The Editor-in-Chief Answers: Q&A for the 5th Game Criticism Contest

The editor-in-chief answers the questions prospective applicants most often ask—or have always wanted to.

Q1. Why does GG hold a game criticism contest?

In Korea, the language we use to talk about games is still far from rich enough. Games have become the defining popular culture of our time, yet the words and writing that make sense of that culture have long been stuck somewhere between industry news and star-rated reviews. Game Generation (GG) is a publication built to fill that gap, and this contest is where we look for new writers to fill it with us.

The contest began in 2022, and this year marks its fifth edition. Last year we received 77 submissions, and some of our past winners have since joined GG as regular contributors, helping shape the magazine alongside us. Please don't think of this as an event that ends with prize money—think of it as a place where we hope to meet people who will keep writing about games.

Q2. "Criticism" sounds intimidating. How is it different from a review?

A review answers the question, "Is this game worth buying?" Criticism asks, "What is this game saying?"—and further, "What does this game let us see about the world?"

Saying that a game's combat is fun is a review. The moment you start digging into why the combat system was designed that way, what attitude that design demands of the player, and how that demand connects to some sensibility beyond the game itself—that is where criticism begins. A game's fun does not simply appear out of nowhere. It is produced by rules and structures that someone built, and those rules and structures always carry a perspective. Reading that perspective out of the game is what criticism does.

Q3. What do the judges look for? What kind of criticism does GG want?

There are three main criteria.

First, excellence in game analysis and understanding: does the writing demonstrate a deep grasp of the game under discussion? A piece written by someone who has spent long hours with a game shows it within a few paragraphs. So does a piece written after only skimming the surface.

Second, originality of interpretation and analysis: does the piece offer criticism from a fresh angle? We are looking for writing that contains something the author discovered with their own eyes, not a summary of what everyone has already said.

Third, persuasive, well-crafted prose: even the best insight is worthless if it never reaches the reader. Criticism is only complete when it includes the communicative skill to carry what you have seen smoothly to your audience.

As for direction, the field is wide open. A piece that digs deep into a game's systems and the experience of play is welcome; so, of course, is a piece that travels through a game to speak about the world we live in. In the latter case, though, the order matters. You should start from the game and move outward to the world—if you force a game into a story about the world you already wanted to tell, both the game and the story end up strained.

Q4. Do I need to know a lot of theory? I'm just someone who has played games for a long time.

One type we find disappointing every year is what might be called "theory overload": pieces that cite a parade of famous theorists and concepts, yet never explain why this game needs that concept in the first place. Theory is meaningful only as a tool that helps you see a game better. When the tool becomes the master of the piece, both the game and the theory die.

But the opposite trap is just as common: pieces that stop at "I played this game this way, and it was fun." Experience is a precious starting point for criticism, but if no reflection follows—why was the experience like that, and what produced it?—the piece remains a personal impression.

What you ultimately need is a meeting point between theory and experience. Start from your own experience of play, but bring a perspective that lets you step back and interpret that experience. That perspective doesn't have to be a famous theory, but there has to be some frame of thought that turns experience into something more than experience. Call it the strength to push the question "Why is it like this?" all the way to the end.

Q5. Which games should I write about to have an advantage? Does it have to be a recent blockbuster?

Not at all. The fame or scale of the game you choose has no bearing on the judging. A decades-old classic, an indie game nobody has heard of, a mobile idle game—any of them will do. What matters is what you managed to read out of that game.

If anything, the more famous the game, the heavier the burden. So much has already been said about it that whatever you can add stands out all the more starkly. Games no one else is paying attention to, or overlooked corners of games everyone knows—good criticism has often come from exactly those places.

Q6. Is there a common thread among the pieces that don't make it each year?

A few patterns keep recurring.

• Pieces that are more than half plot summary. If you spend most of your pages introducing the game on the assumption that readers don't know it, there's no room left for your own argument. An introduction needs only the minimum required for the discussion.

  
  

• Pieces that stop at personal impressions. "It was moving" or "the immersion was incredible" is where criticism starts, not where it ends. You have to go on to ask why it was moving, and what devices produced that emotion.

  
  

• Pieces that use a game as an excuse to recite theory. This is the order reversed. When theory is deployed to show off rather than to read the game, neither affection for nor understanding of the game makes it onto the page.

  
  

• Pieces a general reader cannot get through. If a piece is so armored in footnotes and jargon that only specialists in the field can read it, then the place it belongs is an academic journal. GG is a magazine for the reading public. True to our slogan—"lighter than a journal, heavier than a webzine"—we look for writing with depth that still reads.

  
  

• Pieces that betray the author never played the game. Writing assembled from a few videos and wiki pages always comes apart somewhere. The friction, the boredom, the detours that only someone who actually played the game knows—those are the raw materials of criticism.

Q7. Anything to keep in mind about length and format?

Following the length requirements stated in the official call is the baseline. A shorter piece is not at a disadvantage, but a piece stretched thin just to fill the page count shows immediately. If you have one thing to say, digging deep into that one thing always beats skimming across several points.

Give some thought to your title as well. On a judging table stacked with dozens of submissions, the title is a piece's first impression. A good title reveals both the game you're discussing and the angle of your argument.

Q8. How does the judging work?

An independently assembled panel of judges first reviews all submissions on paper, and the winners are then selected through a final in-person session where the judges gather in one room. The process combines individual evaluation with group deliberation.

Q9. If I don't win, does that mean my piece wasn't good enough?

No. The number of winning entries is limited, and judging is ultimately a matter of relative selection. Every year, the judging table holds pieces as good as the winners, and there are always entries set down with regret by the narrowest of margins. Sometimes a piece the judges argued over at length ends up not being selected.

So please don't take a rejection as a verdict that "my writing doesn't work." The perspective and the sentences you honed do not disappear. You are welcome to try again next year, or to knock on the doors of other publications. There have in fact been winners who succeeded after multiple attempts. The very fact that you have started writing about games is already part of the foundation of game criticism in Korea.

Q10. Finally, a word for those still hesitating to apply?

Reading the submissions each year, I'm reminded of how many people have something to say about games but never knew where to say it. If worries about polish are holding you back, my advice is to write it and send it in. Judges respond to writing with a question of its own more than to writing that is merely smooth. A rough piece that carries something seen with your own eyes will always travel farther than a polished piece that could have been read anywhere.

About that game you've poured hundreds of hours into—there is, somewhere inside you, a story about it that no one has told yet. We'll be waiting for it.

For submission methods, deadlines, and other details, please refer to the official contest announcement.