A Record for Our Times: Jacob Geller has a Book

Jacob Geller has phenomenal instincts, a hallmark of an outstanding critic. No surprise that he has become the guiding scion of games criticism. His video essays give viewers something to hold on to while on the daunting path to discovery. Many have been introduced to novels, games, and thinkers through Geller’s work, myself included. This singular talent is complemented by his charm and unpretentiousness. He does not rely on uber-obscure references or impenetrable academic sources for his piercing reflections.

Geller’s debut book, How a Game Lives: The Annotated Essays of Jacob Geller (Lost In Cult) is a symbol of the current state of video games criticism. Like the craft of writing about games, I have mixed feelings about this gorgeous book.

How a Game Lives is a coffee table book of ten annotated scripts of Geller’s video essays. The annotations provide insights into Geller’s thoughts, musings and elaborations on specific points in these essays, as well as inspirations and head cannon/lore for the fans. Geller and Lost In Cult also commissioned artists to provide original illustrations for each essay, all of which are lookers and evocative of the essays’ contents.

Also included are twelve essays from contributors: these are the highlights of the book. They include a “visual exploration” by James Dockerty on Geller’s video thumbnails, Chris Plante (founder of Polygon) writing about Moby Dick while clearly high from recently reading it, and Geller’s father discussing golems in Jewish culture and history (now we know that there are at least two great writers in the Geller family). Another stand out is Jamil Jan Kochai’s “Who is Call of Duty Made For”, an excellent piece on Call of Duty’s place as an artifact of cultural production and reproduction. These essays complement Geller’s work and stand on their own, while also a high compliment – each an elucidation on how his ideas engender others partake in close reading for the purpose of furthering the conversation. Geller facilitates thought.

Geller’s talent aside, the book is expensive at £49.99 for the standard edition (about $70 USD at the time of writing). There is also a £129.99 deluxe edition (about $180 dollars) that includes a vinyl record, art prints, a case for the book, and a bookmark. Lost In Cult has garnered a reputation for high quality expensive products, and I suspect that these prices will not deter fans – if anything the premium presentation and prohibitive cost will make both editions more desirable. With Geller’s name on the cover, this is sure to be Lost In Cult’s bestselling book.

Though How a Game Lives as an object is visually pleasing, housing great words and insights, it is quite an oddity: a coffee table book on videogame criticism. As a book, it betrays itself. Gareth Damian Martin asks Geller in “Forework” (an essay that runs in conversation with Geller’s own “Control, Anatomy, and the Legacy of the Haunted House”): “… if your videos are a moment in time crystallized or if they emerge only when watched, each time imprinting themselves anew. I ask because the distinction is important here.” This distinction is indeed important. On the page these essays are indeed crystallized. They suffer in part as a result, like a crocodile out of water, still capable yet less movable.

Several times through its pages there are sentences directing us to look at something in a video. Are we supposed to read along as we simultaneously have Geller’s corresponding video essay play in the background? This begs another question. Who is this book for? Geller and his fans of course, and also more importantly for the historical record.

Geller’s precociousness is less evident here than in his videos. They are video essays after all. The decision not to adapt and revise the essays to fit the book form is perplexing. While reading “Who’s Afraid of Modern Art” one gets a glimpse of the stylistic back-and-forth Geller employs between his own thoughts and those of right-wing politicians and gamergate blockheads. The transposed video essay has virtuosic pacing, momentum building on the screen to the point of eruption. Yet, on the page it is an incomplete work. In terms of form, these essays and most of this book are an appendage to the videos available on YouTube.

Film critic Matt Zoller Seitz in “The Video Essay” writes that before the spread of video essays (not to be confused with film essays) as a result of cheaper technology, “… a film reviewer trying to describe the style of Martin Scorsese would have to rely on approximations… the one thing they couldn’t do was quote – really quote – the object of criticism, the better to examine, illuminate or vilify it.” Video essays allow for critics to “really quote” visual works. Sentences drawing attention to something on screen weigh heavily on the page in comparison.

YouTube is a platform where conversational and informal ways of communication are encouraged and rewarded. What lands on YouTube makes for awkward writing on the page. Consider the barrage of hyperbolic language used by YouTubers. Geller is not the worst culprit of this, yet in the words of the great rapper DOOM one still gets “… hit in the head with lead pipe languages.” How a Game Lives has a few instances of the hyperbolic lead pipe language of “… ever seen/experienced.”

In an interview with Unwinnable’s Autumn Wright, Geller states that the essays in the book are “… are word perfect to their video counterparts. And because of that, sentences do read weirdly. There are occasionally things that are referencing a visual, which is a strange thing to get in a book.” This is also said several times in the book. An annotation in the essay “Art in the Pre-Apocalypse” provides a reason for this puzzling decision “… this book is, in one way or another, about the pre-apocalypse. I am attempting to scrapbook my own memories.”

However, do not dismiss How a Game Lives as a baroque vanity project – ornate, expensive, and full of contradictions. Its existence in our current perilous space of videogame criticism makes this an event. Regardless, if the book is partly inaccessible as a form to the non-Geller fan, How a Game Lives is infused with depth and beauty beyond even its gorgeous presentation. The words win out against ornamentation as faithful transposition of scripts.

Moreover, Geller understands that on YouTube he doesn’t own his work. It could disappear at any time without notice, an apocalyptic event for content creators. I empathize with this and from this perspective the “word perfect” adaptation makes sense. Geller is the critic. Both a paragon and benefactor of the cursed dominance that YouTube video essayists have on the discourse of games. His work has had a profound influence on game criticism. A record of this is necessary.

Nevertheless, I hope that Geller’s next book has contributions by less well-known authors and is mainly original pieces made for the page. No gimmicks. A simple $20 paperback with raw criticism – from the one whose instincts and intuition made him a key voice in video game criticism – will do. For now, though, we have How a Game Lives: The Annotated Essays of Jacob Geller, an emblem of our time.

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A review copy of the book was provided by the publisher.

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Luis Aguasvivas is a writer, researcher, and member of the New York Videogame Critics Circle. He covers game studies for PopMatters. Follow him on Bluesky and aguaspoints.com.