Let's call it like it is: I'm a condescending asshole. Whatever. I know my position in the gaming community is EXTREMELY liminal. Critical Distance hasn't been taking my phone calls for months now--and, since Kris Ligman decided that a personal email I sent her that detailed my mental illness and drug issues was hilarious enough to spread around to her friends, I've been all the better for it. (If you're interested in my mental illness and drug issues, as an experiment
I've written about some of them. It's my least popular article--the experiment was a success from my view of things.) I've been writing about videogames since I was 19. I went through my shitty confessional writing phase--by the way, learn a little something about the history of literary genres before you start talking about the reasons I use the term, and also knock the fuck off the anti-religious snark because I'm culturally Catholic and that insults my background. (Of course, I'm white, cis, and Catholic, so insulting my background isn't apparently a problem?) Point is, I've been a bad writer, I've been a good writer, I've been a weird-as-shit writer that no one gets, and I've seen so many writers come and go that it's extremely difficult to impress me.
I get that I'm not widely read or discussed, that I'm usually hated if I'm thought of at all. Whatever. I write what I write, and if you don't get it, I'll be more than happy to read your little essay about why I suck--long as you understand that I'm gonna write a little essay back. So here we go.
Zach, you've failed to understand a single word of my article. Oh, you've picked up on the oozing condescension--I love that phrase, it makes my piece seem like a suppurated, festering clump of blood (sorry, I'm reading The Emperor of Maladies and it's goddamn amazing but I keep thinking of everything in terms of cancer these days)--and you've picked up on the irony, but, uh, I don't think you've thought about what that irony means.
Here's a behind the scenes note: I don't think a single piece has gone up on my site that has seen less than three drafts. "In Praise Of" had eight. All told, about 12,000 words were written to get to the 2500 you see there. If 10,000 of those words weren't unreadably awful we'd have a Lord of the Rings-esque special edition on our hands. Maybe I should charge for the LoTR special edition of my piece. It's a thought. What all of this is leading to--besides me stroking my ego--is that every single word in that article is chosen extremely goddamn carefully.
(By the way, thank you for counting the number of paragraphs I've made. I've never thought to count paragraphs before; now I have yet another way of making myself seem long-winded. I appreciate it.)
I don't like writing on the literal level. I think it's boring and itself condescending. Nearly every piece Hernandez has written has been on the literal level. I may have made mistakes with that article, but the biggest was expecting that people would understand what I was trying to say. Whether I'm a flawed writer for that or whether you're simply "not my audience" will be left as an exercise for the reader.
So, what the fuck does
"In Praise of Patricia Hernandez's 'Gaming Made Me: Fallout 2'" mean? Why did I pick that particular article to rip apart?
While at the time I published my article, Hernandez was not yet an editor at Kotaku (bravely "battling the commenters", as if the quality of peoples' antipathy is at all related to the quality of your writing), she'd had some Kotaku pieces under her belt, Nightmare Mode was getting a reputation due to the Adam Ruch thing, and Rock Paper Shotgun had published her piece. (She was hired something in the neighborhood of two-three weeks after I published--I seem to remember it being right around the New Year but I don't consider the exact date relevant enough to look up.) I had some things I wanted to say about the use of the personal in writing, and I needed to be EXTREMELY careful with who I picked to write about. Were I to pick someone who was well-established, it would look like some asshole with a blog picking on a giant--I've made that mistake before. Were I to pick someone whose career was not so assured, it would come across as bullying an unknown. I picked Hernandez solely because she was an extremely well-defended target. She's a professional writer. I'm not. Not yet at least. I just turned 30. I'm one of those who considers anything before about 35 or so to be an apprenticeship.
I'm an extremely private person. I'm an only child, I'm single, I keep mostly to myself. I don't have a Facebook. I gave it up when I realized that there were only about eight-ten people on there I had a genuine relationship with, and if I can't keep that up through calls and physical presence and texts, then it's time to reevaluate that friendship. I'm shitty and crazy on Twitter and I'm trying to not tweet very much because I get myself into trouble. I think social networking should have stopped with Myspace. I consider social media to be masturbatory, and I consider--let's use the term New Games Journalism because I'm enough of a dinosaur that my worldview coalesced when New Games Journalism was indeed new--to be, if I may quote myself, "incoherent, rambling, bombastic, self-aggrandizing little squirts of Freshman Composition-level material only tangentially related to videogames" (c.f. this abomination I'm in the middle of writing now.) I used to, when Tim Rogers was relevant, dismiss NGJ as "writing about noodles"; now I tend to dismiss it as "I was sad because my mommy was mean and then I played a videogame and it was all better," which not only misses the relevance of the videogame but also trivializes the personal issues which do happen. I'm not going to write about the fact that I was molested repeatedly my freshman year of high school and how I played videogames because, you know, I was fucking molested and I don't want to pretend that that wasn't goddamned awful. I'm also not going to write about it because you know something? It's none of your fucking business.
The burden is on me to prove that I'm not relying on strawmen. Brendan Keogh--you're in the room. Have you not recently said that "GMM: F2" was a "phenomenal" article, after saying that Hernandez is a "phenomenal" writer--as if repeating a word makes it true? But you're right--that piece wasn't published at the time I wrote the piece. Zach, you might have missed it because it was all the way at the bottom of the piece, but Liz Ryerson's piece for the New Statesman praised Hernandez's piece highly. (In many ways, the subtext of my article is that Hernandez is extremely incidental; the piece is a criticism of Ryerson.) (And, for the record, I kind of fucked up my next-to-last paragraph. That was a total fumble--the bit on Anna Anthropy is especially shitty. I have massive, massive problems with her work, her persona, her writing, and yet I articulated them extremely poorly here.) I'd seen dozens of comments talking about how wonderful Hernandez's article was--dozens of tweets--and it was linked nearly goddamn everywhere. Hands up--is there anyone in the room here who wasn't aware of the article, who didn't see at least someone talk up Hernandez as the second coming of Joan Didion? This is a fairly bullshit point you're making here and you know it. I'm too lazy to drag out links at the moment. If you really want me to drag out links, I'll drag out links and quotes. Don't ask a guy with a master's under his belt to do Research Day if you're not equipped to deal with something exhaustive, though. I'm just saying.
I have not, to date, seen any real reasons why I should like GMM. Everyone says it's "powerful" and "personal"--and yet, I don't really think that's the case. When I first read the piece, it seemed like a crappy personal article. When I reread it, it seemed even crappier. Every single time I saw it linked somewhere, or talked about by a writer I respect, I read it again. After about the seventh time I've read it, I was convinced that the entire point of the article was simply Hernandez wanting to tell the world how horrible her mother was to her. I started writing my article at that point. All told, I read the article at least fifteen times--fourteen times more than anyone, seemingly including Hernandez herself, has. Maybe I've seen something there that doesn't exist. But then again--Death of the Author? My point that we don't have any real language to talk about how "good" something is, that's a point I still feel. If you're willing to show me a coherent and plausible and substantiative argument defending her piece, I'm willing to read it. But most of the things I've read have just given up after a few moments and have just ended up waggling their arms in the air while gushing about how their girl Patty's done good.
Let's talk about choplogic. You're familiar with a syllogism, right? One of the cliche examples is:
Socrates was a man.
All men are mortal.
Therefore, Socrates was mortal.
This is logic in its most basic form. Philosophy 101 stuff. A set of premises that are taken to a conclusion. Choplogic is a parody of syllogisms--you'll see people call them "sillygisms" which is a horrible name so let's not talk about that any more. It uses the techniques and the form of logic and twists it. It uses puns, or bizarre properties, or esoteric meanings of words and comes to completely ridiculous conclusions. The humor lies in the incongruity of using logic--which is seen as an extremely formal, extremely rigid, almost scientific form--to come to conclusions which are completely illogical. A favorite one I remember from childhood:
After death there is a mourning.
After morning comes night.
In chess, the Knight is next to the Bishop.
A Bishop can eventually become Pope.
The Pope has serious convictions.
After a serious conviction, you get life.
Therefore, there is life after death.
You've got to understand choplogic to understand "In Praise Of". Mocking? Hell yeah I'm taking a mocking tone. There's a lot in "Gaming Made Me: Fallout 2" to mock. But more importantly, I believe it's impossible to find any value in this article--that it's an example of adolescent rage.
You have completely misread me saying "I have had no meaningful struggles with parental expectations." You seem to believe that that's me feeling like I can't join the Club because I don't have any trauma in my life. You seem to have completely ignored the two sentences which surround that: "I am merely the gay only child of an Italian Catholic family" and "I do not know what it is like to live contrary to my family's values." I don't know if you've thought about this, but being gay in an Italian Catholic family isn't exactly the easiest thing to be. Doubly so when you're the only child--being gay means that the family line dies with me. My point was that I've had a lot of meaningful struggles with parental expectations in my life. Earlier in my piece I say that I have a "complex relationship with my parents". That's an understatement and an extremely lame statement: EVERYBODY IN THE WORLD has a complex relationship with their parents. Whether it's good or bad or indifferent, the way we are or are not raised is fundamental to our personalities. I don't find Hernandez's personal struggle to be meaningful. That's not a slight against her. I don't expect her to find my personal struggle to be meaningful. Mine is meaningful to me. Hers is meaningful to her. Yours is meaningful to yours. What I see in "Gaming Made Me: Fallout 2" is the same mother-vs-daughter traumas that happen to everyone. And in them, I see a massive self-centeredness and a massive inability to realize that other people have the same shit happen to them. Every other line of this essay is Hernandez inviting us to feel bad for the difficult life she's led. As a feminist, I find such self-victimization to be disgusting. If she has had it worse than everybody, then she hasn't made that clear.
Take for example, one of the vaguely memorable images in the piece: Hernandez crying over having to try on a bra while her mother pounds on the door. Now. Every single woman that I know has had a--let's say complicated relationship with their first bra. I don't think anyone would disagree. It's an event which is extremely loaded: It's a symbol of womanhood, of sexuality, of growing up--all of which are very difficult things to deal with even when you're not dealing with a bunch of hormones pumping through your body. (I mean seriously, being 13 was crazy as shit and I NEVER want to go through that kind of thing again.) Some of the women I knew embraced it--they were ready and excited for what it brought. Some were extraordinarily embarrassed--they weren't comfortable with the attention they knew it would bring. And some were simply freaked out at childhood ending. Hernandez directly connects her issues with her first bra to issues with her sexuality--and I do not at all fault her for that. I don't fault her for not being able, at that age, to articulate what exactly it is that she was bothered about. And yet I fault her, as an adult, for not recognizing that there might have been something a little more complex than simply her mother being Mean and Bad. In fact, when Hernandez opens the door, her mother is "laughing"--and while she's certainly implying that her mother is making fun of her, as an adult I can see this having some of the gentle humor that a mother has for her daughter. Her mother, you must realize, had her own traumas when she was that age. Perhaps she was remembering a similar fight she had with her own mother--how important it felt at the time and how silly it seemed with distance. What I see is Hernandez having an inability to judge distance. She is as affected by some kids playing doctor with her as she is with her mother having her wear a bra as she is with a high school teacher as she is with--well, read any of her articles, she's certainly not made a secret of what's bothering her during any given week. I can't speculate too much. I can only go by the text. And the text shows me a woman who is frustrated with her young teenage daughter being difficult, a woman who laughs with relief when the ordeal is finally over, who herself must have some complex feelings about her daughter growing up (Mrs. Hernandez is, after all, a person herself, much as Hernandez does not care to recognize that) and who--and this damns her for all eternity!--buys her daughter a present to cheer her up, perhaps even to celebrate that she's at a new phase in life. Hernandez makes a point to tell us that she didn't even really play games at the time, makes a point to mention that there were a couple of games that weren't as good, and it's only coincidence that Fallout 2 happened to be in there. If there was nothing in the box she liked, perhaps it would have been tossed aside as another crappy present. I find this scene extremely poignant. Throughout is the implication that money was tight in the Hernandez household; the box of games is explicitly a box of cheap used games purchased at a garage sale. Sharper than a serpent's tooth is Patricia Hernandez.
Over and over we see Hernandez bitching about her mother--and yet even as she says that power in her family was concentrated in the men, even as she criticizes the patriarchy, we do not see her father. I cannot stress this point enough. If she wants to show us that gender roles, that high expectations, that stress was put on her by her father, why does she not show him? Why does she spend her time talking about her mother? I can only go by the text. And the text shows me that Hernandez cannot back up her statements.
And so the "academic" portion of my essay was written using pure choplogic. I won't insult you by giving you a lecture on Lacan--when Adam Ruch implied his readers didn't know something he got lynched--but this entire section is intended to be read as a parody of psychoanalytic criticism. What I am saying here is that to read this article as a legitimate critique of patriarchy, to read it as a feminist statement, to read it as politically mature--this requires some bizarre leaps of logic, some doublethink, some unwillingness to look at the article Hernandez actually wrote.
(I also have some serious issues with textual readings of games, and part of the parody comes from that impulse. My long-time readers will know that I come from this place, and they would have been aware that I was making fun of overtheorizing and using inappropriately academic discourse to discuss something. Academia has a definite, important, necessary place in many things, but it's not appropriate everywhere. This was simply some straight-faced riffing that I did for the people who enjoy this sort of thing. I'm happy to talk more on this subject, but it's kind of irrelevant to the issue at hand and I don't want to get bogged down in it. I'm wasting enough of your time as it is.)
Look. Believe me or don't, I don't give a fuck, but I'm totally cool and down with making writing more personal. I mean, fuck. Have you read this response? (Probably you haven't--I wouldn't blame you. TL;DR and all of that!) What I argue against is the irresponsible use of the personal. I don't want to read the autobiography of someone I don't know. I don't care. It's not my business. It's a narcissistic exhibition that I don't get and that makes me uncomfortable. I think the Mattie Brices of the world misunderstand me when I say "uncomfortable". I'm not uncomfortable about Patricia Hernandez being a woman, or being a lesbian, or having a family from El Salvador, or using cough medicine recreationally, or being a former alcoholic, or using the word "rape" and regretting it, or whatever per se--last time I checked I was a slutty, druggy musician living in Brooklyn and I've made my peace with seeing random shit.
It's just--I dunno, let's go to my bedroom for a minute. I'm naked, covered in come, a haze of pot smoke is swirling around and there's some dude (I can't remember a single thing about him, genuinely) in bed with me, same state, the only light is a shitty string of cheap Christmas lights that I've tacked up, and the room smells like amyl and like two men have just fucked each other senseless--sorry, did this image make you uncomfortable?--and we're having stoned conversation about childhood shit, and I'm telling him how my dad used to sing all these stupid little songs he used to make up. And there was a little one that was the first song I learned to sing. I'm a musician. This song is extremely, deeply important to me. And I opened my mouth to sing it to this guy--and suddenly I decided, shit, who the fuck is this guy? He doesn't get this one.
Look, it's stupid. You can make all of these awful parallels about virginity and shit like that, I've thought about it and I'm going to plunge ahead even given the metaphorical pitfalls. I'm not saying, I'm going to save this stupid little song my dad made up for me for The Man I Marry, and I'm certainly no virgin. But...that's something which goes very deeply to the core of who I am. Many of the things that have happened to me go deeply. They may be meaningless and they may not be important and they may not be interesting, but they're mine and I went through them and I am past the point of needing everyone's approval, I'm past the point of needing to squirt my past every time I meet a new person. I was right not to sing the song to that guy because I've never seen him again. I'll never see him again. I've sung the song for a couple of people though. And those same people have shared their songs with me, and you know what? That means so goddamn much.
I'm lucky as shit. I'm privileged. I've had the good shit and the fake stuff doesn't do it for me any more. The secrets that you tell everybody are hardly secrets. None of Hernandez's stories can ever mean anything to me because they're rehearsed and honed. She is making a career out of repurposing her past over and over again. I'm not friends with her--that her favorite song seems to be me, me, me is a large reason why I'm not even remotely interested.
A last couple of lingering points. That "someone" that Zach references was Kim Moss, and I will avoid saying her name three times after the Adam Ruch dogpile, but
I've written about her too, because I'm just that much of a bully. I will say that all of my praise for her writing style is genuine. While I found the content of her post to be reprehensible, the girl can write. This ties into the whole "debate/conversation/I just want to say this and have no one question it"--but short form is, saying that any subject is off-limits creates dogmas. One would think that people against oppression would be against dogma as well--but to quote Orson Bean, "A liberal is someone who will fight to the death for your right to agree with him." Or her.
I thank you for your time and I apologize for the bigth of this post. This has been the equivalent of the end of a My Bloody Valentine concert, when Kevin Shields and everyone put the guitars next to the amplifiers and just let them feed back for hours and hours until everyone's left the room, and I appreciate your indulgence. One of my professors used to say, "If I had more time, I would have written less," and while I didn't understand it at the time, as I progress through my apprenticeship I begin to appreciate the sentiment more and more. I would also like to thank Zach for identifying me as the Gavrilo Princip of this scene; I am extremely flattered. I hope all of you have a good evening!