Snarf Zagyg
Notorious Liquefactionist
It's been a minute, hasn't it? Let's give this a try.
Something I've seen pop up recently, in conjunction with the long-awaited release of the 5e Dragonlance product, is the conversation behind the "Hickman Revolution" in D&D. While I think that is an interesting topic, I wanted to think about the issue of modernism and open worlds more generally in media (as I think it's interesting in and of itself) before drilling down into the reasons why the issues behind the Hickman Revolution continue to pop up when discussing how people enjoy playing D&D.
Note on terms- I often refer to the "so-called Hickman Revolution," because, as I detail further below, this narrative (small "n") style of play was around before the Hickmans, and continued after the Hickmans. Nevertheless, the term has wide currency, and is most associated with a series of modules by Tracy and Laura Hickman, so I will just call it the Hickman Revolution. In the same way, I will refer to "Skilled Play" to mean the style of play starting in 1974 and arguably supplanted as the dominant mode of play by the Hickman Revolution, although I only use this term because it has a wide currency and not because I am implying that other modes of play are unskilled.
A. Classic Storytelling and the Open-Ended World; When Chekhov's Gun Never Fires.
Chekhov's gun is the principle that states that every element in a story must be necessary, and those elements that are irrelevant to the story must be removed. Typically this is explained by saying that if you see rifle hanging on the wall in first act of a play, then that rifle has to go off in the second or third act. If you aren't going to fire the rifle, don't put it on the stage.
As a matter of dramatic tension, this makes sense- the storyteller (whatever the medium) has complete control of the narrative. Every element is considered; to put something in the narrative is a promise to the audience that it will pay off. Conversely, to have something come out of left field without foreshadowing it would happen is considered poor storytelling.
The importance of this principle (dramatic payoff) can be seen in this passage from How Not to Write a Novel:
Before bending to stir the coals, she plucked from her mouth the moist pink wad of gum she had been chewing since coming to Petersburg from the family’s country estate. The mantelpiece was bare, and Irina planted the large, wet bolus of gum firmly upon it.
At that precise instant, Uncle Vanya, passing through the conservatory, paused at the piano to play one eerie, dissonant chord, which seemed to hang suspended in the air, presaging misfortunes to come.
“Irina!” Masha said with delight, entering the nursery. Her cheeks were pink from the wintry winds, and cold still rose up off her thick and luxurious furs. Of the three, Masha had always been the most fashionable, and treasured her furs more than anything, except perhaps for her beloved sisters. Masha threw her arms wide and crossed the room to embrace dear Irina, the sleeve of her most beloved sable coming very very close to the sticky lump of gum, kept soft and warm and really sticky by the flames that now leapt below it as it lurked there on the mantelpiece, nearly itself.
Just as Natasha ran to her sisters, an ominous wind blew through an open window and lifted up her long, beautiful hair to swirl about her shoulders, floating like a defenseless blonde cloud, innocent and unaware of any danger, only millimetres—counted in the French style—from the gum on the mantelpiece.
“Come, let us go to another room and slowly reveal to each other our unhappinesses!” Natasha said.
“Yes! Let’s do!” said Masha, and the three departed.
Later that day, Uncle Vanya came in from the cherry orchard and cleaned up the gum.
As an exercise in absurdist humor, that passage works perfectly. But in terms of dramatic storytelling, it fails. When you think of certain "cult" movies that are beloved because they unintentionally are breaking the norms of dramatic storytelling (The Room, Samurai Cop, Fateful Findings etc.) you often see this at play- the inclusion of irrelevant details that have no payoff, often with hilarious effect.
But there is a problem with this; if you want, call it the "Matrix Issue." When everything is constructed and has its place, then everything becomes artificial. The real world, and real life ... it's a lot messier than fiction. Not everything has a payoff. Not everything is relevant. Sometimes things happen that have nothing to do with you (I mean you, literally you ... the world is, in fact, Snarf-centric). And this real-world messiness, this lived-in feeling, this concept that there is a giant world beyond what you are seeing that is moving along ... this is something that a lot of modern works try to capture. Whether it's prestige TV, or some of the great modern (and postmodern) novels, the idea that there is a fully inhabited world that continues off the page appeals to people. And yet, it can also be frustrating. Our minds crave dramatic payoff- meaning. It's a constant push-pull between our desire for the consummation and satisfaction of seeing that gun fired, with the skepticism and knowledge that this is a fictional universe we are seeing, and that the gun will have to fired. Put another way- it's a really big universe; why is it always about the Skywalkers?
B. A History of the Hickman Revolution
The above section was very brief considering the subject matter, and this section will be as well. Original D&D (OD&D) sprung forth as a mixture of wargaming for combat and improvisational roleplaying for social situations, largely under the rubric of what we now call Skilled Play. In the first few years of the 1970s, there was already a plethora of playing styles springing up, but the predominant mode of play in D&D remained Skilled Play- treating D&D like a game, and using the skill of the player to advance.
That said, there were a large contingent of people who were using D&D to play more narrative games. One of the more prominent early advocates for narrative play was Ed Simbalist, who started by arguing for more realism in D&D and then switched to advocating for increased illusionism in order to craft more satisfying narratives for the players- an idea that was already common, especially among the D&D devotees who came to the game from the Science Fiction convention circuit (science fiction also being a larger rubric for both Science Fiction and Fantasy back then).
It was in this milieu of the late 1970s that two gamers, Tracy and Laura Hickman, married. Shortly thereafter, they wrote the adventures Pharaoh and Ravenloft. While most of us are familiar with the later versions bought (and published) by TSR in 1982 (Pharaoh) and 1983 (Ravenloft) there modules were written in the 1970s. Importantly, they exemplified a more narrative and (on occasion) railroad-y approach to D&D than had existed before. While these narratives and railroads were always a part of the game, even in the 1970s, and even in other modules (the "A" or Slave Lord series), the idea of going hard into narrative really took hold with Pharaoh/Ravenloft .... Dragonlance. This trifecta, indelibly associated with the Hickmans, formed the backbone of what was later referred to as the Hickman revolution that gradually became the dominant mode of play in late 1e and especially in 2e.
To an extent, we can see the echoes of the Hickman Revolution today. The idea of Adventure Paths is certainly a concept that would have been unusual in the 1970s- while there were certainly dungeons, and campaigns, and even linked modules (the G series) and even one linked superset of modules (GDQ), it was generally thought that campaign worlds existed to explore, not that parties would be put on a set adventure path within that world with narrative payoffs. In short, the idea of DM as neutral referee began to be replaced with a concept of DM as storyteller; in essence, that is the Hickman Revolution.
Now, before getting into the final section (which gets more into the heart of the issue), I wanted to make sure that the following was noted- there are some people that make a lot of youtube clicks by saying that the Hickman Revolution was bad, evil, nogood, whatever. I'm not saying that at all. In fact, I'd like to point out what the Hickmans themselves said in the original introduction of Pharaoh as to the types of modules they wanted to write-
1. A player objective more worthwhile than simply pillaging and killing.
2. An intriguing story that is intricately woven into play itself.
3. Dungeons with an architectural sense.
4. An attainable and honorable end within one to two sessions playing time.
(Daystar West Pharaoh, 1978).
None of this is objectionable, and arguably most of it is a reaction to some of the other things going on at the time (such as the (in)famous MIT Meatgrinder Megadungeon). Things change and evolve, and the Hickman Revolution (or evolution) would not have occurred if people didn't want it. As I wrote above- people have a need for stories, for payoff. The difference between a great storyteller that commands crowds at cocktail parties and Bob, the dude from accounting you're trying to avoid, is that great storytellers have a point, and tell stories with a payoff. People like that, and always have.
C. Understanding these Distinctions, and Why it Matters for Your D&D Campaign
I just wrote a lot of words up there, and now I am going in for the payoff. Why does any of this matter? Well, it matters greatly when you are thinking about the type of campaigns that your characters enjoy. Let's take an example- one of the great episodes of the show Sopranos is called Pine Barrens. Now, I assume that this isn't a spoiler at this point (the show is twenty years old) but in that episode there is an unresolved issue. This issue never gets resolved (yes, I know that they might have resolved it in the last season and chose not to). That's kind of the point- in life, some things aren't resolved. Some things aren't found out. A lot of great modern TV shows are like this- they have dramatic payoff, but they also allow for the messiness of real life.
Campaigns in D&D can be set up like this as well. Part of the issue is that D&D has, in its very foundation, a dramatic arc ("zero-to-hero"). But we see, repeatedly, people discuss (or argue) as to whether the PCs are simply characters moving about in a world ... the world not framed around the characters ... or the characters are, in fact, integral to the world ... that the PCs are the protagonists of a dramatic arc. Part of the messiness of D&D is that this question is not explicitly answered. Some modern games are quite explicit- they go heavily into the idea of "story" and "fiction" and mold the world to the characters. Other games (such as OSR or FKR seeking to replicate Skilled Play) go the opposite direction and eschew these story ideas completely. But if you're running a D&D campaign, it helps to understand what type of campaign you're running, and what the players prefer, because there is a difference.
When they find a magic arrow of dragon slaying in Act One, will there be a Dragon in Act 3 to shoot at?
Something I've seen pop up recently, in conjunction with the long-awaited release of the 5e Dragonlance product, is the conversation behind the "Hickman Revolution" in D&D. While I think that is an interesting topic, I wanted to think about the issue of modernism and open worlds more generally in media (as I think it's interesting in and of itself) before drilling down into the reasons why the issues behind the Hickman Revolution continue to pop up when discussing how people enjoy playing D&D.
Note on terms- I often refer to the "so-called Hickman Revolution," because, as I detail further below, this narrative (small "n") style of play was around before the Hickmans, and continued after the Hickmans. Nevertheless, the term has wide currency, and is most associated with a series of modules by Tracy and Laura Hickman, so I will just call it the Hickman Revolution. In the same way, I will refer to "Skilled Play" to mean the style of play starting in 1974 and arguably supplanted as the dominant mode of play by the Hickman Revolution, although I only use this term because it has a wide currency and not because I am implying that other modes of play are unskilled.
A. Classic Storytelling and the Open-Ended World; When Chekhov's Gun Never Fires.
Chekhov's gun is the principle that states that every element in a story must be necessary, and those elements that are irrelevant to the story must be removed. Typically this is explained by saying that if you see rifle hanging on the wall in first act of a play, then that rifle has to go off in the second or third act. If you aren't going to fire the rifle, don't put it on the stage.
As a matter of dramatic tension, this makes sense- the storyteller (whatever the medium) has complete control of the narrative. Every element is considered; to put something in the narrative is a promise to the audience that it will pay off. Conversely, to have something come out of left field without foreshadowing it would happen is considered poor storytelling.
The importance of this principle (dramatic payoff) can be seen in this passage from How Not to Write a Novel:
Before bending to stir the coals, she plucked from her mouth the moist pink wad of gum she had been chewing since coming to Petersburg from the family’s country estate. The mantelpiece was bare, and Irina planted the large, wet bolus of gum firmly upon it.
At that precise instant, Uncle Vanya, passing through the conservatory, paused at the piano to play one eerie, dissonant chord, which seemed to hang suspended in the air, presaging misfortunes to come.
“Irina!” Masha said with delight, entering the nursery. Her cheeks were pink from the wintry winds, and cold still rose up off her thick and luxurious furs. Of the three, Masha had always been the most fashionable, and treasured her furs more than anything, except perhaps for her beloved sisters. Masha threw her arms wide and crossed the room to embrace dear Irina, the sleeve of her most beloved sable coming very very close to the sticky lump of gum, kept soft and warm and really sticky by the flames that now leapt below it as it lurked there on the mantelpiece, nearly itself.
Just as Natasha ran to her sisters, an ominous wind blew through an open window and lifted up her long, beautiful hair to swirl about her shoulders, floating like a defenseless blonde cloud, innocent and unaware of any danger, only millimetres—counted in the French style—from the gum on the mantelpiece.
“Come, let us go to another room and slowly reveal to each other our unhappinesses!” Natasha said.
“Yes! Let’s do!” said Masha, and the three departed.
Later that day, Uncle Vanya came in from the cherry orchard and cleaned up the gum.
As an exercise in absurdist humor, that passage works perfectly. But in terms of dramatic storytelling, it fails. When you think of certain "cult" movies that are beloved because they unintentionally are breaking the norms of dramatic storytelling (The Room, Samurai Cop, Fateful Findings etc.) you often see this at play- the inclusion of irrelevant details that have no payoff, often with hilarious effect.
But there is a problem with this; if you want, call it the "Matrix Issue." When everything is constructed and has its place, then everything becomes artificial. The real world, and real life ... it's a lot messier than fiction. Not everything has a payoff. Not everything is relevant. Sometimes things happen that have nothing to do with you (I mean you, literally you ... the world is, in fact, Snarf-centric). And this real-world messiness, this lived-in feeling, this concept that there is a giant world beyond what you are seeing that is moving along ... this is something that a lot of modern works try to capture. Whether it's prestige TV, or some of the great modern (and postmodern) novels, the idea that there is a fully inhabited world that continues off the page appeals to people. And yet, it can also be frustrating. Our minds crave dramatic payoff- meaning. It's a constant push-pull between our desire for the consummation and satisfaction of seeing that gun fired, with the skepticism and knowledge that this is a fictional universe we are seeing, and that the gun will have to fired. Put another way- it's a really big universe; why is it always about the Skywalkers?
B. A History of the Hickman Revolution
The above section was very brief considering the subject matter, and this section will be as well. Original D&D (OD&D) sprung forth as a mixture of wargaming for combat and improvisational roleplaying for social situations, largely under the rubric of what we now call Skilled Play. In the first few years of the 1970s, there was already a plethora of playing styles springing up, but the predominant mode of play in D&D remained Skilled Play- treating D&D like a game, and using the skill of the player to advance.
That said, there were a large contingent of people who were using D&D to play more narrative games. One of the more prominent early advocates for narrative play was Ed Simbalist, who started by arguing for more realism in D&D and then switched to advocating for increased illusionism in order to craft more satisfying narratives for the players- an idea that was already common, especially among the D&D devotees who came to the game from the Science Fiction convention circuit (science fiction also being a larger rubric for both Science Fiction and Fantasy back then).
It was in this milieu of the late 1970s that two gamers, Tracy and Laura Hickman, married. Shortly thereafter, they wrote the adventures Pharaoh and Ravenloft. While most of us are familiar with the later versions bought (and published) by TSR in 1982 (Pharaoh) and 1983 (Ravenloft) there modules were written in the 1970s. Importantly, they exemplified a more narrative and (on occasion) railroad-y approach to D&D than had existed before. While these narratives and railroads were always a part of the game, even in the 1970s, and even in other modules (the "A" or Slave Lord series), the idea of going hard into narrative really took hold with Pharaoh/Ravenloft .... Dragonlance. This trifecta, indelibly associated with the Hickmans, formed the backbone of what was later referred to as the Hickman revolution that gradually became the dominant mode of play in late 1e and especially in 2e.
To an extent, we can see the echoes of the Hickman Revolution today. The idea of Adventure Paths is certainly a concept that would have been unusual in the 1970s- while there were certainly dungeons, and campaigns, and even linked modules (the G series) and even one linked superset of modules (GDQ), it was generally thought that campaign worlds existed to explore, not that parties would be put on a set adventure path within that world with narrative payoffs. In short, the idea of DM as neutral referee began to be replaced with a concept of DM as storyteller; in essence, that is the Hickman Revolution.
Now, before getting into the final section (which gets more into the heart of the issue), I wanted to make sure that the following was noted- there are some people that make a lot of youtube clicks by saying that the Hickman Revolution was bad, evil, nogood, whatever. I'm not saying that at all. In fact, I'd like to point out what the Hickmans themselves said in the original introduction of Pharaoh as to the types of modules they wanted to write-
1. A player objective more worthwhile than simply pillaging and killing.
2. An intriguing story that is intricately woven into play itself.
3. Dungeons with an architectural sense.
4. An attainable and honorable end within one to two sessions playing time.
(Daystar West Pharaoh, 1978).
None of this is objectionable, and arguably most of it is a reaction to some of the other things going on at the time (such as the (in)famous MIT Meatgrinder Megadungeon). Things change and evolve, and the Hickman Revolution (or evolution) would not have occurred if people didn't want it. As I wrote above- people have a need for stories, for payoff. The difference between a great storyteller that commands crowds at cocktail parties and Bob, the dude from accounting you're trying to avoid, is that great storytellers have a point, and tell stories with a payoff. People like that, and always have.
C. Understanding these Distinctions, and Why it Matters for Your D&D Campaign
I just wrote a lot of words up there, and now I am going in for the payoff. Why does any of this matter? Well, it matters greatly when you are thinking about the type of campaigns that your characters enjoy. Let's take an example- one of the great episodes of the show Sopranos is called Pine Barrens. Now, I assume that this isn't a spoiler at this point (the show is twenty years old) but in that episode there is an unresolved issue. This issue never gets resolved (yes, I know that they might have resolved it in the last season and chose not to). That's kind of the point- in life, some things aren't resolved. Some things aren't found out. A lot of great modern TV shows are like this- they have dramatic payoff, but they also allow for the messiness of real life.
Campaigns in D&D can be set up like this as well. Part of the issue is that D&D has, in its very foundation, a dramatic arc ("zero-to-hero"). But we see, repeatedly, people discuss (or argue) as to whether the PCs are simply characters moving about in a world ... the world not framed around the characters ... or the characters are, in fact, integral to the world ... that the PCs are the protagonists of a dramatic arc. Part of the messiness of D&D is that this question is not explicitly answered. Some modern games are quite explicit- they go heavily into the idea of "story" and "fiction" and mold the world to the characters. Other games (such as OSR or FKR seeking to replicate Skilled Play) go the opposite direction and eschew these story ideas completely. But if you're running a D&D campaign, it helps to understand what type of campaign you're running, and what the players prefer, because there is a difference.
When they find a magic arrow of dragon slaying in Act One, will there be a Dragon in Act 3 to shoot at?
