Expeditions by Jamey Stegmaier, released in 2023 debuted as the sequel to 2016’s Scythe, which is fairly high on my favourite games of all time list at number 16. While visually very similar to Scythe, the gameplay in Expeditions is quite different, and I think it’s worth being explicit in saying right from the get-go in saying that Expeditions is a fully separate game. Jakub Rozalski returned to provide the distinct art and world building, which helps players familiar with Scythe to feel right at home from the moment they get their hands on the box, but nothing in the Expeditions box can be ported to Scythe, nor the other way around.
The box for Expeditions feels oversized for what’s inside. It is just a bit smaller than the original Scythe box, but it feels like it contains so much less. 5 large mechs, 20 location tiles, a huge stack of cards, 50 worker meeples, a bag of thick acrylic markers, 5 square player mats, and a home bast tile is what that box contains. The included plastic insert holds everything quite well, and should facilitate fast set-ups, when you’re not playing a public copy at the board game café and whoever played it last was not so careful in putting everything back in the right spots.
I’ve never been able to complain about Stonemaier Games component quality. Everything here feels about as deluxe as you want it, and they showcase thoughtfulness in small ways, like including little riser stickers for the player boards to make it much easier to tuck cards under your player board. The home board that holds the glory track has the end game scoring listed right next to it, making it really easy to remember what is worth points come the end of the game.
The play area itself is expansive, which I think is quite good for a game named Expeditions. After all, what kind of adventure would it be if you only travelled 6 metres from where you started? The main play area is
Playing Expeditions is pretty straightforward. There are 3 actions available to you. Move, Play, and Gather. Moving is simple, move your mech from hex to hex, up to your movement value. If you enter an unexplored tile in the centre or north side of the map, your movement ends, but you get to reveal the tile. Play just has you play a card from your hand. Each card gives you guile or strength, and if you place a worker on the card at the time of playing it, you get to activate its special ability. Gathering just lets you take the action of the tile your mech is currently sitting on.
The tiles are laid out in such a way that there’s space for 5 cards between the hexagons. Those cards can be quests, items, or meteorites, all of which can be claimed to be used for a unique ability, and then upgraded, melded, or solved to offer some more permanent effects. The stack of cards in the game is impressively large, offering a wide variety of effects that could show up.
Each turn on the game has you move a cube on your map, covering one of the three actions, enabling you to preform the other two. This was a great mechanic, and figuring out your own tempo on how you want to move and play or play and gather was a good puzzle to try and squeeze some efficiencies out of. The cards you play and the workers you spend on them sit on the table in front of you until you take a rest action. This takes the cube off your board, pulls all your workers back to your mat, and lets you play all your cards again. And, on your next turn, you get to take all 3 actions, which can be very powerful and is a nice consolation prize, making that lost rest turn a little less painful.
The general flow and card play of Expeditions can be quite satisfying. If you happen to pick up cards that compliment each other well, you can find yourself specializing in specific ways that lead you to claiming an achievement long before anyone else can. In one game we played, I just happened to pick up 4 items, and uncover the upgrade action. I very quickly was able to boast to claim the 8 cards achievement, then immediately turned around and started upgrading those item cards to claim my second achievement before anyone else claimed a single one. The downside is that once you hit the achievement threshold for something, continuing to pursue that objective is meaningless. You’ll need to pivot and figure out a different way to get the rest of your stars onto the board.
For a game to be called Expeditions, I expect a fairly heavy focus to be on the discoverability inside the game. I found it surprisingly disappointing that all the tiles are in use in every game. The discovery isn’t about finding new tiles and which abilities are available to you during this game, it’s just a matter of figuring out where the tile you want is hiding. In addition to this, if you happen to find the tile you needed, great luck! Another player is probably crawling across the north part of the map, frustrated that they’ve just collected their 8th map token that have no value beyond collecting 5 for an achievement. Exploring isn’t rewarded, which is awful in an action efficiency game.
The art on the tiles and cards all tell a story. Much like the encounter cards in Scythe, the art is a wonderful vignette featuring a grim 1920’s aesthetic, with the shadows of hulking mechanical behemoths in the background. A tale can easily be told by these cards, but at the same time, the theme can very quickly melt away. Guile and power turn into brain and strength, which are just values you accrue, vanquishing is merely a transaction, solving is just being on the right spot at the right time. Nothing you do in the game feels thematic, it’s purely mechanical.
The interaction between players is merely being in each other’s way. Someone can camp on a tile that you need for a few turns, and someone might sweep the card you were pining for, but that’s really the extent of it. You can’t take anything from your opponent, you can’t bump them off their tile, they exist to just be in your way. A score to compare yours against at the end of the game.
The gripes I have with Expeditions mostly stems from mis-matched expectations. I went in with all the thoughts and feelings of Scythe, but found a game that feels more like Century Spice Road wearing Scythe’s clothing. I really wonder if calling it the sequel to Scythe was the right thing to do, considering just how different the games really are. The Scythe world was so unique and gripping that it does make sense to set more games in that universe, but I really feel that Expeditions suffers from sitting in the overbearing shadow of its predecessor.
I’m going to be honest with you, friends. I may be an adult, but inside I’m basically a big kid. My affection is easily won with trinkets and sweets. I do not have sophisticated tastes, rather, I yearn for simplicity. In my spare time, I just want to play with my toys.
Published by Queen Games way back in 2006, Shogun is set during Japan’s Sengoku period (1467-1573). Players assume the roles of a great Daimyo, leading their troops to conquer provinces across Japan. With an interesting twist of action programming and area control, playing the game is fairly straightforward. Each round begins with the 10 actions cards shuffled and placed along a row, indicating the order the actions will be taken. Only the first 5 are face up, however, giving players limited information on how the season will develop.
The actions players can take are things like spending money to build castles, temples, and theatres, or deploy more troops in the provinces they control, taxing the peasants for food or coin, and initiating combat with a neighbouring province. Combat in Shogun is determined with a cube tower with a couple slotted baffles shoved into the chute. All attackers and defenders are dropped into the cube tower, and whichever team emerges from the tower with the majority, takes control of the province. Any troops that get trapped in the tower might fall out at a later time for surprising reinforcements.
A round begins with the action cards getting placed in their spots, some face up, others face down. Then the 5 bonus cards get put into their slots, that will enhance your faction for a round, and serve as the player order queue for the rest of the round. Then simultaneously, players take all the province cards they have in their hands, and place them face down onto their action mat, indicating which action each province will take during that turn. Players also have a few bidding cards to bid for turn order, or, they can place those bidding cards on actions as a feint. They pass doing the action, but your opponents don’t know that.
After everyone’s programmed their actions, the bid for turn order resolves, an event gets revealed. There are 4 face up events at the start of each year, and each round, one of those events will be randomly selected to affect everyone for the entire round. Then, the core of the game gets underway. Starting with the first action in the action queue, everyone preforms that action. Most of the actions can happen simultaneously, as there aren’t any more choices to make. If you said you were going to bolster or build or tax in a province, you just, do that. It’s the combats that need to take place in player order. Combat is simple, you just take a number of cubes from a province and push them into a neighbouring region. If another player was there, you scoop up all the cubes now in that province and dump them into the cube tower. Whoever has the majority of cubes in that tray gets control of the province. In the case of a tie, control returns to the neutral peasants, and any unrest or buildings in that province are cleared away.
Shogun manages to create some stand up and shout exciting moments. There was one game where the purple player pushed his 5 cubes into my 2 cube province, and I managed to hold onto the province by a single cube. Then the immediate next action was another player attacking a province that had only a single purple cube. Well, those 4 extra cubes that got caught in the tower came out in force, drastically shuffling the distribution of forces on the island.
The gameplay is smooth, once you start resolving that action row, only slowing down when it’s time to count tiny cubes in that tower. The phase in which you’re planning your turn and programming your actions, however, can be fairly long as there is a lot to consider. It’s a real saving grace that everyone is doing that phase at the same time, otherwise Shogun‘s playtime could easily balloon to 3 hours. The analysis paralysis here is real.
In addition to keeping the other players off your territory, you also need to contend with the neutral peasants. They’re the faction you fight against whenever you battle against an empty province, and they revolt when you attempt to tax them too much. If you happen to take over someone else’s province that they taxed previously, those unrest tokens don’t go with them, the peasantry is still angry, despite the change in management. If you ever lose control of a province, either to another player or to a revolt,
There’s a lot to consider in Shogun, especially as each round inflicts an event on everyone. These can range from getting a minimum or maximum tax, to forbidding combat in provinces that have a temple. While you know what the events MIGHT be, you won’t know which one is actually in effect until after you’ve committed your actions to specific provinces.
After 3 action rounds, a 4th scoring round occurs. First, everyone loses some rice, then you must have 1 rice for every province you control. If you don’t, you suffer a number of revolts. This can be pretty punishing, especially when someone manages to attack the province you were going to tax rice in before you were able to tax said rice. The joys of action programming.
Last week I wrote about Arcs, a game where every mechanism and decision feels deliberate and worth discussing. Every mechanism and decision that Cole Wherle put into that design is worth talking about. By direct contrast, Shogun feels boring, flat, and uninteresting. And yet, I had fun playing Shogun. If both Arcs and Shogun were set up on tables with empty seats, I’d sit down to play Shogun every single time. It’s not that it’s a better-designed game, because it’s not. But because it reminds me of why I play games in the first place: to have fun. Shogun isn’t a masterpiece, but it doesn’t need to be. The best game is the one that gets played, and for me, I’m so much more keen to play Shogun. I’m not sure if that’s an endorsement for Shogun or an indictment for Arcs, but in the end, only one of those games makes me laugh, cheer, and want to play again.
I’m going to begin with the conclusion. Arcs is a masterpiece. It’s a game bursting with so much variety, discovery, and depth, all crafted meticulously by designer Cole Wehrle. Every mechanic feels intentional, every element serves a greater purpose, there isn’t an ounce of unnecessary bloat. It’s a work of art and genius in game design, a triumph that deserves all the praise in the world. It’s just a shame that I don’t like playing it.
Arcs at its core, is a ghost of a trick taking game. That said, even labelling it that way will give players the wrong direction. A player leads a card, and the card has a number and a suit, and players are generally encouraged to follow the lead card with a card of the same suit but with a higher number. But they don’t have to. Each card gives the player access to specific actions, and affords them a number of action points. The lead player gets full use of their card, and everyone else has to react to it. If you play a higher card of the same suit, it’s called Surpassing, and you get the full benefit of your card, but as the cards go up in numerical value, they offer less and less action points. You can choose to pivot, playing any card face up and taking a single action of the card you just played, or play a card face down to copy the actions on the lead card, again, only for a single action.
There’s both great flexibility and strong restrictions in this action selection mechanism. On one hand, being able to copy or pivot almost guarantees that you can do something helpful on your turn. On the other hand, if you don’t have a specific action, like Secure in your hand, and no one leads with that suit, you are completely blocked out from that action.
I’ve said before that Arcs has a fascinating approach to action efficiency. Unlike Euro-style games where you almost always want to have the most actions, or you can plan a long series of events that will pay out in dividends, Arcs is much more tactical. Action efficiency in Arcs doesn’t mean you take the most actions or turns, it means that you take the one pivotal action that swings the game from a crushing loss to an overwhelming defeat.
Everything you choose to do, or choose not to do, in Arcs has consequences. When you lead, you can choose to declare an ambition, depending on the value of the card you play. Doing so, activates one of the end of round scoring conditions, but it also drops the value of your card to a 0, making it likely that every player after you will have several actions to play with when they surpass your 0. Just in that choice alone, you need to weigh the balance of which card you want to play to declare the ambition vs. which and how many actions that card gives you access too. If you use an aggression card to declare the Warlord ambition, you’re probably going to trigger a lot of combat in the round. But waiting to declare an ambition is risky too. Ambitions can only be declared 3 times per round, and they can be consumed quick, and they get less valuable as they’re declared. You also just might not have the opportunity to be first in the round again.
Everything in Arcs has a purpose. The game gives you dozens of levers to pull, and understanding which lever to pull and when is critical to doing well in Arcs. Then you add The Blighted Reach expansion, and it takes the base game of arcs and stretches it into a 3 game space opera. Every player begins as one of 8 factions, each with their own personal objective, abilities, and character. After the first act ends, players who completed their objective draws a single new faction and gets the choice to either pivot to a wholly new set of abilities, or keep the faction that you’re currently playing and follow their story a bit longer. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
The Blighted Reach introduces a crumbling empire. Every player starts out as a regent of the empire, with one player being the first regent. They control the empire’s coffers, and gain benefits when the empire does battle. In addition to the normal action cards, there are now event cards that can trigger a summit, where players can leave the empire, and negotiate trades with each other. You can even trade future favours that can be cashed in later to force a player to negotiate with you. While a regent, all regents have to be friendly while big daddy empire is watching. Empire ships control regions by default where they have ships, and you can drag empire ships along with yours to battle and defend against non-regent players. As I said before, all the factions you play as have their own objectives, some of which may encourage you to bolster the empire’s forces, while others will encourage you to leave their fold.
The space opera bit is absolutely intriguing. A full campaign is 3 games long, and at the end of each game, some things get reset. Damaged ships and thrown out, damaged blight get stronger, captives and trophies are returned to other players, and factions that change return their favours. But the guild cards you’ve earned up to this point persist perpetually, the resources you’ve acquired, you retain, and in general, the ships and buildings you’ve produced remain on the board. The intermission is less of a full game reset, and more of a seventh inning stretch. You get up, shuffle some things around, digest your new objective, and launch into the game once again. This means that if you’re ready to write off a game, you can just focus on setting yourself up for the next one, putting yourself into a good position instead of scrapping for points in the short term.
There is so much to explore in Arcs. 24 factions, some of which change multiple times in a game, exploring the effects of moving from one faction to another. The objectives drive players to explore different corners of strategy, and keep the game state in perpetual flux. The first regent might have a monopoly on a resource, but then suddenly an outlaw pops up and robs them blind, throwing the balance of power completely off kilter. Another faction that seemed down-and-out switches into a mothership, pulling all their cities and star ports off the board, and plonking down a single, massive ship to control from then on. Even at the concluding act, anyone with a C faction has an instant win condition, meaning that a player who’s been struggling for the entire game still has a chance to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat.
Arcs is an aggressive area control game, a tight resource management game, and an intriguing above the table political game all at the same time. To be good at Arcs, you always want to be changing and positioning yourself to make the game pivot from one ambition to the other. Chasing the goals that have already been claimed is a fools’ errand, and there’s enough manoeuvrability in the game system to allow for the balance of power to be upset that in theory, you could figure out a way to upset the other players in interesting and unexpected ways.
So why don’t I like it then? For starters, it’s unique and hard. And that seems like a weird complaint. In what world is being unique a bad thing, especially in what can be such a crowded market like board games? Shouldn’t I be complaining about the umpteenth ‘new worker placement deck building game’ that hits my table week after week? Well, being unique means I have nothing else to really compare it to, I don’t have a foundation for the rules and mechanisms that have becomes so second nature to me. Instead, I have to keep all the rules of all the aspects of Arcs in my head, which is a significant burden, especially as the person at my table who is the arbiter of the rules. I can’t tell you how many times over all my plays I have to say “no, you can’t do that.” and “No stop, that’s not how that works.” or “No, first you need to do X, then you can do Y”. There’s a lot of nuance to the rules, and in Arcs, the nuance is IMPORTANT. It’s important that you prelude before you take your actions, it’s important that you can’t surpass with an off suit card, it’s important that you have to be the one to call a summit to force negotiations with your favours. All the restrictions that make the decision-making really satisfying also make it really tedious to manage a table. My head aches after a single act, and by the end of the second act, I’m looking for ways to escape the table.
Somehow, Arcs manages to make me feel like there’s nothing I can do to upset someone’s stranglehold on the economy, and that no advantage I hold is ever safe from the bastards who sit around the table with me. In the short game, trying to amass an army feels like Sisyphean task, by the time you’ve built your starports and generated the ships, someone pulls up and swats them down to claim the warlord achievement, and then the game comes to a screaming end.
In the long game, there are so many character powers and different objectives that have rules on cards clear across the table, that it’s impossible to remember exactly what everyone can do, and what you should be doing to stop them. I won’t complain that factions are unbalanced, I’m nowhere near experienced to make that claim. But Arcs demands a certain level of mastery for players to really revel in its system. It’s a system that utterly rewards mastery, but getting to that point requires so much enthusiasm and repeated commitment from everyone at the table.
Arcs is a masterpiece. It’s a masterpiece in the sense that board game enthusiasts who have been around for a while will see how finely crafted this work is. While it’s a big, beefy box, nothing is extra, nothing is extraneous. Everything in Arcs has a purpose. It’s the Symphony No. 9 of board games, it shows Cole Wehrle’s complete and utter skill, creativity, and mastery as a board game designer. Every little aspect of the game is intresting and worth talking about (as evidenced by Shut Up and Sit Down’s two 40minute reviews). But in the end, when I play Arcs, I don’t feel joy in my heart. I don’t have fun when I’m playing this game. I’m stuck in my head trying to remember the flowchart for movement as a regent, and trying to figure out how I can snag initiative so I can declare an ambition without having that ambition yanked out from under me. It’s probably just a skill issue, really.
Creating the Top 100 Games of All Time list back in March highlighted how I’ve never really covered some of my favourite games. I’m slowly working through that backlog by creating a review as I play these games again.
In Flamme Rogue by designer Asger Harding Granerud, you run a team of cyclists, a Rouleur and a Sprinteur. Your goal is to get one of your cyclists over the finish line first, doesn’t matter which one claims the victory as long as the win goes to one of your characters. The game is played simply, draw four cards from one of your characters decks, each card depicting a number of spaces to move, and set it aside. Put your cards on the bottom of your deck face up, then do the same with your second character. Once all players have committed their cards, they’re all revealed simultaneously. Then, starting from the racer currently in first, they move those spaces. After everyone has moved, slip streaming occurs. Starting from the racer in last place, every racer who has one space between them and the next racer gets one free movement to ‘catch up’ to the rest of the pack. Then, anyone at the front of the pack takes an exhaustion card into their deck. After that, everyone draws more cards and keep repeating this process until someone passes the finish line.
There are some tricks to the track. Downhill sections will automatically boost your low cards to be a 5, while uphill sections don’t let you move any more than 5 at a time. Usually the track has enough space for 2 riders to sit side by side, but in certain points it’ll choke down to 1, potentially forcing players in the rear to lose movement if they can’t fully surpass the leaders.
The Rouleur and Sprinteur decks have some differences. The Sprinteur has cards ranging from 2 to 9, while the Rouleur has a much more moderate spread from 3 to 7. Something that may not have been clear from the above paragraph, is that as you use your cards, they aren’t returned to your deck. Your sprinter only has three 9 cards in their whole deck. Once they’re spent, he loses a lot of his edge. Flamme Rouge is a deck deconstruction game where you need to manage your resources carefully to come out ahead.
Unlike many race games, there’s no engine building, or sense of acceleration in Flamme Rouge. Instead, it’s an endurance grind. Spending all of your best cards, leaving it all out on the track in the hopes that you’ll be the first player to cross that finish line. In the game I played last night, my Rouleur had 12 cards in their deck at the end of the game. One 4, one 6, and ten 2’s. The finish line was 3 spaces away, and I had a two space lead from the rest of the pack. I shuffled the deck, drew my cards, and managed to pull a 4 to win the race.
Flamme Rouge is a game about micro decisions and opportunities. You won’t always have the right cards at the right time, but rarely are you left without something to consider. Ideally, you want your racers together, so you can draft and slipstream. Let one character take the exhaustion for the first half of the race, so the second racer is fresh for the last half. Being ahead early is exciting, because you’re first to move and no one can block your path, but being in front fills your deck with exhaustion, so there’s quite a lot of risk there.
While it can feel like a lot of luck, I feel that there is quite a bit of skill involved in winning Flamme Rouge. Being able to accurately read your opponent’s intensions, knowing when they’re going to try to overtake, so you can keep the gap close. It is frustrating when you can see that you have the perfect opportunity to overtake, but you only draw a handful of low cards, but that’s life sometimes. Sometimes you step on your pedal and your chain skips a link.
Thematically, everyone can relate to riding a bike, or the concept of a bicycle race. Having a relatable theme makes it incredibly easy to get people who may otherwise be uninterested in board games to the table. The aesthetic is sufficiently goofy as well, with the riders all sporting thick french moustaches and making exaggerated faces in the card art. Flamme Rouge is a good-looking game!
I really like the variety of the tracks in Flamme Rouge. Each section of track is double-sided and fit together like a puzzle. The game comes with a small deck of cards emulating specific races, and depending on how the track is set up, the way the game feels can change drastically. One track we played on had 2 downhill sections that let those early leaders shed their exhaustion and run away with the race. Another game had 3 uphill sections leading right up to the finish line, making the final push an utter grind. The winner ended up being one of the players who was near the back during the final assent, as they had burned all their real low cards early on and managed to play three 5’s in a row while everyone else was struggling with 2’s and 3’s.
Flamme Rouge is simple to play, yet it’s eminently satisfying. Races are always exciting, and controlling two characters lets you play with the system in a fun and interesting way that lends to satisfying, clever plays. I love the variability of the track, and how different setups ensure each game feels fresh. Flamme Rouge shines as a game that balances short-term tactics with long-term strategy, and is a game that deserves its high spot in my top 100 games of all time.
I’m going to start with a disclaimer. I should not be reviewing this book. I am so far removed from the music scene, that I honestly have no business weighing in with my thoughts and opinions. I don’t have real passion for music, either creatively or even recreationally. Sure, I have bands that I dig, but sitting down with a new album isn’t something I ever really look forward to, nor am I ever really seeking out new bands to fill out my playlists. I don’t use music to calm down or get amped up. The best I can offer is that putting on video game lo-fi tunes can help me work or go to sleep, sometimes. I don’t go to concerts or shows, and I’m so far removed from the pop culture discourse that it might as well be a different language for me.
The great exception is Sum 41. I’ve adored Sum 41‘s music since I stole my sister’s CD of All Killer No Filler when I was just a 12-year-old kid. Growing up in an isolated community, the only music on the radio was old country, and the best tapes around town were our parent’s hits from the 1970s that they bought in gas stations on the way home from the city, 4 hours away. Sum 41‘s pop-punk album had such an energy that I just couldn’t help but listen to it on repeat, over and over. I can’t tell you how many times I walked to and from school blaring All Killer No Filler in my Sony Walkman. This eventually got replaced with Chuck, which I liked even more. Growing up and changing through-out the years, Sum41
Enough about me. Walking Disaster: My Life Through Heaven and Hell is Sum 41’s frontman, Deryck Whibley’s memoir. Released in October 2024, half a year after their final (double) album, Heaven :x: Hell, and as they’re halfway through their goodbye tour, this book offers a unique insight to the band’s origins, group dynamics, and his own struggles.
Deryck begins at the beginning. His earliest memories, where he and his teenage mom moved from apartment to apartment 19 times before he turned 7. The small semblances of stability that showed up turn out to be fleeting, as the man he thought was his father moved out without a word. He talks about school bullies, being a punk in a prep/jock school, and meeting his bandmates, and how meeing Greig Nori propelled him and his band into the rock and roll party world.
Personally, I’m about as un-punk as someone can get. I’m a conformist, my high sense of duty doesn’t let me break rules, but I found myself relating to Deryck’s story. I also grew up with a single mother, bullied in school, and got into my own small number of fights. Our paths diverged when he picked up his guitar, and when he started taking drugs from Greig Nori. Sum 41’s first tour had a $0 budget for gas, they just filled up at stations and peeled away. There mere thought of doing so makes my skin crawl.
Deryck doesn’t express remorse for their chaotic punk lifestyle in their late teens and early 20’s. The trashed hotel rooms, the destruction they wrought, was their right. No words are spared for the souls who have to clean up after them, the people who have to clean up after their debauchery. Instead, a lot of the book reads as a factual retelling of the events of his life. “This happened, then this happened. So and So from such and such bands were there”. He doesn’t try to pass their actions off as anything other than, what they actually did. It doesn’t revel in the glamour, it’s just what happened.
For anyone who has been tangentially aware of Sum 41 over the last 20 years, you’d probably be aware of Their abruptly cancelled shows, Deryck’s back injuries, and his brush with death via kidney and liver failure in 2014. He talks about his herniated disk that he self-medicated with Advil and liquor for years, but doesn’t spend any time on digging into the roots of his addictions. We can all draw our on conclusions, such as a psychologically abusive manager, and being thrust into a gruelling tour lifestyle away from any semblance of supports at such a young age. He talks about his fling with Paris and how the band reacted, his marriage with Avril and how the band reacted, their divorce and how the band reacted, you may get the picture. Several of the people in the book get painted with a harsh brush, such as Deryck’s perspective of Stevo only caring about Deryck as long as the paycheques kept coming. And it’s important to remember that this is all Deryck’s perspective. He doesn’t dwell how his circumstances affected his bandmates, but plenty of ink is spent on how his bandmates reacted.
It’s fascinating how Deryck lays out the grooming and abusive behaviours of Greig Nori, but repeats several times throughout the book that he didn’t feel like a victim. He wanted to be a part of the rock and roll circus, that he wanted to be around Greig, but just as friends. How everyone who he divulged his story to blatantly told him, “What the fuck? That’s abuse!” and he replies with a “no, no. It’s more complicated than that.” My heart bleeds for the kid who snuck backstage to meet his idols, and was rewarded with a decade of pain.
As a book, the writing didn’t grab or engage me, but it does feel honest and raw. As I said above, the book reads like a list of facts, not much time spent embellishing his inner monologue beyond a “What the fuck!?”. The audiobook represents a dual edged problem. On one hand, Deryck is not a talented audiobook narrator, it sounds like he’s reading words, not telling a story. But there is power in his story being told in his words with his voice. And a few moments throughout the book we’re treated to piano renditions of some of his best lyrics, which were delightful treats and reminds you why you are a Sum 41 fan. I find myself very curious to find some of the other band members responses to Deryck’s book, as some of their protrayls come across as less than stellar. But I also hope that I never find them. I wish nothing but peace and happiness for Deryck as he enters the next chapter of life, I don’t want him to be dragged down by a myriad of interpersonal drama.
I loved reading Deryck’s story, but I don’t think it will be a terribly engaging read if you’re not a Sum 41 fan, or don’t recognize the deluge of names Deryck lists off. As a Sum 41 fan, I loved reading Walking Disaster: My Life Through Heaven and Hell. It feels honest and unfiltered. A behind the scenes recap of the whirlwind that produced so much amazing music. Since reading it, I’ve been playing my favourite albums on repeat (Chuck, Underclass Hero, Screaming Bloody Murder) and have even spent more time listening to the albums that I was originally not a very big fan of (Half hour of Power, Order in Decline, 13 Voices), and have started to really enjoy them as well. If you’re like me, a Canadian kid who grew up listening to these guys rocking out, Walking Disaster: My Life Through Heaven and Hell is a must-read.
