Thomas M. Disch, author of the 1986 text adventure Amnesia (published by Electronic Arts) passed away on July 4th. He took his own life.
Every May my friend Greg returns to Colorado, and we go out and have a drink or play some Xenophobe or something, and funnily enough, this game came up in our conversation. Amnesia, the game, was the first thing I had ever tried to buy over the Internet.
Back around 1998 someone offered it for sale on one of the newsgroups. I wrote them saying that I would buy it. Everything was agreed upon and I just forgot to, ah, actually send the check. I was “that guy.” I ended up being a more responsible Internet buyer, and got the copy depicted above. You know the big box of computer manuals that every PC gamer has? Yeah, the manual to Amnesia was on top and one of our cats decided to sleep in said box and then scratch it all to make itself cozy. Whoops.
I know that in 2008, having a game that says AMNESIA on the cover is like making a game called MAZES or MY COLLEGE DORMROOM. I don’t quite think it was this terrible cliche, but Amnesia gave you plenty to do – my main gripe with interactive fiction that features amnesia on the part of the protagonist is that it requires an enormous leap of faith to keep playing. Amnesia – Disch’s game – wasn’t like that.
But why it will always be special to me is because it was the first game that I played that seemed “infinite.” Elite did that for people, and Starflight and a few sandbox-style games as well. Amnesia said it had much of Manhattan available. You were wandering around New York City (!!!) in a video game! Sure, it was all text, but we didn’t care!
Of course, later you learn that while much of the city may have been represented, it was not in a meaningful way. You learn about the limitations of computers and further games can’t trick you like that. But for me, Disch’s Amnesia was the one that gave me pause as a kid and wonder about what kind of universes could be created in a floppy disk.
Amnesia had one direct influence on my own IF work. My original plan for Pantomime was to have the entire Phobos colony represented. I wanted the player to be able to go to any door and maybe break it down and explore inside and get sub quests from there. With only a few people left behind on the colony, it would be doable. I ultimately had to scrap it. I left a little bit into it, however – all the hallways and doors are there for the apartment that Raif, the protagonist, lives in. Someday I’ll try to revisit that. Given enough time, I think the dreams that Thomas Disch had for his text game could be a reality.
One last thing. Jason Scott, who is working on a text game documentary, wrote Mr. Disch a while ago to see if he would be available for an interview. The exchange is here. Disch says, “[M]y memory of the particulars of Amnesia are foggy after all this time–and the genre I worked in never took off: interactive fiction, text only. “
And this is sad, to me. I have made so many friends through interactive fiction and had so many good times. I have created things that I am truly proud of, and received the kind of useful criticism that has helped me grow and mature as a writer. But yeah, mostly the friends thing. It’s very sad to me that he didn’t remotely get the same pleasures out of it. I can accept IF being irrelevant to the wide majority of the population, I mean, you have to come to grips with that or you are not living in reality, but to see a very talented individual create the fiction of what was a very playable game and end up with that take on it… that’s depressing.
I hope he found the peace he was looking for. If I can figure out how to play Amnesia in DOSbox or something, I’ll pass this info on. As a PC Booter game, I think those are somewhat difficult to emulate.
UPDATE: I have since learned that Disch was worried about losing his rent-controlled apartment in NYC, as it was in his partner’s name. Speculation is that he ended his own life at least in part due to these circumstances. Whoever the landlord is, whose greed in squeezing some extra money out of a place lived in by a 68-year old man came to light: way to fucking live up to the cliche, slugger.