though the new computer was functionally better in every way, I still made us cling to the poor IIe for another year, simply so I didn't lose my Ultima character. Poor computer. It didn't even get the dignity of breaking before being replaced: it was just obsolete. Given how hearty the IIe was as a machine, it probably still runs now.
All that means, of course, is that even as an amateurish (more 'sporadically obsessive') gamer, I have spent my entire life raising and destroying virtual civilisations. It reminds me a bit of the famous Denis Leary sketch about masturbation - "I have wiped entire empires off my chest with a gym sock". I'm afraid the metaphor, however distasteful, is apt. The vintage days of computer gaming were purely about self-actualisation: building, razing, winning, losing, all on one's own.
Enter Neal Tringham's Science Fiction Video Games (2014): a towering monument to our futility. I don't mean that to sound dismissive of this excellent (and absorbing) book - instead, it looms triumphantly, an exhaustive catalog of the tens of thousands of hours that have been spent in the company of that virtual gym sock. For those looking for a 1000 Games To Play B4 U Die printed Buzzfeed list, keep looking. Rather than merely remind the reader of games gone by, Mr Tringham tries to answer why? What is it about these games that makes them so damn good? He approaches the task with rigour: breaking down each game into its components and examining what makes them special, from 1995's I Have No Mouth, And I Must Scream ("presented with a great deal of angry passion, but offers no true moral choices") to 2012's Angry Birds Space ("the eponymous missiles remain endearingly cheerful despite the inescapable knowledge that every assignment is a suicide mission").