Many games allow their players to be Gods. They tune their worlds to the pitch of our whistles and fill our sails with the boon of strong winds. They give us vast oceans, a drive and a dream, and then they lead us straight to the treasure.
There’s nothing more scrumptiously subversive than a game that deals in delayed gratification. It’s something not commonly associated with screens, with spending hours upon hours in the world of instant inputs, stunning colors and frantic beep-bloops.
Over this year’s holiday break, in a moment of serendipitous nostalgia, I stumbled upon my childhood copy of “Kirby’s Epic Yarn.” And lifting the case from its stack of stagnant clamshells, I was struck by some vaguely profound memories.