And another thing! "Real connections with people" on its own is a bit of a stretch for Stardew Valley. Granted, more has been invested in character development for this game than for titles like, say, Animal Crossing, but not by a significant margin. Some of the townsfolk are at least more than the sum of their favourite items, and this does provide some interest. We get to witness growth in characters like Haley and Alex, see Shane struggle with alcoholism and depression, while Kent continues to fight battles he thought he'd left behind in the Gotoro Empire. I can't help but feel a lot of these journeys are beginnings without ends, or just surface-level acknowledgement of some very complex issues. Take Shane. If the player is willing to push through his gruff exterior into the sensitive soul underneath, we will join him in some incredibly dire times. And while I think it's great that the game confronts things as heavy as suicide in its narrative, much like the ecology, there are no real repercussions for anything. After staring into his own personal abyss and being pulled away by the player at the eleventh hour, Shane swears off beer for soda water. But we will still find him in the Saloon every night, and will still be heartily thanked for sharing a beer. Despite experiencing firsthand just how destructive its inclusion in his life can be, beer remains one of Shane's favourite things. A kind player may restrict gifts from that point to pizza or pepper poppers, but there is no need. A mug of malty brew will be happily accepted, no mention of any advice Harvey's therapist friend may have shared. In fact, no further mention of this person, at all, by anybody. So we see development, again, in the text only. Shane could swap beer for, say, ginger ale as a loved gift, but no. It is merely enough to say he has improved, then move on. And this seems to be the case throughout. We learn that Mayor Lewis and Marnie are having a secret relationship, but at every Flower Dance, we will still have to alternately listen to Marnie bemoan being 'single' (while Marlon admires her just a few feet away) or feeling giddy over the mayor asking her for a dance we will never see them perform. Clint finally works up the courage to ask Emily out, they have a good time, then... nothing. Just nothing, except wondering why Emily would help him with his snowman every second year at the Festival of Ice. Elliott's book, Leah's art: released into the world, then shelved and forgotten. In your second year, Abigail wonders if she is too old for the egg hunt, but will still wonder if you talk to her at the Egg Festival two centuries later. I would call the conflict between her immaturity and her desire to experience the wider world a running theme, but it scarcely begins crawling and never advances from there. Your children, at least, will grow past this stage, but they too then become fixed in time. Perpetual toddlers who come to love you in the same way a dog or cow or duck does. No, scratch that: the dog will be pleased if it is given a full water bowl, and the cows and ducks appreciate a steady supply of hay or grass, but once your children have left the crib, they are content with a pat on the head once per day. No need for food or drink or gifts of any kind, even on the Feast of the Winter Star. Never a diaper requires changing, nor are there even any toilets for which to be trained. These tots are less demanding than a Tamagotchi ever was, but just as much of a cute accessory. There are no "real connections" with any of these characters. Jam some fruit in their faces a couple times a week, and you will gain the everlasting love of the whole community without so much as a "how do you do?" before the second year is over, even if they catch you rummaging through their trash a few times. Okay, I'll admit I'm asking a lot here. A game designer, even one as thorough and committed as Eric Barone, can only write so many bits of dialogue. But could Shane at least stop going to the Saloon and start refusing beer after his alcoholism nearly kills him? Could my kids at least develop their own likes and dislikes, and let me give them some token of my affection on a holiday where everyone else is getting presents all around them? And, for crying out loud, could Marnie at least finally have the love she so rightly deserves, freely and openly given? Is that too much to ask?