The India Construction Kit is available on Kindle. It’s only $6.25. Here’s my page explaining the book.


The paperback edition is coming soon. I’ve just ordered the second proof copy, and expect to fix final typos and send it to bed in the middle of next week.

I can’t think of much else to write that I didn’t already put on the other page, except that it’s ideal for everyone on your list for holiday shopping.

Oh, if you do buy the Kindle version, you will probably want to look on the web resources page (see the intro) for bigger maps.  They will be up in a day or two.


I just finished Dishonored 2: Death of the Outsider, which I’ve been looking forward since seeing its fucken badass trailer. It’s the song that makes it.


This is a really lovely steampunk dystopia

Now, I really liked Dishonored 2, so playing DOTO (terrible acronym) was relaxing with an old friend. We’re back in Karnaca, exploring the hell out of a small section of the city, either choking or croaking guards.

The main Dishonoreds suffer from the PC being too close to the top of the social hierarchy; the DLC for each is far more satisfying.  In D1’s DLC you played gruff assassin Daud, and in DOTO you play his assistant Billie Lurk– who also has a major role in D2. And you take on the biggest target of all: the dark god of this universe, the Outsider.

I’m impressed with how smooth the game is. The world is, by now, one of the most distinctive fantasy worlds in games. The level design is superb, and often beautiful.  I never needed a walkthrough– I missed a couple puzzles, but nothing that bothered me.  As ever, the game rewards exploring every nook of these little worlds, but they’re never so large that they feel like a chore. There are side quests (‘contracts’), but they’re designed so that you can take them on as part of the main mission.

This time, there’s no chaos system.  I read that the devs have explained this as meaning Billie is too insignificant a figure to change the way the empire works… which makes no sense, since how she treats the Outsider is a more cosmic choice than anything you do in D1 or D2.  A better explanation might be that the Outsider ran the reward system in the previous games– and you overrule his decisions here.  But on a gameplay level, it’s a good thing: it encourages you to play the game lethally or not, without worrying that you’re getting the “bad ending”.

I decided to play completely lethally.  It fits Billie, and it was a chance to play in a way I really hadn’t in any of the earlier games. It’s pretty fun!  For most of the game you rarely run into more than 4 or so enemies at once, which is doable.  It took me 14 hours, but I was still exploring everything, not trying to speed-run.  It would have taken quite a bit more in full stealth mode.

There are a few difficult enemies:

  • One level has those damn clockwork soldiers, which are really hard to take down. Fortunately there’s not too many of them.
  • One level has a load of cultists, and at first it seemed anything I tried would send all of them after me.  But finally I learned to provoke only a handful at a time.
  • The last level has a nasty rock creature, the “Envisioned”.  They seem way overpowered– I couldn’t kill any of them, and they can basically one-hit you. But it turns out you can avoid them.

Billie has a new set of powers, which frankly are nerfed compared to the earlier games.  But a full skill tree wouldn’t make much sense in a shorter game.  I missed the Blink ability, mostly because its replacement, Displace, is really bad at moving vertically. On the other hand, I liked Foresight, not least because it solves a problem with these detective-mode analogs: if you have detective mode, you pretty much want to stay in it all the time, which means you’re seeing the world with a dull filter on.  Foresight freezes time and lets you scout ahead briefly.  It gives you a very pleasing rhythm of clearing an area, using Foresight to scout ahead and mark enemies, and then moving in.

You can also steal someone’s face, which gives you some nice methods of getting past checkpoints and such.

At the end, you can either kill the Outsider– or not.  Storywise, I think they did a pretty good job making this an interesting choice. My own feeling is that the Abbey of the Everyman is far worse than he is, so I spared the dude.

The standout mission is a bank heist in the third chapter.  It’s not as spectacular as the Clockwork Mansion in D2, but as a game level, it’s far better planned.  Jindosh’s mansion is baffling on a first playthrough; the bank basically leads you through while making you feel like you’ve solved the puzzles yourself.

It felt like they had a far lower budget or something, and so re-used one map twice, and re-used another one from D2.  But this wasn’t really bad: in the first case, the second time you’re mostly in the bank, which is new; and in the case of the repeated Conservatory, it gives them a chance to show what happened after the events of D2, which very different people in charge.

My one complaint, perhaps, is that none of the enemies you meet are as vivid or memorable as Duke Abele or Jindosh or Delilah from D2.  The series works best with exaggerated, grotesque villains, and they didn’t really come up with one here.

(Well, one other minor complaint: on the Conservatory mission you can find a load of coins… and then you never get a chance to spend them.  I guess you could stop off at the Black Market on the way home. I kind of preferred D1’s system of letting you shop in the between-mission screens.)

I really hope, though, that this isn’t it for Dishonored.  I want to go blinking and assassinating in this strange nasty world again.



Someone over at Metafilter had a great question: What syntactic category are mathematical operands? (Their username is notsnot, in case this needs to go in a dissertation someday.)

Let’s start with something like

Three plus four is seven.

For now, we’ll say the numerals are NPs.  In a construction NP <word> NP, the <word> could be various things: a verb, a conjunction, a preposition. We can immediately rule out verbs, since plus and its friends (minus, times, over, etc.) are not conjugated.

We should also look at non-mathematical sentences, like

Determination plus luck means victory.

Let’s do some syntax. There are some standard though fallible tests for prepositions.  For instance, they can usually be modified by right:

He fell right in the river.
She lives right down the street.
Go to the cave right in the forest.

*Determination right plus luck means victory.
*Three right plus four is seven.

Prepositional phrases (PP) can often be fronted:

Up the hill she walked.
*Plus four three is seven.

You can front a PP and replace the NP with an interrogative, or front just the questioned element:

Sam is the king of England.  Seven is three plus four.
Of what is Sam the king? *Plus what is seven three?
What is Sam king of?  *What is seven three plus?

PPs allow gapping:

Sam is king of England, and Joe, of France.
*Seven is three plus four, and eight, plus five.

These tests aren’t definitive, but plus is failing every one of them. A better match might be conjunctions. Plus, like and, can link NPs or sentences, and can be used multiple times:

Bill and Anne and Rahesh came.  Two plus two plus one make five.
Bill came, and Anne left.  Bill came, plus Anne left.

On the other hand, this transformation sure doesn’t work:

Sam is a king and Sam is a dancer.  >> Sam is a king and a dancer.
X is 4, plus X is sin θ >> *X is 4 plus sin θ.

It looks like the construction S, plus S isn’t really the same plus as in two plus two.  And other operators don’t allow it at all:

*Bill left, minus Anne stayed.
*Bill left, over Anne stayed.

A bigger problem is that English sentences allow literally infinite amounts of inserted material.

Sam and Alice are nobles.
Sam and Alice are fine, just nobles.
Sam and Alice are still nobles.
Sam, prince of Florin, and Alice, duchess of Guilder, are nobles of Sylvania.
Sam and possibly Alice are, as of Tuesday, nobles.

How much of this can we do with mathematical expressions?

Three plus four is seven.
Three plus lovely four is seven.
Three plus four is still seven.
Three, square root of nine, plus four, half of eight, are seven.
Three and possibly four are, as of Tuesday, seven.

These are not impossible, but at best they sound jocular.  The additions are not math; they’re intrusions of ordinary English.

There’s also the complication that mathematical plus and minus can be unary: you can say Minus three plus four is one. You can have a conjunction beginning a sentence (And the Lord said to Moses…), but that’s not how minus is working here; it’s obviously a modifier for three.

Not to belabor the obvious, but many of the basic things we can do with a sentence don’t really work in mathematics.  You can’t really put a mathematical expression in the past tense, or use the present perfect, or use pronouns, or passivize, or insert a relative clause, or nominalize, or cleft, or topicalize.

And all this is looking at a very basic expression that probably did arise out of normal syntax.  It’s even harder to apply our notions of normal English syntax to something like

x equals minus b plus or minus square root of b squared minus four a c over two a.


e to the i n equals cosine of n plus i times sine of n.

I’ve gone into this much detail to convince you (and myself) that ordinary English syntax doesn’t really explain mathematical expressions.  I hope my conclusion doesn’t shock or appall you: mathematical expressions don’t follow English syntactic rules; they follow mathematical rules.

Now, maybe you could shoehorn the quadratic formula or Euler’s formula into the syntactic framework of your choice. I will bet you, however, that you’ll end up with a pile of very idiosyncratic special rules and special syntactic categories, and a bunch of ad hoc exclusions of normal English rules.

And there’s an alternative formulation that would end up far simpler than that: mathematical expressions have their own cross-linguistic syntax, based on their written form, and languages have conventions on how to say them aloud.

I don’t think this is terribly surprising… it’s like discovering that the Russian of Tolstoy’s War and Peace contains a number of passages which are written in the Roman alphabet and don’t follow ordinary Russian syntax.  Is this a revolutionary discovery about weird undercurrents of Russian?  No, it’s just that Tolstoy included quite a bit of French in the text.  Similarly, English sentences can have embedded mathematics.

Still, I hadn’t thought about it this way, and I find it interesting that a pretty ordinary part of English turns out to be, well, not really English at all.

Now, for historical and practical reasons, there’s a certain overlap, especially with basic arithmetic. People undoubtedly said “Two and two are four” (or “twá and twá sind féower”) long before international mathematics was formalized. So these behave more like ordinary English than the quadratic formula does.

Plus, the conventions for speaking math out loud were, of course, invented by speakers of the language out of existing (or newly borrowed) words, and follow ordinary language conventions– where possible.  So you can read cos (2θ) as “cosine of two times theta”.  On the other hand you can just read it as “cos two theta”, which probably has no non-math analogue in English.

(I should add that programmers are very familiar with the idea that math expressions have a particular syntax.  They don’t bother with linguistic categories at all; they define their own, such as operators, variables, constants, functions, and statements.)



I’ve basically redone the Almeopedia. You can find it here.  The help page is here.


The old version (which is still up, for now) has had a speed problem for a long time. Just loading a page took 40 seconds, which made browsing painful and editing almost impossible.

I’ve been redoing pages (like the numbers page) by using Javascript to process big raw text files, and I used the same method here. It runs lightning-fast on my computer. The first few links may be slow when you try the above link, but it should speed up once the files are in your cache.

Since it’s now my code, I was able to do some side features:

  • shortcuts for the Unicode letters I use
  • changes to facilitate the historical atlases
  • SFW mode (makes the pictures tiny and adds business-friendly nonsense titles)
  • improvements to the choose-your-own-adventure section
  • customizations to the Wiki markup to eliminate busywork

There’s about 3 meg of raw text.  I’m amazed at how fast Javascript can plow through it (e.g. if you do a text search).  I skipped some optimizations I could have done simply because it’s good enough as it is.

I also took the opportunity to put the Historical Atlas of Skouras into Almeopedia. The old version was in Flash, which is deprecated these days.

Unfortunately, the new version isn’t externally editable.  Still, if you find errors or think something should be added, shoot me an e-mail.

There are undoubtedly errors and bugs… I copied all the text by hand, but I haven’t yet checked each page.  But, one of the purposes of the project was to make it easy to revise what’s there and put out lots of new material.



I came across this interview with Eric Weinstein, and it got me thinking. Weinstein is an advisor to Peter Thiel, and– wait, come back!  I know Thiel is the embodiment of everything wrong with late capitalism, but the article is only half that. It’s deeply weird and doesn’t quite know what it wants, but it does have some interesting things to say about the frivolity economy.


His thesis, more or less, is that capitalism should be more disruptive, and also combined with socialism. But let’s start out with the strong bit: his critique of American education.

The problem is that we have an educational system that’s based on taking our natural penchant for exploration and fashioning it into a willingness to take on mind-numbing routine. This is because our educational system was designed to produce employable products suitable for jobs, but it is jobs that are precisely going to give way to an economy increasingly based on one-off opportunities.

Now, this isn’t entirely right. It’s not that routine is the goal of education; it’s that mass education in any form involves teaching things the kids don’t care to learn at that moment. Kids actually learn quite readily if they happen to love the subject.  Plus, sometimes you can’t get to the good parts without mastering the boring bits. You can’t learn quantum mechanics without learning calculus; you can’t read Sanskrit literature without mastering Sanskrit morphology.

But Weinstein has a point.  Traditional societies didn’t educate the majority at all.  Industrial society educates everyone because manufacturing and service jobs require a high level of literacy, and jobs will resemble school in many respects… often, the unattractive respects: lots of routine and rules; mindless obedience; doing things you are not personally interested in because it’s Your Job.

You can see how this sort of education and a certain sort of society fit together nicely in the career of … my Dad.  He was bright and did well in school, though he never went to college.  He started as an assistant pressman at a major printing company, rose through the ranks to management, and ended up as an executive, an expert on technical printing problems.  He not only stayed in one industry, he stayed in one company. It was a pretty good life for him, and a definite step up from his father, who was a carpenter.

Now, late capitalism has nearly destroyed that sort of career– especially for those who never make it to management.  Weinstein takes the view that predictable, medium-affluent working class jobs are over, presumably because those are ripe to be automated.

At this point many give up and conclude that humans are worthless, or at best should just be given a stipend while the robots do all the work.  Weinstein says instead that humans should do what they’re best at: handling one-time events. Or with less jargon: doing things that aren’t easily automated, because they require adaptability and creativity.  For him this means technologists and finance people, but also inventors, artists, and writers.

I’d actually make this category far broader– see my list of professions unlikely to be taken over by AIs. It’s interesting to speculate what sort of education would focus on these skills, rather than those required to be an accountant or an assistant pressman.

This is also about the point where Weinstein dissolves into a messy set of contradictions. He’s obviously been talking to too many venture capitalists: he tells us “certain fields will need to undergo a process of radical deregulation to give the minority of minds that are capable of our greatest feats of creation the leeway to experiment and to play.”  Unreflective Thiel-worship, in other words.  Haven’t those people done enough damage?  But!  He also thinks we need to recognize the “dignity, well-being, and health” of the 90%.  He mentions a universal basic income, but so far as I can see, his bright idea is that this is tied to having jobs that aren’t necessarily marketable.  So, you can be a playwright or something, and still get paid enough to live on, and this is somehow valuable dignified recompense but it’s not, y’know, welfare.

The interview ends with Weinstein’s assurances that the Very Powerful are thinking very hard about inequality these days. And this of course is complete nonsense.  His boss, Thiel, supports the GOP, whose first order of business right now is not subsidizing playwrights, but handing the super-rich another five trillion dollars.  Whatever the super-rich say to Weinstein at cocktail parties is not the truth of their secret benevolent hearts; it’s the bullshit they tell the 10% to hide what they are really doing to the rest of us.

(As a side point, I’m not saying that the super-rich are all evil plutocrats.  Only half of them are!  Once they have all the money, quite a few rich men develop other interests, including improving the world. The class to be terrified of is the moderately rich: the mere millionaire.  They’re the ones who need more money and can’t understand any value but money and vote consistently Republican.)

What’s interesting is that there’s a bright future we could have— if we chose to pursue it. Thinkers of the early 20th century couldn’t see past the mass of uneducated peasants in their societies.  Aldous Huxley couldn’t see any alternative to keeping around a class of “Epsilon Semi-Morons”; Orwell couldn’t imagine anything nicer than spreading around the wealth such that everyone could eat but no one could go to a restaurant.  But postwar America and Europe turned out very differently from either vision.  It turned out that everyone could have a way better job than peasant, and everyone could go to restaurants.

And similarly, lots of people can’t see a future right now that doesn’t include masses of factory jobs.  They fixate on what ex-factory workers could do, and all that comes to mind is, well, factory work.  But the world is actually quite rich, and AI could make it far richer.  You really could put everyone to work doing things that are today only open to the 10%.

The thing is, you don’t do this by deregulation, disruption, and giving the super-rich more money.  Weinstein’s bosses won’t give us that bright future: no ruling class voluntarily disinherits itself.  They won’t even give us a UBI, because it would cost money.

The tricky bit is, of course, how do we get there from here? Well, it’s not going to be a quick process.  But we can’t even start on it till we 1) shut down the current wave of downright reactionaries; and 2) get rid of plutocracy.

(If you want an idea to rally around, though: UBI isn’t a bad idea, but combine it with Piketty’s 0.5% tax on wealth. You can’t get to the bright future and also keep increasing inequality.)



I picked this up and zipped through it tonight. It’s by the same people who did Gone Home. It’s similar in gameplay, only it’s set in spaaaaaaace.


So: It’s 2088.  You’re Ami Ferrier, who’s been sent to grab the AI data from the unoccupied Tacoma space station.  It’s soon clear that something bad happened here, and you can snoop around to see what it was.

You can look at physical clues, but you also look at virtual clues: the AI kept recordings of significant crew interactions, in the form of augmented reality recordings. These are color-coded ghosts (with full audio). The clever bit is that you can’t just stand there gawking at them– the characters move around, and you have to decide which ones to follow. You can then rewind and follow someone else.

All this makes two big improvements over Gone Home:

  • The futuristic setting, which allows the art and story people a good deal more creativity.
  • The AR recordings, which just feel more involving and interactive than a straight audio.

But the overall method and even the story structure are similar.  You can root around offices and personal quarters, look in drawers and trash bins, solve a few simple puzzles to gain access to additional areas.  You don’t have to do any of this, but you’d might as well, because that’s the game… you don’t get to shoot anyone at all. You’ll very soon get to know each of the six residents of the station.

The story has been described as cyberpunkish, or Late Capitalism in Spaaace.  Let’s just say that you won’t be surprised to find corporate shenanigans going on, and some inscrutable and possibly dangerous AIs.

Gone Home had the advantage of being a low-key domestic story; it was unusual because we almost never see something like that made into a game. But I think Tacoma is a step forward in storytelling; without losing the interest in everyday personal interactions, it’s more streamlined and dramatic.  Rather than slowly leafing through a couple decades of family life, it focuses on a very stressful period of days, with a few key flashbacks. (I think there are fewer items to look at, but that’s because they rely on the AR for so much of the storytelling.  The games each take about 2 hours to play.)

The ending is also a lot more satisfying.  (Mouse over to read if you aren’t worried about spoilers.)  One, Ami actually does something, unlike the entirely passive PC in Gone Home. And two, the story manages to not replay every AI story ever told, which is refreshing.

One minor complaint: the low-detail ghosts. When they’ve obviously gone to the trouble of motion-capturing the performances and building 3-D models, I don’t get why they didn’t just show the characters’ faces.  It’s not like they were trying to hide them– there are pictures of each one.

Anyway, it’s a really interesting exercise in storytelling.  It could have been told as a movie or a comic, but the interactivity adds something, though that something is hard to explain. Perhaps it’s that it requires active curiosity, rather than passive acceptance. A lot of far fancier games could learn the lesson that it’s kind of annoying to grab the camera away from the player and just show them cutscenes.

I was thinking about some games I’ve started and not finished, and I think I’ve figured out why: there’s too much to do.


Your to-do list

These games include Rise of the Tomb Raider and Mirror’s Edge Catalyst.  I loved the games they’re sequels to, I’ve started them, got some distance into them, and just never seem to start them up again. What I realized today is that the original games were mostly linear, and the new games are far more open-world.

And it makes me anxious. I feel like I have to find everything in an area before moving on.  I know I could skip most of the stuff, but then I worry that I won’t have mastered all the skills needed for the main quest.  I have other complaints– e.g. Faith and Merc in the original Mirror’s Edge were far more likeable characters than Faith and Noah in Catalyst— but I think it’s the size of the game that bothers me.

The irony is, I’ve put an ungodly number of hours into Mirror’s Edge. But part of that it is because it’s in nice digestible chunks. I will replay the game occasionally, or I’ll spend time on the time trials.  The game is so focused that there’s no paralysis of choice.

Dishonored and Dishonored 2 hit the sweet spot of “mostly linear, but with side stuff to make it fun to explore.” There are just enough runes and lore drops.  Arkham City is also well balanced.  (I did get all the Riddler trophies– once. If I just want to mess around as Batman or Catwoman, I’ll play the challenge maps.) Saints Row 4 has a nice approach: it’s sprawling, and yet the game will lead you through all the activities if you let it.

So if you’re a developer, I’d suggest that making an open world is not something you have to do, and can even make your game worse.  Embrace linearity.  I’d rather have a solid main quest to do than a huge number of fairly shallow activities, where it’s not clear what I should be doing.  (On the other hand, a good place for those shallow activities is in a separate challenge mode.)

If you’re Bethesda, however, you should just carry on. Fallout 3 and Oblivion, for me, did open-world in just the right way. Although I completed the main story in both, I appreciated the fact that I didn’t really have to. Plus these games, and Saints Row 3/4, are great at making so much of the world interactive. That is: an open world goes well with multiple playstyles and playthroughs: if you can be a hero one time and a rogue another, if you can wander down the road and find a new story, if you can make a home and find shops to customize your character.  Neither Faith nor Lara really have the opportunity to put the main quest aside for a few months, maybe buying a house or playing as a rogue.

All this is entirely subjective (it’s quite all right if you play games very differently), and it’s not intended as the last word on these particular games.

Edit: So why do publishers insist on making games open-world?  According to this scary article, it’s because they can monetize them better. Ugh.