Nick talked about the lack of responsibility in most games writing, among other things, in his article a few days ago. A follow-up piece is due for publication soon, but for the moment we're taking a break and I'll be examining the effect of an 'objectivity'-focused agenda in games writing, and where a more subjective approach could improve the situation.

One of the things I found I had to deal with as a games writers, intentional or not, is that of the established canon � opinions that are deemed the 'correct' ones. Super Mario is the best platformer ever; Metal Gear Solid is Kojima's cinematic masterpiece etc. For writers just starting out this problem is doubly so: since we don't have the money or time to play most games, in framing content we usually end up using these accepted norms for convenience. Their use is understandable, but when it comes to dominate games writing it becomes a problem.

My point � there's no point dancing around it � is that there is no 'right' opinion. Because the only facts are those that can be empirically measured: science, maths, that sort of thing. The aesthetic is always subjective. Anyone who labels someone as the 'right' reviewer (or worse, one who does it themselves) is just plain wrong. Everyone's opinion has equal worth in itself, however much fun it is to deride some particular ones. The only criticism that really can be made of opinions is their suitability to the arena that hosts them. But if we accept that, then how do we deal with issues of reliability, objectivity and responsibility? Is this just a copout? Nick has written about this, and will continue to in his next piece, but for now I'm going to try and reconcile his demand for objectivity from games reviewers with my belief that there should be more room for subjectivity.

Post-modernism and its assorted ways of thinking are interesting, it has to be said, but they can be dangerous. When adopted wholeheartedly you have something that approaches nihilism, where no-one believes in anything and everyone can do whatever they want. It needs some restrictions, but for the moment we'll focus on what post-modernism can bring to games criticism.

Let me reiterate a crucial point: there is no right opinion. Our appreciation of any piece of art is loaded with value judgements: a game can't have value in itself, no matter what we say in our drunken, passionate moments. A game gains value in relation to players and to other games: most readers will consider the Crash games dull and derivative, but that's because they've played Super Mario 64 and Banjo-Kazooie. All opinions are value judgements and all value judgements derive from a person's own base of experiences and ideologies. Purists can argue against this, claiming something like Tetris is universal and timeless, but this holds up to little argument. For all we know there could be some culture that sees no value in Goldeneye or Final Fantasy 7, or even in videogaming itself (a horrid, but not impossible, notion).

There is a definite, desperately needed, place for what Nick and others called 'objectivity' in consumer-orientated games journalism: I use the quotation marks because real objectivity is impossible with something like this � when we say objectivity what we really mean is a suitable professional distance from truly personal opinions. But there is also a definite, desperately needed, place for the highly personal and subjective approach that New Games Journalism highlighted. The discontent with modern games journalism is not just with the conventional mode of criticism itself (although a slipping of standards in it is apparent), but also with the monopoly this mode has had on popular games writing. Although thankfully this is beginning to loosen, with the proliferation of online games writing.

A subjective mode is needed too, because the conventional method is inadequate as a sole means. It caters to the middle ground and the casual, generally ignoring the idiosyncrasy of the experience of playing a game. This is institutionised in mainstream reviewing, which seems determined to maintain a status quo easily understood by the masses. Disruptions against this (like, for example, an overzealous football fan giving FIFA 10/10) are feared. Here the contrast between the two modes is the most obvious; it's why the subjective alternative is needed.

If one has any fluster of passion for games then what will matter more than games scores is the experience of the game. If an experience (NGJ's 'travel writing') can be conveyed in writing, rather than a writer relying on arbitrary sounds/graphics/lastability marks, then the reader has a better chance of knowing if they'll like the game. This, of course, comes with a host of caveats. Experience is different for different people. Sometimes it doesn't connect.

This is why it's so valuable. Because, in the end, isn't that why we play games? Isn't that what we remember, when the dreariness of modern life gets too much? Isn't that what we want for our kids, when they're old enough to hold a controller? Of course, it's notoriously difficult to convey the experience of a game without writing some sort of trite quasi-narrative, but that doesn't mean we should shy away from it. But the idiosyncrasy of experience is also why it's so unused in mainstream writing about games. Magazines have a limited space in which to reach as many people as possible, and they're hardly going to waste any print on writing that'll only connect to a handful of readers. Likewise, the big professional websites are trying to hit as high numbers as possible.

Nick mentioned in Wednesday's article that the famous account of lightsaber duels on Jedi Knight was important for its content, not its form. A fair point, but it's too simple a distinction. Form and content are never separate: form can dictate what the content can and can't say. Conventional reviewing methods play towards homogeneity and a middle ground because of their format. One has to conform the bigger picture; the precious review scale; the status quo. NGJ, and its focus on the personal, gives the writer a freer hand (although this has its disadvantages too � discipline is the first casualty), and so the possibilities with the content widen.

Of course, I'm in no way suggesting mags and reviews ditch the traditional mode of reviewing and have every writer turn review sections into a collection of long anecdotes. No-one wants that; in fact, it would be a disservice to readers. As boring as many reviews are, their problems are less to do with a lack of subjectivity, more to do with clichéd writing and a lack of critical analysis. Catering for a broad range of people who want to know if next week's games are worth their money requires a leash on wild streams of consciousness, no matter how much fun they are to read. What I'm trying to say is that a more subjective way of writing about games is needed also, if only to provide better understanding of games and a more complete picture of how they actually interact with gamers. For the sake of diversity alone, we should devote more articles towards personal takes on games, unrestricted by convention.

The art of games writing is developing in the so-called Web 2.0, and the overbearing reliance on stringent rules of objectivity-focused writing are appearing even more antiquated. It's a question of balance if nothing else, but for too long the scales have been skewed.

Conor Smyth
[email protected]

With this article's sentiments in mind, I'm calling on anyone with a take on a game that would be out of place in the mainstream games media to mail us. And not just subjective writing; anything that you reckon most sites would declare too alternative, too leftfield, to publish. A declaration of love; a feminist analysis of Peach; a thousand words on art styles in games; an account of drunken nights playing Mario; if you're a competent writer with a personal message to say then drop me a line at [email protected]. If we like what we see we'll showcase them in a special feature soon.