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208 pages, Paperback
First published March 26, 2013
Anna was dark-haired, ringleted, slim, her spoken English precise and so little accented that only its hyper-correctness spoke to her foreign origin.
"It could be a sacred grove or just the space in which a game is played...Even an ordinary childhood game like sardines turns a house into a magic circle. The circle might be a boxing ring or a sports arena. It's just a way of talking about an amoeba-shaped space of play, one that's distinctly demarcated from the ordinary world outside. Whatever happens within the magic circle is fundamentally discontinuous with the external world.
"I'm sick of the way you always try to stave off confrontation."
"You two are never going to be able to make a decisive determination of the respective merits of fact and fantasy," Lucy said.
"I guess it's hard for me to give up the degree of control that would be entailed in allowing other people to play live parts in the game," said Ruth. "The devices are entirely within my domain. I can determine each player's experience within certain clearly defined boundaries, and players can enjoy the game on their own time and at any hour of day or night. Introducing actors risks things getting much sillier, and of course harder to coordinate."
Anna was flagging down the waitress. Ruth hadn't yet finished her first drink, so Anna ordered a second vodka for herself and another pint of pale ale for Lucy, who was trying to keep an eye on her alcohol intake and had regretfully deemed beer's caloric overload preferable to the moral hazard of excessive whiskey consumption.
Though Lucy adhered to the polite fiction whereby one does not officially possess information gleaned from overhearing one side of someone else's telephone conversation, she gathered that Ruth was agreeing to meet Mark in twenty minutes for a burger at the Heights.
I might complain, but something in my hard little soul (it was Lucy who had bestowed this unflattering moniker on my immaterial substance) had melted towards Anna's game.
"I would be honored to accompany you," said Anna, her language as always quite formal and impeccably grammatical.
I had been off and on either suspicious or envious of her for months now, and the Places of Power game had in certain key respects only heightened that negative affective orientation.
"I will leave the two of you to have some time alone with each other," I said after the initial introductions had been performed.
Over dinner later that evening with Mark (I had defrosted some of the pesto I'd made that summer from the basil we grew on his balcony in pots, serving it with linguine alongside a simple green salad), he and I fell into heated argument.
Nothing like that is going to happen tonight," I said in my most soothing voice (I am a good girlfriend, really).
I just prayed (that's an idiom, not a literal use of the verb!) that the police wouldn't arrive and ask us what we were doing.
The link to my site was broken, and I dithered about whether or not it would be appropriate to leave a comment. Finally I decided that it would (it wasn't like I was criticizing what they said about me—I was just making sure that others could find the site!).
Mark still hadn't called, and gradually the life of the Trapped publicity dissipated. Finally, he texted me around eleven thirty (a call would have been more appropriate!) to suggest that we meet for dinner at Max Soha at seven.
People who meet me at parties often seem surprised that a person who studies games should appear so self-contained and humorless. I usually counter this observation by saying that games are a serious business. Most players of games are very much in earnest, not so much frisking and frolicking as furthering their interests like rational actors in any other field. Games represent a field apart, that is all, not a field distinctly different in its priorities from any other. I say all of this in a relatively dry manner that leaves the person I am talking to quite unclear whether I mean to be funny or not.
(I am in fact a person with a sense of humor.)
The wine was as sweet and intense as winter itself, the winter of sugarplums and the concentrated essence of north. It brought warmth to my cheeks, and the feeling of Anna's gaze upon me also made me burn.
"You have found it difficult interacting with your mother over the years, haven't you?" she said.
"I have," I confessed. "I always seem to fall short of her exacting standards, but I am stymied as to how to change that."
ANDERS: Old hat. Your standard role-playing game already relies on a grotesquely denatured sub-Shakespearean idiom.⁷
⁷ Anders actually talked like this.
We slowed down only to tip more wine down our throats; I had decanted mine into a plastic sports drink bottle, so that a sympathetic officer might countenance the fiction of legality.
"The Magic Circle is elegant, brutally smart, and utterly absorbing—The Secret History as directed by Whit Stillman."
come to my blog!Andrew was drinking Bushmills and Anna and Lucy vodka tonics: well drinks were two for the price of one from 10 p.m. to 1 a.m., the waitress had informed them, a pricing scheme conducive to getting quite quickly drunk. What had Lucy eaten for dinner, if anything? Toast and jam in the early evening, she supposed, but nothing that would especially soak up alcohol.What? Where did that 'well' come from? Do 'quite' and 'especially' really need to be there? Why doesn't Lucy know what she herself had for dinner?
'The geological sweep of time always trumps the minor accretions of human latecomers. The buildings around here might not be so old, but it seems patently obvious to me that the cathedral here as effectively secures the area against occult attack as any of the great European cathedrals can possibly do in their respective cities.'The context of this is a casual discussion between friends, not a lecture or something, and they're even supposed to be a bit drunk! I'm sorry but I just cannot believe that anyone would actually speak like this, no matter how intelligent or academically minded they were supposed to be.