{"id":249,"date":"2022-02-20T19:14:10","date_gmt":"2022-02-20T19:14:10","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/gojonstonego.com\/blog\/?p=249"},"modified":"2022-03-16T11:26:29","modified_gmt":"2022-03-16T11:26:29","slug":"detachment-dishonored-2-the-beetle","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/gojonstonego.com\/blog\/2022\/02\/20\/detachment-dishonored-2-the-beetle\/","title":{"rendered":"Detachment \/ Dishonored 2 \/ The Beetle"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

This post can also be read on my Substack, Stray Bulletin<\/a>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

DIARY<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I was originally planning to write on two topics: whether or not writers need to read, and disconnections at a near distance. After weighing up which to take on first, I found that the two bled in to one another.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When I teach poetry to students for the first time, I always ask about their prior relationship with it, and there are always a few who say they write it but don\u2019t read it. I understand this; poetry is an expressive tool, and if your major concern is being acknowledged in a world that seems quite happy to roll by with or without you, you naturally lean toward output. The ability to read and enjoy poetry is the result of practice, and we see little apparent evidence of the benefits of putting in that practice. Writers <\/em>are people of status; readers <\/em>are just faces in the crowd. The pleasure of reading is private, and its relationship to intellectual or emotional maturity is difficult to trace, for all that we may sense the change within us.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When the topic of writers needing to read was broached on Twitter, two themes came to the fore: firstly, that habitual reading undoubtedly has a positive impact on writing. How could it not? Language is a fearsomely complex system \u2013 trying to work if from only one end is going to greatly limit your success. But secondly \u2013 and in response to claims that some people\u2019s minds work \u2018differently\u2019 \u2013 there is the moral case. Why should you expect to be read if you yourself refuse to read? Why should that exchange only run one way? Who deserves to be listened to, who does not listen?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This takes me on to my second mini-topic. I don\u2019t know whether and to what extent this is to do with my getting older, or to the damage wrought by the pandemic, or to do with specific painful events in my life, or to do with capitalism or Toryism or the ubiquity of digital media (probably all of the above), but I am finding it particularly difficult to connect with new people around me at the moment, and feel this particularly acutely when we have, on paper, much in common.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It\u2019s not just a case of my feeling shut out; I also struggle with unwillingness on my part. That is to say, I simultaneously feel an intense desire to connect and an equally intense hesitance. I have to work hard to resist feeling mildly exasperated, or bored, or judgmental. All talk feels like small talk. When this is coupled with my perceiving that the other person is also pushing a boulder up a hill, feels the same ambivalence toward me, it lends itself to a feedback loop, in the same way that friendships tend to spring from rapidly accelerating mutual intrigue.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Now, my memory of last being a stranger in a strange land is hazy, but I\u2019m sure I remember the process of getting to know people involving a lot of generous, unguarded gestures from all parties. When I make one of these now, not only is it often not reciprocated, but I may end up feeling I\u2019ve made the person uncomfortable \u2013 as if I were doting. I\u2019ve become accordingly more restrained.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Hard for me to know, though, how it looks from the other side. Hard for me to judge whether someone is genuinely keen to maintain emotional distance, or wants me to offer much more, wants me to put all I\u2019ve got to offer on the table. Or whether they themselves simply don\u2019t know what is misfiring.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Thinking back again to writers who don\u2019t read, I wonder if it\u2019s possible for a collective \u2013 a stratum of a society, say \u2013 to be damaged to the point where the combined ability to extend care and understanding toward others becomes far outstripped by the need for the same care and understanding. For the need to write (and, hence, to be read, to have one\u2019s experience validated) to completely overtake the capacity to take on board ideas and experiences that are of an alien character.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I wonder sometimes even about people who read voraciously \u2013 whether they are really exposing themselves to the risk of disorientation, of intellectual and emotional hurdles, or whether they have found a way to read with blinkers on, sifting the material for what reassures them. I wonder if this is what the judgement that a work is \u2018beautiful\u2019 sometimes relates to, and whether there is a connection with standards of beauty in people \u2013 the beautiful being that which is devoid of threat, which will not change you.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I may be drawing together too much. I may be overly haunted by some advice given to me in the midst of a series of bad dates last year. Without going into the details, it pertained to What Women Want (or what answers their subconscious psychological needs, say) and lo, it was something I could not see myself ever being able to provide, nor being inclined to fake. Perhaps, then (I say to myself), the people I meet now need things, and are able to ascertain very quickly that I am not a provider of these things. Much as I am offering handouts, worksheets and group discussion to students who may struggle to see past their need for acknowledgement and validation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And what do I want? What do I mean by this \u2018connection\u2019 I say I\u2019m looking for? Perhaps the same thing \u2013 perhaps more than anyone can give. To be read, to be listened to, to be made safe.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Or maybe I just want to run into someone who will play couch co-op games with me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n\n\n\n

VIDEOGAMES<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019ve recently started playing Dishonored 2<\/em>, from Arkane Studios \u2013 a little nervously, since the original Dishonored <\/em>was a game I felt didn\u2019t need a sequel. There\u2019s a strange dissonance to both titles whereby the story casts you as a cautious avenger, only killing the most despicable enemies, while the various systems (enemy behaviour, player abilities, level layout) entreat you to become a brutal, supernatural night stalker and murder-machine. This is even more pronounced in Dishonored 2<\/em>, which begins by making a sore point of the fact that you\u2019ve been framed for the deaths of your political rivals, before handing you a knife, pistol and crossbow and making it trivially easy to terrify and tear apart enemies.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As an example of what is now termed an \u2018immersive sim\u2019, it\u2019s designed to facilitate different approaches and playstyles. There are videos of players who approach each level as a dance floor \u2013 after practising their moves for countless hours, they will release a video of them performing an expertly choreographed ballet of mayhem and mutilation. An electric-shock mine attached to a severed head is thrown into the air,  landing on another enemy just as he whirls round to face the protagonist, surprising yet another into falling into the harbour, and so on.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I prefer to try to \u2018ghost\u2019 each level, getting through it without being seen or heard while robbing every purse and rooting through every drawer and cabinet. But what I really enjoy is testing the boundaries of the game\u2019s realism and watching it devolve into the uncanny. I can yank a guard officer up onto the roof of his own lodge, take his money, then slingshot away \u2013 the A.I. doesn\u2019t know how to jump or climb down, so after recovering from the mugging, he will simply stand there on the narrow roof, pondering to himself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In a similar move, I rescue two civilians about to be shot by the local religious fanatics. I stow them in plain sight on a dusty first floor balcony while the cult members below yell, \u201cCome out of hiding!\u201d and light bombs. When one of my rescuees notices I\u2019m carrying the unconscious body of an underworld boss, he cries out in terror and, lacking anywhere to run to, cowers before me. He is still in the same position, on the same balcony, when I return half an hour later, after having made a deal with the cult and stolen every single one of their pistols from right under their noses.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"\/<\/a><\/figure>\n\n\n\n
\n\n\n\n

FICTION<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019ve begun reading The Beetle <\/em>by Richard Marsh, \u201ca thrilling horror novel of mesmerism, murder and shape-shifting terror\u201d, according to the blurb, released the same year as Dracula<\/em>. Coincidentally, it includes a chapter very early on which could easily have served as the inspiration for some of Dishonored 2<\/em>\u2019s levels. Under the influence of mind control, the protagonist scales the outside of a house and smashes his way through an upper floor window. The house belongs to a powerful politician, and our burglar has been sent to steal some papers \u2013 the key to that politician\u2019s downfall.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It\u2019s very Hammer Horror so far \u2013 short chapters making it easy to read at the bus stop.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"\/<\/figure>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

This post can also be read on my Substack, Stray Bulletin. DIARY I was originally planning to write on two topics: whether or not writers need to read, and disconnections at a near distance. After weighing up which to take on first, I found that the two bled in to one another. When I teach poetry […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/gojonstonego.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/249"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/gojonstonego.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/gojonstonego.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/gojonstonego.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/gojonstonego.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=249"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/gojonstonego.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/249\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":261,"href":"https:\/\/gojonstonego.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/249\/revisions\/261"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/gojonstonego.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=249"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/gojonstonego.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=249"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/gojonstonego.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=249"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}