Ernest Cline's "Ready Player One": Nothing Can "Console" Me. Get it?

The following is my personal review of Ernest Cline’s "Ready Player One." Before you begin reading, know that my review is not positive. If you cherish this book, I highly suggest stopping here in your reading. This is not an invitation to an argument, but instead merely my opinion of a book that is very popular, that many people love, but that I simply did not. If you have not read the book, know that there are some key plot elements that, while maybe not spoilers in the traditional sense, are included here as part of the critique.

Ready Player One is the debut novel from Ernest Cline, perhaps best known within indie geek circles as the screenwriter of the film, Fanboys. I was pointed to this book numerous times over the last few months, from fellow readers as well as podcasts and the inevitable stream of pop culture “word-of-mouth.” At first blush, the novel seemed perfectly suited to me, or at least my demographic. As I read through the book, I realized that it was more of the latter than the former, overtly and consciously constructed to hit all the buttons of a particular generation. The problem is there is very little to no substance under the surface.

In the year 2044, the world is in the third decade of a massive recession and most of the population is living in abject poverty. We are quickly introduced to our protagonist in this world, Wade Watts, who goes through most of the book under his avatar’s pseudonym, Parzival. He is what is known in the novel as a “gunter,” short for “egg hunter,” one of a group of people obsessed with the quest for Halliday’s egg. This egg is a valuable prize left by a genius game designer for these virtual adventurers to find within the gaming world he invented. Gunters spend their time in the OASIS, a huge online gaming world chock full of geekery. The requirement for finding the elusive egg, named after the concept of the “Easter Egg,” a practice of hiding elements within video games and other media, is an encyclopedic knowledge of 80s pop culture. More specifically, the gunters obsessively consume all of the pop culture artifacts revered by the character of James Halliday, mythic creator of the OASIS. There will be more on him and other characters later.

References and the Unending Abyss of Nostalgia:

From the first few paragraphs of Ready Player One, the pop culture references are not just dropped; there is a virtual deluge of allusions. While there are a few clever and appropriate nods, such as the name Parzival, the medieval German name for Sir Percival, the knight who found the Holy Grail, the vast majority of the other mentions fail in this endeavor (i.e. naming his virtual spaceship Vonnegut, mainly as very few of his books even involve space travel, and he was especially critical of pop culture and materialism). Perhaps it is the idea that the name Parzival is one of the few references not rooted in the 80s, but there is no denying that the immersion into the “Me Decade” is incredibly flawed at best. Parzival and his fellow questers, all young adults, our “hero” in high school, seemingly spend every last waking moment watching 80s television, playing 80s video games, role playing in 80s D&D campaigns, reading 80s science fiction and fantasy, and memorizing 80s films. While this may seem cheeky, fun, and hugely appealing to someone such as me, who grew up during that period, obtaining my first real introductions to great examples of these distractions, the actual result is far from enjoyable.

Those who know me are well aware that I can be a pop culture snob and obsessive, especially as relates to books and music. Because of this, some fans of Ready Player One may be crying foul, or even simply pointing out the flaws in others that I harbor as well. Bear with me. A friend of mine once looked at my music and book collection and remarked that I wasn’t discriminating enough, that I liked far too many things. As such, one could not determine the things that I truly loved, that should be seen as great as opposed to good. This is the difference between an obsessive collector, someone who simply must “conquer” every relic that comes across their path, which is just a small step away from “hoarder,” and the opposite side of critic or evaluator. (It is similar to the difference between the two camps in education reform that battle over breadth vs. depth. For your information, I fall into the latter category.)

Like Cline and his characters, there are many things I love, but I have learned about sacrifice, moderation, and putting aside childish things, which it seems Parzival and his buddies cannot, even in a poverty-stricken world. The characters in this novel, especially the third person limited narrative of Parzival, simply cannot find a situation in which they can’t reference their favorite things. At one point, Parzival points out that he has a “weakness for kaiju,” which is an incredibly meaningless statement because he makes so many references that it appears he has a weakness for EVERYTHING. It is a hallmark of this culture in which everything is either “my favorite” or “that’s the worst.” The only time I can remember that Parzival actually disparages something is when he uses Wham’s “Wake Me Up Before You Go Go” as an alarm to annoy himself out of bed.

Most references come so fast and frequently that the novel at times seems nothing more than a personal list of Ernest Cline’s “likes,” probably better done as a Facebook widget or Tumblr post instead of a basis for a science fiction adventure. In this way, the novel becomes the ultimate example of the maxim of “write what you know,” but takes the form of an exorcising information dump instead of the crafting of experiences into a compelling narrative. In effect, the referential avalanche becomes nothing more than onanistic self-congratulations for the author’s tastes. It is a fetish novel, pure and simple.

While the pace and frequency of the references may be fevered, the consistency amongst them is problematic. While Parzival and company have an incredibly deep and obscure knowledge of video games, as presumably does the author, their knowledge of music and films is fairly pedestrian. It is obvious that Cline’s expertise lay in video games, so why he chose to make the characters supposed masters of “all pop culture” is beyond me. Ready Player One could have been decidedly more effective had it confined itself to just video games (with perhaps a few instances of role playing) as opposed to having such a broad, unwieldy reach. It becomes a Mad Libs of pop culture references, the book equivalent of a Family Guy episode, shoehorning in all manner of geek obsessions at every opportunity, often seeming random and clunky in the process.

This choice to be so entirely exclusive is not just troublesome in the arena of depth, though that is certainly one that left me rankled. It also opens up the door for errors that obsessive fans are sure to gripe about (i.e. using the term “seppuku” to mean general suicide instead of a particular form of suicide by ritual disemboweling) and for cross-pollination of disparate elements that that should never be put together (i.e. a remix of New Order’s “Blue Monday 88,” itself a remix /reissue, overlaid with beeps and boops from Star Wars droids). Blasphemy, for sure, but none so much as having Halliday and Parzival’s favorite band be Rush, possibly the most clichéd reference in the bunch. While Cline’s incredibly obscure knowledge of Japanese robots and all manner of video games is, at best, alienating, his inclusion of music references is embarrassingly banal, hitting AC/DC, Duran Duran, and Def Leppard at various turns, who are the furthest form obscure you could get.

The novel is floor-to-ceiling full of what I am consistently weary of, the unending abyss of nostalgia. At one time, writers, artists, and filmmakers such as Jean-Luc Godard introduced the idea of the pop culture reference as a reflection of modern society and consumerism. While this was certainly meta-commentary, much of today’s culture lacks a dimension of reflection. We now live in a world in which movie studios and record labels prey on a consumer’s unnaturally exploded sense of nostalgia, with artifice playing a far greater role than substance, in examples such as the films of Transformers, G.I. Joe, Speed Racer, and others based on board games and theme park rides, as well as an eternal parade of nostalgic band reunion tours. (For more on this, Simon Reynolds has a book that deftly explores this subject, called Retromania). We continually seek to please ourselves with mere dog whistle reactions to the things we grew up with, instead of seeking out original, challenging, and contemplative material.

I was reminded throughout the reading of Ready Player One of other like-minded pop culture-laden, referential books and films, such as Scott Pilgrim, High Fidelity, and even Cline’s other creative endeavors, particularly Fanboys. But where those are selective, confined, subtle, and the references serve the plot, Ready Player One is definitely a case in which the tail wags the dog. In other words, it seems as if Ready Player One is merely an outlet for Cline to share the shows, movies, and games he loves, of which there are a LOT of them, many of them being much better alternatives to spend one’s time than actually reading this book. As a list of recommendations, it works fairly well. As a compelling and effective novel, it fails completely.

Plot, Setting, and the Mind-Numbing Vortex of Having to Watch Someone Play Video Games:

The plot of Ready Player One, as stated earlier, is nominally the quest of a young obsessive to find a virtual Holy Grail, that being the Halliday egg. In actuality, it becomes a mere justification for Cline’s own obsessive nature. Instead of wasted time or entertainment, the mass consumption of pop culture becomes a matter of life and death. As the character of Parzival narrates, “Having the right ‘80s song lyric memorized might save my avatar’s life someday” (Cline 2011). It is almost insulting. If I felt there were a subtlety of message, in which Cline were perhaps making a comment on the nature of nostalgia and obsession, this might be a different review, but every element of the novel is so superficial that one can easily dismiss this angle as being a possibility.

All good stories have conflict, and Cline does create it through the evil forces of “The Sixers,” the competition of his friends, and a love interest. The Sixers are representatives of an evil Internet company (the IOI) intent on taking over the virtual worlds of the OASIS so that they can charge users for access and implement advertising. The timing is convenient, given the current fight over SOPA (the Stop Online Piracy Act), with this particular storyline bringing to the fore the difficulty of regulation and monetization keeping up with the speed of information sharing. The IOI certainly represents several current tech companies and burgeoning social networks gobbling up start-ups and bandwidths with increasing rapidity. Certainly, Parzival’s rapacious appetite for pop culture, given his economic status, has to rely on what must be illegal downloading or at least the equivalent in 2044. That is, unless we are to believe that all of these shows, games, and songs have entered the public domain in 33 years.

Though this may seem especially relevant to readers of today, and the themes certainly are, Cline does very little to bring them to fruition in a satisfying manner. Like the references, they are mostly surface. For instance, the real world is rarely described, though Cline makes a point of addressing the fact that the world is one of abject poverty. While it does set up the justification for many choosing to live inside a virtual reality as opposed to authentic human existence, we have no real sense of how the real world works. What happened? I have heard this novel described as a Hunger Games for fortysomething slackers. But, Hunger Games deftly and economically presents a particular world, which then informs character actions. We have no sense of why teenagers still attend virtual school. We have no sense of what these teens want to do with their lives, other than maintain their obsessions with hollow pursuits. The hunt for Halliday’s Egg will, like Willy Wonka’s “Golden Ticket” conceit, award the winner with controlling ownership in Halliday’s company as well as his vast fortune. And yes, Cline does point out the Wonka reference in an almost "See what I did there?" fashion.

The plot relies just as much on nostalgia as the references. It is part Wonka, part WarGames, part early Atari or text-based video game, and part John Hughes teen romance, with all of the clumsiness that one would think a combination of these elements would make. While reading, one can visibly see the blueprints of already established plot lines, which could either make this endeavor entirely meta and postmodern, or just derivative. I suppose that determination will lay in the purview of the reader. One of the real problems with the plot is the idea of the virtual gaming world. This is not to say that I am not intrigued by it. I have read great books in the past that hinged on virtual worlds, immersive games, and vicarious adventuring through avatars, such as Jeff Noon’s Vurt and Neal Stephenson’s Snow Crash, two books I highly recommend. Aside from the barely described dichotomy between the real and virtual world, there is the larger problem of the concept of watching someone play a video game.

One of the main criticisms of modern sci-fi action films, such as the aforementioned Transformers series, Battle: Los Angeles, or any number of movies actually based on video game properties, is that it is like watching a video game as opposed to playing one, a decidedly frustrating and tedious pastime. Reading about someone else playing a video game distances oneself even further from it, though one could make the case for it just being another adventure story. However, the adventure story defense loses its teeth when we get a long description of a game of Pac-Man, among other game walkthroughs. Additionally, the pacing of the novel is inconsistent at best. Parzival meets the initial goals of his quest within a few short hours, but six months within the novel go by (taking several chapters), before the next goals are met. At times, it seems that Parzival completely forgets his task entirely. He does comment on his inactivity, but too late both in the construct of the novel and in the telling of it. In these moments, the tension and momentum is sapped from the narrative. As Parzival seems to lose interest in the quest (what other explanation could there be?), the reader is in danger of losing interest as well. As a kicker, part of the “dramatic” finale involves everyone with a feed into the OASIS watching a video game being played.

Rather than clever and consequential storytelling, Ready Player One is overpopulated with Dei Ex Machina. Things just tend to “happen.” Rarely do choices that are consciously made affect the narrative. Sometimes, these events directly contradict the rules and conventions set by the author. For instance, it is established that Parzival has spent nearly his entire adolescent life consuming Halliday’s favorite pop culture touchstones, as well as mastering nearly every video game in existence, especially those that were supposedly important to his gaming hero. So, when Parzival comes across a game that he has only played once and then dismissed, despite the Sisyphean importance placed on the encyclopedic knowledge of these games, it makes no sense other than to force tension where there is a void. Everything that is not a surprise in this way is simply too predictable. Parzival slacks off and gets distracted from the game only to be one-upped by a competitor? Yeah, we see it coming. The unbalanced nature of the tension with the lack of it is frustrating and even appears in the finale, which seems torturous at times and then is suddenly over.

Characters and the Bottomless Pit of Two-Dimensional Stereotypes:

One sign at the heart of the problems with Ready Player One is the disconnect between young adult characters and adolescent obsessions in a nominally adult novel with references that will only be picked up by someone who experienced the same pop culture era. In fact, the narrative point of view, though housed in the mind of a teenager, is unquestionably that of a 40-year-old attempting to get into the mind of a teenager. It is not marketed as a young adult book, due to the nostalgic factor for Gen-Xers, but probably should have been. This is where the aforementioned Scott Pilgrim and High Fidelity succeed. Scott is a teenager with current teen obsessions, most of them invented for the text, and Rob Fleming / Gordon is an adult with music obsessions rooted in his youth. They make sense in this way. Further, Scott and Rob are multi-dimensional characters. They lie to their friends and lovers. They can be, and many times are, complete jerks. But, we ultimately sympathize with them because they go through something that changes them for the better. Additionally, the plots revolve around their relationships in the real world outside of their obsessions, and do not stem from their hobbies.

Parzival doesn’t seem to change. Some of his decisions may be questioned, but he always has some kind of moral compass and even the smallest discretions are forgiven. He is a good guy; you can imagine that he’s going to win, and that he is going to get the girl. In addition, though Cline attempts to make consequences for his actions, they are near meaningless because of the disconnection Parzival has to those punished. In other words, there is nothing compelling about his character. He reflects once, more than halfway through the novel, wondering if he has gone overboard with his geekery and wonders about his distance from reality. Yet, he does not take any agency in changing anything.

On the alternate side of Parzival, there is his crush, Art3mis. In the world of OASIS, Art3mis is from the planet Benatar. Yes, really. Can you guess what her concern is once Parzival falls in love with her? She’s worried about her appearance in real life. Again, this would be fine in a young adult novel, but for adult readers, it is far too simplistic and predictable. Two other gunters, Daito and Shoto, are perhaps the most stereotypical representations of Japanese adolescents on the page. They love samurai movies and Ultraman. They do everything with honor. We see little else of any dimension of their characters other that what I just wrote. Only one character ends up to have a surprising bit of dimension, and even then it is only addressed in passing before we move on and completely forget about the whole thing.

The mythical James Halliday remains shrouded in mystery, himself a combination of Bill Gates, Lord British, Professor Falken, and the guy who created the Atari Adventure game. We know this because Cline spells it out, even putting all of these names together just in case we didn’t get it. As mentioned earlier, he’s also a little Willy Wonka, but the keys to his kingdom are left for others to find without his observation. He is an absent character, in more ways than one. His former partner, a Paul Allen to his Gates, is alive and present, but also ineffectual, having little to do with the plot and proceedings, that is until he is magically needed as a Deus Ex Machina. It’s as if Cline followed the blueprint of Campbell’s Hero with a Thousand Faces template, but failed to go farther than the outline stage. Can you imagine Gandalf only appearing at the end of The Return of the King to give Frodo a magical t-bar lift up Mt. Doom?

What disturbs me the most is that I seem to be in the minority in my appraisal of this book. There are over 8,200 four and five star reviews on Goodreads.com, comprising 85% of the reviews in total. There are over 453 four and five star reviews on Amazon, comprising 87% of the total reviews. People love, love, love this book. One review I read said it was the best science fiction novels the reviewer had read in a decade! (BoingBoing). I wouldn’t try to dissuade them, despite the above evidence to the contrary. This is merely my opinion, but I respect and appreciate that others may disagree. There are plenty of things that I enjoy that others don’t. The Catcher in the Rye is just one example that seems to polarize people, and The Tree of Life as a more recent case, both of which I love and wouldn’t change my opinion based on anyone else’s. Neither am I trying to take down Ernest Cline or be a “hater.” I greatly enjoyed Fanboys and find it to be a great example of pop culture reverence mixed with heart and character. It’s just that these elements were certainly missing from Ready Player One. The complete confusion over who this book is really supposed to be for leads me to only one conclusion: this novel was really only for the author. Sorry, gang. I just really didn’t like Ready Player One. The best way I can efficiently express my reaction to it is with this sound:



GAME OVER.

Works Cited
Cline, E. (2011). Ready Player One. New York, NY: Crown. Kindle Edition.