#claytalk 2

Back for more #claytalk!

(My first post, in case you’re interested, is here: https://plus.google.com/102721916927145169256/posts/1MqG9M914Ty)

Today I want to talk about the intermixing in the text of fiction, setting information, and rules in The Clay that Woke.

I’ve seen passionate reactions to fiction appearing in RPG texts. I’ve never had strong feelings one way or the other, but I will admit that I usually skip over it. I tried to read the opening narrative in the new_7th Sea_ core rulebook, but when I saw that it when on for, my god, 8 full-sized two-columned pages, I flipped right past them. I knew coming into The Clay that Woke that some significant portion of the text was narrative, and I can’t say I was excited about that. But nor was I dreading it. I greatly enjoyed Paul’s writing in My Life with Master, which is the only other text of his that I’ve read, so I was confident that it would at least be an enjoyable read.

But now that I’m 60 or so pages in, I find the fiction to be much more than merely enjoyable. I think this particular use of fiction alongside passages that detail the setting and passages the explain the rules creates a whole that is greater than the sum of its parts. The reason I think it is effective is because we read fiction differently than we read how-to instruction, and we read setting material differently than we read either of the other two types of passages. Switching between them – at least in the specific context of The Clay that Woke - has a cool effect on me. I’ll try to explain further.

The first section of text in the book is a bit of fiction, though one without a narrative. It is more of a vignette that situates us generally speaking in the world. We are obviously in a fantasy setting of sorts, with minotaurs, bronze weaponry, and a crumbling city surrounded by jungle. We are given not only physical features but hints at social structures, a sense of cultural decadence, and a storied past that reaches back millennia. I found myself very patient with the hints and suggestions of things in the world, such as a reference to bygone figures like Sulunia Empyreaus and Veturro the gladiator, and to geographical features like the stone faces whose meaning is long gone, the Tower of Heroes, the Vadhmriver, and the tall, leafless trees that stretch out over the jungle that are simply called “watchers.” I was more than patient, I was excited by the glimpses of the world that could not be contained in this one passage. That excitement is due in large part to the fact that it was fiction. Every science fiction or fantasy story makes reference to a world far larger than what you can see in any opening scene. You read actively (or at least, I do) looking for clues and bits and wonder how it will all come into focus later, for you believe that in fact it will all come into focus later. Using fiction puts the reader in the state of accepting that more will be revealed if you are patient and read on.

If the fiction had gone on for long, my patience probably would have shifted to anxiousness, wondering when we would be getting to something good, so it is important that at the bottom of the second page, the author assures you that you will be learning about the game, not just the world. This is the paragraph that ends the first section:

“The Clay that Woke is a roleplaying game. You play nameless minotaurs living and working among the people of the Degringolade and the dangers of the jungle. A gamemaster brings the world to life by creating your employment circumstances and creating and roleplaying all the beings of the Degringolade and jungle. You’ll try to uphold the difficult, stoic minotaur philosophy of silence, and you’ll earn a name” (16).

That single paragraph brings in the elements we just read about: minotaurs, Degringolade (the city), the jungle, the presence of humans, and that minotaurs are in their employ. Doing so assures the reader that the fiction is directly related to the game. Even more importantly, the final paragraph points to things that were not in the fiction: the “stoic minotaur philosophy or silence” and the idea that “you’ll earn a name.” That’s the point that I got excited about what this form of writing could do as the fiction launches us into the rules and the rules launch us into more fiction. And indeed, the next bit of fiction brings up the idea of “breaking silence” and earning a name, as well as showing us what sort of encounters one might have in the jungle. Both forms then hint at things beyond themselves and both promise that all questions will be answered if you only read on. Over time, I found myself reading the rules with the same creative engagement that I was reading the fiction, as everything pointed both forward and back in a kind of crisscrossing of information and ideas.

When reading a rulebook, you expect things to be laid out in logical steps. First I’ll tell you about A, which then prepares to you learn about B. And if you understand C and D, you’re ready to see how E brings it altogether. It’s very linear and in a lot of ways an illusion, as everyone who has tried to write such an instructional text knows. As you try to figure out how to present the material, you realize that you need to introduce the idea of B before you can really explain A, but for B to make any sense, C needs to be on the table, which first requires an explanation of A. That muddle is one of the reasons everyone says that you can learn best by playing, because then everything can be taught almost at once, and it’s why a second read is always more edifying than a first.

Paul’s way around that muddle, it seems to me, is to invoke the way we read fiction, a fantasy novel which shows us parts of the world while referencing names and ideas that will become clear in time as we follow our protagonist around. You get things pointing forward and pointing back, preparing you for new stuff and reaching back to pick up and secure things that were only hinted at before. It is the journey through the text that brings everything together, organically. In fact, the index that stands where a table of contents should be is a perfect emblem of the book. There is an order in heading and subheadings, but the numbers that follow the words dance forward and backward, stretching several pages here, and touching upon a page briefly there. Run your eyes down the index and watch the number reach back and forth, sometimes in large steps, sometimes in small. Everything in the dance has linked arms with everything else, both numerically and conceptually.

It’s very neat, and makes, I think, for a very rewarding read.

The reason fiction is traditionally irritating in RPG texts is that they fail to be intrinsic to the text. They are flavor and contribute nothing but that. What Czege does is make it so that the fiction and the rules and the setting descriptions lean upon one another. In the case of The Clay that Woke that decision seems reasonable because the rules don’t exist as mechanics clothed in the setting of Degringolade and the jungle. The sinew of the mechanics is inseparable from the muscle of the world in which they exist. To play the game, you must understand the world, and to understand the world, you must know not only facts about its people, culture, and physical properties, but you must know the living breathing life of those things as they are communicated through the fiction.

Had this game drawn on genre tropes and fictional worlds already familiar to the reader, then there would be no need to present the information this way. You could say, you know this film? It’s like that.

It’s effective also because the scope of the world in the game is limited. The Clay that Woke involves one (albeit vast) city and one (equally vast) jungle, not a whole planet or system of planets. The game involves minotaurs and humans, not an endless network of species and cultures. The restrictions of the scope of the game played limits the scope of the world at issue so that this particular presentation can accomplish what it wants to accomplish.

Okay, that was much longer than I intended. Forgive me if it is long-winded and wandering. I do not have time to revise my writing much due to lack of free time. If I edited these the way I wanted, I’d post one a month. ​