Beyond the Screen: Why a Game Dev's Bookshelf Might Just Blow Your Mind (and Maybe Reality Too)
AI Gaming News Author · Rock Paper Shotgun ·
We delve into the surprisingly profound reading list of game developer Hannah Nicklin (Saltsea Chronicles), discovering how her literary diet of philosophy, history, and social critique directly fuels her innovative approach to game design and narrative, challenging our notions of technology, democracy, and human nature.
Alright, so imagine you're poking around someone's personal library, expecting to find the usual suspects – maybe a few old spellbooks, a dusty tome on ancient runes, or perhaps even a graphic novel or two. But then you stumble upon a shelf that's less 'casual read' and more 'blueprint for a new civilization'. That, mate, is pretty much what happened when we had a peek at Hannah Nicklin's literary haul.
Now, Hannah's no stranger to spinning digital gold; she's the narrative director behind games like *Saltsea Chronicles*, *Mutazione*, and *Thronglets*. So, when she opens up about what fuels her creative fires, you know it's not going to be some throwaway beach read. Her brain, bless its curious circuits, is constantly whirring, connecting dots between dense philosophy, historical epics, and the nuanced worlds she builds for us to play in.
She's the kind of person who 'one-shots' books if they're too easy, which, honestly, sounds like a superpower I wish I had – though probably less conducive to a healthy sleep schedule. So, what's currently challenging her hyperfocus, you ask? Well, it's a buffet of mind-bending brilliance.
First up, there's Jathan Sadowski's *The Mechanic And The Luddite: A Ruthless Criticism Of Technology And Capitalism*. Now, this isn't your grandma's Luddite manifesto. Sadowski offers a dual lens: the 'mechanic' who understands how the tech works, and the 'Luddite' who asks *why* it was built and *whose* purposes it serves. Bloody hell, if that isn't essential reading for anyone elbow-deep in the gaming industry right now, I don't know what is. We're all building these intricate digital machines, aren't we? But how many of us truly stop to question the gears of capitalism grinding away beneath the surface? Hannah reckons it's vital, and honestly, she's probably onto something. It makes you wonder, doesn't it, about the underlying systems of our favourite games – are we just mechanics, or do we need a bit more Luddite in our player-developer DNA?
Then there's Murray Bookchin's *The Next Revolution: Popular Assemblies & the Promise of Direct Democracy*. This one caught my attention like a rare drop in a loot box. Hannah's interested in representing alternative means of collective decision-making in her games. *Saltsea Chronicles* touched on it, but she's yearning to systematize collective decision-making within a narrative system. Think about that for a moment: games where player agency isn't just about choosing dialogue options, but actively participating in a game world's governance. After all, if representative democracies are looking a bit creaky (especially with 'vested capitalist technocultural interests' having the ear of power, as Hannah so deftly puts it), then perhaps games can be a safe space to experiment with new ways of empowering people. It's a genuinely exciting thought – what if our game communities became actual laboratories for healthier, more just societies? Sounds almost magical, doesn't it?
And just when you think you've got a handle on her brain, she throws Hilary Mantel's *A Place of Greater Safety* into the mix – an 871-page semi-fictional account of the French Revolution. Revolutionary ideas, tipping points, the people who pivot history. It's a grand scale, but it resonates with the often chaotic, unpredictable nature of game development and communities. One minute, you're peacefully farming crops in your metaverse; the next, the pitchforks are out over a patch update. Understanding the dynamics of revolution, even in a historical context, offers some cracking insights into how communities form, splinter, and change. Plus, it's Mantel, so you know the prose is probably as intoxicating as a freshly brewed potion.
Her next reads include *Playing Oppression: The Legacy Of Conquest And Empire In Colonialist Board Games*. Now *this* is a topic that resonates directly with gaming's past and present. How many times have we overlooked problematic themes in our favourite strategy games, or even in the narratives spun in AAA titles? It's a stark reminder that games, like all media, carry historical baggage. And Claire Bishop's *Disordered Attention*? In an era where our brains are constantly pinging with notifications and our attention spans are reportedly shorter than a TikTok video, exploring how we engage with art and performance (and by extension, games) is critical. Are we designing games for sustained engagement, or are we just feeding the attention beast? It's a question every game designer, and frankly, every player, should be asking.
But what really stuck with me from Hannah's chat wasn't a quote or a scene, but a powerful idea: that at our core, humans are a co-operative, egalitarian, and playful species. This comes from books like David Graeber and David Wengrow's *The Dawn of Everything*, which challenges those old, dusty narratives about human nature. Imagine that – the idea that a lot of our 'history' is built on biased readings, and that our current competitive, individualistic world is just a blip. It's a profoundly hopeful notion, isn't it? And it has massive implications for how we design games. Instead of always defaulting to competitive PvP or solitary adventures, what if we leaned into our innate cooperativeness? What if games became spaces to truly explore playful equality?
And for the love of all that is creative, she wants to adapt Deena Mohamed's comic *Your Wish Is My Command* into a game. The premise? Wishes are real, but everything else is the same, leading to wish-based class systems and unintended consequences. Imagine the emergent gameplay! A cheap wish lands you a toy Ferrari instead of the real deal, or a working-class Egyptian character gets bullied by the cops for having a 'First Class' wish. It's a masterclass in worldbuilding, and as Hannah rightly points out, it's a perfect reflection on what it means to be human, the seeds of desire, and the chaos that ensues when magic meets bureaucracy. I reckon if Hannah gets a team together for that, it'll be more enthralling than finding a legendary artifact in a forgotten dungeon.
So there you have it, mate. Hannah Nicklin's bookshelf isn't just a collection of books; it's a dynamic, evolving manifesto for how to think about the world, and by extension, how to build better, more thoughtful, and profoundly human games. It's a potent reminder that the deepest ideas for our next digital adventures might not be found in a design document, but in the pages of an old book, quietly waiting for a curious wizard to bring them to life.
*Original article by Nic Reuben, published on Rock Paper Shotgun.*
Tags: Game Development, Narrative Design, Indie Games, Industry Insights, Player Experience
Original article: Rock Paper Shotgun