I wasn’t sure whether to post this on ~arts, ~books, or here, so I apologize if it’s in the wrong place.

This morning I got lost in a Hacker News comment thread, as one does, and then a crazy idea for a piece of fiction came to me.

I’m sharing it here with you all. I don’t intend to do anything with this. It was just fun to write it out this morning. Feel free to copy or adapt it if you’d like. Also, feel free to discuss the themes of this story, which include the environment and warfare.

Title: Galactic Oceans

Thousands of years ago, on a distant planet covered almost entirely by an ocean, a space-fearing, aquatic, humanoid species arises.

They begin to colonize other planets across the galaxy that contain oceans on them, and soon discover the earth as they explore space.

The first alien colonizers arrive in 422 BCE and settle in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.

In 398 BCE, while building new settlements in the Mediterranean Sea, they try to establish contact with a few Greeks.

They learn about the myth of Atlas. They are not only pleased by the human fables, but astonished to find a word in a human language that is exactly the same as one of their own—“atlas”, a verb meaning “to seed” in their language. They therefore decide to name the earth “Atlantis” (a noun declination meaning “seed”), and rename their now capital city in the Atlantic Ocean the same. They also name humans “Zemdzi” (plural of “Zemdzis”), meaning “land dwellers”.

Having learned of the Peloponnesian wars, however, and appalled by the brutality of the species, which seems to be constantly at odds with itself, they decide to cut contact with humans and completely isolate themselves. With the centuries, the existence of their capital city became a legend.

Part of the reason this was done, is because the aliens assumed that the human species was incapable of developing technology sufficiently advanced to detect their existence, and so the aliens left them to rule the land, continuing to peacefully expand their presence across all of the earth’s oceans.

On November 1, 1755, a tragic mining accident near their city of Atlantis led to a catastrophic earthquake taking place, which caused a lot of damage not only to the underwater city itself, but also many human cities across the coasts on both sides of the ocean, particularly Lisbon, which the earthquake was later named after. It was so cataclysmic to the land dwellers, that it sparked the birth of modern seismology and earthquake engineering.

In the late 1800s to early 1900s, American and British scientists were studying seismic activity within the Atlantic Ocean. The patterns that were recorded led some to theorize that “something” other than earthquakes was taking place at its bottom.

These discoveries were one of the reasons for the rapid development of submarines around this time. There was a large increase in these vessels traveling to and fro around the coasts of the American and European continents. Very many of them were secretly scouting the area for unusual phenomena. This drew the attention of the aliens, who began to monitor all human ships and submarines traveling across all of the earth’s oceans.

It was concluded that humans could become aware of their existence within the next few decades, so the aliens decided to take initiative and reestablish contact with the land-dwelling species. They began by collecting data on the humans. This they did through scouting missions using air-tight, water-filled, manned aircraft that they would fly over the land with.

It was during this period that some of the earliest UFO sightings took place. The Aurora, Texas, UFO incident of 1897 was the first time since the early 4th century BCE that humans laid eyes on a member of the alien species.

Once sufficient data had been collected, new technologies were quickly developed. These included suits, filled with water, yet flexible enough to allow for fluid movement on land. During night time, coasts of uninhabited islands across the globe would then be used as testing sites for suits, as well as training sites for the aliens to learn to walk on solid ground. Furthermore, devices for translation between the language of the aliens and human languages were developed. These would be attached to an alien’s suit and emit audible sounds in English, and dozens of other tongues, after an alien had finished speaking a sentence.

During the scouting missions, the aliens became aware of an elite group of people who called themselves “the Scepter”, all descendants of an ancient historical figure known as Nimrod, who secretly ruled all nations behind the scenes in almost complete anonymity throughout the centuries, strategically manipulating politicians, the economy, and the military, all with the goal of retaining their wealth and influence.

Choosing to therefore directly address the “leaders” of the human species, all members of the High Council of the Scepter received letters, inviting them to send delegates to a first meeting, which took place in Hanga Roa (Easter Island), and began in the late hours of December 28, 1901, lasting through the night.

To the astonishment of the delegates sent by the aliens, who identified themselves as “Esmi” (plural of “Esmis”, from their Esmian language, derived from the verb “esmu”, meaning “I am”), the delegates of the Scepter (all members of their varied families themselves), admitted to being aware of their existence since the 4th century BCE, their ancestors having kept all records of that time until now. They further revealed that many of the expeditions undertaken during the Age of Discovery, for example, were partially done for the purpose of reestablishing contact with the alien species.

Another meeting with the High Council took place on the Midway Atoll (Hawaii), on August 14, 1902, also beginning in the evening, at which the High Council of the Scepter met with the so-called “Inner Command” of the Esmi, the leading officers of their colony on earth. The latter formally asked for permission to continue to reside within the earth’s oceans, for support from the Scepter in order to keep their existence a secret and prevent any conflict, and also for them to steer humanity’s further technological developments in such a way as to prevent the pollution of the oceans that they dwell in.

The meeting took a turn for the worse, when the High Council revealed to the Esmi that they were aware that the 1755 Lisbon earthquake had been caused by their mining operations. Therefore, in exchange for all the requests that they made, the High Council demanded that they share some of their scientific knowledge with them. The negotiations took several days, as the Esmi struggled to make the High Council comprehend, that simply offering their knowledge to humans would not result in the immediate development of advanced technologies, as they were not yet capable of comprehending more advanced science. A compromise was made where. For a limited time, a small number of elite human scientists (all members of the Scepter) would study low-level physics under a handful of Esmian mentors. They were promised that this knowledge would eventually enable them to develop sources of energy more efficient and less harmful to the environment (such as through nuclear fission), rather than using fossil fuels.

What this group of scientists (who eventually became known as “the enlightened”) learned, and later published papers on, led to a rapid development of humanity’s understanding of physics.

For much of the 1900s, communication between the Esmi and the High Council was limited to signing agreements for sea-based resource extraction, primarily of oil and natural gas, and later the laying down of submarine communication cables. The former lived with these conditions as best as they could, because simply wanted to live in peace within the earth’s oceans, and the latter felt that they were not in a position to demand anything more from the high advanced, alien species.

After the dropping of the atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and especially the nuclear tests involving underwater detonations of nuclear bombs, however, the Esmi became once more concerned about their safety and resumed their covert scouting missions above land, resulting in a reassurance of UFO sightings in the mid-1900s, after the end of WWII. The High Council closely monitored these but attempted to keep them a secret from the public, while also managing the post-war redevelopment of the world economy.

The rapid industrialization of the late 1900s to early 2000s on land began to severely impact the quality of life of the Esmi, whose water they lived in became increasingly more polluted. Natural disasters also became more frequent, and led to mass casualties among them.

On the night of March 17, 2000, at the Lajes Air Base in Terceira Island, on the archipelago of the Azores (Portugal), the High Council and the Inner Command met for the first time in almost a century, to discuss the matter of the environment, not only from their perspective as ocean dwellers, but also the destruction that humans were causing to their own living space.

Once more, the meeting turned for the worst, as the High Council could give no guarantee that any effort on their part to lead humanity on this matter, would actually convince the species as a whole to make the drastic societal changes necessary for them to focus on developing more environment-friendly methods for generating energy, exploiting the earth’s natural resources less, and properly disposing of garbage. The Esmi then offered the High Council further scientific knowledge that would specificly help humanity to develop the tools to tackle these three problems in a relatively short amount of time (a few decades), with few significant drawbacks to their standard of living, as they now had become able to understand more advanced scientific concepts.

The High Council, fearing that a significant shift in society (especially towards renewable and clean sources of energy, could severely impact not only their wealth, but also further destabilize global politics and the global economy), turned all of the Esmian’s offers down, stating that the planet belonged to humans, and that they were the ones solely responsible for how it was managed. At the end of the meetings, the two parties became suspicious of each other.

From that point on, the High Council began to divest its attention to the development of the worldwide military industrial complex, inciting new conflicts around the globe, beginning with the staging of the September 11 attacks of 2001, which led to many conflicts in the Middle East. Other wars that broke out in parts of Africa, Asia, and even a war in the east of Europe, were all strategically fought to further develop military technology, in preparation for a potential assault by the Esmi.

The Esmi, becoming aware of the arms race that the humans began, reached out to the Supreme Command in their home world Udenis (meaning “water” in Esmian). For the next few years the leaders of their home world raised an army of three billion soldiers, gathered from all of their colonies. They trained them on land-based combat, further developing their special suits. They then made plans to invade, occupy, and take control of the earth, to prevent humans from further polluting it, as planets with oceans are rare in the galaxy, and vital to the survival of their species.

Dubbed the Galatic Oceans Fleet by the Esmi, it was first detected by humans within the Solar System on January 24, 2035. The news of this finding was leaked to the press and led to mass hysteria among the population. The fact that the oceans were occupied by the Esmi was then accidentally revealed to the public, since the High Council did not have time to deal with the issue.

The next day, the High Council contacted the Inner Command to demand that the Fleet do not invade the earth. The Inner Command warned them that the Fleet was comprised of three billion soldiers, and that they planned to take control of the planet by force if humans did not immediately agree to stop polluting it. The High Council cut communication with the Inner Command and ordered all military leaders to prepare for the earth’s invasion from space and by sea. The weeks leading up to the beginning of the war, neither side on the planet confronted the other, as preparations were made.

The High Council decided against the use of nuclear bombs to target the underwater cities of the Esmi, as that would threaten to destroy the earth’s environment, and instead planned to use them to annihilate the Galactic Oceans Fleet. The latter, becoming aware of the plan, began to slow down their approach as they passed the moon’s orbit. All of humanity’s space-capable, nuclear arsenal was fired towards the sky on what became known as “Nightless Day” (because the sky was kept alight by thousands of nuclear explosions), on April 17, 2035. The Esmi fleet allowed the missiles to get close enough to them that they could be safely, remotely detonated by them, so that neither the earth’s atmosphere, nor their ships would be harmed.

The invasion began on the afternoon of the following day. The fleet quickly overwhelmed the ground and air defenses around humanity’s major cities. While many hundreds of millions of humans were captured and subdued, the chaos still led to the death of dozens of millions of others. And despite the Esmi’s highly-advanced suits for land-based combat, humans, being much better trained in land-based combat, were still able to kill hundreds of thousands of the alien species. The Esmi completely dominated on the oceans, however.

The war was fought for 14 days, until the High Council agreed to a cease fire due to the inconceivable and historic loss of human life. The following day, on May 2, mankind surrendered. The “War for the Oceans”, as it later became known, was over.

The Esmi began to formerly occupy the planet. They did not enslave humans but enforced a completely new order on their society. Frivolous consumerism was discouraged. Adult humans were, as much as they were able, required to do some kind of manual labor for about four hours a day, mostly in the afternoon. Mornings were spent educating them. The human population quickly adjusted to its new reality.

The Esmi then began to mingle in human society in order to simmer down the hostilities, using newer, civilian-class versions of their suits, and setting up “water residences” in major cities, which were mostly buildings dug a few stories into the ground, filled with ocean water and connected with diverse systems, similar to those found in aquariums, that allowed them to keep their environments clean.

While the curfews and the surveillance continued for decades, the slaughter caused by way led both sides to generally desire to maintain the peace. This resulted in cultural and scientific exchanges that completely upended human society, and led to the development of entirely clean sources of energy and resource extraction. The living standard of humans diminished for a short while, as they aided the Esmi in building better, more environmentally-friendly infrastructures and processes. By the 2050s, however, it hard recovered. The concept of “wealth” began to wade, as the Esmi passed on their egalitarian principles of government on to the land dwellers. One’s reputation became one’s currency. Hoarding material wealth was almost made a criminal offense. Spending one’s time working, learning, or socializing in person was what this new society expected.

Small insurrections would take place throughout the next decades, but those became rarer as the 22nd century approached. The environment of the planet also began to recover. And now, having acquired superior technology and scientific knowledge from the Esmi, the two species worked together to help humans to expand their frontiers and become stewards of the land in planets across Galaxy. The first human-led expedition to a habitable, earth-like planet named Gradus (Latin for “step), uninhabited by Esmi because it mostly had shallow lakes and underground water basins, took to the stars on September 7, 2125, marking the transition of mankind to a space-fearing species. On that same day, as the human spaceship left the earth, so did thousands of Esmi ships, ending the occupation period. The earth was now not just the home world of the humans, but also another home for the Esmi. And the two species began to cohabit many more planets throughout the coming centuries.

I am going to be in Minneapolis soon and I have 1 free day which I want to spend going to local bookstores. Does anyone have a favorite local store in the city? I particularly like going to bookstores with good SFF sections, and also lots of book club/staff picks; and also to used bookstores with good SFF fictions. It's my first time in Minneapolis so every local bookstore there will be new to me!

A letter to CVE board members posted to bluesky a few hours ago reveals that MITRE funding for the Common Vulnerabilities and Exposures (CVE) program is about to expire. Haven't found any good articles that cover this news story yet, but it's spreading like wildfire over on bluesky.

Of course this doesn't mean that the CVE program will immediately cease to exist, but at the moment MITRE funding is absolutely essential for its longterm survival.

In a nutshell CVEs are a way to centrally organize, rate, and track software vulnerabilities. Basically any publicly known vulnerability out there can be referred to via their CVE number. The system is an essential tool for organizations worldwide to keep track of and manage vulnerabilities and implement appropriate defensive measures. Its collapse would be devestating for the security of information systems worldwide.

How can one guy in a position of power destroy so much in such a short amount of time..? I hope the EU will get their shit together and fund independent alternatives for all of these systems being butchered at the moment...

Edit/Update 20250415 21:10 UTC:
It appears Journalist David DiMolfetta confirmed the legitimacy of the letter with a source a bit over an hour ago and published a corresponding article on nextgov 28 minutes ago.

Edit/Update 20250415 21:25 UTC:
Brian Krebs also talked to MITRE to confirm this news. On infosec.exchange he writes:

I reached out to MITRE, and they confirmed it is for real. Here is the contract, which is through the Department of Homeland Security, and has been renewed annually on the 16th or 17th of April.
MITRE's CVE database is likely going offline tomorrow. They have told me that for now, historical CVE records will be available at GitHub, https://github.com/CVEProject

Edit/Update 20250415 21:37 UTC:
Abovementioned post has been supplemented by Brian Krebs 5 Minutes ago with this comment:

Hearing a bit more on this. Apparently it's up to the CVE board to decide what to do, but for now no new CVEs will be added after tomorrow. the CVE website will still be up.

Edit/Update 20250416 08:40 UTC:
First off here's one more article regarding the situation by Brian Krebs - the guy I cited above, as well as a YouTube video by John Hammond.

In more positive news: first attempts to save the project seem to emerge. Tib3rius posted on Bluesky about half an hour ago, that a rogue group of CVE board members has Launched a CVE foundation to secure the project's future. It's by no means a final solution, but it's at least a first step to give some structure to the chaos that has emerged, and a means to manage funding from potential alternative sources that will hopefully step up to at least temporarily carry the project.

Edit/Update 20250416 15:20 UTC:
It appears the public uproar got to them. According to a nextgov article by David DiMolfetta the contract has been extended by 11 months on short notice just hours before it expired...

Imo the events of the past 24 hours will leave their mark. It has become very clear that relying on the US government for such critical infrastructure is not a sustainable approach. I'm certain (or at least I hope) that other governments (i.e. EU) will draw appropriate consequences and build their own infrastructure to take over if needed. The US is really giving up their influence on the world at large at an impressive pace.

What have you been listening to this week? You don't need to do a 6000 word review if you don't want to, but please write something! If you've just picked up some music, please update on that as well, we'd love to see your hauls :)

Feel free to give recs or discuss anything about each others' listening habits.

You can make a chart if you use last.fm:

http://www.tapmusic.net/lastfm/

Remember that linking directly to your image will update with your future listening, make sure to reupload to somewhere like imgur if you'd like it to remain what you have at the time of posting.

Howdy hey folks, I've recently been trying out ProWritingAid (for the unfamiliar: a grammar/spell checker tool) specifically the premium version with the expanded tool set. And now I want to step onto the internet soapbox and talk about it. It's been.

Okay.

To preface, I've been writing (casually) for 'bout a decade, mainly short creative fiction. (And a few novel attempts. All of which are incomplete but I'm glad I did them) Throughout my time I've gone through a few tools, text editors and what-have-you-nots. With my ever so gleaming credentials established, let's get into the ramble.

Right out of the gate, automated grammar checkers and creative writing have a rather fun relationship. Half the suggestions are useful and the other half are useless. (This ratio can also tip forward and backward). They'll catch syntax errors, spelling mistakes, missing words or punctuation, all good things to fix.

It'll also flag intentional word choice, sentence structure and other creative decisions. Sometimes this can help but more often than not it'll be sucking the You out of your own words.

ProWritingAid (PWA) tries to sidestep this particular pitfall with Style Guides where it'll be more or less rigorous depending on the selected 'genre'. It's a mixed success. This flaw I don't think will ever be truly fixable given the inherent separation between Author and Tool. So we'll have to make do with clicking "ignore."

Now PWA does a bit more than just grammar check. During my time with it, I've currently used two versions. PWA Everywhere, and PWA Desktop. Everywhere is meant to integrate with your text editing software while Desktop is a contained application. They have similar feature-sets, but not identical. Specifically, Desktop has the Word Explorer feature: a tool that if you highlight a word it'll show some synonyms or you can dig deeper with alliteration, cliches, anagrams, rhymes, reverse dictionary and more. Pretty nifty. PWA Everywhere best to my knowledge and searching does not have this feature- which is disappointing.

Especially since everything else Desktop does, Everywhere does better. The UI alone is far more functional, without clipping or cramping. There's the convenience of direct integration. Some features like Single Chapter Critique (which I'll get into later, trust me) also blank screened in Desktop while working fine in Everywhere. Grand.

Besides the Word Explorer, PWA also gives you AI "Sparks" and Rephrases. I'll be entirely honest, I have these turned off (Which I am glad I was able to do). I don't have much to say here besides I like getting into the creative word weeds myself.

Alrighty, that then leaves me with two more things to discuss: Writing Reports and the Critique features.

Okay. The writing reports are useful. Able to be granular or extensive. They scan every selected element in the text and format the results into a nifty report (or in some modes, direct text highlighting) Having all that data visualized with tables, graphs and bars oh my, (with the occasional cross-work comparison) is a great look-at. Grammar-wise it'll run into the problems mentioned above, but otherwise, this has been the feature I've liked the most.

Finally I can get into the whole thing that inspired me to write this post. The Critique suite. Ohohoho, I have some thoughts about these. Human proofreaders are irreplaceable, just want to toss that out there (PWA also keeps that disclaimer in its header). My friends will never be escaping the random PDFs sent for their lovely review. I am ultimately writing for a human audience afterall. That in mind, I have run into a hilarious problem with the Single Chapter Critique.

Apparently I write too good to get use from it. Truly I am suffering here. In complete honesty, the actual point I'm trying to make is the AI is a kiss-ass sycophant. I fed five of my short stories from across the years into it, just to see what it'd say. It cannot be negative. In each and every one I was praised about various element of the stories. Glowing and gushing, could say no ill.

This is pretty useless. Sure it has the "Potential Improvements" section but it's... eh. In the name of curious study, I am having my non-writer friend compose a piece for me to feed to the machine spirit later. (I also only get three uses a day, compared to the unlimited reports with their nitty gritty)

Now, could this simulated praise be a sign I'm a genuinely good writer? Well I don't need the AI for that- I have friends zip-tied to chairs to feed my ego. (I forever cherish one of my close writing friends telling me: "You have a voice of a fantasy writer from the 70s with a thick series full of wondererous imagination written by a twice divorce middle aged man who is disgruntled with reality. It was never exactly reprinted as it was unknown, but the aging, withered pages hold such a gorgeous narrative that it sticks with you for the rest of your life.")

Back to the AI: Their shining critique falls apart when I look at the story myself and can point to several areas for improvement/refinement with a cursory reading. (Thank you creator's curse, you're my true reliable critic.)

Woe to me, I cannot escape personal proofreading. (Real talk: the hope was have it be able to do the cursory stuff so I could focus on the creative viscera. That's half the fun after all—)

There is two other Critique features, Full Manuscript Analysis and Virtual Beta Reader. I have used neither of these as I do not have any large manuscripts to toss into the jaws. To ensure jolly feelings, it's also a credit based system. So let's talk money.

Scrivener, a writing workhorse that even after years of using I still find new features and has long cemented itself as my text editor of choice, was $45 for a lifetime license. Fantastic software, it has earned its reputation.

ProWritingAid, a grammar and spellchecker was $115 (discounted price) for a year subscription. (Can I mention how idiosyncratic their tier system is? Free, Premium, Premium Pro? Why??? Just name it Free, Pro, Premium. Don't stack luxury words.) For $115, I get several features I don't even use, or aren't very useful. Oh, a discount for the aforementioned analysis credits. ($25 for 1, $70 for 3, $175 for 10. Full priced it's $50, $150, $500 respectively. Spend this money on an actual person please)

Now what's worst off is I wasn't even the one to spend the $115. That was someone else wanting to support me and my writing; an act I am quite grateful for and the meaning behind it. I feel bad complaining. I have hopes for PWA. Something that can act as a quick look proofreader would be wonderful. But perhaps I'm just asking for too much from what is again, a grammar and spellchecker.

So far, I don't know yet. I don't know if I'd call it good or bad. As I started with: it's okay?

Maybe I'll do a retrospective after a while once I've utilized it longer. Maybe features will be better fine tuned in the future.

And that leads me here. What have been y'all's experience with it, if any? Searching online has been miserable; I'd like to hear from other people.

[As a footnote, PWA was not used when writing this. Kinda forgot that I never set it up for browser. Tallyho]

Tildes is a very serious site, where we discuss very serious matters like accessibility, protests and rant. Tags culled from the highest voted topics from the last seven days, if anyone was astute.

But one of my favourite tags happens to be offbeat! Taking its original inspiration from Sir Nils Olav III, this thread is looking for any far-fetched offbeat stories lurking in the newspapers. It may not deserve its own post, but it deserves a wider audience!

Find yourself watching tons of great videos on [insert chosen video sharing platform], but also find yourself reluctant to flood the Tildes front page with them? Then this thread is for you.

It could be one quirky video that you feel deserves some eyeballs on it, or perhaps you've got a curated list of videos that you'd love to talk us through...

Share some of the best video content you've watched this past week/fortnight with us!

Hello, Tildes

Allow me to introduce myself.

I came over to Tildes fairly recently after Twitterriffic died and Apollo announced it would shut down.

As a relative youngster, I tend to mostly browse on mobile.

While I do appreciate Tildes' philosophy of having a simple website that works well on desktop and mobile, I've always preferred mobile apps. I'm a strong believer that a well-built native application will always provide a richer experience than a website.

But enough talking.. showing is way more fun - here's a lil' something I've been messing around with:

Introducing Surfboard for Tildes

The goal is simple: to be the best way to interact with Tildes on mobile.

Features

Surfboard is still extremely early, and is missing many features.

With that said, here is what it currently supports:

• Login to Tildes (supports 2FA)
• Browse topics
• Filters & sorting
• Browse comments
• Advanced rendering is still in early stages..
• Supports comment collapsing behavior from the web version
• Reply/vote/bookmark/ignore on topics, comments, & notifications (requires login)
• Search topics
• Global search
• Search within groups
• Option for in-line images
• Clean browsing interface
• In-line markdown preview when composing replies
• Share topics & comments
• Notifications
• View read & unread notifications
• Reply, vote, bookmark, mark as read...
• Customizable
• Toggle settings, set custom gesture actions, etc.
• Free, as in beer

The design draws some inspiration from Apollo for Reddit, an app that I loved & am very sad will be discontinued.

Try it yourself

I would love to get some feedback from other Tildes users on the app. If you are interested in trying it for yourself, you can get it here via TestFlight

Surfboard is built for iPhone, and requires iOS 16.0 or higher.

Inside the app is a 'roadmap' of sorts which is basically a list of things I know are missing, but if there's something you want that isn't listed there, I'm all ears.

Formatting is a little rough at the moment, although I made enormous improvements on the parsing & rendering there over the last day.

It should support just about anything you throw at it other than a <details>

(I'll get around to them, I swear..)

If you run into issues viewing a post/comment, you can easily open them in an in-app safari window from the menu.

As mentioned above, it's very early, but it's already becoming my favorite way to browse Tildes. I hope that others will enjoy it as well. Consider it my gift to the Tildes community.

Cheers !

Edit:

The best way to submit feature requests & bug reports is to add it to the issue tracker and/or leave a comment on this thread and I’ll get around to adding it myself.

Thanks !

Having received a jury summons, and with my mental health being how it is, I recently took a bus to the nearby used bookstore. The rule of buying secondhand books is this: You must pretend, while in the store, that your phone doesn’t exist; you must not come in looking for anything in particular; you must let yourself be guided by the titles and covers and the blurbs alone. So I followed my nose over to the “poetry and art criticism” shelf of the store (which, I am convinced, is to blame for my poor performance at parties) and started browsing.

There I found Critical Hits: Writers Playing Video Games and immediately developed a crush. Maybe it was the title, which seemed carefully engineered not to appeal to the general public. Or maybe it was the editor, Carmen Maria Machado, whose short story collection Her Body and Other Parties is a personal favourite. Either way, the anthology of nineteen pieces from nineteen authors about approximately nineteen games was in excellent condition, and had been marked down to eight dollars, so I added it to my little stack of purchases and wandered over to the checkout.

Like all anthologies, Critical Hits varies widely in quality across its component essays (and one comic). It starts strong: its introduction is a delight, with some of the best footnotes I’ve ever enjoyed. Likewise its first essay, Elissa Washuta’s “I Struggled a Long Time with Surviving,” an exploration of her experience with The Last of Us, pandemic, and intractable illness was deeply impactful and genuinely changed how I looked at the game. But this is par for the course with anthologies (at least, well-compiled ones) which know to dazzle you off the bat with their best material, so that you’re willing to endure their worst. Here, in my estimation, the worst is Anders Morson’s “The Cocoon,” which cites Brian Tomasik (one of those insufferable San Fransisco Rationalists) to argue that, in aggregate, it’s unethical to kill video game NPCs. Morson then goes on to list every Aliens game ever released, for six pages, with dazzling insights like “Aliens: Colonial Marines for PS3 Xbox (2013) is definitely an Aliens-y FPS.”

In aggregate, though, the anthology is more good than bad. Apart from “The Cocoon,” the worst essays here are mostly just mediocre, or meandering. And there are some true standouts here: Jamil Jan Kochai’s “Cathartic Warfare,” nat steele’s “I Was a Teenage Transgender Supersoldier.” And the reason I’m here, writing this essay of my own: Larissa Pham’s “Status Effect,” an exploration of depression, damage-over-time, and Genshin Impact.

Released globally in 2020 for PC and mobile devices, Genshin Impact is an action-adventure game which sees players assemble a four-person team from its extensive cast of characters and then wander out into its expansive open world to complete monsters, open quests, and kill chests (something like that, anyway). A live-service game, Genshin has seen regular map expansions and a remarkably stable playerbase for the last five years, and, like WoW before it, has spawned a wave of copycats hoping to take a bite out of the aging titan’s colossal corpus. Larissa Pham and I would have started playing Genshin at around the same time – she describes becoming obsessed with the game in the winter of 2020-2021; I first launched the game in February of 2021, in the icy depths of the pandemic, shortly after failing to kill myself, as something to do while waiting for the hospital bills to pour in.

In Status Effect, Pham recounts a minor controversy from the fall of 2021. Genshin’s meta had stagnated: a year into its lifespan, no one wanted to include healers on their team, when shielders were proactive and dodging was free. So the developers implemented a damage-over-time status effect called corrosion, inflicted by certain enemies and in certain phases of endgame content, which ignored shields and would wipe the whole team if not healed through. Genshin’s community was and is large enough that any kind of meta shift (however necessary) will spark outcry, controversy, and apocalypse prophets heralding doom (I was one of them: “What, am I just not supposed to use my Zhongli? No one’s gonna pull for fucking Kokomi”), but for Pham, that debuff gave her the language to think and speak about her depression more concretely.

Genshin has never given me the language I needed to think or speak about anything. Frankly, I don’t think the game’s story, which is consistently a mediocre slog (with a few bright spots) is capable at this point of doing anything interesting or novel. Even in Pham’s case, Genshin’s “corrosion” debuff might have been fungible with any damage-over-time debuff in any game – Pham just happened to be playing Genshin at the time when she needed it. But even saying this, even speaking as someone who cares about a game’s story more than any other element, I think Genshin is a fantastic game, in at least one major aspect: its exploration and world design.

Upon its announcement, Genshin was panned as “anime Breath of the Wild” a comparison enabled by its gliding and climbing and stamina meter and early-game monster designs and the shade of its grass. But cosmetic similarities aside, Genshin is actually doing something very different – very unique, I think. Genshin presents the player with an extremely large, colorful, and ever-expanding world, peppered with a truly mind-boggling amount of chests, environmental puzzles, and enemy camps. From any given point in the world, you can probably see several little leads to follow: a locked chest in a monster den; a blue faerie waiting to lead you to its court; a movement time trial; a floating elemental oculus. And once you pick one of those, and figure it out, you’ll once again be able to look around and see more chests to open, more stuff to collect, more things to do. So the world is incredibly dense with collectibles, but traversing it is surprisingly weighty. Climbing, gliding, running; all of these are either slow, or stamina-intensive, so you’ll move through the world at a light jog much of the time. This means that you can often see and plan a route to many different puzzle or collectibles before getting to them; it means that, instead of a constant stream of opening chests, each little dopamine hit is separated by a long breath, where you can appreciate the absolutely gorgeous world, and its stirring, melancholy music. And often, quests and puzzles and chests and collectibles will be laid out in a remarkably subtle web, designed to tug the player off the beaten path, towards some of the game’s most gorgeous sights, its most scenic vistas (of which there are plenty).

So maybe in terms of its exploration philosophy Genshin is an open-world collect-a-thon, more similar to a Super Mario Odyssey than a Breath of the Wild. But really, it’s nothing like either game, or anything else I’ve played; so much could be said about the game’s combat, its world quests, its approach to rewards, the way the game’s levelling systems encourage diverse engagement with the open world. I’ll instead conclude with this: Genshin Impact has my favourite exploration experience of any game I’ve ever played, and nothing else really even comes close.

Early in the game’s lifespan (December 2020), the developers added the new Dragonspine region: a frozen mountain, home to the bones of dragons and the ruins of an ancient civilization, introducing lethal new mechanics as a way to shake up exploration. Arguably a precursor to corrosion, while in Dragonspine, a status effect called “sheer cold” would accumulate and, once maxed, drain your health at such a high rate that no shielding or healing could keep up. Getting wet would accelerate cold accumulation; eating hot foods, lighting fires, or standing near heat sources would slow or reverse it. It encouraged a different playstyle; beyond keeping a fire character on your team, sheer cold also encouraged players to explore more deliberately; to stay close to heat sources and not stray too far from the path.

In Dragonspine, the main plot involves restoring an ancient relic called the Skyfrost Nail – an enormous pillar, shattered. Beginning at a base camp at Dragonspine’s foot, you slowly ascend the mountain, fighting monsters, exploring ancient, sealed laboratories, and maybe getting distracted to grab a chest here or a crimson agate there. On the way up, you learn fragments of the story of the ancient civilization that dwelt on Dragonspine, before it froze over; you hear of their research in alchemy, and the celestial nail that was flung down by the gods – to stop their research, before they climbed too high? It was this nail that froze Dragonspine, and somehow corrupted it; it is this nail that you find in broken fragments at Dragonspine’s peak. Beset by truly diabolical monster encounters designed to freeze you fast and absolutely ruin your afternoon, you thaw these fragments and watch as they ascend, reforming the nail, the enormous pillar hanging high above Dragonspine, ready to fall once more. You can, at last, ride the wind currents all the way up to stand on the head of the nail, at what was at the time the highest point in all of Tevyat, to gaze at the world around. All the lands accessible: Liyue and its harbor; Mondstadt and its cathedral, and beyond them, those inaccessible, not yet implemented into the game, represent as abstract hills, mountain, and sea, rolling endlessly into the distant grey fog.

It was February of 2021, and I had failed to die. Had been released from the hospital into the slushy, wet aftermath of a winter storm, with enough medication to last two more weeks and (though I didn’t know it at the time) enough debt to last through to this very day – if only because I stubbornly refuse to pay it. I returned to my on-campus apartment to discover that I had no heating, no power. Hot water, at least, for tea and baths and thin, meatless soups. According to the thermostat, my poorly-insulated home was hovering around 51°F, so I dragged my mattress off the bedframe, into the corner where it was warmer, sealed myself under a mountain of blankets, and opened my laptop.

I had meant to start drafting emails to professors, to explain my weeks-long absence and ask for extensions, grace, and leniency (all would eventually give it, and I didn’t even have to use the s-word, or show the doctors’ notes I had so dutifully accumulated). But in that moment, my hands were shaking from the cold and the anxiety: the knowledge that my life could be ruined, my academic scholarship lost, if any of them declined. So instead, I opened the app store, downloaded Genshin Impact, and, after a couple days of sleepless, bloodshot gaming sessions, climbed the Skyfrost Nail in Dragonspine.

Genshin might not have been capable of giving me the language to understand my experience with depression, dysphoria, and suicide, but it was certainly there when I needed it – the unique, frictional experience it provided offering a strange resonance with my own. And I kept playing it for a long time, perpetually enchanted by its world, its music, the waves of nostalgia and grief that would wash over me at the strangest times.

In the summer of 2021, I wrote a poem, for a poetry class, which began with the lines, “The economy being how it is / Instead of finishing school / I took a job this autumn at the Indiana Dunes.” It was a narrative poem, the only type of poem I’ve ever been able to write. In it, the speaker wanders around on the sandy shores of Lake Michigan in the aftermath of a heavy storm, picking their way around shredded volleyball nets and desolate lounge chairs, all half-buried under wet, sandy drifts. They’re looking for their phone, probably hopelessly lost amidst the dunes, but in the end, climbing Mt. Baldy (a very tall dune; not actually a mountain), they find that what they were searching for was not actually their phone – was, instead, perspective. A broader view of the world’s beauty. “On a clear day, from there, you can see all the way to Chicago,” they think, before beginning the climb. But in the end, reaching the top, the day is not clear, so they are left to “feast [their] eyes on the endless expanse of grey water.”

I must apologize for exposing you to my immature poetry, but the fact that I remember so many lines from that tiny, throwaway piece, from one of my least notable college classes, has always been suspicious to me. I suspect that it contains some sort of heartbreaking insight into my mindset at the time – a tragic longing for the picturesque (to quote a book I haven’t read). I played games where you climbed a mountain, wrote poems where the speaker climbed a dune; some nights, I walked a quarter mile to the parking garage near my apartment and climbed to the top level and leaned on the concrete railing and stared out through life-affirming chicken wire. I wanted to see in color, I suppose; to recapture the vividity of a world that I found increasingly exhausting, but mostly saw only greys: grey distance fog, grey water, and the grey existence of a college-town suburb, shining dully under the light-polluted grey sky.

In November of 2022, Genshin Impact released its 3.2 update “Akasha Pulses, the Kalpa Flame Rises,” which didn’t add any new regions to the map. Instead, it contained the concluding act of the Sumeru region’s main story quest, where the player teams up with a god, a couple academics, a dancer and a cop to fight the evils of the censored internet. For Genshin, this quest (and its preceding acts) were well above par, featuring (among other strengths) actual themes, and a plot that went beyond its gnostic inspirations. So, sure, 3.2 was a timely, relatively compelling update. It was also the update where I quit playing Genshin Impact – for good, I thought. There is simply only so much exploration, questing and combat that can be done in the same world, structure and systems before a work of art overstays its welcome. It wasn’t with any malice that I quit Genshin – I had simply had enough, and that was that.

My life had changed a great deal in the intervening period. I had finished college, moved cities, learned to cook, become a woman. Gotten a second dose of the COVID vaccine, the day before the move, and spent the entire ride to my new home feeling miserably ill because of it.

Around the same time, Carmen Maria Machado and J. Robert Lennon, compilers for Critical Hits: Writers Playing Video Games would have been working on their collection. It’s a collection that lives in the shadow of COVID-19 – almost every piece here, you can detect the pandemic’s penumbra (if it isn’t explicitly mentioned). For a lot of people, the pandemic was isolating, lonely, cold. For writers, it might have been that too, but we are solitary creatures, and the thing it gave us was, most of all, time: to play games, to write or fail to write, to think, to spiral.

Perhaps to counteract this spiral, Graywolf Press, a Minnesota-based not-for-profit publishing house, spent the pandemic hosting “cute mental health cocktail hours.” Lennon was there, Machado was there (my beloved Her Body and Other Parties was published by Graywolf) and it was there that Critical Hits was conceptualized.

“What we wanted to do was have a really diverse group of writers to provide a very diverse perspective of gaming, by writing about games however they want. We sort of gave them free rein,” Machado says, in an interview she and Lennon gave to Dazed Digital. “It was wild how people were like, ‘Oh my God, yes!’ Everything that came in was so good and so interesting and so different. It was a really extraordinary group of artists who had so many things to say.”

I don’t know how Larissa Pham, who wrote my favourite essay in the collection, first became attached to it. Shockingly, there aren’t that many interviews or monographs out there describing the creation process for Critical Hits: Writers Playing Video Games, a book with fewer than 500 ratings on Goodreads. Pham has written a smattering of fiction, nonfiction and creative nonfiction; essays, short stories, criticism. Avant-garde poetry, presented on an interactive github website. Kinky lesbian erotica. A cultural commentary about tradwives and baking. She also, at least for a while, played Genshin Impact, at the same time I and everyone else did. I am struck by the strange syzygy of our experiences. Pham graduated Yale; I went to a state school. She gets published; I post to Tildes. She teaches classes; I am constantly struck by how much I have to learn. But in the winter of 2020-2021, both of us, grappling with our respective illnesses, crossed paths with this game, and it was there for us when we needed it.

In January of 2025, I bought and read Critical Hits: Writers Playing Video Games. In early February, instilled with a sense of nostalgia for a game I hadn’t touched in years, and tired of playing Shadow of the Erdtree (another game with excellent exploration of a very different kind) I downloaded the HoyoPlay launcher and, with it, Genshin Impact.

Logging in, I was greeted with an embarrassment of little red exclamation marks, attached to almost every UI element, there to helpfully explain what I had missed, what was new, and all the crazy exciting retention-driving bonuses the game would give me to help me catch up. According to the huge new blank spaces on the map, I had many more regions to explore; according to the quest log, many more mediocre stories to sit through. According to my backpack, enough saved-up resources from before I had quit to immediately acquire and build the 5-star character Arlecchino, the only female character in the game – out of some sixty, now – who could plausibly be described as handsome (her vest buttons on the left). Perhaps I should have been overwhelmed. But sinking back into Genshin’s loop felt like coming home. Swimming through the new undersea regions, Fontaine and the Sea of Bygone Eras, offered a welcome twist to what was still a fundamentally fantastic exploration loop. Quests like “The Dirge of Bilquis” and “Masquerade of the Guilty” might not have been brilliant, but featured gorgeous locations, entertaining set pieces, and even an excellent VA performance or two.

Apparently, I was coming back at a bad time. Shortly before I collected my Arlecchino, a new character had been released: Mavuika. I never got around to playing the quests where she was featured, but apparently she was poorly written and presented a real problem for Genshin’s balance. Mavuika, you see, has a magical motorbike that a). Doesn’t really fit with Genshin’s usual magitech aesthetics and b). Removes all discernible friction from exploration, with its ability to drive super fast, climb walls, ride on water, and even, for a short time, fly. I was slightly scandalized when I heard about her, frankly.

“Sure,” I thought, “This doesn’t affect me, I’m never going to use her. But if a new player spends their limited resources to get Mavuika (a smart decision; she is, in addition to everything else, a very strong DPS, powercreeping Arlecchino) won’t that ruin the game for them? Won’t her ability to bypass all the exploration challenges in the game take away the one thing that makes it so special?” It felt like the game jumping the shark, releasing a broken character to make a quick buck at the expense of its long-term health. But truthfully, I was a tourist in Genshin this time, coming back to gawk at how it had changed after years of absence. I have no real stake in its balance. I don’t really recommend anyone play it. What happens to the meta and monetization of this game I once loved terribly is now water off a dyke’s back.

Things that I used to get very up-in-arms about no longer really bother me. I’m sometimes unsure whether that’s a result of healing or hypernormalisation.

I had jury duty at the Seattle Municipal Court that month, a boxy building downtown. Had to report in at nine in the morning, riding the bus, shaking slightly from the cold and the anxiety. Of course, it’s not yet illegal to be a transsexual in one of the most wonderfully LGBT-indifferent cities on the planet, but the current political climate lends itself to overthinking.

Potential jurors are to report to the eleventh floor, to an airy, high-ceilinged, window-walled space crammed with chairs and tables and an attached kitchenette – the vending machines offering instruction on how to contact the county for reimbursement. We were to be paid twenty-five dollars per day (plus transit and food costs, if applicable). We were to watch informational videos, fill out cursory forms, and read quietly until called. It was all terribly adolescent, terribly bland. I found myself ruminating on the abstract sculpture pieces hanging from the ceiling, wondering whether their creators had intended them for this space, or whether they had been sentenced to hang here – as a punishment for reckless driving, maybe? What kind of cases even get tried in municipal court? Eventually, I went out onto the rooftop terrace, with only my coffee to protect me from the chilly, cloudy February weather.

To the west, I could see out the Port of Seattle, its great cranes priestly in their red and white liveries, their still solemnity. A container ship lay still in the bay, making no progress to its destination. And nearer: a sliver of downtown. An empty pit, filled with the refuse of aborted construction, bags of trash, tiny blue dumpsters. Graffiti, content indiscernible. Brown brick buildings; a yellow taxi (!) threading between them. A whole city, half asleep, stirring amid the late morning fog. It started to rain, a miserable spitting drizzle, and I scurried inside to protect my book and my temperamental hair.

This February, on my last day playing Genshin Impact, I received a DM from a random, low-level stranger named Quentin. “HELP!!” it said. I joined his world in co-op mode.

Quentin was exploring Dragonspine. When I arrived, his shiny new (low-level) Mavuika was frozen solid by an ice mage, a couple steps away from drowning in a nearby pool, like my own characters had been four years ago. There are some challenges, it seems, that even the most broken character cannot bypass.

Quentin and I summited Dragonspine together. I was shocked to discover that, even after four years, I still remembered the climb almost perfectly. Still remembered the jagged ruins; the wind currents; the terrifying monsters that had killed me over and over again. I hadn’t resorted to messaging strangers to defeat them, but it’s pretty common to do so – new players almost always struggle with Dragonspine. And so there I was, the helpful stranger this time, jogging forward, activating waypoints, lighting fires, killing chunky minibosses with a single unbuffed normal attack while Quentin stood behind me and put motivational stickers in the chat (stickers are the de facto mode of communication in Genshin co-op, as it’s never a surety that any two players will share a language). Quentin was there – why else? – to repair the skyfrost nail. Sure, his Mavuika could motorbike faster than my characters could climb, but still he slowed down so that we could make the ascent side-by-side. And when he seemed to struggle with the light puzzling involved in thawing the nail fragments, I sat my Arlecchino down next to important clues that he was missing and posted slightly stern stickers until he noticed.

At the end of the cutscene where the pillar at last rises into the sky, Quentin and I climbed and ran and rode the wind currents up to stand on the head of the Skyfrost Nail. We couldn’t stay long; sheer cold accumulates fast up there, and neither Quentin nor I had brought a healer or a portable stove. But we still stayed, as long as we could, staring out over Teyvat.

Over the course of over four years of updates, scenery that had once been indistinct rolling hills and sea, fading into fog, had been replaced by new regions, sprawling far beyond our view. Quentin and I could just make out, in the distance, the towering Inazuman mountains, crested by the blossoming sacred sakuras of the Grand Narukami Shrine. The curving tree-city from which sprouts the Sumeru Akadeymia. The baroque arches and elevated crystalline waterways of the Court of Fontaine. And more besides – landmarks I had explored, that Quentin might one day explore: a view onto the entire world with all its colors and its vistas, chests and quests and every artifice of gameplay erased by distance.

Quentin teleported away to warmer pastures and I remained standing there, struck still and wordless, once again, by the syzygy.

He and I will never interact again (shortly, he would say, “Thank you Father” – a title often used for Arlecchino – and then kick me from the world). But for that brief moment, our experiences came into alignment with Genshin Impact, across time and very possibly national borders. I know even less about Quentin than I do Larissa Pham, but he and I at the very least got to share that moment of awe and wonder at the top of the world. I wonder what it meant to him.

In the prologue to Critical Hits, Carmen Maria Marchado writes about her experiences being introduced to new games by friends and partners: “As I keep writing I am struck… by the intimacy of the form; the way the experience of it is specific, even erotic. What did it mean to receive someone’s tutelage? To let yourself be watched? To open yourself up to new ways of understanding? To die over and over again?” Perhaps Critical Hits’ greatest strength, its most distinct quality as an art object, across almost every piece within, is that peculiar intimacy. To watch writers and critics open themselves up to games; then, through those games, open themselves up to you. In much the same way Quentin did by inviting me into his world, Pham and Villarreal and Adjei-Brenyah and Washuta and, yes, even Morson invite us into their worlds, show us how video games refracted their experiences to help them understand themselves with new vividity and clarity.

I feel a little guilty to have, once again, dedicated so much time and mental energy to Genshin Impact, a game which arguably does not deserve it. While playing it this year, and since then, I have played Signalis and Lies of P and 1000xResist and (fellow gacha game) Reverse:1999, have read Borges and Dillard and Ian Reid – artists and works that are considerably more unified and artistically compelling than Genshin. But none of them hit me quite as hard as this 2020 open-world live-service Chinese gacha game; none came at just the right moment, to connect with my particular experiences, my past; to color my vision.

My name didn't get called for jury duty, so at 3PM I rode the bus home (stopping briefly for bread and doughnuts at the bakery in order to earn the approval of the women I live with). Genshin Impact no longer lives on my computer. Once again, I got what I needed out of it, and then let it go. Having finished writing this piece, Critical Hits will be put on my bookshelf, probably never to be touched again. But as we move forward into an uncertain future, these small, impactful experiences, insignificant though they were, will continue to live with me. And if you read through this entire meandering essay, maybe some small fragment of them can live with you, too: proof of our shared essence, an invitation into my world.

Not firsthand heartbreak that happened to you directly, but secondhand heartbreak: it happened to someone else, but the impact hit your heart too.

Could be their break-up, rejection, missed opportunity, loss, layoff, etc.

What happened to them?

And why did your heart break for them?

Welcome to the third installment of Tildes’s monthly creative writing contest! The February entries showcased some truly spectacular storytelling—my heartfelt thanks to everyone who participated or left feedback. Now let’s see what March brings!

Hm? What’s that? The title’s wrong? I’m posting this on the 8th, not the 7th? No, no; that must just be your imagination. I would never miss a deadline like that. No, the light isn’t growing dimmer over time, why do you ask?

Your goal: Write a creative short story based on the prompt provided and post it in this thread.
Deadline: 2025-03-22T23:59:59-04:00. I’m giving you an extra day on the usual deadline because I’m a kind and generous host, and definitely not for any other reason whatsoever. (Note the timezone shift—daylight savings and all that.)
Prize: Your choice of a $20 gift code for either Proton or Tuta! As always, if anyone wants to suggest or donate future prizes, my DMs are open.

Your prompt: A character must solve a problem using their worst flaw, trait, or habit—something others have always criticized them for.

The Rules:

1. Creative Writing Only: Fiction, creative non-fiction, poetry, fanfiction—all welcome! Just make sure it’s, you know, creative. If you’re venturing into fanfiction territory, remember I might not know your favorite obscure anime from 2013. Also, submissions should be in English, unless you believe that Google Translate can only improve your work.

2. Length (Soft Rule): Try to aim for the “short story” sweet spot of 1,000–7,500 words. Too short and you’re writing flash fiction; too long and you’re writing a novella. Both are wonderful forms! Just not what we’re doing here. One submission per person, please.

3. Judging: Winners will be chosen through the highly scientific process of “whatever I think is best.” Comment votes are nice for ego-stroking but won’t influence the final decision. Trust me, my literary judgment is completely arbitrary absolutely impeccable.

4. Originality: Your story should be freshly created for this contest. No recycling that brilliant piece you wrote in college that’s been sitting in a drawer for years. Though if it’s that good, maybe you should publish it anyway?

5. Formatting: Use collapsible formatting if posting directly in the comments. This keeps the thread tidy and prevents the inevitable scroll-a-thon when reading multiple entries. Feel free to host your story elsewhere and link to it here as well.

6. Licensing: Include a clear license declaration with your submission. Whether you’re going with “All Rights Reserved,” a Creative Commons option, or perhaps even the JWCL (which is not a shameless plug and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise), I’d like to know how/if I can compile these for the community later.

7. Feedback: This isn’t actually a rule, but more of a desperate plea: please, please leave feedback on other entries! Writers thrive on knowing their work has been read, whether the response is effusive praise or thoughtful critique. Even a simple “I enjoyed this because…” can make someone’s day.

Oh, and if you find yourself with spare time between writing masterpieces, you can always peruse my own writing. I promise it’s at least as entertaining as these posts are.

Happy writing, everyone! I’m genuinely excited to see what you come up with this time around.

"Challenging" is up to your own interpretation: length, word choice, writing style, subject matter, etc.

Whatever the challenge, you had to put in more effort than normal to read the book, but you came out on the other side feeling like it was worth it.

What's that book?

What makes it challenging?

And why do you feel it's worth it?