When I received the book, I got straight onto the phone to my mother. Weird eh? The fact is, my mother (a great reader of historical fiction), has always known but not quite understood my passion for games-as-stories. A Taste for Murder looked, to me, like a great re-opener for that ageing conversation.

We talked for some time about the game's concept: We create characters in a Jeeves & Wooster story, one of us has done murder, but no one knows who the culprit is. During play, uncovering motive through heated dialogue, we end up with two suspects—and it's not until the last few minutes that we learn which of us has done the deed. Wow. Great concept. Think of it like Cluedo + Drama x Exquisitve Corpse. It's the type of game that produces witty theatre.

It got me excited: Finally, I had found a story game for real people. That is, I found a game that I could play with the real people in my life: my friends, the partners of my friends, my family, maybe even my mum ("We can try it at Christmas," she had suggested enthusiastically).

So, for the rest of the review, now you know how it affected me personally, I'm going to speak to the writer to highlight his strengths and point out where I got confused. Let's start using wine speak.

Nose (Cover, Interior & Writing)

The interior is low impact. One (non-gamer) bystander told me “it’s not visually appealing.” I found that interesting. Isn't a nice layout of text visually appealing? Have we come so far that every book needs to be a picture book?

As for the text, it is written with an informal voice, it is easy to digest, the examples are often witty, and the grammar is bang on. A pleasure to consume.

A simple bouquet of oak and olives with a hint of blackboard chalk and summer gardens.

Attack (Innovation, Inspiration & Excitement)

Specifically, the mystery is developed collaboratively by the players in stages through the game. First, players build the foundations of the story in the opening negotiation of character relationships. One player says “your character used to beat me,” another player says, “and you and I are lovers!” etc. By the end of it, you are swimming in a sea of motive.

Next, through play, characters are pushed to desperation as they are forced into actions against their will. Later, after the murder is done, the murdered player takes the role of the detective (a al Poirot or Miss Marple) and, through investigation, insidious motives are discovered. At certain stages during the game, you are forced to “make the relationship (with the victim) more sinister and hurtful than it was before.” What was once “he used to beat me” becomes “he sexually abused me” becomes “I was pregnant with his baby” becomes “his last beating caused a miscarriage” …until two characters fill up their motive chart and the detective tries to determine which of the two was the real murderer!

All of this makes sense to me in the text. Walmsley's patience comes through the page as he chats about the ideas, exhibits them in play, and exposes me to their merits. I never feel lost.

Also, there’s an interesting colouring mechanism in which players are encouraged to engender one or two specific themes (determined by a kind of mini, transient oracle) during their narrative arguments. It seems to evoke a kind of competitive drama (there is a form of voting and reward).

There may be a danger that gamist players will corrupt the scenes (slightly averted by a "makes-no-sense" clause), but I think even then the scenes will remain comedic, which suits the melodramatic timbre of the game’s overarching theme. I wonder if this rewarding of dramatic extremity was intentional.

Backing up this exciting innovation is a heap of gorgeous colour, including a treasure of dinnertime topics, from the commentary on naming etiquette to the pre-war recipe book. Top marks for research.

Clean, baked flavours like apple pie and butter, with a melt of complex flavours oozing richly under the tongue.

Body (Assistance, Choice & Experience)

Finish (Clarity, Utility & Support)

Nevertheless, there’s this enormous three-page contents list at the start of the book… and no index! That’s my pet hate. I realise that the art deco layout required it, but, by god, I would have preferred more fusion: art deco layout, contemporary reference. Balancing that, the summary pages are very tidy, so I don’t think I’d need to write up a cheat sheet or check the rules much, and the character playsheets are so simple you could draw them on a piece of paper in less than a minute (if you didn’t have a copier handy).

Furthermore, there’s an extensive library of play support. From the ten-page example of play, to the play advice, to the list of don’ts, Graham Walmsley has made a huge effort to toss useful gaming wisdom into the stew. For example, “when Investigating, beware of answering your own question,” “when you Influence, ask for things that are bad for the other person or that you know they won’t want. Push their buttons,” and all of the examples of Some Bad Influences on page 43. Support, support, support. That’s what separates the conservatives from the innovators.

Well balanced, elegant and crisp with a late hint of lemon and spice.

Conclusion

Goes well with Lobster, roast chicken, grilled swordfish, Cobb salad and cheeses

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