As someone who spent far more time with the C64 and Amstrad computers during the 8-bit wave, I’ve always voyeuristically enjoyed the love that others have for the ZX Spectrum and its idiosyncratic sound and visuals. I do actually own a ZX Spectrum, but – whilst I have amassed a few dozen games for it – I’ve yet to sit down and really get hips deep, my only knowledge of it mainly comes from the many incredible Kim Justice videos that I’ve watched over the years, and game reviews in magazines that I’ve read through– in terms of actual hands-on action, I’ve probably spent less than an hour actually playing one myself in my entire life, not for any reason other than I simply wasn’t around any when I grew up.
I say this because I went into ZX Nightmares not expecting to get lost in nostalgia, but to have a fuller understanding of the system, its capabilities and limitations, as well as getting a look at the…ahem…less celebrated corners of its gaming library. What I didn’t expect was to come across what I think maybe the funniest and most quotable book about gaming that I’ve ever encountered. To me, this is The Big Lebowski of written works in the gaming realm.
When this book arrived in the post, the Spectrum love was instantly apparent, everything from the colouring and fonts used throughout the cover design down to the colours of the Spectrum-themed page ribbon markers* that handily dangle from the spine. The book is a generously heavy thing, with a glossy hardback cover, and a signed cardboard page marker from the author himself, which is an awesome little touch. The quality of the paper throughout is luxurious and quite often I had what I refer to as the ‘Bitmap Books’ issue of thinking I had turned more than one page; such is the thickness of the pages. Good.
Following a foreword, the book is split into three main sections, the first dealing with shoddy licensed video games, the second focusing on games that may not be terrible per se, but are too esoteric or challenging for their own good, and the third section handles the just ruddy awful titles that plague the library of Clive Sinclair’s creation. The setup of each section is the same, with each game getting a two-page spread. The left-hand side features box art and a handful of screenshots whilst the right-hand page has all of the written information, such as; game title; developer/publisher; year of release; and the author’s thoughts on the game. The main bulk of the text is really, really cleverly written and tightly edited, not only successfully fitting in as much information as possible into only a few hundred words, but also containing writing that runs the gamut from amusing to hilarious. I genuinely laughed out loud multiple times during my time with the book, with the subheaders alone creasing me up, with highlighted terms such as ‘vertical difficulty curve’, ‘headache-inducing sound, ‘incredibly unfair control scheme’, and ‘an insanely dull experience’. The bit that really got me, though, was a page that started with the words, “I was still grimly clinging to my Spectrum in 1989” I completely lost it, with the mental image of a young Graeme Mason frowning at his Spectrum over a cup of tea, thinking ‘WHY do I still own a Spectrum?’, especially after reading through dozens of pages beforehand that dealt with the absolute worst that the system has to offer. I laughed hard at that line, and then laughed even harder at my fiancΓ©e’s face when I tried to explain what had tickled me in the first place - it completely dovetailed with my thoughts that the Speccy fanbase adores the system despite – or perhaps because of – its underdog vibes. Awesome stuff.
The tone is also key here, Mason doesn’t go for profanity-laden rants or low-hanging fruit, he instead approaches each title fairly and expertly dismantles the myriad issues that affect the game in a way that’s so fantastically done that I don’t even know if he intended it to be as entertaining as it is – so natural is the flow. there’s very rarely a sense of the author trying to get a laugh, it’s more from the natural writing tone and exasperation of so many missed opportunities, ridiculous design choices and dubious marketing ploys laid out in an accessible and character-filled format that just completely tickled me from start to finish.
ZX Nightmares is 270 pages of solid gold. Every aspect from the cover (I swear that’s Pat the NES Punk?!) through to the editing, and of course – the wonderful writing that makes up the experience, an experience rich with information and well-judged humour. The second I finished the book I had to contact Graeme Mason and request an interview – coming soon here at GF – because I just wanted to spend more time in the world put forward by this book, which - like all the best – creates an urge in you to learn more about the subject at hand. In this case, I have a burning desire to spend some time in the 8-bit world again. Good.
SUMMARY
I went into this book with no nostalgia for the ZX Spectrum at all, and very little knowledge of the gaming library– if I were a Speccy devotee, I can imagine that the combination of nostalgia for the games covered, combined with the quality of ZX Nightmares would have really been an incredibly special experience. I wholeheartedly recommend this for your bookshelf, and I already know I’ll be revisiting it again soon, I’d be surprised if this isn’t on my year-end list. I just have my fingers crossed that Graeme Mason’s next book is about the Amstrad, C64, Amiga or Mega Drive!
*If anything, I needed more of these, as I began noting my favourite pages and quotes, and quickly ran out of the page markers available, It’s such a great read.
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