AVERY ALDER
Avery Alder designs tabletop roleplaying games which blend facilitation, design, and play – bringing keen curiosity and visionary imagination to how we create together.
In this interview, she talks about the more dynamic approaches that can be taken with storytelling, rather than the expected narratives of protagonist versus antagonist and individualistic journeys of empowerment. She also discusses how we relate to one another and community through games, and the ways that games should be accessible to everyone.
Interview by Gabriel Caldwell
How do you define a "game?” How would you define your own work?
I think that game is such an expansive term, and I'm not particularly interested in tying it down to a single definition. But I can talk about how I define my own work, and how it fits into that broader expanse of games. My work aims to bring people together, to get them sharing and exploring. I think that beyond childhood, collaborative storytelling and play is something that is really lacking in our culture. And so I want to create invitations that bring people to the table, and ask them to imagine, and play, and to do so in a way that is more than frivolous — to do so in a way that challenges our hearts and minds.
When you start work on a new game, what are your requirements or guidelines?
I wouldn't say I have requirements for starting work on a game. I start work on a lot of games. The guidelines and requirements only show up when it comes to actually finishing those games. I often lose interest in a design project if it doesn't align with my political desires, reflect personal work that I am actively doing at that time in my life, and respond to larger design trends in some way. I want my games to fulfill a meaningful role in the world, and in my own life as a designer, and so those are the ones that end up seeing completion and release.
Most popular games, as competition, are adversarial — there is the player and the opponent — how does your work interact with that assumption? What is the place for competition in narrative games?
Living in an imperialist and capitalist society, I think we've inherited a really limited set of assumptions about what stories are. We believe that they must include protagonists who vanquish antagonists, that there must be an individualistic journey of empowerment that culminates in a climactic showdown between ideologically-opposed forces, and that competition and struggle are the root of growth.
While compelling stories can emerge from those assumptions, I think it's absurd to believe that they can only emerge from them. I often approach game design with an intention to create space for stories to be told which abandon the strict dichotomy of cooperation or competition. I want there to be more stories about being in community with people, with all of the confusion and complexity that results. In real life, we squabble and sort it out, we are at each other's throats one minute and then working alongside one another the next. Those stories are worth telling.
Why are stories in games important to you?
I think that the stories we tell shape how we understand the world. The stories in roleplaying games are special because they're ones that we figure out our own paths through. We make hard choices, engineer unique solutions, and explore the consequences.
“Game Rules” are important for actual play. “Player Agency” is important for storytelling. How do you approach both?
There was once a common sense notion that rules in roleplaying games should try to stay out of the way — that a roleplaying game was most exciting if it let the player do anything they could imagine. Over time, design wisdom has shifted, as we have come to understand that constraints breed creativity. When a game is laser-focused on telling a particular type of story, players respond to that scaffolding with ingenuity.
In an interview with Mask, you said “instead of fixating on ways that existing communities don’t make space for my needs and ideals, I started imagining what communities don’t exist yet that would serve them perfectly.” How does this sentiment manifest in the games you create?
I am invested in games that allow us to explore how we relate to one another and community in this world, and also how we might relate to one another differently in worlds yet to come. Several of my games take place as civilization is collapsing, because I think it's important to imagine new possibilities emerge in the transitions between critical infrastructures and systems of power. The Quiet Year does this through map-drawing, civic planning, and a broad look at how a community defines itself across a year of storytelling. Dream Askew does this in a more personal, messy way, by exploring how people navigate asymmetrical power within relationships. Both games get at the same idea, in the end: we must imagine what is possible to build out of the rubble.
Promotional image from The Quiet Year
Dream Askew
Your games A Place to Fuck Each Other and The Quiet Year both deal with Spaces, but with very different approaches to player control over those Spaces (the difference between looking for a space and building a space). Why are Spaces significant in your work?
I mentioned earlier that capitalism and imperialism shape our collective understanding of how stories work. I think one of the ways that they do this is by centering the autonomous individual whose concrete actions save the day. I want more stories about how networks of solidarity change the day. About how small, everyday, cumulative actions save the day. I want ecological narratives. The games I've written about Place are my attempts to tell that sort of story. We all know what a story about a heroic individual looks like. What about a story without any?
Promotional image from A Place to Fuck Each Other
Your games often take place in post-apocalyptic worlds. What is attractive about that setting? Why is the proverbial "end" a place of beginning?
I've shifted away from the language of "post-apocalypse," because so many people imagine it as the end of history, kindness, and possibility. I've started saying "post-collapse" or "the collapse of civilization." As an anarchist, I think it's important to imagine worlds where systems of oppression are collapsing, and to ask what needs to happen to have the outcome of that process be liberatory rather than horrific. The Quiet Year and Dream Askew both challenge people to imagine what their role will be, in a future where we only have one another. That world is full of scarcity and uncertainty, but it is also full of freedom and possibility.
The physical pieces of your games are minimalist, often requiring only dice and the rules. What informs this design choice?
Tabletop roleplaying games can often be an insular hobby. Complex, arcane rules and peculiar material components increase the barrier for entry. I want storytelling to be something that everyone feels invited to engage in, because I think that storytelling is a life-affirming act. I try to put that into action by designing games that are more accessible. I want people to be able to play my games with things they already have on hand, as often as possible. I often play roleplaying games with first-time players, and I want them to feel as welcome at the table as anybody else.
There has always been a conversation of art as a vehicle for social change. How do the works of Buried Without Ceremony respond to that idea?
I think that one of the most important invitations of art and storytelling is the invitation to understand the world differently, in ways that can transform our identities and even propel us into action. I don't want to design things that are pedantic, moralistic, or dogmatic. I don't set out to teach people a lesson about the world. But I do want to create games that challenge people to think in novel ways, and to discover new emotional reactions within themselves.
Read more about and buy Avery’s games at Buried Without Ceremony.
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