In my childhood, I was taught to read early, and one of the first tools for this was picture books. I was lucky to have at least three of these—thanks to my parents—and this format left a lifelong impression. Vivid, expressive illustrations paired with just a sprinkle of text. Sometimes, the pictures sprawled across a full spread, but more often took up a single page. A visual feast.

The Plucky Squire feels like one of these books turned into a game: you walk through the pages of a story, flipping them as you go, and sometimes even “read” the book in a vertical orientation. It’s a whimsical tale belonging to a boy, set in his very room.

But the medium of video games allows for much more freedom than print, and the developers pushed their creativity to the limit:

• The protagonist jumps out of the book into a 3D world and back again.
• He interacts with the book: flipping pages, rearranging words, stamping designs—all of which alter the book and help solve puzzles.
• At one point, the game seamlessly blends 2D and 3D action: you run across a table, dive into a drawing on a mug for a mini-game, and then jump back into the 3D world, briefly interacting with scraps of paper or hanging flags.

The creativity is off the charts. The story is heartwarming and, in its own way, intricately crafted—without resorting to blood, guts, or shock value. If I were a kid, I’d be absolutely obsessed with The Plucky Squire. If I had a kid, I’d play it together with them because it’s not just a game—it’s also about storytelling. Even playing alone, I was enthralled.

Writing something seemingly for children that still fascinates adults—that’s talent. Layering an otherwise simple gameplay loop with this much creativity and variety—that’s talent. Pulling all this off in a debut game? That’s straight-up wizardry.

I recommend this to everyone, young or old. This is the kind of game that… —let me rephrase one singer’s words:

“With words lighter than lead, a mighty shot to the chest,
It shattered the infinity of monotony.”

The Plucky Squire is an ode to video games. A panegyric. A reminder that good games are thrilling, clever, touching, wildly engaging, and deeply technological.