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SFTW: flOw

Every week Iain Simons chooses a game so you can while away a few hours. This time it's flOw. Enjoy

I love seeing the fingerprints of developers on their work. Just the occasional sniff of discernible humanity is enough to keep me going through gigabytes of low-grade tat. This week then, a debut work by a young company that has gone on to be one of the most respected of its peers. That Game Company is a developer with a mission - to expand the emotional spectrum of videogames. The radical idea that mainstream players might be possessed of a motivation other than 'pass me the big gun' is central to their manifesto. They're a thoughtful group of young developers, and more importantly - they're not afraid to show it.

Whilst large swathes of the mainstream industry look toward blockbuster movies or armed conflicts for inspiration, TGC tend to get outside more - preferring to look to nature for ideas. Indeed, I was prompted to make this weeks nomination by some new footage which has been released of their forthcoming project, Flower, which is due on Playstation 3 next year. You can check out the footage here, and I recommend that you do.

And so, to flOw... Inspired by co-founder Jenova Chen's MA thesis which examined Mihály Csíkszentmihályi's concept as applied to videogame design, this title was launched as a flash game whilst Chen was still concluding his studies at USC. Following its huge popularity online, Sony picked up the game and commissioned the development of flOw as a Playstation 3 showcase title, thus was born That Game Company.

flOw is a beautiful, hypnotic work that genuinely delivers in proportion to the amount of time you invest in it. Cast as a cellular life-form winding around in the deep, your browser is transformed into an abstract petri-dish guiding you only with provocatively simplistic instructions : "Eat, evolve". Superficially reminiscent of the opening level of Maxis' Spore (on which Chen worked) it has very different ambitions to that uber-sim. flOw requires your submission to its
abstraction, and given some quiet time and a pair of headphones - it'll reward you.

Next week, in preparation for the festive season and the descent of my extended family upon our home, we'll look at a brilliant new game about anger management and smashing up ceramics. I for one, can't wait.

Play flOw in your browser here

Iain Simons writes, talks and tweets about videogames and technology. His new book, Play Britannia, is to be published in 2009. He is the director of the GameCity festival at Nottingham Trent University.
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Sunjeev Sahota’s The Year of the Runaways: a subtle study of “economic migration”

Sahota’s Man Booker-shortlisted novel goes to places we would all rather not think about.

This summer’s crisis has reinforced the ­distinction that is often made between refugees, who deserve sanctuary because they are fleeing from conflict, and “economic migrants”, those coming to Europe in pursuit of “the good life”, who must be repelled at any cost. The entire bureaucratic and punitive capacity of our immigration system is pitted against these ne’er-do-wells and their impudent aspirations.

Sunjeev Sahota’s fine second novel, The Year of the Runaways, now shortlisted for the Man Booker Prize, takes a closer look at “economic migration”. Why do people – many of them educated, from loving families in peaceful communities – leave their old lives behind and come to Britain? Are they fleeing desperate circumstances or are they on the make? When they arrive here, do they find what they were looking for? Should we welcome them, or try to persuade them to stay at home? The book illuminates all of these questions while, much to its credit, offering no simple answers.

Sahota interweaves the stories of three people whose reasons for emigrating are as individual as they are. Both Avtar and Randeep are from Indian Sikh families that might be characterised as lower-middle-class. Avtar’s father has his own small business – a shawl shop – and Randeep’s father works for the government. Both boys are educated and Avtar, in particular, is smart and motivated. But with employment hard to come by and no social security net to fall back on, it doesn’t take much to make leaving the country seem like the only option. Avtar loses his job, his father’s business is failing and he has high hopes of earning enough to marry Lakhpreet, his girlfriend-on-the-sly. Randeep’s family’s finances fall apart after his father has a psychological breakdown; their only hope of maintaining a respectable lifestyle is for their eldest son to take his chances abroad.

For Tochi, the situation is very different. He is what used to be called an “untouchable” and, although people now use euphemisms (“scheduled”, or chamaar), the taboo remains as strong as ever. He comes to Britain not so much for financial reasons – although he is the poorest of the lot – but to escape the prejudice that killed his father, mother and pregnant sister.

Tying these disparate stories together is the book’s most intriguing character, Narinder, a British Sikh woman who comes to believe that it is her spiritual calling to rescue a desperate Indian by “visa marriage”. Narinder’s progress, from the very limited horizons for an obedient young woman to a greater sense of herself as an active participant in her destiny, reminded me of Nazneen, the protagonist in Monica Ali’s Brick Lane. But Narinder is a more thoughtful character and here the Hollywood-style journey of personal liberation is tempered by a recognition of the powerful bonds of tradition and family.

Once in Britain, Avtar, Randeep and Tochi enter a world of gangmasters, slum accommodation and zero job security, with an ever-present fear of “raids” by immigration officers. They work in fried chicken shops, down sewers, on building sites and cleaning nightclubs. Health care is off-limits for fear of immigration checks. Food is basic and the only charity comes from the gurdwara, or Sikh temple, which provides help in emergencies.

Avtar and Randeep struggle to send money back home while living in poverty and squalor that their families could barely imagine (at one point, Randeep notes with understandable bitterness that his mother has used his hard-earned contributions to buy herself a string of pearls). In the meantime, their desperation leads them to increasingly morally repellent behaviour, from selfishness to stealing and worse. Even if they do eventually find a measure of economic stability in Britain, they have done so at the cost of their better selves.

It has been pointed out that the novels on the Man Booker shortlist this year are even more depressing than usual and The Year of the Runaways certainly won’t have raised the laugh count. At times I had to put it down for a while, overwhelmed by tragedy after tragedy. It was the quality of Sahota’s prose and perceptions that brought me back. He is a wonderfully subtle writer who makes what he leaves unsaid as important as the words on the page. A wise and compassionate observer of humanity, he has gone to some dark places – places we would all rather not think about – to bring us this book. Whether we are prepared to extend a measure of his wisdom and compassion to real immigrants, in the real world, is another question.

“The Year of the Runaways” by Sunjeev Sahota is published by Picador (480pp, £14.99)

Alice O'Keeffe is an award-winning journalist and former arts editor of the New Statesman. She now works as a freelance writer and looks after two young children. You can find her on Twitter as @AliceOKeeffe.

This article first appeared in the 08 October 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Putin vs Isis