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The Elfish Gene: Dungeons, Dragons and Growing Up Strange
In this witty memoir of nerd life, the author reflects on “how D&D twisted his teenage development—and about how twisted teenage development is in general” ( The Seattle Times ).
Summer, 1976. Twelve-year-old Mark Barrowcliffe had a chance to be normal. He blew it. While other teenagers were being coolly rebellious, Mark—and twenty million other boys in the 1970s and ’80s—chose to spend his entire adolescence pretending to be a wizard, a warrior, or an evil priest. Armed only with pen, paper, and some funny-shaped dice, this lost generation gave themselves up to the craze of fantasy role-playing games. Spat at by bullies and laughed at by girls, they now rule the world. They were the geeks, the fantasy war gamers, and this is their story.
“Laugh-out-loud funny.” — The Christian Science Monitor
“Readers will find this very funny memoir of Dungeons and Dragons to be just like the games unforgivably dorky but irresistibly fun.” — Booklist
“There’s not a whole lot written about gaming, especially from the inside, and The Elfish Gene belongs in every gamer’s library.” —Enter the Octopus Blog
“Barrowcliffe’s retrospective self-awareness is by turns poignant and amusing . . . As fantasy movies dominate the box office; the author offers a timely, appropriate memoir of addiction recovery . . . Worth a few hours holed up in the basement.” — Kirkus Reviews
Summer, 1976. Twelve-year-old Mark Barrowcliffe had a chance to be normal. He blew it. While other teenagers were being coolly rebellious, Mark—and twenty million other boys in the 1970s and ’80s—chose to spend his entire adolescence pretending to be a wizard, a warrior, or an evil priest. Armed only with pen, paper, and some funny-shaped dice, this lost generation gave themselves up to the craze of fantasy role-playing games. Spat at by bullies and laughed at by girls, they now rule the world. They were the geeks, the fantasy war gamers, and this is their story.
“Laugh-out-loud funny.” — The Christian Science Monitor
“Readers will find this very funny memoir of Dungeons and Dragons to be just like the games unforgivably dorky but irresistibly fun.” — Booklist
“There’s not a whole lot written about gaming, especially from the inside, and The Elfish Gene belongs in every gamer’s library.” —Enter the Octopus Blog
“Barrowcliffe’s retrospective self-awareness is by turns poignant and amusing . . . As fantasy movies dominate the box office; the author offers a timely, appropriate memoir of addiction recovery . . . Worth a few hours holed up in the basement.” — Kirkus Reviews
289 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 2007
10 people are currently reading
350 people want to read
About the author
Mark Barrowcliffe
13 books25 followersAka M.D. Lachlan.
He grew up in Coventry and studied at the University of Sussex. He worked as a journalist and also as a stand-up comedian before he started writing his first novel, Girlfriend 44. He lives and writes in Brighton, England and South Cambridgeshire. Ron Howard secured the film rights for Girlfriend 44 and Infidelity for First Time Fathers is in development with 2929.
Barrowcliffe achieved early success in the late 1990s as part of the Lad Lit movement, although his writing has little in common with other writers who were bracketed under that heading. He is nearer to Terry Southern, Jonathan Coe and Martin Amis than he is to Nick Hornby or Mike Gayle.This is more than likely a matter of presentation, as most of the British versions of his novels have appeared in the candy-coloured covers favoured by lad and chick lit publishers.
Barrowcliffe's early work was noted for its cynicism and black humour, although Lucky Dog strikes a lighter tone, that of comedic magic realism.
At his best Barrowcliffe can be irreverent and very funny. Rugby, for instance, is described as 'a game invented by the English public schools in order to encourage homosexuality'. Of a woman who has had a tough time and put on weight, he says 'her life had hit the crash barriers and it looked as though an air bag had gone off inside her face'. He is also insightful. Lucky Dog, for instance, says a lot about how we cope with death, our own and those of the people we love.
Sometimes, though, particularly in his first novel Girlfriend 44, Barrowcliffe can be long winded in his comic diversions.
The Elfish Gene is a memoir of growing up uncool, confused, and obsessed with Dungeons and Dragons and other role-playing games.
Barrowcliffe is certainly one of Britain's more original and interesting new writers but it remains to be seen if he can survive being labelled as part of the Lad Lit fad.
He grew up in Coventry and studied at the University of Sussex. He worked as a journalist and also as a stand-up comedian before he started writing his first novel, Girlfriend 44. He lives and writes in Brighton, England and South Cambridgeshire. Ron Howard secured the film rights for Girlfriend 44 and Infidelity for First Time Fathers is in development with 2929.
Barrowcliffe achieved early success in the late 1990s as part of the Lad Lit movement, although his writing has little in common with other writers who were bracketed under that heading. He is nearer to Terry Southern, Jonathan Coe and Martin Amis than he is to Nick Hornby or Mike Gayle.This is more than likely a matter of presentation, as most of the British versions of his novels have appeared in the candy-coloured covers favoured by lad and chick lit publishers.
Barrowcliffe's early work was noted for its cynicism and black humour, although Lucky Dog strikes a lighter tone, that of comedic magic realism.
At his best Barrowcliffe can be irreverent and very funny. Rugby, for instance, is described as 'a game invented by the English public schools in order to encourage homosexuality'. Of a woman who has had a tough time and put on weight, he says 'her life had hit the crash barriers and it looked as though an air bag had gone off inside her face'. He is also insightful. Lucky Dog, for instance, says a lot about how we cope with death, our own and those of the people we love.
Sometimes, though, particularly in his first novel Girlfriend 44, Barrowcliffe can be long winded in his comic diversions.
The Elfish Gene is a memoir of growing up uncool, confused, and obsessed with Dungeons and Dragons and other role-playing games.
Barrowcliffe is certainly one of Britain's more original and interesting new writers but it remains to be seen if he can survive being labelled as part of the Lad Lit fad.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 150 reviews
December 18, 2008
I wanted to read this book because I have the 'elfish gene' myself (although I never played D&D), and now that I *have* read it, I'm not sure how to rate it. Yes, I did find it a compulsive read, but by the end I was alternately disliking the author and feeling sorry for him. Though he claims to have 'grown up', he seems exactly the same as he was as a teenager, with all the accompanying and annoying character traits. For instance, as a teen, he found his own way of claiming 'coolness' by rejecting anything that the popular kids found cool - even when they were actually things he liked. He says he's past that sort of thing now, yet look at the contents of this book.
He clearly still loves fantasy and D&D to this day - and he doesn't attempt to hide that, writing one chapter in particular where he actually becomes lyrical. Yet, he feels compelled to write all but a few paragraphs of his book in this sarcastic, unpleasantly snarky way, putting down fantasy, role playing games, and everyone who enjoys either. It's a total condemnation of the entire genre. He clearly feels he's 'become an adult' and 'grown out of it', so he must force himself to condemn it, in exactly the same way as he used to condemn everything 'cool' as a teenager that he wasn't a part of.
I also found it sad how unhappy he seems, now that he's 'grown out of it'. He admits that his teen years were the happiest of his life, and the ending chapters were completely depressing, given the few peeks he gives into his current life. I could better understand the tone of his book IF once he'd given up his (admittedly obsessive) addiction to D&D, he'd discovered happiness with non-wizards in the real world, but how...strange...to write such a nasty book about the only thing in his life that seems to ever have given him joy.
He clearly still loves fantasy and D&D to this day - and he doesn't attempt to hide that, writing one chapter in particular where he actually becomes lyrical. Yet, he feels compelled to write all but a few paragraphs of his book in this sarcastic, unpleasantly snarky way, putting down fantasy, role playing games, and everyone who enjoys either. It's a total condemnation of the entire genre. He clearly feels he's 'become an adult' and 'grown out of it', so he must force himself to condemn it, in exactly the same way as he used to condemn everything 'cool' as a teenager that he wasn't a part of.
I also found it sad how unhappy he seems, now that he's 'grown out of it'. He admits that his teen years were the happiest of his life, and the ending chapters were completely depressing, given the few peeks he gives into his current life. I could better understand the tone of his book IF once he'd given up his (admittedly obsessive) addiction to D&D, he'd discovered happiness with non-wizards in the real world, but how...strange...to write such a nasty book about the only thing in his life that seems to ever have given him joy.
January 28, 2009
(Note, read the authors comments in the comments section, he points out a few factual errors in this review that I think are worth noting before taking my review seriously.)
Hahahaha...no.
I picked this book up because I was a huge dork in high school and middle school - the dorkiest, and hung out with some fairly damaged individuals. I was looking at a book to wince at my own memories as I share someone elses, and also in a way celebrate that time.
Barrowcliffe has...issues, though. He has a tendency to write sweeping generalizations he shouldn't ("Women don't play Dungeons and Dragons") or talk about his high school being worse than Abu Ghraib (really? You fucking went there, pal?). It's filled with tons of amusing stories, and really gets alive when he talks about gaming - you can tell that, despite all of it, he really loved playing - but in the end, this is the story about a writer with a fantastic ego twisting in his own insecurities.
There's a post-script at the end about how he went to a modern game with strangers, that feels tacked on because it probably was. I can just imagine an editor forcing him to try things out to give readers an idea what things are like today, and him resisting all the while. As it is read, Barrowcliffe starts off having to remind the reader yet again he is successful and has a wife and a kid. He goes into the game with every intent to dislike it, and does, and lets the players know he has a wife and a kid, and more importantly, he's a writer! He writes things. The players are not impressed or try to impress him back, and he is horrified they don't give him proper respect. He ends the book with a pity condemenation of these poor, poor souls, and retreats to the safety of...you guessed it...his wife and his kid.
Yeah.
Hahahaha...no.
I picked this book up because I was a huge dork in high school and middle school - the dorkiest, and hung out with some fairly damaged individuals. I was looking at a book to wince at my own memories as I share someone elses, and also in a way celebrate that time.
Barrowcliffe has...issues, though. He has a tendency to write sweeping generalizations he shouldn't ("Women don't play Dungeons and Dragons") or talk about his high school being worse than Abu Ghraib (really? You fucking went there, pal?). It's filled with tons of amusing stories, and really gets alive when he talks about gaming - you can tell that, despite all of it, he really loved playing - but in the end, this is the story about a writer with a fantastic ego twisting in his own insecurities.
There's a post-script at the end about how he went to a modern game with strangers, that feels tacked on because it probably was. I can just imagine an editor forcing him to try things out to give readers an idea what things are like today, and him resisting all the while. As it is read, Barrowcliffe starts off having to remind the reader yet again he is successful and has a wife and a kid. He goes into the game with every intent to dislike it, and does, and lets the players know he has a wife and a kid, and more importantly, he's a writer! He writes things. The players are not impressed or try to impress him back, and he is horrified they don't give him proper respect. He ends the book with a pity condemenation of these poor, poor souls, and retreats to the safety of...you guessed it...his wife and his kid.
Yeah.
January 6, 2009
I picked this book up because I, like the author, starting playing D&D at an early age. (I think I was 14 instead of 12 when I started). Unlike the author however, I still play D&D about twice a month with a group of co-workers and friends.
My feeling for this book is that the author, while on the one hand fondly reminisces about the game and credits the game for many aspects of his adult personality, on the other he clearly holds and demonstrates a certain amount of disdain and ridicule for the game. This disdain in my opinion detracts from the book. It was like he was once a deep insider to the subculture of fantasy role-playing, but has since adopted the general public's point of view of the game, and towards the people who play it, as something to make fun of, ridicule and to be ashamed of if you had once played it yourself.
I had such high hopes for this book and was sorely and severely let down.
My feeling for this book is that the author, while on the one hand fondly reminisces about the game and credits the game for many aspects of his adult personality, on the other he clearly holds and demonstrates a certain amount of disdain and ridicule for the game. This disdain in my opinion detracts from the book. It was like he was once a deep insider to the subculture of fantasy role-playing, but has since adopted the general public's point of view of the game, and towards the people who play it, as something to make fun of, ridicule and to be ashamed of if you had once played it yourself.
I had such high hopes for this book and was sorely and severely let down.
September 24, 2011
I picked this book up in an airport while traveling and thought it would be a fun, humorous look back on life as a gamer. I played RPGs in middle and high school, though I apparently wasn't as hard core as the author was. By the end of chapter 1 I found that the only humor the author included was mean spirited and belittling. As I said before, I expected some self effacing humor, and humor at the sake of gamers he played with, but this book amounted to a prolonged bitchfest where the author does nothing but whine about how he could have/should have grown up "normal" and how playing RPGs isn't as useful as dating or learning to play the guitar. I have a problem with that opinion.
I am still a pretty nerdy guy. I play video games a lot, watch the occasional Anime, geek out over comic books, and zombies, but (and this is impossible according the the author) I have a wife and kid who I love, and am loved by. I didn't do anything social in high school, my wife did everything in high school, but once you enter the real world and grow out of the limited perspective you have in high school it's possible to not fit into stereotypes and still exist.
From the portions of the book I was able to tolerate reading before ultimately giving up, it seems that the author's friends are at least partially to blame for his damaged perspective on gaming, and reality. All are either petty, backstabbing, little weasels, or power tripping assholes with massive inferiority complexes they mask with god complexes. If this type of person is the only type he ever role played with I can see why he might look down on it with the level of disdain that he does, but to do so overlooks the fact that you pick your friends/role playing companions. If I played with someone who spent the whole time acting like a douchebag he'd either be kicked out, or not allowed back to the next session.
The last gripe I have (and this may be due to the period he was playing in) is that every RPG I've played (and that's a lot) has been story and character driven. The GM usually has a story drawn up, but 90% of the time one of us would do something unexpected and he'd have to work with it. If you're GM ever said "no you can't do that because I need you to do ___" he'd have been fired for being unable to do his job. Sure he's god in that world, but without freewill why play? When done right playing an RPG should be almost like a battle of wits between the players and the GM/DM. The players constantly trying to act in accordance with their characters (admittedly some better than others), while trying to simultaneously figure out what the GM's goals are, and do something else to screw with him. Meanwhile the GM has to tell a compelling and interesting story and handle the shenanigans of the players without power tripping and either killing people off out of annoyance or removing player's options. If done like this the experience is deep, fun, and massively encourages creativity, problem solving, and teamwork (to piss off the GM). All are more useful that being able to play kumbaya around a camp fire.
I am still a pretty nerdy guy. I play video games a lot, watch the occasional Anime, geek out over comic books, and zombies, but (and this is impossible according the the author) I have a wife and kid who I love, and am loved by. I didn't do anything social in high school, my wife did everything in high school, but once you enter the real world and grow out of the limited perspective you have in high school it's possible to not fit into stereotypes and still exist.
From the portions of the book I was able to tolerate reading before ultimately giving up, it seems that the author's friends are at least partially to blame for his damaged perspective on gaming, and reality. All are either petty, backstabbing, little weasels, or power tripping assholes with massive inferiority complexes they mask with god complexes. If this type of person is the only type he ever role played with I can see why he might look down on it with the level of disdain that he does, but to do so overlooks the fact that you pick your friends/role playing companions. If I played with someone who spent the whole time acting like a douchebag he'd either be kicked out, or not allowed back to the next session.
The last gripe I have (and this may be due to the period he was playing in) is that every RPG I've played (and that's a lot) has been story and character driven. The GM usually has a story drawn up, but 90% of the time one of us would do something unexpected and he'd have to work with it. If you're GM ever said "no you can't do that because I need you to do ___" he'd have been fired for being unable to do his job. Sure he's god in that world, but without freewill why play? When done right playing an RPG should be almost like a battle of wits between the players and the GM/DM. The players constantly trying to act in accordance with their characters (admittedly some better than others), while trying to simultaneously figure out what the GM's goals are, and do something else to screw with him. Meanwhile the GM has to tell a compelling and interesting story and handle the shenanigans of the players without power tripping and either killing people off out of annoyance or removing player's options. If done like this the experience is deep, fun, and massively encourages creativity, problem solving, and teamwork (to piss off the GM). All are more useful that being able to play kumbaya around a camp fire.
January 10, 2012
This book is ridiculous. Barrowcliffe spends half of the book telling us that being a geek is pathetic and sad, and the other half... trying to prove some kind of point to the people who made fun of him in high school, I think. "I was a TOTAL geek in high school and I grew up to be successful AND married. But I'm not a geek anymore, don't worry, guys."
I picked it up because I wanted to love it, being a D&D player myself, but I ended up sorely disappointed. Mark Barrowcliffe can repress his inner geek all he wants to, but he doesn't need to make the rest of us look bad in order to soothe his childhood scars. I'm sure that all of the married, successful people who still play Dungeons and Dragons (and enjoy it) would agree with me.
I picked it up because I wanted to love it, being a D&D player myself, but I ended up sorely disappointed. Mark Barrowcliffe can repress his inner geek all he wants to, but he doesn't need to make the rest of us look bad in order to soothe his childhood scars. I'm sure that all of the married, successful people who still play Dungeons and Dragons (and enjoy it) would agree with me.
October 31, 2008
Not badly written, but not a very fun read. Barrowcliffe treats his subject (himself and other adolescent D&D players) with disdain, which makes what should be an entertaining read much less enjoyable.
April 2, 2021
Don’t waste your time reading this. It’s snide and sneery and lacks insight.
In places, the author hits this almost-lyrical stride as he talks about what D&D meant to him as a teenager, but this is obscured by his sneering - at himself, his erstwhile friends, his family. The book comes from the worst of English lad culture and from a bloke who blames all of his shortcomings on having played D&D.
In places, the author hits this almost-lyrical stride as he talks about what D&D meant to him as a teenager, but this is obscured by his sneering - at himself, his erstwhile friends, his family. The book comes from the worst of English lad culture and from a bloke who blames all of his shortcomings on having played D&D.
November 11, 2011
I would have liked it a lot more if the author had not felt the need to tell us how different his adolescence would have been, if only he had been grown-up at the time.
January 31, 2013
Barrowcliffe describes Dungeons and Dragons, at the height of its fame, as being played by millions of boys and two girls. Well, I was one of those girls. And that's ok, I'm comfortable in the fact that I was and still am, a total nerd. And a memoir about Dungeons and Dragons in quite unique.
Barrowcliffe was introduced to Dungeons and Dragons at a young age. And once immersed he stayed in the life for quite awhile. In fact, he became obsessed with it. All his pocket money went to D&D figurines, books, and other such fantasy role playing games. His free time, playing games with large groups or one other person. And his normal conversation? Well, it couldn't get out of the Dungeon either, and not many people want to know the hitpoints of a dire wolf. As he grows he stays immersed in the Dungeons and Dragons world, until finally hitting his twenties and leaving it for what he calls reality.
Barrowcliffe freely admits that he was obnoxious and annoying in this book. And I have to agree with him. There were so many times I wanted to roll my eyes or shake my head that I lost count. And while it makes for a true seeming memoir, it can also irritate because you don't like hanging around those types of people let alone reading about that. He did describe the other players fairly. He was sure to list out their bad qualities, but also tell why he looked up to them. And he gave a bit of an epilogue letting you know what happened to them and if they escaped their D&D addiction.
I was once a halfling cleric named Nyaevae. If you're already lost at this point you're going to be hopelessly lost while reading this book. There is a lot of technical language about D&D that someone who's never played before isn't going to recognize. Sure Barrowcliffe explains some of the terms, but it still would be quite confusing for those who haven't even played one game. Also, there is some cursing and a little bit of violence and sex in this book, for those that pay attention to that sort of thing. The memoir itself has some interesting aspects, and it did bring up a lot of old memories. However, at times I found it boring and tedious as I really didn't care about some of Barrowcliffe's exploits. Especially since they were repetitive in the fact that he gamed and there was friction amongst the players in the game. I was also a little sad at how he seemed to look down on the players of the game now, most significantly if they were adults playing the game. I don't consider myself to be too pitiful and I would still play a game at this age if given the time and opportunity. Or maybe that says something about me I just haven't realized yet.
An interesting book for all those fellow D&D nerds out there. You may agree or disagree with Barrowcliffe, but he does stir up the memories.
The Elfish Gene
Copyright 2007
277 pages
Review by M. Reynard 2013
More of my reviews can be found at www.ifithaswords.blogspot.com
October 8, 2015
Warning: If you’re hoping this is a book extolling the virtues of fantasy roleplaying as a positive outlet for socially marginalised teens then WRONG. This is not the book you’re looking for. Step away while you still can and go read some fanfiction. What The Elfish Gene is, however, is Mark Barrowcliffe’s memoirs of growing up in Coventry during the 1970s, and how as a completely gauche, socially maladjusted teen he fled into the world of fantasy RPGs because he simply couldn’t cope with reality.
This is a tragic book. And it made me incredibly sad. Mark comes across as bitter about his past, possibly bitter about the fact that he was so lost in the games that he wasn’t functioning in society. These are not the types of memory I have of my own gaming days, and after finishing this book, I almost feel tainted. I ask myself, is this how I am with regard to the books, games and films I get excited about? To the exclusion of participating in the world at large?
Then again, I don’t recall the sheer, blithering nastiness of my fellow gamers that Mark does. Possibly, one can say that boys will be boys, but I’m an anomaly in that regard – a girl who likes her fantasy RPGs a little too much. Sure, I met a few like Mark at the few events that we had in Cape Town during the 1990s, but I avoided them. The rest of the folks were just incredibly fun to be around, all student types, and we had really good times.
What I got from The Elfish Gene is mostly Mark’s bitterness, suggestive of deep-rooted self-loathing, that he had to dig deep and bring up all that was ugly. And, yes, it’s easy to see how games like D&D can create festering little dick-measuring contests among folks, but FFS, there’s more it than what he states.
Yes, there are bits that are genuinely laugh-out-loud funny, like Mark’s Ninja escapades, but most of the time I felt I was laughing *at* him for being such a sad puppy, and I was really glad to be done with the book. Yes, also to the fact that Mark pokes sticks at valid issues with the social interaction with *some* gamers, but yikes… I needed to read something uplifting and joy-making after this. As a snapshot into a particular era, however, and the mentality of the people at the time, this book is fascinating, in the same way as one is sometimes compelled to rubberneck at the scene of a gruesome motor vehicle accident involving a drunk pedestrian, errant livestock and a lorry transporting manure.
This is a tragic book. And it made me incredibly sad. Mark comes across as bitter about his past, possibly bitter about the fact that he was so lost in the games that he wasn’t functioning in society. These are not the types of memory I have of my own gaming days, and after finishing this book, I almost feel tainted. I ask myself, is this how I am with regard to the books, games and films I get excited about? To the exclusion of participating in the world at large?
Then again, I don’t recall the sheer, blithering nastiness of my fellow gamers that Mark does. Possibly, one can say that boys will be boys, but I’m an anomaly in that regard – a girl who likes her fantasy RPGs a little too much. Sure, I met a few like Mark at the few events that we had in Cape Town during the 1990s, but I avoided them. The rest of the folks were just incredibly fun to be around, all student types, and we had really good times.
What I got from The Elfish Gene is mostly Mark’s bitterness, suggestive of deep-rooted self-loathing, that he had to dig deep and bring up all that was ugly. And, yes, it’s easy to see how games like D&D can create festering little dick-measuring contests among folks, but FFS, there’s more it than what he states.
Yes, there are bits that are genuinely laugh-out-loud funny, like Mark’s Ninja escapades, but most of the time I felt I was laughing *at* him for being such a sad puppy, and I was really glad to be done with the book. Yes, also to the fact that Mark pokes sticks at valid issues with the social interaction with *some* gamers, but yikes… I needed to read something uplifting and joy-making after this. As a snapshot into a particular era, however, and the mentality of the people at the time, this book is fascinating, in the same way as one is sometimes compelled to rubberneck at the scene of a gruesome motor vehicle accident involving a drunk pedestrian, errant livestock and a lorry transporting manure.
January 14, 2010
As many of you know, I am a Dungeons and Dragons (D&D) enthusiast; so was Mark Barrowcliffe until he decided that it was the cause of all his problems. This book really should have been called, Gaming Obsession and How Not To Play.
Basically, the book is a memoir of his awkward early years spent lost in his own reality, obsessing over the one outlet he found for his intelligence and imagination: D&D. Some of the anecdotes included are hilarious, for example the time he nearly sets his friend's house on fire while trying to re-create a fireball spell with a balloon and lighter fluid. However, between the heady rush of yeah-me-too and no-shit-there-I-was tales is the story of a self-described addict who played a game with a bunch of, a'hem, wankers and became one himself.
Written in a psuedo-self-depricating style (ala look-how-bad-I-was-but-now-I'm-all-better), he is like a tiresome Born Again who believes that all trappings of his previous life are childish at best and evil at worst. Yes, Mr. Barrowcliffe, there are crazy, maladjusted, immature gamers in this world, some of whom have gone down the path to drugs and the occult. But there are far more of us who treat D&D like what it is, a game of the imagination to be played with friends and then put away when we return to our real lives.
Basically, the book is a memoir of his awkward early years spent lost in his own reality, obsessing over the one outlet he found for his intelligence and imagination: D&D. Some of the anecdotes included are hilarious, for example the time he nearly sets his friend's house on fire while trying to re-create a fireball spell with a balloon and lighter fluid. However, between the heady rush of yeah-me-too and no-shit-there-I-was tales is the story of a self-described addict who played a game with a bunch of, a'hem, wankers and became one himself.
Written in a psuedo-self-depricating style (ala look-how-bad-I-was-but-now-I'm-all-better), he is like a tiresome Born Again who believes that all trappings of his previous life are childish at best and evil at worst. Yes, Mr. Barrowcliffe, there are crazy, maladjusted, immature gamers in this world, some of whom have gone down the path to drugs and the occult. But there are far more of us who treat D&D like what it is, a game of the imagination to be played with friends and then put away when we return to our real lives.
July 29, 2018
His problem wasn't table top RPGs . His problem was an all boys school, where all the boys were apparently @$$holes.
August 11, 2018
I read this book several years ago. I rarely review books on this site that I’ve read ‘historically’ but after discussing it with a friend on this site I thought I would as I enjoyed it, and I’d be interested in what fellow Fantasy reading friends to myself think about it.
The biographical story focuses on the author as an adolescent boy who discovers Dungeons and Dragons, and becomes increasingly obsessed with it, in the company of like minded friends. I have never played D&D, and much of what I know about it comes from this book. For me, the enjoyment of the book was in rediscovering the coming of age stages of a teenager, and particularly developing a world of his own to play and socialise in, his ‘space’ rather than the game itself. His desired isolation from his parents. The author has a fondness for the game, maybe a love/hate thing, even though part of the story is his discovered need to break away from the obsessive stage he’d reached with D&D. Of course, girlfriends play a role.
I can’t remember details about the plot line but it certainly rang a few bells by analogy with me, given the geeky hobbies (and career!) I developed.
Nothing deep, but it made me laugh. I’d be interested to know what D&D enthusiasts thought of it. I was a little disappointed to see some reviews on the site that give it a low rating because they think the author is taking shots at the game itself. In my view it is really more an amusing coming of age biography with a geeky backdrop provided by obsessive D&D gaming.
The biographical story focuses on the author as an adolescent boy who discovers Dungeons and Dragons, and becomes increasingly obsessed with it, in the company of like minded friends. I have never played D&D, and much of what I know about it comes from this book. For me, the enjoyment of the book was in rediscovering the coming of age stages of a teenager, and particularly developing a world of his own to play and socialise in, his ‘space’ rather than the game itself. His desired isolation from his parents. The author has a fondness for the game, maybe a love/hate thing, even though part of the story is his discovered need to break away from the obsessive stage he’d reached with D&D. Of course, girlfriends play a role.
I can’t remember details about the plot line but it certainly rang a few bells by analogy with me, given the geeky hobbies (and career!) I developed.
Nothing deep, but it made me laugh. I’d be interested to know what D&D enthusiasts thought of it. I was a little disappointed to see some reviews on the site that give it a low rating because they think the author is taking shots at the game itself. In my view it is really more an amusing coming of age biography with a geeky backdrop provided by obsessive D&D gaming.
November 25, 2008
The Elfish Gene was a fun story that made me think about the question: what is a nerd? Webster’s dictionary equates a nerd with a gearhead, a person who is extremely interested and knowledgeable about computers, electronics, technology, and gadgets. But Dungeons and Dragons is a card and board game; it has absolutely nothing to do with modern technology and computers.
And I must add that people who bury themselves in other interests, including role-playing games, politics and football statistics, to the exclusion of outside social interactions, and sometimes personal hygiene, are also nerds. And that’s Barrowcliffe’s point too. This does not make them bad people; it just means that their social circles are drawn almost exclusively around their interests. That’s fine for young children, when they’re safe in someone’s living room playing a board game, but as Barrowcliffe reminisces, it becomes a strange obsession for adults, an odd deviation from what he calls a “normal” path of a child life, school, work, and death.
But Barrowcliffe takes the obsession further, by saying that his infatuation with Dungeons and Dragons was equal to a drug addiction. Not that role playing is an illegal or illicit act, but the game, like drugs has the highest highs and lowest lows, and those highs and lows drive the rest of your life. Even a knock at a front door becomes an exercise in a demonstration of role-playing bravado. And like drugs, these games provide an escape from a less pleasant reality.
Barrowcliffe described himself as socially awkward and in his words “un-cool,” but he did not know how to get the keys to the kingdom of “coolness” in his working class neighborhood. But he is cool in the role playing world, for instance, when his parents allow their home to be a host dungeon for thirty gamers fueled by Mom’s sandwiches and scones. He tries to fit in with the best of the gamers, even allowing them to call him Spaz, hardly a flattering nickname. But he is also clever, for instance, when his mother knits him a stuffed Kermit the Frog, he later realizes that the figure more resembles a powerful mythical lizard, and therefore, tries to make the un-cool cool.
I recommend this book to parents who are raising game-playing nerds. And caution them. An obsession with a role-playing game is far from a measure of intelligence. It is an activity that might stimulate some learning, but an obsession can take one away from life lessons, such as those learned in school or at work. Even the brightest of nerds have to earn a living one day and they have to interact outside their own social circles.
And I must add that people who bury themselves in other interests, including role-playing games, politics and football statistics, to the exclusion of outside social interactions, and sometimes personal hygiene, are also nerds. And that’s Barrowcliffe’s point too. This does not make them bad people; it just means that their social circles are drawn almost exclusively around their interests. That’s fine for young children, when they’re safe in someone’s living room playing a board game, but as Barrowcliffe reminisces, it becomes a strange obsession for adults, an odd deviation from what he calls a “normal” path of a child life, school, work, and death.
But Barrowcliffe takes the obsession further, by saying that his infatuation with Dungeons and Dragons was equal to a drug addiction. Not that role playing is an illegal or illicit act, but the game, like drugs has the highest highs and lowest lows, and those highs and lows drive the rest of your life. Even a knock at a front door becomes an exercise in a demonstration of role-playing bravado. And like drugs, these games provide an escape from a less pleasant reality.
Barrowcliffe described himself as socially awkward and in his words “un-cool,” but he did not know how to get the keys to the kingdom of “coolness” in his working class neighborhood. But he is cool in the role playing world, for instance, when his parents allow their home to be a host dungeon for thirty gamers fueled by Mom’s sandwiches and scones. He tries to fit in with the best of the gamers, even allowing them to call him Spaz, hardly a flattering nickname. But he is also clever, for instance, when his mother knits him a stuffed Kermit the Frog, he later realizes that the figure more resembles a powerful mythical lizard, and therefore, tries to make the un-cool cool.
I recommend this book to parents who are raising game-playing nerds. And caution them. An obsession with a role-playing game is far from a measure of intelligence. It is an activity that might stimulate some learning, but an obsession can take one away from life lessons, such as those learned in school or at work. Even the brightest of nerds have to earn a living one day and they have to interact outside their own social circles.
February 23, 2009
The late 70s was a particularly grim time. Economic crisis, terrorism, unemployment, an unpopular labour government - is this all starting to sound familiar? What more natural response than to turn your back on the whole mess and escape into the world of fantasy? That is exactly what author Mark Barrowcliffe did when he discovered Dungeons and Dragons, and threw himself headlong into for most of his teenaged years.
In much the same way as Andrew Collins mirrored my life of late 60s and early 70s suburbia, Barrowcliffe seems to have had the same experiences as me in the world of D&D. Obsessive collections of books, fanzines and lead figures, trips to games shops to spend carefully hoarded pocket money, games sessions spent in pedantic arguments about whether characters can run faster than monsters or some other badly phrased rule, and even dressing up in silver spray painted, knitted chain mail to run around the local woods doing live action role playing.
This book is almost painfully funny in places, although it is the humour of recognising acute embarrassment at the extreme lack of any social skills displayed by the typical D&D fan. Worth reading if you have ever shaken a D20 in anger, or if you haven't and always wondered what the spoddy kids were doing in the corner with the lead figures and the funny shaped dice.
In much the same way as Andrew Collins mirrored my life of late 60s and early 70s suburbia, Barrowcliffe seems to have had the same experiences as me in the world of D&D. Obsessive collections of books, fanzines and lead figures, trips to games shops to spend carefully hoarded pocket money, games sessions spent in pedantic arguments about whether characters can run faster than monsters or some other badly phrased rule, and even dressing up in silver spray painted, knitted chain mail to run around the local woods doing live action role playing.
This book is almost painfully funny in places, although it is the humour of recognising acute embarrassment at the extreme lack of any social skills displayed by the typical D&D fan. Worth reading if you have ever shaken a D20 in anger, or if you haven't and always wondered what the spoddy kids were doing in the corner with the lead figures and the funny shaped dice.
May 7, 2016
There is some witty writing to this book, I wish it could have been done as a blog, series of articles, maybe even as a comic. But as a connected story it is a total loss - in Mark Barrowcliffe's retelling of his youth, all we ever get is a series of stories, mostly embarrassing, in which he never changes or develops. It is also, eventually, unpleasant to read, as Barrowcliffe (and most of his friends) are unpleasant little jerks, too. I might have cared if there had been some kind of story arc, but no, it's just loosely tied together anecdote after anecdote of embarrassment and spite.
We finally get some change near the end of the book, first, when he drives away his only good friend by treating him like dirt - and then blames it on them wanting to be in different groups. And then when he breaks with D&D playing because he can no longer tolerate his appalling friends - though he seems to partially blame D&D for this, not the "friends", and credits himself with having matured, even though he goes on to be a bastard through college.
It just DOESN'T WORK, because I did not want to see what became of Barrowcliffe. He was nasty and defensive, full of excuses, while being consistently glib and sarcastic, but not actually funny enough to make this book worth the reading.
We finally get some change near the end of the book, first, when he drives away his only good friend by treating him like dirt - and then blames it on them wanting to be in different groups. And then when he breaks with D&D playing because he can no longer tolerate his appalling friends - though he seems to partially blame D&D for this, not the "friends", and credits himself with having matured, even though he goes on to be a bastard through college.
It just DOESN'T WORK, because I did not want to see what became of Barrowcliffe. He was nasty and defensive, full of excuses, while being consistently glib and sarcastic, but not actually funny enough to make this book worth the reading.
January 10, 2015
Fairly extensive coverage of the very early days of table-top role-playing games in a working-class region of the UK, in a narrative autobiographical style. The author was clearly scarred, and seems in part to blame the gaming culture, though he was clearly no less of a mess before discovering D&D, and not much less of a mess after moving on. "Bitter" doesn't begin to cover it though; his deprecation of both self and other quickly passes mere cynicism and speeds on into obnoxious prat. Nevertheless, I found it a marginally amusing, somewhat worthwhile look back at an era of which I was part in a region I never encountered.
September 6, 2021
There's a saying that's imprinted on me ever since I was a surly teen and read it for the first time in an online story: when does a coping mechanism become the problem to be coped with? After reading The Elfish Gene, I suspect that this is a question that Mark Barrowcliffe has spent some time grappling with.
The Elfish Gene is a very interesting book. I've read it twice and found it as engrossing on the second read as I did the first, which is high praise from me. After composing a review, I often skim the various top reviews to see if my thoughts align with, for lack of a better term, the local Goodreads panel. In this case, the discrepancy between my rating and their rating is clear: I like this book for the reasons they do not, and because it takes a perspective they seem to treat as hostile. I'm not convinced this book is hostile as much as it is unbearably honest.
What is interesting about this book is when it was published -- 2007. Barrowcliffe illustrates a period of time that doesn't really exist anymore. The period where nerdy hobbies and interests hadn't been commercialised and made mainstream. The movie Iron Man -- the first blade of the MCU juggernaut -- would come out one year later and utterly upend the idea of what it meant to be a nerd, geek, fanatic, or whatever other term you might use to mean 'social outcast.' Before then, in Barrowcliffe's time, nerdy interests made you an outcast in a way they really don't today. This reality is what drives Barrowcliffe's story, and his perspective.
(Another sign of how this book is dated is when Barrowcliffe mentions that the death of Dungeons and Dragons was computer games. It's an interesting note, but arguably not remotely true in today's age. I feel like games like Pathfinder: Kingmaker make it clear that the code-driven games exist in symbiosis with tabletop roleplaying. In some ways, computer games provide a more accurate simulation of tabletop roleplaying, and illustrate how little people cherish that systemic accuracy. However, at the time, there was a definite anxiety that CRPGs would render their pen-and-paper cousins obsolete.)
I won't say much about Barrowcliffe's writing, beyond that it's very entertaining and readable. I have a very low tolerance of 'witty' narration but somehow Barrowcliffe's prose never becomes irritating. He gets right into the mindset that hits a lot of people with nerdy interests and hobbies at some point -- that realization that you're not normal, that you're honestly somewhat crippled, and that the things you enjoy are to blame. When I first read The Elfish Gene, that was where my mentality was, and I'd just broken away from all of that nerdy stuff to try and be 'normal.' I think a lot of people in those subcultures hit that stage at some point.
For me, it was when I was about nineteen. For Barrowcliffe, it appears to have been at about the age of forty. Being able to look back on your past identity with an honest, critical eye is not an easy task. I grew up white and nerdy, surrounded by people who were just as odd as I was. While, at the time, I would've said I was happy with my lot -- well, was I? Or was I lying to myself and feigning superiority to prove that I wasn't just happy like my peers but I was, in fact, beyond their trifling mortal concerns entirely? Had I the genuine choice, would I have chosen to be wrapped up in fantasy worlds instead of being popular in the actual one?
It's this tension that The Elfish Gene explores. On one hand, the roleplaying hobby provided Barrowcliffe with a lot of fun and good memories. On the other, it did very little to actually improve the author's lot in life, and he's understandably looking back on that time as being, well, wasted. It takes a lot to be able to recognize that. It takes more to realize that being bitter about it so many years on is unhealthy, too. A glowing tale of how much Dungeons and Dragons had helped the author would've been false and trite. What we get in the Elfish Gene, however, is just kind of sad. But that's why the novel works.
As alluded to at the start of this review, Dungeons and Dragons was not what made Barrowcliffe an awkward teen. It was a coping mechanism for the world he grew up in. Perhaps the most maddening thing about this book is how close the author comes to realize that he was not damned to awkward insecurity and years of pretend fantasy games because he picked up a roleplaying rulebook, but because of circumstances beyond his control. It was a coping mechanism, and eventually the mechanism became the thing to be coped with. Which the author did by abandoning maybe the one thing he had ever enjoyed. Can you really call that a sign of maturity when he puts on such a performative show of running away from it?
It may sound like I'm being critical, but I'm not. The Elfish Gene stumbles into bitterness when it should be humanitarian, but somehow that bitterness is acutely honest in a way that may be confronting. That makes the novel a wonderful depiction of a particular stage of development that most people with nerdy hobbies go through -- the urge to throw them away and be normal. The thing is, that stage comes before the next one, where you realize everyone is just as weird and broken as you are and were.
The Elfish Gene is a good book and a fine read. It's an evocative novel, full of humor and wit. But it's very sad, too -- just maybe not in the way that Barrowcliffe intended.
The Elfish Gene is a very interesting book. I've read it twice and found it as engrossing on the second read as I did the first, which is high praise from me. After composing a review, I often skim the various top reviews to see if my thoughts align with, for lack of a better term, the local Goodreads panel. In this case, the discrepancy between my rating and their rating is clear: I like this book for the reasons they do not, and because it takes a perspective they seem to treat as hostile. I'm not convinced this book is hostile as much as it is unbearably honest.
What is interesting about this book is when it was published -- 2007. Barrowcliffe illustrates a period of time that doesn't really exist anymore. The period where nerdy hobbies and interests hadn't been commercialised and made mainstream. The movie Iron Man -- the first blade of the MCU juggernaut -- would come out one year later and utterly upend the idea of what it meant to be a nerd, geek, fanatic, or whatever other term you might use to mean 'social outcast.' Before then, in Barrowcliffe's time, nerdy interests made you an outcast in a way they really don't today. This reality is what drives Barrowcliffe's story, and his perspective.
(Another sign of how this book is dated is when Barrowcliffe mentions that the death of Dungeons and Dragons was computer games. It's an interesting note, but arguably not remotely true in today's age. I feel like games like Pathfinder: Kingmaker make it clear that the code-driven games exist in symbiosis with tabletop roleplaying. In some ways, computer games provide a more accurate simulation of tabletop roleplaying, and illustrate how little people cherish that systemic accuracy. However, at the time, there was a definite anxiety that CRPGs would render their pen-and-paper cousins obsolete.)
I won't say much about Barrowcliffe's writing, beyond that it's very entertaining and readable. I have a very low tolerance of 'witty' narration but somehow Barrowcliffe's prose never becomes irritating. He gets right into the mindset that hits a lot of people with nerdy interests and hobbies at some point -- that realization that you're not normal, that you're honestly somewhat crippled, and that the things you enjoy are to blame. When I first read The Elfish Gene, that was where my mentality was, and I'd just broken away from all of that nerdy stuff to try and be 'normal.' I think a lot of people in those subcultures hit that stage at some point.
For me, it was when I was about nineteen. For Barrowcliffe, it appears to have been at about the age of forty. Being able to look back on your past identity with an honest, critical eye is not an easy task. I grew up white and nerdy, surrounded by people who were just as odd as I was. While, at the time, I would've said I was happy with my lot -- well, was I? Or was I lying to myself and feigning superiority to prove that I wasn't just happy like my peers but I was, in fact, beyond their trifling mortal concerns entirely? Had I the genuine choice, would I have chosen to be wrapped up in fantasy worlds instead of being popular in the actual one?
It's this tension that The Elfish Gene explores. On one hand, the roleplaying hobby provided Barrowcliffe with a lot of fun and good memories. On the other, it did very little to actually improve the author's lot in life, and he's understandably looking back on that time as being, well, wasted. It takes a lot to be able to recognize that. It takes more to realize that being bitter about it so many years on is unhealthy, too. A glowing tale of how much Dungeons and Dragons had helped the author would've been false and trite. What we get in the Elfish Gene, however, is just kind of sad. But that's why the novel works.
As alluded to at the start of this review, Dungeons and Dragons was not what made Barrowcliffe an awkward teen. It was a coping mechanism for the world he grew up in. Perhaps the most maddening thing about this book is how close the author comes to realize that he was not damned to awkward insecurity and years of pretend fantasy games because he picked up a roleplaying rulebook, but because of circumstances beyond his control. It was a coping mechanism, and eventually the mechanism became the thing to be coped with. Which the author did by abandoning maybe the one thing he had ever enjoyed. Can you really call that a sign of maturity when he puts on such a performative show of running away from it?
It may sound like I'm being critical, but I'm not. The Elfish Gene stumbles into bitterness when it should be humanitarian, but somehow that bitterness is acutely honest in a way that may be confronting. That makes the novel a wonderful depiction of a particular stage of development that most people with nerdy hobbies go through -- the urge to throw them away and be normal. The thing is, that stage comes before the next one, where you realize everyone is just as weird and broken as you are and were.
The Elfish Gene is a good book and a fine read. It's an evocative novel, full of humor and wit. But it's very sad, too -- just maybe not in the way that Barrowcliffe intended.
May 22, 2009
This book had me laughing out loud at moments. Although I really think that you need to have experienced this world to truly appreciate the humor and the truth of this memoir. It speaks to anyone who has felt different tried so hard to be accepted and not accepted at the same time. Extra stars for the fire ball chapter... I know too many boys who fit this description!
July 20, 2008
I was sucked in by the title, but the rest of the book did not disappoint. There was some clunky writing and it could have done with some restructuring, but I loved reading about the world of a nerdy Northern teen in the 70s.
July 9, 2010
A British man’s childhood with Dungeons and Dragons. It had its moments, but I think my expectations for this book failed to match the reality.
December 14, 2017
Stopped reading about 1/2 way in. I love D&D. This guy does not. Very irritating.
April 19, 2009
On the Monday the school term began, and by the Tuesday the dark forces would take me. Family, friends, girls, food, everything would become as bright images receding into a void as I slipped into a shadow world from which I have never truly emerged. I would discover Dungeons and Dragons.
The thing is that, had I known my fate, I wouldn't have run away. I would have run towards it.
-----
I've always had the habit of carrying something to read with me, never knowing when an opportunity might present itself. I think this started in school, as we were generally given time at the end of each period to work on the day's assignment and, if quick, would have time between finishing and the bell with nothing to do. In my excitement right after discovering Dungeons & Dragons in middle school, I made the mistake of taking my new D&D rulebooks with me to school for this purpose. I quickly learned this was a mistake. While I switched to something else after only a couple of days, the taunting I received about it lasted for years. This didn't discourage me from playing the game, of course, it just confirmed in my mind I was different than the majority of my peers and meant I would keep that part of my life private.
Mark Barrowcliffe didn't worry so much about hiding his obsession. And while my interest was just that, a sometimes passionate interest, his was most definitely an all-consuming, identity-encompassing obsession. For five years as a teenager he thought about little else. This book is his reflection on that time. It reads to me like the journal of a recovering addict going back to finally confront his addiction after 25 years of running from it. He seems to have a love-hate relationship with D&D. On the one hand he is terribly embarrassed by who he was and many of the choices he made. His attempts at self-deprecating humor often end up being disdainful comments about the game and all who enjoy it, and he rarely passes up the chance at a dig in the form of a joke. On the other hand, he obviously loved everything about the game and still does, and that love comes through in all of his descriptions. He just doesn't like who he was when playing and has a lot of emotional baggage to work through.
That said, Barrowcliffe is a very entertaining writer. He's funny and honest and at times insightful. For me it was powerfully reminiscent of my own teen experiences with the game, but he sets himself up to be a tour guide for the uninitiated. He not only deals with his own demons, he describes the game, its appeal, and the type of people who tend to be drawn to it. He captures the shared experience of the "millions of boys and two girls around the world" who have played the game during our formative years and how it shaped us. I recommend it to anyone looking to understand this type of teen boy and why fantasy games can be so powerfully magical for them (particularly librarians, since your domain is often a big part of their world).
Though the forces that acted on me while I was a boy were particular to me, they were products of a wider male culture which helps, if that's the right word, men form their identities. D&D was more than a craze; it was a phenomenon, spawning films, cartoon series, toys, novels and, finally--its own undoing--computer games. An estimated 20 million boys worldwide have played the game and spent over £1 billion on its products. Anything that popular with young males clearly speaks to them on a deep level and says something about them. What it says is the subject of this book.
-----
Even though Barrowcliffe is seven years older than I am and started playing D&D years before I did, is British, and was much more extreme than I ever was, it's remarkable how similar some of his experiences were to mine. First something trivial and mundane:
Through D&D I had met fantastic beings, older boys who seemed creatures of impossible glamour, who appeared to know everything and who seemed proud of knowing everything. There was no dancing on the desks in French for them, more listening to Emerson Lake and Palmer's Pictures at an Exhibition, saying, "It's based on a piece of classical music, you know," and luxuriating in the implied superb discernment that came with renting such a record from the library. They'd discuss the concepts of Einstein and know about things like black holes and supernovas.
Hey, my older D&D friends introduced me to ELP's Pictures at an Exhibition, too (although I was always partial to Pirates). And I've never had the exact argument he's describing next, but, yeah, that's exactly us. Absolutely:
I spent a lot of time wondering what the gleam on +3 armour looked like or the edge on a flaming sword. When I was having these thoughts, though, I wasn't aware I was purely exercising my imagination. To me, I was involved in a deductive process--like when historians say, "From what we can piece together, we believe the songs of the Vikings would have sounded something like this . . . " I was referring to a world that, in my mind, actually existed and, like my journey home that day or my release from school on a Friday lunchtime, its lack was felt more keenly for it's proximity than its distance.
We had plenty of arguments on this basis in the wargames room--whether the acid from a giant ant would be strong enough to corrode through metal bars, for instance, as one enterprising character attempted to remove himself from a cage by this method.
The conversation would become incredibly detailed, with recourse to periodic tables and encyclopaedias. Of course, the only real answer is that the acid of a giant ant can burn through metal if the referee--the dungeonmaster--says it can. It's his world; he designed it, and, if he wants, the ant's sting can contain specific metal-melting compounds or pure water. We didn't see this at the time, though. We thought we could uncover the reality of the situation through argument.
It is sad to note that, even at this distance of years and without having to look it up, I know formic acid (the stuff in your everyday ant) does not combine with metals and is used in tanning and, crucially, wire stripping. It takes off the insulation but leaves the wire untouched. In high concentrations this would make it burn flesh but not the bars of a cage. This is the sort of stuff I was learning while others were concentrating on how to be nice to a girl.
And I had better role models than Barrowcliffe and a wider range of interests to define myself by, but I had some reverse snobbery going on. I rationalized my sense of alienation from my peers by thinking I wasn't as superficial as them, but was more mature instead:
"Football is for morons and thugs," said Porter. "Superior people play Dungeons and Dragons."
So there you had it. Not making the first team, or any team for that matter, wasn't something to be ashamed of; it was a cause for pride. Also, I liked the phrase "superior people." That hadn't exactly been the feeling I'd had among my classmates, but it helped explain why I felt no connection with them--it wasn't my fault, it was theirs. . . .
Looking back at it now, I can see that D&D involved a whole-sale rejection of cool and a celebration of things that were, to the average schoolboy, utterly naff. In this way it was a genuine subculture and more radically separate from the mainstream than punk could ever hope to be.
The thing is that, had I known my fate, I wouldn't have run away. I would have run towards it.
-----
I've always had the habit of carrying something to read with me, never knowing when an opportunity might present itself. I think this started in school, as we were generally given time at the end of each period to work on the day's assignment and, if quick, would have time between finishing and the bell with nothing to do. In my excitement right after discovering Dungeons & Dragons in middle school, I made the mistake of taking my new D&D rulebooks with me to school for this purpose. I quickly learned this was a mistake. While I switched to something else after only a couple of days, the taunting I received about it lasted for years. This didn't discourage me from playing the game, of course, it just confirmed in my mind I was different than the majority of my peers and meant I would keep that part of my life private.
Mark Barrowcliffe didn't worry so much about hiding his obsession. And while my interest was just that, a sometimes passionate interest, his was most definitely an all-consuming, identity-encompassing obsession. For five years as a teenager he thought about little else. This book is his reflection on that time. It reads to me like the journal of a recovering addict going back to finally confront his addiction after 25 years of running from it. He seems to have a love-hate relationship with D&D. On the one hand he is terribly embarrassed by who he was and many of the choices he made. His attempts at self-deprecating humor often end up being disdainful comments about the game and all who enjoy it, and he rarely passes up the chance at a dig in the form of a joke. On the other hand, he obviously loved everything about the game and still does, and that love comes through in all of his descriptions. He just doesn't like who he was when playing and has a lot of emotional baggage to work through.
That said, Barrowcliffe is a very entertaining writer. He's funny and honest and at times insightful. For me it was powerfully reminiscent of my own teen experiences with the game, but he sets himself up to be a tour guide for the uninitiated. He not only deals with his own demons, he describes the game, its appeal, and the type of people who tend to be drawn to it. He captures the shared experience of the "millions of boys and two girls around the world" who have played the game during our formative years and how it shaped us. I recommend it to anyone looking to understand this type of teen boy and why fantasy games can be so powerfully magical for them (particularly librarians, since your domain is often a big part of their world).
Though the forces that acted on me while I was a boy were particular to me, they were products of a wider male culture which helps, if that's the right word, men form their identities. D&D was more than a craze; it was a phenomenon, spawning films, cartoon series, toys, novels and, finally--its own undoing--computer games. An estimated 20 million boys worldwide have played the game and spent over £1 billion on its products. Anything that popular with young males clearly speaks to them on a deep level and says something about them. What it says is the subject of this book.
-----
Even though Barrowcliffe is seven years older than I am and started playing D&D years before I did, is British, and was much more extreme than I ever was, it's remarkable how similar some of his experiences were to mine. First something trivial and mundane:
Through D&D I had met fantastic beings, older boys who seemed creatures of impossible glamour, who appeared to know everything and who seemed proud of knowing everything. There was no dancing on the desks in French for them, more listening to Emerson Lake and Palmer's Pictures at an Exhibition, saying, "It's based on a piece of classical music, you know," and luxuriating in the implied superb discernment that came with renting such a record from the library. They'd discuss the concepts of Einstein and know about things like black holes and supernovas.
Hey, my older D&D friends introduced me to ELP's Pictures at an Exhibition, too (although I was always partial to Pirates). And I've never had the exact argument he's describing next, but, yeah, that's exactly us. Absolutely:
I spent a lot of time wondering what the gleam on +3 armour looked like or the edge on a flaming sword. When I was having these thoughts, though, I wasn't aware I was purely exercising my imagination. To me, I was involved in a deductive process--like when historians say, "From what we can piece together, we believe the songs of the Vikings would have sounded something like this . . . " I was referring to a world that, in my mind, actually existed and, like my journey home that day or my release from school on a Friday lunchtime, its lack was felt more keenly for it's proximity than its distance.
We had plenty of arguments on this basis in the wargames room--whether the acid from a giant ant would be strong enough to corrode through metal bars, for instance, as one enterprising character attempted to remove himself from a cage by this method.
The conversation would become incredibly detailed, with recourse to periodic tables and encyclopaedias. Of course, the only real answer is that the acid of a giant ant can burn through metal if the referee--the dungeonmaster--says it can. It's his world; he designed it, and, if he wants, the ant's sting can contain specific metal-melting compounds or pure water. We didn't see this at the time, though. We thought we could uncover the reality of the situation through argument.
It is sad to note that, even at this distance of years and without having to look it up, I know formic acid (the stuff in your everyday ant) does not combine with metals and is used in tanning and, crucially, wire stripping. It takes off the insulation but leaves the wire untouched. In high concentrations this would make it burn flesh but not the bars of a cage. This is the sort of stuff I was learning while others were concentrating on how to be nice to a girl.
And I had better role models than Barrowcliffe and a wider range of interests to define myself by, but I had some reverse snobbery going on. I rationalized my sense of alienation from my peers by thinking I wasn't as superficial as them, but was more mature instead:
"Football is for morons and thugs," said Porter. "Superior people play Dungeons and Dragons."
So there you had it. Not making the first team, or any team for that matter, wasn't something to be ashamed of; it was a cause for pride. Also, I liked the phrase "superior people." That hadn't exactly been the feeling I'd had among my classmates, but it helped explain why I felt no connection with them--it wasn't my fault, it was theirs. . . .
Looking back at it now, I can see that D&D involved a whole-sale rejection of cool and a celebration of things that were, to the average schoolboy, utterly naff. In this way it was a genuine subculture and more radically separate from the mainstream than punk could ever hope to be.
November 23, 2023
Yeah, I don’t read a lot of nonfiction books and this memoir may be the only one this year but give the author his due, he kept me into the story right to the end.
Nine year old Mark Barrowcliffe in 1976 gets hipped on the new craze, Dungeons and Dragons, a role playing game. Hipped as in, “addicted to.” He goes down that rabbit hole and only emerges some 7 or 8 years later; here he shares the story of those lost years. I was old enough that RPGs never appealed to me and mercifully missed all this, but it’s nonetheless fascinating to read how such things can take over the totality of one’s existence. There are some moments and scenes in the story that make one cringe, and as well some that have one guffawing heartily. The chapter entitled The Sorcerer’s Apprentice had me roaring aloud with tears in my eyes - not least because it was a hilarious snapshot of all boys of a certain age. And the penultimate chapter The Lost Boys was a terrific summary of the experience, and a reunion of sorts with most of the erstwhile cohort with whom he travelled that path, and very nicely done.
A odd sort of book for my usual reading material, but it was in its way very entertaining, happy to have read it.
Nine year old Mark Barrowcliffe in 1976 gets hipped on the new craze, Dungeons and Dragons, a role playing game. Hipped as in, “addicted to.” He goes down that rabbit hole and only emerges some 7 or 8 years later; here he shares the story of those lost years. I was old enough that RPGs never appealed to me and mercifully missed all this, but it’s nonetheless fascinating to read how such things can take over the totality of one’s existence. There are some moments and scenes in the story that make one cringe, and as well some that have one guffawing heartily. The chapter entitled The Sorcerer’s Apprentice had me roaring aloud with tears in my eyes - not least because it was a hilarious snapshot of all boys of a certain age. And the penultimate chapter The Lost Boys was a terrific summary of the experience, and a reunion of sorts with most of the erstwhile cohort with whom he travelled that path, and very nicely done.
A odd sort of book for my usual reading material, but it was in its way very entertaining, happy to have read it.
February 23, 2023
This book was awful and borderline insulting. I picked it up because I too am a avid dnd player but within the first chapter the author makes awful points such as “women don’t play dnd” or “all women get obsessive crushes” as a girl who plays dnd, my reaction was too just stop reading I’ve been told this before and always by boys who make the game space not an enjoyable experience for girls but I kept reading. In chapter 2 he relates his school to the Abu Ghraib prison which is both insensitive and dramatic. He seems to be one of those self righteous nerds who believe them selfs to be better than other geeks. The kind of guy who gives pop quizzes at a comic store “ feeling glad that terms such as campaign and characters were familiar seperating me from the herd to whom such terms would mean nothing. Clearly this game was made for the superior sorts.” He also makes the comment “we boys wanted to be bisexual-as long as it didn’t involve Touching a man.” After that lovely comment I finally had to put the book down out of anger. This book is just pure crap that seems to blame dnd for all his life’s problems
August 16, 2017
The Elfish Gene is a memoir about a boy growing up in England while being a pretentious nerd who is obsessed with Dungeons and Dragons. The author is brutal about his past. He was a teenage boy who spent his youth around other teenage boys arguing over armor class and alignment. There is a lot of exaggeration and many characters (the author included) come off as obnoxious and hard to like. I am certain that there is a cultural factor to the book that my American mind did not understand.
The book is entertaining and to those who grew up with Dungeons and Dragons you will find a hefty dose of nostalgia. The book doesn't take itself seriously, otherwise the reader will think that D&D is the social wart that has stigmatized it for ages. Be prepared, this is not the glowing endorsement of role-playing that you will find from Wil Wheaton or Vin Diesel. This is a naked look at awkward adolescence with D&D as a running theme.
The book is entertaining and to those who grew up with Dungeons and Dragons you will find a hefty dose of nostalgia. The book doesn't take itself seriously, otherwise the reader will think that D&D is the social wart that has stigmatized it for ages. Be prepared, this is not the glowing endorsement of role-playing that you will find from Wil Wheaton or Vin Diesel. This is a naked look at awkward adolescence with D&D as a running theme.
November 28, 2017
I loved this book for all the memories it stirred in me. In a way the book is very sad. In this era of resurgence for D&D, the author could have celebrated his past (make lemonade!) but instead chose to be embarrassed by it and see it as the reason he never got dates and was laughed at or picked on by the other kids. True, D&D may have been the prime cause, but I think there ought to have been a way to rescue some of the experience and focus on the positive traits it gave him a little more. I hope he was playing up some of that embarrassment for the humor of the book and that he doesn't really feel the way he portrayed himself. Despite all that, the book is well-written and drew me along from start to finish. Barrowcliffe has an easy style that is a joy to read and I loved some of the minor educational moments about the british school system and tacky plastic oranges that everyone's mother had in the 70s. As he wrote, "we just didn't know."
June 7, 2020
This is one of those 'smart quips and cynical sneers' reads - and I loved it.
There's something fabulous about memoirs that pit the in-the-head fantasy against the in-the-eyes realities of drear contemporary life. And it doesn't get much drearer than Coventry in the 70s.
You can just feel for the young Mark, a geeky idealist who discovers that a magical world of warlocks and sword-wielders is a damn sight better than gloomy urban ordinariness. His yearning for a better world is palpable, and the account of his youth is done with a wonderful backward gaze that brings both the misty-eyed wonder of a teenager and the dry cynicism of an older, head-shaking why oh why?
In an age where fantasy has taken over for male and female readers in YA fiction and beyond, it's great to get an account of those years when D&D, Tolkien and wizardry was for unwashed boys with uncombed hair, sitting in the dark and baiting each other in any way they could.
There's something fabulous about memoirs that pit the in-the-head fantasy against the in-the-eyes realities of drear contemporary life. And it doesn't get much drearer than Coventry in the 70s.
You can just feel for the young Mark, a geeky idealist who discovers that a magical world of warlocks and sword-wielders is a damn sight better than gloomy urban ordinariness. His yearning for a better world is palpable, and the account of his youth is done with a wonderful backward gaze that brings both the misty-eyed wonder of a teenager and the dry cynicism of an older, head-shaking why oh why?
In an age where fantasy has taken over for male and female readers in YA fiction and beyond, it's great to get an account of those years when D&D, Tolkien and wizardry was for unwashed boys with uncombed hair, sitting in the dark and baiting each other in any way they could.
October 16, 2018
It was funny and entertaining (with some simultaneously glorious cringe- and chuckle- worthy moments), but the author's continued assertions that there's just something wrong with playing D&D, just ring hollow. He gets close to seeing that it was more his own awkwardness and toxic masculinity at work, but then backpedals swiftly. And in an age with people like Joe Manganiello, Deborah Ann Woll, and more espousing their love of the game, the book's central concept that there's something inherently warping about D&D seem as dated now as the satanic panic.
May 8, 2023
The land of adolescent boys is a strange place, no matter what your obsession.
Barrowcliffe does a fine job of describing what it's like to be addicted to D&D. How it begins to overlap the real world and changes your perceptions.
I looked for any reason to dress like an elf in those days. And elvishness became the way I identified--feeling "other" and out of place when around other people.
There are worse things than identifying as an elf, I suppose.
Some wonderful laughs in this book for those who have been there.
The ninja basket was epic!
Barrowcliffe does a fine job of describing what it's like to be addicted to D&D. How it begins to overlap the real world and changes your perceptions.
I looked for any reason to dress like an elf in those days. And elvishness became the way I identified--feeling "other" and out of place when around other people.
There are worse things than identifying as an elf, I suppose.
Some wonderful laughs in this book for those who have been there.
The ninja basket was epic!
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