Reconstruction Vol. 14, No. 1
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Book Review: The Art of Failure: An Essay on the Pain of Playing Video Games, Jesper Juul, MIT Press, 2013. / Ian Reyes
Figure 1
<1> Jesper Juul’s latest monograph shows how the pain of failure always accompanies, and in fact enables, the pleasures of video game play. Presenting a typology of video game failures, Juul illuminates how processes of identification (e.g., with an avatar, or as a player of the game as such) are embroiled with failures fictional and real. What it means for players to have failed, thus to become failures themselves, depends on what they failed to do and how they failed to do it. Depending on a game’s goals (transient, improvement, or completable) and its paths to success (skill, chance, or labor), the meanings and experiences of failure vary for the player. Comparing theories of failure in terms of what it means to the one who has failed, Juul seeks to unpack the “paradox of failure”: although failure is unpleasant, experiences of failure can be desirable under certain circumstances, which video games exemplify.
<2> Juul details a dynamic between the “emotional gamble” players make when risking failure and the “promise” designers make to be responsible in structuring failure. In this bargain, good games are “fair.” Bad games use failure to punish rather than motivate, and the degree of punishment is measured by what players lose upon failing, like points, inventory, or time. However, Juul extends this exploration of losing at the game into purely narratological terrain as well, describing how processes of interaction and identification with video game characters may immerse players in classically tragic forms of drama; in short, showing how one can win a game yet still fail to attain the goals of a protagonist.
<3> The issue of skill is one area where Juul’s account of failure may be the most provocative. What are the implications of not simply failing, but in failing so thoroughly as to show that a player is bad at the game as such? Considering that game skills have been linked to life skills—like real-world critical thinking, hand-eye coordination, or problem solving abilities—Juul argues that being bad at a game may point to the player as a person lacking also in non-game skills. The (mistaken) notion that video games are “just” games defends against the real and justifiable anxieties that game failure is symptomatic of something deeper, more real and personal.
<4> Another line of provocation comes from observing how the paradox of failure runs against basic design principles about quality and ease of use. Video games are unusual because they are designed to hinder their users, and therein is the secret to their success. Following this, the so-called “gamification” trend is suspect. Typical gamification schemes do nothing but reward certain behaviors, yet do not add difficulty to that behavior. Simple incentives are not a new form of marketing or management, nor are they especially game-like. By Juul’s standard, if gamification is to be more motivating—and to actually be game-like—gamifiers would do well to consider how to integrate failure, not just reward, into their system.
<5> Juul describes his methodology as guided by philosophy, psychology, game design, and fiction. With a chapter dedicated to each, he presents failure’s many facets and contextualizes specific instances of video game failure within the intellectual histories and theoretical priorities of these disciplines. Through this approach, the book may be read not only as a primer on failure for video game researchers, but for those less familiar with video game studies it offers a clear mapping and illustration of interdisciplinary work typical of this field.
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