Blogger Nate Eagle writes on Monadology (named after the theory of monads proposed by Gottfried Leibniz (pictured, more of less) -- duh!) writes about how World of Warcraft didn't grab him. After playing for a few months at the behest of a friend, he makes the smart observation that "beyond a certain level of superficial art, there is simply smoothness". Well put.

But then he uses real life as a frame of reference.

There is no more detail to be absorbed in an area than is immediately obvious, generally speaking, quite unlike the real world, which yields depths upon depths the more one peers.

This is an easy way to spot a non-gamer. Try showing a non-gamer how amazing Grand Theft Auto IV is and he'll point out non-authentic things in the pedestrian AI that you've long since stopped noticing. "Look, he's trying to walk into the wall!" Non-gamers don't understand the difference between game design and verisimilitude.

The best experiences were with other players; interaction with them was, of course, complicated and unpredictable. But it was hard for me to get plugged in with anyone for very long. I couldn't play that frequently, and I played at irregular times.

Ah, well, there you go. Eagle has a real life. Who can blame him for not getting into WoW? But that doesn't stop him from analyzing videogame design.

The whole point of designing [videogames] well is to curtail possible frustration, to limit the kind of problems that might cause genuine exertion, or to always provide alternative pleasures if certain ones are difficult.

Close, but no cigar. One of the smartest and most muscular comments I've heard about videogaming came from a talk given by a developer named Andrew Mayer at this year's Penny Arcade Expo. He described videogaming as "the art of enjoyable frustration".

This frustration doesn't exist in any other form of contemporary entertainment industry. You can't really compare it to the dramatic tension in a book, or the suspense in a movie, or the competition in sports, or even getting stuck on a crossword puzzle. Yet it plays a central role in videogames. One of the most important questions a videogame designer must ask is "How and how much do I want to frustrate the player?" If the answer is "not at all", it's time to make a movie instead.

Eagle cements his non-gamer status when he lapses into dorm room late-night bull session mode: "Dude, what if we're just sims and there's a gamer somewhere playing us and we have little skill meters floating over our heads that we can't see?" He concludes:

I'll try to develop my eye for the invisible meters that fill my real world, a world of fractal-like infinitude, a world that will never fail to yield miracles to the soul that stops and looks for them.

Oh, my. Well, I suppose that's about what I'd expect from a blog named after a theory from an 18th Century German philosopher*.

When Eagle closes with a gibe about playing Freecell, it's obvious that he's simply a non-gamer who didn't have the time for World of Warcraft, which is true of many non-gamers with other interests. Still, I appreciate Eagle's comments. It's easy to get stuck in an echo chamber of gamers talking to gamers about games. And it could have been much worse. Consider this woman writing about videogames in an Olympia, Washington newspaper.

Like most Gen Xers, video games always have been a big part of my life. In fact, I still love playing Frogger, only instead of a glass-top arcade table, I play it on my cell phone.

Frogger, huh? She later references her husband's "alien hunting or Army combat games". Sometimes mainstream media is just so cute.

Thanks dingus and Andrew Sullivan!

* Yes, I had to look that up, along with the spelling of verisimilitude.