Paradox Interactive? Here’s a bloody paradox for you! I love the idea of grand strategy games, perhaps more than I can possibly convey. I’ve spent countless hours poring over screenshots of Europa Universalis 4, Crusader Kings 3, and Victoria 3, mesmerised by those evocative maps and enigmatic numbers. Where some might see drab undulations and a spreadsheet UI, I see tantalising potential; the chance to bend history to my whims with an iron fist, a clean codpiece, and twinkle in my eye. And yet – and yet – when it comes to actually playing the things, no matter how determined my resolve, I’m pretty much guaranteed to nod off within ten minutes of starting the tutorial.
And I’m not even exaggerating. Take Crusader Kings 3, for instance; the idea of Game of Thrones-ing my way across the Middle Ages – waging bloody wars, flirting with farmhands, and wooing political rivals on my way to cult-like adoration and a court of illegitimate offspring – sounds like a hoot! Becoming a Machiavellian cog in the clanking, smoke-belching political machine of the Victorian era – perhaps manipulating the masses into giving up their workers rights for my own monetary gain – sounds like a riot. And I got so excited about Europa Universalis 4 a few years back, I went £60 all-in on a decade’s worth of DLC simply because it sounded neat.
But then game time – doesn’t matter which – and it all goes wrong. I pick a nation and, propelled on a wave of pure enthusiasm, prepare for some learning. Paradox, I should note, has got pretty good at imparting knowledge over its last few grand strategy games, talking through the fundamentals – and the fundamentals of the fundamentals if you really want to go deep – with expansive tutorials and countless nested tooltips. But soon enough, the sheer concentrated mass of terminology – the vassals and lieges and levies and taxes, not to mention the complex interactions between them all – begins to overwhelm; the labyrinthine UI of tiny boxes and mysterious numbers blurs into an impenetrable mass, and my determined concentration falters to glassy eyed stare. And as the inevitably lovely soundtrack parps and flutters onward, a drowsy fog consumes all.
This, to be clear, is not a slight on any of these games; I’m very well aware it’s a personal failing – a lethal combination of limited knowledge and an ageing attention span – but it’s also one I’d love to overcome. I’ve got a friend who adores Crusader Kings 3, and all I can do whenever he sends me intermittent updates on his conquests and crusades is nod enthusiastically, quietly jealous it’s all passing me by. I have tried – oh how I’ve tried! – watching hours upon hours of pleasant YouTube people patiently explaining the intricacies of Paradox’s games in ways that make sense in the moment, inflaming my enthusiasm anew. But when it comes time to put it all into practice, I’m snoozing again. Curiously, the one exception to this is Stellaris, and I couldn’t explain why. Maybe I’m just so basic I can’t properly concentrate without a funny robot voice and a spaceship to see me through, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready to throw in the towel.
Which explains how I’ve this week found myself staring at Paradox’s Europa Universalis 5, the latest in a series plugging the grand strategy gap between the late Middle Ages and early modern period. It promises a potent mix of politics, economics, and expansion that, yet again, I find conceptually thrilling. And as I boot it up, it sounds out a musical note – as if speaking to me directly – so startlingly bombastic, I don’t think I’ve been this awake in years. Buoyed on, I delve into its tutorial, whizzing through the control basics, and there before me lies the kingdom – my kingdom – of Naples, in all its Italian greenery.
But like most Paradox grand strategy games, Europa Universalis 5’s idea of a tutorial is to endlessly tell instead of show. First, I’m taught about countries (I’m not playing as a character but the Spirit of the Nation!), then it’s onto governments, primary cultures, armies, navies, and religion. So far so good; but as another nested tooltip coughs up a list of country subcategories – settled, extraterritorial, army based, or a pop society – I can already feel my brain beginning to swell. And I’m still only on the first tutorial screen! Another page in, rolling over ‘ruler’ plunges me down a rabbit hole of government types – monarchy, republic, theocracy, steppe horde, tribe – and just a paragraph down from that I’m bombarded with concepts like administrative ability, military ability, diplomatic ability, cabinets, succession law, and regents.
Two clicks later and we’re onto estates, which come with their own power levels, satisfaction levels, opinions about other countries, and privileges. And still it goes on! Taxes, levies, and locations, the latter being a small unit of land defined by topography, vegetation, and climate. And yes, I can hover over each of those for further tooltips too. There’s talk of rural locations and urbanisation, of buildings, and employment, ownership, and control. I’m exhilarated! I genuinely cannot wait to put this into practice! And yet I’m already glazing over. By the time I’m introduced to the eight-tab economy panel and its multitude of subdivisions – balance! Markets! Trading! Taxation! Maintenance! – my spirit is overwhelmed and my soul is leaving my body. I try to centre myself by staring at the map and admiring some sheep (actually salt deposits, it turns out), but then along comes my arch nemesis, casus belli, and I am gone.
So hear my plea grand strategy fans, tell me your secrets! I have the will and want, now please show me the way.
