The idea of novels based on videogames seems like a great idea on paper: take the pulse-pounding action of an interactive firefight and turn it into homework. Because when Mrs. Vanbiesbrouck demands a book report, who wants to read something not related to Halo? Not me, I'll tell you that much. If a book doesn't have the Master Chief, I won't read it. And if I absolutely have to read it, I'll write him in. And if I don't have a marker, I'll imagine him. That's why books are great: They take us to a world of imagination where Tom Sawyer gets a laser cannon to the face.

Trying to make me paint a fence white? I'm the Master Chief, son!

At their best, videogame novels are light fluff that allow gamers to take their favorite characters to the bathroom. While no one's giving a Pulitzer to "Warcraft: Lord of the Clans" (suck it, Christie Golden!), there's nothing that wrong with wanting to know more about your favorite game world. Even I've occasionally wondered if Diablo would continue to be evil (spoiler alert: he totally will!).

At their worst, videogame novels read like a twelve-year-old transcribed a FAQ while slipping in his own fan-fiction. Needing more setup than "You're a spy and Fox Hound is bad," bad videogame novels tend to slow down the action while sucking out the connection players feel for their avatars. Once gameplay is removed, videogames that once seemed like great science-fiction stories, spy thrillers, or fantasy adventures turn out to be hollow husks of archetypes and cliches.

Terribly written, terribly paced, and terribly adapted -- here are the top 10 terrible videogame novelizations.



10. "Planescape: Torment" by Ray and Valerie Vallese

Full disclosure: Planescape: Torment is my favorite videogame of all time.

In my opinion, its story -- a nameless man suffering for actions he committed in previous lifetimes -- is the epitome of what can be done with interactive storytelling. By remaining nameless and without memory, the scarred lead character is an empty vessel that the player can fill with any idea, thought, or action. While The Nameless One was once a scoundrel, a thief, a wizard, and a general, in this current life, he is the player.

Thus, after a five-alarm nerdgasm for the game, I rushed out and bought the novelization. I was young then. I didn't know developers just merchandized properties for money. 9/11 hadn't happened yet and I thought true love was real.

The novel sucked.

While it's not nearly as bad as the rest of the books on this list, it turned an interesting premise into no premise at all: They name The Nameless One. In what amounts to picking the "I stay home and do homework" option in a choose your own adventure novel, writers Ray and Valerie Vallese thought the best option for a mysterious protagonist would be to give him a set identity that no one could relate to.

Fans hated this novelization so much they actually did their own adaptation .

It also sucks.



9. "Final Fantasy: The Spirits Within" by Dean Wesley Smith, Alan Reinert, Jeff Vintar, and Hironobu Sakaguomi

If you ever doubt your future as a writer, always remember when there was a crappy novel based on a crappy movie based on the crappiest parts of a videogame series.

Maybe you can someday be Dean Wesley Smith, Alan Reinert, or Jeff Vintar. But you'll never be Hironobu Sakaguomi. You're not that lucky.



8. "The Myst Reader" by David Wingrove, Robyn Miller, and Rand Miller

Remember that moment when you first saw Myst? The beautiful rendered landscapes that looked unlike anything ever seen in a videogame before? The soft, atmospheric sounds? The detailed rooms just begging for exploration?

Remember seeing them and thinking, "This would be so much better as a book?"

The Myst novels are essentially long-winded descriptions of postcards. Since the core of the game is exploration of a beautiful landscape, writer David Wingrove and game creators / co-writers Robyn Miller and Rand Miller justify their novel by painstakingly (and painfully) describing everything.

Oh my God:

Atrus reached out and picked up the brass cooking pot he had been examining earlier, pleased by its symmetry, by the way the double pans -- top and bottom linked by four strong brass spindles -- like all the cooking implements in Age Five, were designed to cope with water which, when heated, rose into the air.
Here's how you can write the sentence in a novel where fans don't expect everything to be a Hyperlink slideshow: "Atrus picked up the pot. He liked it."



7. "King's Quest: See No Weevil" by Kenyon Morr

"King's Quest: See No Weevil" makes this list for two reasons.

First, "See No Weevil?" Really? What, did you think of the title first? How about "King's Quest: An Unbearable Problem With Bears?" Or "King's Quest: Foxy Valanice is Turned into a Fox, Get It?"

Second, this is the penultimate title in the entire King's Quest franchise, the last being King's Quest: Mask of Eternity. This book murdered the series and Mask Of Eternity pooped in its skull. What was once a bright spot in the computer gaming world turned into a generic fantasy setting filled with annoying princesses and generic heroes. Or, as it's better known, Everquest.

As for the story, Rosella, the Jar Jar Binks of the King's Quest universe, is forced to watch over Daventry when Graham and Valanice leave town. Hilarity ensues because Rosella is a teenaged girl and, well, you know teenaged girls!

Let me repeat that: The last novel in the King's Quest series is literally about the most beloved characters leaving the most hated character alone to do whatever she wants. It's sort of like how my favorite episodes of "Star Trek" were the ones where Wesley Crusher went sweater shopping.



6. "Hellgate: London: Exodus" by Mel Odom

I feel sort of bad for the novels based on Hellgate: London. You can see how a post-apocalyptic fantasy action-RPG from some of the guys who'd made Diablo would seem like a sure thing. Too bad the game was all but broken, the gameplay generic, and the fan support nonexistent.

Like the game itself, the book is bristling with excitement wrapped in unoriginal ideas. Even Mel Odom's writing betrays a sort of misplaced confidence in the game world:
That one had looked like a snail, but it had been three feet tall and equipped with a tongue capable of striking over a distance of ten feet. The tongue-strike carried lethal toxins. The Cabalists still didn't know the proper name, but they were calling them Death Darts at the present.