Today I read The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost through a few times with my partner, and discovered (with the help of a “poem guide”) that I had spent over half of my life so far supposing I understood it when in fact I had misunderstood it crucially in a common way, common to both its initial recipient as well as many people who read it.
Sixteen or seventeen years passed with this poem living in my memory, incorrectly interpreted.
You can read the poem here if you’re unfamiliar; the poem guide mentioned is also linked at the right of that page.
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At least a few of my favourite videogames are ones which I stepped away from for a time, then returned to with fresh eyes. La-Mulana, I gave several tries before guiding myself through its initial sections with a walkthrough. System Shock 2 defeated me, I got stuck, and it wasn’t until I returned four years later that I blew past that initial hurdle to complete the game. Dark Souls, in its opening area, confused me into thinking the game was impossibly difficult; this time it only took an hour before I returned but I was ready to give up when I discovered the third, and appropriately-difficult, route.
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When I had this realization about The Road Not Taken, my first thought was of letterclub, and I thought — what does this say about games? What can I learn by comparing or contrasting games against this seventeen-year learning experience?
I wanted to say “Games can’t do this because they provide clear feedback“ — you know when you’re failing that you’re doing, or interpreting, something incorrectly.
But, no, you can do that with a game, even in one which “correctly” gives negative feedback for incorrect play. When you fail, you can assume it’s the fault of the game, or of other outside forces. “I’m not good enough”, “this isn’t designed for me because I want to play it this way”, “it’s poorly designed”.
Hubris and inexperience and folly and more can all get in the way.
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The critic David Orr has hailed “The Road Not Taken” as a poem that “at least in its first few decades … came close to being reader-proof.”
Games and poems can actually be poorly-designed, of course. But who can say that poor design doesn’t lead to beautiful outcomes, now and then?
Art is hard, friends.
