The Dungeon Master

*This post is an assignment for my creative writing class, and is definitely not about The Raconteurs*

Usually I am not a big fan of stories from The New Yorker, but The Dungeon Master by Sam Lipsyte, from the October 4 edition, was an exception.  I chose to read this story based solely on the title, hoping that it may lead to a few laughs, and I wasn't disappointed.

There were quite a few things I liked about this story, aside from the humour.  Lipsyte portrays the 14-year-old Dungeons and Dragons (D&D) nerds perfectly, which is surprising, since he is 42.  The way the characters interact with each other makes the story more believable, and Lipsyte brings in characters that everyone will recognize to make it more realistic.

Everyone knew that one weird older guy in high school, since they are usually pretty memorable for some of the weird stuff they are known for (sorry if anyone reading this was that weird older guy in high school).  Reading about the rumours of how The DM hit a kid with a baseball bat when he was younger, flashed a bunch of girls at the ice rink or "set his turds on fire in the school parking lot" made me feel as if I were right back in the halls of junior high.  Thankfully I wasn't.  We all remember the day that the one kid decided that sitting around in your friends basement wasn't fun anymore as suggested smoking pot or watching the neighbour shower (okay, maybe not that specific). Characters and situations like these are what made The Dungeon Master stand out amongst other stories I've read from The New Yorker.

I also enjoyed the way that the author switched between the real world and the D&D world.  In one section, he uses dialogue that the real characters speak, but the action which their in-game characters are doing.  Sounds confusing, but it's not.

Click here to read the story on The New Yorker's website.