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The Platypus and a World of Wonder

A world of wonder.

I've always appreciated the Final Fantasy series for its art. Normally, I favor invented worlds with a down-to-earth, historically plausible look. Something where you can almost feel the weight of the chain mail and smell the fresh leather of a shield strap. It's the reason why John Howe is my favorite Tolkien artist. The art of Final Fantasy (especially what was released in America as II and III) is nothing like that. There's an ethereal quality to every bit of steam-punk, cyber-punk, high fantasy mish-mash in the game. Don't bother with the politics of the civilizations, finding a coherent cultural motif for the costumes, and theorizing about how the weapons would work in the real world. You'll just hurt yourself. Final Fantasy is candy for the eye and candy for the mind. It's a world that you emerse yourself in not by detail-mongering, but by sitting back and letting it carry you along. There are sword fights and operas, airships and submarines, theives in the night and Nietzschean gods, moments of melodrama and moments of the sublime.

Who knows. Maybe if I played it today I'd lose interest after the first thrity minutes, but something struck me back then that's never quite left. I think Lewis would call it Joy.
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