What is Le Morte D’Arthur?
This is my first attempt to explain the design of Le Morte D’Arthur to the public. I have been reluctant to publicly describe the design for a variety of reasons, the most important of which is the fact that the design has changed over the years. The design path has followed a series of dramatic zigs and zags as I have developed the concepts. A second reason for my reticence is that some aspects of the design are best discovered by the players themselves.
Le Morte D’Arthur is quite unlike anything I have ever seen. Most people will struggle to describe it; many will declare that it is a kind of interactive fiction, but that characterization is far from the mark, even though it superficially does look like many interactive fiction products. It is certainly not a game, nor does it meet my own definition of interactive storytelling. By my own definition, LMD is somewhere between a puzzle and a conflict — mostly puzzle, but with some conflict. Yet it is not at all like any puzzle you have ever experienced before, for several reasons. First, most puzzles present obvious challenges in a direct logical sequence; in LMD, you can’t even be sure what the challenges are. It doesn’t look like a puzzle, nor does it play like a puzzle. Initially, it is entirely expository — you experience events without being able to make any decisions about those events. This serves the necessary function of familiarizing you with the situation in which you find yourself. The further you progress, the more difficult your decisions become. The significance of your decisions is variable; some decisions have little significance, and some have greater significance.
Second, most puzzles present coldly logical challenges. To solve them, you must carry out some convoluted logical sequence, or perhaps recall some tiny detail from much earlier in your playing. A few particularly vicious puzzles require an utterly nonsensical solution. There is but one puzzle in LMD, but it is presented at a high level of abstraction and the solution is expressed in your actions over the entire sequence of events.
I remember, over forty years ago, speculating with other game designers at Atari whether games could ever become an art form. We all greatly desired that achievement, but none of us had the weakest notion of how to accomplish that goal. I have struggled towards that goal for my entire career. Now, with Le Morte D’Arthur, I think I have created the first piece of software that is, by my harsh standards, true art. It is not great art, and it is far from perfect. But it definitely has important things to say about the human condition.
I shall never be satisfied with LMD; no matter how much I work on it, I shall forever be wincing at its flaws. Because it will exist as a web page, the ease of modifying it will forever hang over my head like a novel with text that, in Mark Twain’s words, is like a lightning bug instead of a bolt of lightning. For the rest of my life, I shall be frowning over those weak spots; at night, as I drift to sleep, those flaws will march through my mind, tormenting me with their ugliness.
My decision to publish Le Morte D’Arthur will be triggered by creative exhaustion, not by any sense of completion. It will never be right, just good enough. It is already playable now, but I have more tuning to do, more sections so badly flawed that I cannot bear the thought of anybody seeing them. I do not know when I shall publish it, but I sense that my creative stamina will near its limit sometime this year.
