Sayonara Wild Hearts is simultaneously dreamlike and exhilarating, blending deeply satisfying, high-speed arcade-rhythm gameplay; a brilliant soundtrack that's bursting at the seams with excitement; beautiful, stylish neon art; fluid, emotive animations; and insane camera work that made me feel like I was flying through a movie.

The game is ultimately an exploration of post-breakup grief. Despite being frequently abstract and symbolic, Sayonara Wild Hearts' narrative seamlessly weaves between the game's stunning sights and sounds to push you to feel the deep pain that accompanies heartbreak — but also, the amazing, exhilarating joy of coming out the other side alive and brimming with more love for yourself and others than you thought was possible.

The game does all of this while remaining unusually accessible for those of us who are less skilled. Sayonara Wild Hearts autosaves progress frequently throughout each level, allowing players to replay sections after a hiccup instead of forcing a hard restart. Whenever I'd fail a section a few times, it nonjudgmentally empowered me to skip that section, should I so choose. Through these key design choices and the game's intentionally simple controls, I felt like the developers were encouraging me to to be curious, put faith in my intuition, and take risks.

A powerfully evocative game. I highly recommend it.

The Flame in the Flood is a visually appealing game with gorgeous, mournful music. I really admired its atmospheric tension; the game expertly threads the needle between tentative hope and creeping despair.

However, the extent to which I was forced to micromanage my inventory severely hampered my enjoyment. I understand strict inventory item caps were likely implemented to encourage players to think strategically about what they pick up, but at a certain point inventory management started to swallow the game whole.

The Flame in the Flood also doesn't pause gameplay while you're navigating its menus. This feature in a vacuum isn't a flaw, but it becomes extremely frustrating when combined with a constant need for inventory micromanagement. I died more than once after being attacked by creatures that the inventory menu was blocking me from noticing while I tediously combined item stacks from my backpack with item stacks in my dog companion's inventory.

I think it would have been much better to implement a feature where excessive inventory starts to slows your character (similar to The Long Dark) instead of having strict inventory item caps. This would encourage players to be mindful of what they pick up but in a less frustrating, more immersive manner.

The Mass Effect trilogy is an unforgettable, epic sci-fi roleplaying experience. Imagine playing through the most gripping movie you've ever watched, but one where the poignant characters and masterful worldbuilding are deftly written to cleverly interact with and react to every choice you make. Even seemingly small choices in ME1 affect outcomes in ME2 and ME3, which makes the universe feel real and deeply responsive.

The storytelling and character writing in this series are second to none. Dialogue is tight, real, and frequently hilarious or deeply moving. I've never felt more connected to fictional characters, crying multiple times in ME3 as individual storylines wrapped up and the stakes crept increasingly higher.

ME1 is the least nuanced installment and still shows its age, even with the technical improvements that the Legendary Edition brings. That said, this series is one of the only experiences that I desperately wish I could wipe my brain only to play again — and again, and again, and again.

A roguelite masterpiece made by a tiny team that somehow manages to master the art of doing everything exceedingly well. Hades has high-speed, deeply fun gameplay that encourages both mechanical skill and strategic planning; an engaging, expanding story with unexpected twists; meaningful, progressing relationships with genuinely interesting characters; stunning, bold art; and music that you'll continue to listen to for months after your final run.

Out of my favorite roguelites, I think of Hades as being not only the best, but also the most accessible for players who are strangers to the genre or "bad" at games. This is because Hades' excellent narrative and relationship development are woven in between each run, cushioning the blow of failure. Who has the time to feel bad about dying when it means you get to revisit old friends, experience an expanding storyline, flirt with demigods, poke fun at your dad, and pet Cerberus? Because of this and its tight, addictive core mechanics, Hades is one of very few games I genuinely enjoyed sucking at long enough to, eventually, become genuinely good at.

(As a side note, I'd recommend playing with a keyboard and mouse if you want precision, or a controller if you want speed. I don't think one is clearly "better" than the other.)

This is a gorgeous, rewarding, and brilliantly-written sci-fi RPG with poignant characters and a depth of meaning; I wish there were many more experiences like this one. It's a bit like Disco Elysium (from the lengthy writing to the dice-based gameplay), but much more compact and immediately gripping in a way that Disco Elysium wasn't for me.

Under the grime and sweat of a harsh, capitalistic state, Citizen Sleeper is also ultimately an RPG that dares to be hopeful. It isn't a perfect game, but it is one of the only games I've ever walked away from with hot tears in my eyes, feeling awestruck and grateful to be alive.