Most YouTubers, especially those who do let’s plays and gaming content, aren’t highly regarded as great writers. The same is somewhat true of Daniel Hardcastle (of Nerd³ fame), but his passion and comedic edge shine through in this love letter to video games.
Part autobiography, part educational, part review; Fuck Yeah, Video Games stands as the least informative ‘informational’ book I have ever read, and also serves as Hardcastle’s crowdfunded writing debut. Yet, much like he himself does in his videos, the narration is playing an amplified character of sorts, making this read a unique but unconventional one.
The main thing to establish is this: nobody should buy this book if they are seeking a civilised, mature exploration of video game history. The quirky title should automatically give that away.
For those who do give it a chance, they are treated to a real labour of love. The book covers dozens of games from various decades, alongside giving a comedic chronology of some manufacturer’s hardware (such as Sega, Sony, and Nintendo). Amidst these commentaries, elements of Hardcastle’s life are sprinkled in — namely stories about his childhood or early adult life — alongside his experiences with, and thoughts on, each console and game he goes over.
It is a funny insight into Hardcastle’s thinking and glimpses into his pre-YouTuber backstory. It is also impressive how clearly he remembers each experience, and how he can get them across in chapters that only span half a dozen pages. Naturally, there are some moments of ramble, which makes certain chapters feel much weaker than others.
The book is illustrated by Hardcastle’s partner, Rebecca, and carries the semi-childlike and unserious tone well. Each chapter title, as well as the first and last pages of them, feature very cute renditions of something Hardcastle mentioned within the chapter, or just something relevant to the game itself. This does mean around a fifth of the book is just pure illustration, but they serve as a pleasant addition, and double as brief stopgaps between Hardcastle’s energetic writing.
But, as may be evident in what I’ve written so far, there are negative elements to this book — particularly the writing style and overall refinement. Let’s just say that this book would not exist without crowdfunding, as I am sure most traditional publishers would be embarrassed to even consider printing it.
As someone who grasps the jokey nature of the writing, and has watched Hardcastle’s videos on and off for over a decade, I did find myself getting tired of the excessive standup routine (leading to me only reading maybe 20–30 pages per sitting). I can imagine this would be even harder for those not accustomed to his lively, immature approach.
The comedy is therefore my biggest criticism, and not because it is necessarily bad, just that its execution is not effective. Hardcastle does his comedy well, especially in his videos where tone, volume, and timing assist in the delivery. He is a very reactive character, and his sense of humour is absurdist with a cynical streak. This is one of the few books that has actually ever made me laugh, so his talent does not get fully lost in translation to a different medium. It is just greatly hampered because it has to carry the content, rather than play off of it.
The fundamental issue with comedy is that it doesn’t always work, at least not consistently for every reader, and even more so in printed format. Every time Hardcastle tells a joke, which is fairly often, he takes a gamble that it will land. And, for a reader like me, his odds are pretty lacking. This means the audiobook would be a better option for the text, but sacrifices the illustrations, so there is a trade-off regardless.
A reoccurring gag within this book is Hardcastle’s overuse of footnotes, which he acknowledges very early on. At first, it’s amusing, and sometimes the footnotes have genuine information tucked inside them. Generally, however, it is distracting to the point where I sometimes didn’t bother to glance down and read each one. Most of them are filled with crude, silly punchlines and nothing more.
You would think this is amusing, but constantly interrupting the flow of the story, as well as removing the reader’s eyes from the core content of the page, is bothersome. It would be nicer if there was an informative reward tucked in these footnotes, but readers will typically be greeted with a punchline that spans 1–2 sentences and rarely pays off or adds to what it was attached to.
This does not make the approximately three-hundred-page book an unbearable read, just a tiring one. The illustrations are charming, Hardcastle’s personality permeates from beginning to end, and those familiar with the games he discusses will feel a wave of nostalgia or amusement as he recounts his own experiences. It’s a nerdy affair, written by a nerdy man, but it simply doesn’t function for most readers, and doesn’t even fully work for those who have laughed countless times at Hardcastle’s videos.
This is not a book for gaming enthusiasts, and certainly not for general readers. Instead, it is a book for Hardcastle’s fanbase, those who have watched his videos for years and understand how his comedic persona works, and can put up with the difficult translation of these elements into a printed format.
For me, the best part was the brief section on Atari’s hardware history, which was written by fellow YouTuber Stuart Ashen, and was actually refined, relatively informative, and comedic at the same time. It avoided the overuse of footnotes, made its points without rambling, and was the most maturely written six pages of the entire book.
Sadly, I imagine most unfamiliar readers would regard this book as vulgar, pointless, and a waste of time. I don’t think I could blame them, because I sometimes caught a hint of that brewing within me mid read. So it’s hard to recommend, even though I did have a pleasant time reading through it. Overall, a disappointment after holding off on reading it for years, but not a disaster.
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