Game Design as Cultural Practice

Pokemon Gamespace

I received my first dedicated video game system for my ninth birthday while living in a three-bedroom apartment.  It was a game boy color, and the first game I played on it was Pokemon Red.  The original Pokemon games had a very simplistic representation of space—top down view, simple humanoid sprites, and a rather repetitive way of representing houses, trees, etc.  In the original red and blue versions of the game, there was only one basic color used to represent the world. 

 

However, it was a game that entirely drew my nine-year-old self in and absorbed hours of my time. 

Part of the reason for this was of course the popularity of the game at the time and the vast amounts of attention poured onto it.  However, I think now that part of the reason for the attraction of the game was the basic exploration properties present.  The player begins in a small town, but most of the game is spent exploring various outdoor areas: forests, caves, and pathways.  At the beginning of the game, the player has no way of knowing the areas ahead of them, and the game forces them to explore these areas “on foot.”

 

While I most likely would have picked up the game even when I lived in a house with a large yard and spent more time outside.  However, when my space was more confined, the exploration provided by Pokemon and subsequent games was certainly satisfying.

 

For the most part, the Pokemon games fulfilled several aspects of “boy space” as Jenkins calls it.  It focuses on exploration, the outdoors, and competition.  Although there are indoor spaces, homes are very minimalist and the more involved indoor spaces are mostly industrial.  Later games, such as Pokemon Ruby/Sapphire allowed for customizing a personal space, or “secret base.”  This secret base can be decorated with a variety of collectable game items, sometimes linked to achievements.  Even decorating this personal space becomes more of an opportunity to display achievements rather than an expression of ownership.

 

Later in the games, players are allowed to fly from town to town after they learn a specific move. Through most of the game the player is forced to walk from area to area.  As in the “Narrative Gamespace” essay, the pedestrian world makes the player interact with the world, and become more of a part of it.  Even the pixilated avatar moving through the city and traveling from place to place immerses the player into the fantasy world. 

 

This new fantasy world can be a kind of substitute for the more traditional child role-playing in the backyard. Although games cannot completely replace real-life interaction and play, they can help fill in where real-life play is limited.

 

-Anna Coley (acoley3)

Hitman: Blood Money

Hitman: Blood Money is a game that I have recently been watching my brother slowly navigate. As far as game space goes, I find it to be very interesting. The main character is an assassin who navigates about 13 separate levels that are linked only by the story line. The levels themselves are completely disconnected. In fact, they are spaces that are often meant to be in completely different countries. The main character is given twelve missions. One by one he appears at the entrance of these levels, silently finds and assassinated his targets, and sneaks to a boat, plain, door, etc. to escape. We have no idea where this character might live, sleep, or travel until later in the game. On the other hand, the plot is developed completely outside of the levels during the between-mission movies. During this time we are given a glimpse into the characters life and the reasons behind his actions. 

The interplay between story and game play is very interesting in Hitman: Blood Money. The levels without the movies would be a disconnected game to which the player would have trouble relating. The movies without the levels would not be a game at all. However, Hitman: Blood Money makes no attempt to weave the two completely together as games like Oblivion or Fallout 3 do. However, despite what might be expected, this method of game space building seems to be effective. The player gets both involved in the game play and interested in the story line. The game is both immersive and enjoyable to play. It is an interesting technique to separate the plot development from the game play to create a game space, but in this case an effective one. 

Gendered Game Spaces & SPORE

Virtual spaces hold potential for gendered and gender-free play. Mnookin (1996) calls virtual space "utopian space of possibility", "virgin place," "utopian dream-space." It is a place for rebirth and endless "self-fashioning" of unexplored, and perhaps of "suppressed aspects" of self. Creation of narrative spaces "has been a purview of those in power" (Pearce, 2007). But digital games hold a new promiss. Games can be used as story telling techniques, as narrative environments with thier "unique poetic structure[s]" (Pearce, 2007). Whereas theme parks created spatial narratives, expeience design, illusion of authenticity, immersion, digital games and networks create agency, identity, and persistent communities. Cetainly most MMOG are themed, but those that are not (Second Life, There, Kaneva) a guests are residents/ citizens and there to stay (Pearce, 2007).

SPORE is a cute cartoonish game centered around the idea of evolution. While most strategy games treat space as a "domain to be conquired" (Fullerton, Morie, & Pearce, 2007), SPORE treats space as endless frontier for exploration. Space is not a context for combat but a fasinating landscape of exploration. "Poetics of game space" (how space is conceptualized as a domain for play) is the universe. However, since the representation of space does contain the priorities and conceptions of prevailing culture (Fullerton, Morie, & Pearce, 2007), the activity of the game is conquest (space as soemthing to be captured) and hence it is still falls into the traditional Western, Cartesian, male, God game paradigm. SPORE is slightly different from toher male-gendered games as it does not have usual organizational structured and the ways of progressing though the ranks (but secrete knowledge, tactical mastery, and geographical domination are there). Being a female, I enjoy playing SPORE, but sometimes wonder what does gender bring or could bring to this game. Henry Jenkins comment that "girls need to learn to explore "unsafe" and "enfiendly" spaces; experience complete freedom of movement; develop self-confidence; learn to "run witht he wolves" and not just follow the butterflies" is rather offensive because of the assumptions that he made. Girls ways of exploration involves pointless following after butterflies? Nonsense! Just as Jenkins who feels nostalgic about the "spaces of boyhood," girls have thier own spaces from childhood. But somehow the game producers do not know and rather clueless of what those places may be. Female writers are right on track when they describe those places as secret places of "removed existence" created for retreat, intimacy, protection, ability to open portals into alternative universes, imaginative other worlds. Such worlds "are NOT a matter of "following the butterflies"" as they challenge "young women in complex ways with complex characters" (Fullerton, Morie, & Pearce, 2007). Research have shown that girls "like storylines and character development" (Fullerton, Morie, & Pearce, 2007), and hence they are more likely to like games that have such features. Constructing community spaces is another kind of games that attracts girls but that are not even considered games by some (Second Life, There). Thus, narrative-performing space can describe the femine features of space. Being raised in "highly restrictive and confined physical environments (Jenkins, 1998), children/teenagers flock to online games. I do not think many women will play SPORE because it lacks "richness, complexity, and depth" (Morningstar &Farmer, 1991) offered by multi-user social network environments.

Psychonauts: the most obvious and genius example of space crafting the experience

In Psychonauts, players navigate the dimensions of the mind, wrestling with psychological demons on their playing field. Using psychic powers, they navigate mazes and solve puzzles to unwrap a conspiracy at the psychic summer camp. In the level I'll refer to as "the milk-man," Raz, the main character, navigates a relatively sterile environment. The world is essentially a standard, suburban neighborhood floating in space connected by a road that twists and contorts in mid air. Everything appears in order, other than the physics defying contortion of the road, yet surveillance cameras appear from all areas, popping out of garbage cans, mail boxes, and fire hydrants. Also spread about are men in coats, presumably government agents, trying to remain incognito by utilizing props to denote a different identity despite their obtuseness. Here the developers create a clear message about this mind; the standard leave-it-to-beaver space has been warped by paranoid delusion with an obsession with surface appearance. Here they create a fascinating parallel between obsession and oversight. Presumably, to the natives of this mind, the in-order presentation of the houses present the most suspicion, evidenced by the overwhelming amount of surveillance.  However, the world is inhabited by secret agents who all appear identical except for one prop that separates their costumed identities. Men with road signs are clearly construction workers, men with rolling pins are clearly housewives, and men with guns are clearly assassins. Certain areas of the world are off limits to commoners, however. Only construction workers are allowed on construction sites, and only housewives are allowed in certain kitchens. We also see an irrational yet common submission to authority types at play here. Construction workers can obviously have free range in construction sites, yet neighbors cannot be trusted. I read a similar RL anecdote in a psychology text book. A therapist is called by his patient who is threatening to jump off a cliff. The therapist pleads with him unsuccessfully to reconsider. Then, a policeman notices that the jumper had illegally parked his car, and without realizing the situation, shouts that if whoever owns that car doesn't move it immediately, he's going to tow it away. Right then, the suicidal patient comes down from the cliff and moves his car as a submission to authority. "The milk-man" level plays off of this same categorization in the mind. The level is a very slow-paced area with little to no action. It would be a meditative area if not for the feeling of things not being as they seem (or the obviousness of it, also enhanced by the sound track). I wouldn't characterize it as patently male or female, judging from the examples in "A Game of One's Own." The road follows a meandering, curvy path, designed for a happy, boring American family, yet slight variation from the rules has incredibly strict directness as sirens fire and a cut-scene shows your interrogation. It's essentially a world standing on thin ice, and beautifully crafted to create that sensation with a comic twist, though not presenting any time-limit related issues or approaching danger except at the moments of revelation and confrontation.

Interestingly, every level of Psychonauts is a private theme park dedicated to the character whose mind the player progresses through. It even holds to the same metaphor of Disney World, being a guest within the mind rather than a resident. Inside the mind of an ex-soldier, one relives Saving Private Ryan but as a fantasy, fun-filled quest. Inside of the mutated lung-fish, Raz acts as a Godzilla character destroying the city of the brainwashed lung-fish speaking in profoundly clear English. The game deserves an entire class as a means of understanding psychological connections to gameplay. Everyone go buy Psychonauts, it's available on Xbox Live.

Games and Space: Second Life

I felt it was appropriate to look into the cultural significance of games and space in Second Life because its unique nature where there's no real end goal (unless you count making money), but rather it is a "place" where people go to create a virtual world which may or may not parallel their own lives. As mentioned in the Pearce essay, the new trend of a fourth dimension of gaming is emerging where "In these worlds, players are not merely citizens of someone else’s fantasy world, but actually have a hand in constructing the fantasy themselves." It is no longer about winning a game, but creating one. Players have the chance to create their own home, coffee shop, restaurant, store, or even their own island. The possibilities of the world go beyond what can happen in the real world.

First person shooters and massively multiplayer online games are often associated with being a primarily male-dominated world. Virtual worlds, on the other hand, target the female population by introducing aspects that females are more interested in. For example, as pointed out in the Fullerton, Morie and Pearce essay, fashion becomes a controllable factor in the game. In Second Life, just about every aspect of the characters appearance is modifiable -- hair, body type, eyes, nose, mouth, height and even clothing. The clothing is not only limited to what has been provided by the creators of Second Life but rather can be created by any user. Architecture and design are also shown to be dominated by females in both the real world and the virtual world. Jenkins argues that video games are often used to escape "the often drab, predictable, and overly-familiar spaces of their everyday lives." Second Life is a perfect place to do just that by creating obscure clothing, objects or places.

I find it fascinating how people have made a living -- not just a living, but becoming a millionaire -- off of Second Life. People want to show off their virtual spaces by buying virutal things. It becomes a my virtual house is bigger and better than yours and people are willing to pay a lot of money to make that point. While I, myself, have never really seen the appeal of entrancing myself in a virtual reality, spending counteless hours walking around in a virtual environment, I suppose it's not too different than chatrooms and forums in the online world. But even then, I'm one to meet people in real life rather than online.

As with all good things, comes a counterpart. With the openness of Second Life, unforunately, comes adult entertainment, pornography and sexually explicit content. I guess this is something that cannot be escaped because it's such a prominant part of today's culture. Whether it be online or in real life, it seems pornography and sexuality is an issue that arises in all forms of entertainment mainly because, in this perverted world, it is an industry that makes billions in profit.

Game Space

EVE Online: Game Space

The advent of MMOG’s in today’s gaming culture has given birth to a game that takes the meaning of Space to an almost literal level:  EVE online.  This game takes place thousands of years into Humanity’s future in distant region of space that is disconnected from Earth.  After civilizations were reborn, space travel became common again, which is where the player is dropped in.  Here is a vast world where a player can move freely from one location to another in varying ships.  What keeps the game interesting is the vast array of different groups that exist in this game space. 

 

EVE’s game world is divided into numerous regions and constellations, which are held by a handful of races of people with different histories and capabilities.  As mentioned in A Game of One’s Own, each system is defined by its allegiance or sovereignty as well as a security status, meaning that the systems are defined by which group controls it, for now.  These designations give player’s some contextual clues to what they might find in these systems.  A higher security rating means that they are less likely to be randomly attacked by some kind of outlaw when in remote sections of a system.  A lower one also means that the system itself is not well-defended against invasion, either.

 

This system of aggression and competition is well-fostered in many aspects of the game play.  Early on in the game, a player is told several times about the possibility of working hard to earn better ships and better equipment and the ability to create a corporation.  This is meant to encourage players to continue interacting with the environment and eventually become competitive.  This becomes unavoidable, because it is a capitalist system of money-making that is in place.  This “boy culture”, as Jenkins describes it, does not stop there, though.

 

EVE is a space to get lost in, one outside our regular interactions on a daily basis.  According to Jenkins, that’s what “boy culture” is largely about: a place to develop autonomously.  In EVE, your actions are your own.  They may have consequences, like anything else, but a player is free to approach the EVE gate, which is supposed to destroy any ship that goes near it.  It is also about where people play the game.  It is unlikely to find people playing a game like EVE in a public space somewhere.  It is often played in people’s homes, even their own rooms if they share their homes with others.  There they can also develop on their own.

 

Jenkins also describes an emphasis on status and membership in playing.  EVE institutionalizes this by assigning security and loyalty ratings to players among groups based upon missions or tasks they complete, which are easy to come by but eventually expensive to complete.  That is, however, the only way to advance through the game without boring oneself.  It is possible to make most of your money mining, but it is incredibly slow and dull, which is not why people play these games.

Gabriel Halley

halley@gatech.edu

Blogpost 8: Game Space

Space is the final frontier. Space is also where we live, grow, work, and play. Our spaces define how we see ourselves and influence how we define ourselves. Why should there be any difference in game worlds?

I have my own web site. I have a blog where I put my thoughts and my discoveries. I have a wiki where I post information about my projects and other musings which are not appropriate for a journal format.

When I grew up, I played on my family's farm. It was about 800 acres with the back of it touching the Altamaha River. I have woods, fields, river sand bars, barns, and roads of my own to play in and tell myself stories in. These spaces are also important in games.

When we grow up, we are not allowed to choose or design our space. It is provided by the world and we must interpret it in our own way. Jenkins writes that as designers of games, we must understand how our audience plays in space to make a successful product. Boys like to build, change, and destroy but girls like to nurture, grow, and mature for instance. This fundamental difference in how people use space will change how people experience and enjoy a game.

But do these things have to be separate? Can games be both boy spaces, girl space, and so third in between spaces? In “Narrative Environments From Disneyland to World of Warcraft”, Pearce describes the difference between a space, Disneyland, and a community, World of Warcraft. She says that the space isn't important because of what is there, but who is there. You don't get a culture because you enforce an ideal; a culture arises because the same people build it.

This feeds back into one of Jenkins arguments that space is also influenced by our culture. Boys do boy things in their space partly because they are boys and partly because boys are expected to. Likewise, girls nurture because their toys and their society encourages it. A boy can be given dolls in a pink room, but if the culture around him is the same as ours, he will be more likely to have the dolls fight than to play house.

In my favorite online game, KoL (Kingdom of Loathing), my roommates and friends play in a clan together. We try and gain access to rare items in game to share with each other as well as play in group dungeons together for great virtual glory. My friend Larry has a wiki set up for us to describe our characters and what they have done. While there is very little in the way for building a world in game, we have taken the world around us to build our own spaces to glorify this game. While it isn't quite the ideas that Jenkins or Pearce necessarily had in mind, we are still building these spaces for the game and to enjoy the game.

Game Space in World of Warcraft

John Michael Courson

World of Warcraft (WoW) provides a very interesting example of space in video games. While WoW is not my favorite video game (I spend the majority of my gaming time playing single player RPGs usually of Japanese origin) I have spent a significant amount of time playing this particular MMORPG and I have found the representation of space very interesting on multiple levels. In many ways, the space in WoW is structured the way it is because of the nature of the game. Major objectives in the game such as combat, trade skills, and leveling require the space to be laid out in a specific manor. Other choices in creating this game space were undoubtedly made with culturally significant ideas in mind.

For those who have not played WoW, the sheer amount of game space is absolutely staggering. To traverse all of this space by foot would take hours perhaps even days, and it is interesting to note that it would be close to impossible to achieve this task without participating in combat and leveling one's character a great deal. One of the primary reasons that I play any video game is the chance to enter a new world and to explore a fresh environment. I believe this is a reason that many people play games, and perhaps it is becoming more prominent as children in the city have less places to explore in the physical world. Sometimes I see children playing in the parking lot of my apartment complex, and I feel sorry for them because I had so many options for exploration when I was younger whether it was my grandfather's fields or the woods near my house. Video games, unlike television, allow for the younger generation to substitute backyard play for another participatory medium (Jenkins 338). WoW provides a staggering environment for the player to explore, one that quickly becomes too large as characters must quest from region to region. There comes a point where every player can't wait to get their first mount or to find all of the flight paths to shorten the travel times.

Much of the game space is structured around gameplay, and it seems to me that most of the gameplay tends to be heavily centered on masculinity. Some masculine conceptions of game space are dangerous and contested territory, levels and secrets, and girls in boyland (Fullerton et al). These are all very evident in WoW. There are areas clearly marked as either Alliance or Horde territories, and players learn quickly that when outside any town staying still will most often get you killed. Players must progress in level in order to survive in zones where creatures are of higher level. Finally, while I don't find the girls in WoW particularly attractive many male players choose to play as females “because they are more attractive to look at, especially since you're usually staring at their backside during the entire game.” These masculine concepts form a lot of the game spaces. Each race starts in a low level zone and is eventually introduced to the big city specific to their race. Quests are generally very linear. Even if they take you half way across the world, you can be sure that enemies won't be more than ten or fifteen levels higher than you. The combat and levels necessitate regions that are not accessible at the beginning of the game, and on the flip side you can be sure that most major cities are surrounded by low level areas.

Despite many of the masculine concepts in the game, there are opportunities that females may find interesting. Exploration is possible as long as you stay in zones appropriate to your level. Even low level zones are quite large and have plenty to discover. As in any MMORPG, there are many opportunities for social interaction both inside and outside of town. Another aspect that may be more appealing to females is a small amount of narrative between quests. Personally, I find the narrative to be very lacking and I definitely prefer the narrative of some races over others if only because my motivation for killing things seems greater with the narrative provided. I usually prefer single player RPGs in which the narrative is usually very linear as are the spaces, however the narrative is much more rich. WoW provides the opportunity to explore across much larger areas and the narrative can be followed along multiple lines and in between multiple factions.

In my opinion, one of the reasons that WoW has a smaller female population that other MMOG's like Second Life, is that there is very little opportunity to construct and add to the community. Character creation is very limited and other personal effects like mounts and skill trees are usually limited to about three choices. Perhaps if WoW was more like Second Life in which “players are not merely citizens in someone else's fantasy world, but actually have a hand in constructing the fantasy themselves” females might find it more appealing (Pearce). This sort of sandbox or garden play seems to be more tuned for female audiences (Fullerton et al). Overall, I am impressed with the massive representation of space in WoW, however the massive scale seems overly limited by the masculine concepts behind the gameplay mechanics.

References

Salen, Katie and Eric Zimmerman. (2005). The Game Design Reader: A Rules of Play Anthology. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. "Complete Freedom of Movement" (1998)/Henry Jenkins pg. 330

Pearce, C. (2007). “Narrative Environments from Disneyland to World of Warcraft.” In Space, Time, Play: Computer Games, Architecture and Urbanism: The Next Level. Friedrich von Borries, Steffan P. Walz, and Matteas Bottger (eds). Basel: Birkhauser. http://lcc.gatech.edu/~cpearce3/PearcePubs/PearceSpaceTimePlay.pdf

Fullerton, T., Morie, J. & Pearce, C. (aka Ludica) (2007). �A Game Of Ones Own: Towards a New Gendered Poetics of Game Space.� In Proceedings, Digital Arts & Culture 2007, Perth, Australia, September 2007. http://lcc.gatech.edu/~cpearce3/PearcePubs/LudicaDAC07.pdf

Portal, once again.

Space can be encoded with a narrative. The exploration of space tells its story: the act of exploration equals the act of reading. Reader is not the same as explorer, though, for in exploring one is far more intimately involved with both space and narrative.

Valve Software's Portal is an excellent example of such a space. The levels of Portal demonstrate the principals of narrative architecture [Pearce p.1] or spatial media [Pearce p.2]. They are spaces designed to tell a story. They are (to paraphrase) synthetic worlds set aside from the chaos of the real world [Pearce p.2]. This is not to say that Portal or any other game is orderly – often quite the opposite. But the spaces of Portal describe a narrative as the player navigates them.

Furthermore, the game space of Portal is gendered, as theorized by both Jenkins and Fuller, Morie, and Pearce. Its construction, both narratively and architecturally, exhibit elements of gender-bias. I submit that Portal exhibits both male and female spatial aspects.

Portal, at first glance, is predominantly masculine. The game's spaces are dangerous and contentious [Fuller et al p.2]. The player must navigate maze-like chambers and corridors, solving spatial puzzles and reacting to hostile obstacles with quick reflexes [Fuller p.2]. Portal's levels are industrial and angular, either spotlessly clean or immensely filthy [Fuller p.3]. Major events in the game such as boss fights or challenging puzzle components are set pieces, challenging the player to overcome considerable odds or solve a conundrum that is, initially, impossible [Jenkins, NMR p.237].

Portal does exhibit female space-elements, however. Exploration of the space is accompanied by GLaDOS's narration. GLaDOS, the game's antagonist, is a passive/aggressive A.I. that develops a complex relationship with the player as they play the game [Jenkins p.352]. GLaDOS's instruction begins as quirky dialog, but her intentions soon turn sinister as she forces the player's avatar, Chell (also female) to accomplish increasingly lethal tasks. The game space is filled with secrets, hidden rooms, and writing that give the players clues as to the truths behind the game [Jenkins p.349]. It is by exploring the game space that the player can discover some of the reasons why GLaDOS behaves the way she does, and what has happened in the game's past. Furthermore, the space of Portal is singular and private [Henkins p.248]. The player is the only living being within the Aperture Science laboratories – all other things Chell interacts with are mechanical constructs.

As I have hopefully demonstrated, Portal displays neither entirely male nor female characteristics. It contains both action and the growth of character relationships [Jenkins p.359]. The game can be fast-paced from time to time, but the player will find it much easier to solve puzzles if they slow down and take their time, a feminine trait of game-space [Jenkins p.351]. Jenkins ponders the possibility of a gender-neutral play space at the end of his essay – I submit that Portal is a step in the right direction.

--Nigel O'Rear

Wasted Space

Of the many popular settings for games nowadays, the post-apocalyptic world is one of the most common.  Almost inevitably, these worlds will have a wasteland - a large space with few points or objects of interest in it.  Its lack of features, though, does not match its significance within both the world and as a cultural notion in games.

Fullerton et al refers to such places - not directly speaking of wastelands, but mentioning terrain and locales that would frequently fall within its bounds - as a "landscape of destruction."  This is not incorrect; the scorched browns of the Capital Wasteland in Fallout 3 capture the essence of a ruined world, as they do many other, similar games.  Less obviously, Legend of Zelda: Windwaker presents a drowned world, where almost all the land has been swallowed by the sea; a wasteland of blue, as opposed to brown, with sparse rocks and occasional enemy patrols being the primary sights outside the main islands.  Both - even with the latter's cartoony art sceme - convey a sense of loneliness and finality, a feeling that there is not much left for the inhabitants of the world.

At the same time, though, the wasteland acts as an icon of hope.  It is the nadir of existence; the only place to go from there is up.  It is a representation of the opposition the player faces within the game, both in a spiritual sense and a mechanical, with frequent random enemy spawns occurring there to hound the player.  Becoming strong or skilled enough to at first deal with, and later master, the harsh empty space of these games marks an important step on the player's journey through the game, an indication that they have become stronger, that they might succeed in their task.

Finally, the wasteland acts as a core spiritual component of the game.  Windwaker presents bright colors and happy traveling music, both becoming ominous as enemies approaches; a perfect setting for the hero's journey that the Zelda series epitomizes.  Fallout 3 has you travel in near silence through scenes of wrecked infrastructure and the detritus of the human race, with only the occasional ominous strain breaking through until something happens to attack you, a fitting presentation for a dead world clinging desperately to life.  In both cases, the wasteland is central to the plot of the game:  Windwaker's is tied to events in the game world's past which drive the main villain, while Fallout 3's is a result of the defining moment in the world's timeline (and making it survivable is the ultimate goal of the game).  Neither would 'work' as a space without their wastelands; like Disneyland in southern California, they fill a narrative gap in their games.

In the end, though, the wasteland is thoroughly a 'male' space.  It fits well into Jenkin's definition of the adventure island; the primary difference would be the relative *lack* of action and involvement it contains.  It is not a taut string of set pieces; it is the slack between them.  One might argue that they provide a quiet, contemplative place - the notion of the secret garden - but the innate despair of the setting effectively dispels the possibility of it being such a place.  The wasteland is not welcoming; it is, in one way or many, the enemy.  Was one to find such a place in the wasteland, it would, simply by being a safe, known place, no longer truly be a part of it.  Similarly, it is not an enchanted world; it is a dead one, one from which the player must escape from to do things of consequence.  Its very nature marks it as the antithesis of the domestic space.  About all the wasteland has to resonate with women is its potential as a narrative space; its involvement with the story, its propensity to use the desolate atmosphere and random, startling events to make memorable scenes, its mystery as a huge, unexplored space.

Virtual wastelands will likely never truly be a setting players, particularly female players, given current thoughts regarding gendered space, are entirely at home with.  Nevertheless, they remain an important part of game worlds, filling an important gameplay and notional gap within many of them.  Perhaps in time they can be replaced with something with slightly wider appeal...though one must wonder how exactly post-apocalyptic worlds would look given that.

--Evan