Emily Short is an award-winning game designer and author. She makes beautiful games with strong narratives and a dedicated attention to the mechanics of language; she works to develop thoroughly interactive, open-ended conversations in natural and humanistic ways. Her work in games has received the attention of numerous luminaries within the gaming business, and she’s spoken at PAX, GDC, and other conferences and events. One of her best-known works is “Galatea,” a one-room work of interactive fiction in which the player character converses with an NPC in the form of the classical character of Galatea. There are numerous endings and no obvious single “winning” finish — it’s open-ended and the degree to which the player can win is open to interpretation.

So here’s why I admire her:

1) Emily worked as an independent game designer for decades on a hobbyist basis (inasmuch as anything could be a hobby when it’s such a passion) before she started to make a living in the industry. Her career is a testament to the power of really hard work and networking; she seems to have a natural drive which I can only (and rather pitifully) describe as an intense and enduring interest. By this I mean that she is curious and analytical; she researches constantly and she is always working to find the best solutions to the problems she faces in merging the processes of computers and the dynamics of story-writing in ways that are immersive and creative.
2) In an industry that is not only male-dominated at the professional level but also male-centric in its approach to game content (cf. anything barely-worn by any woman in just about any game, ever; the fairly limited options for female POV characters, even in RPGs; the over-sexualized dynamics presented in game narratives), Emily writes female characters who are cool, competent, and vital. Her characters — both player characters and NPCs — have personality and agency; they’re not just objects, they’re people.
3) Her work does not aggressively strive to inject a feminist agenda into the industry. That’s really not her main focus: her interests lie more in narrative and language, and in playing with it. She takes joy in vagaries, double-meanings, subtext, conversation dynamics — even in spelling and puns. Her recently-released “Counterfeit Monkey” has a game mechanic that works on the Thurber-esque premise that things can be materially changed by changing the letters in their names. Her current work with Linden Labs, “Versu,” allows the player to take part in mannered conversation and narrative by underlaying the reactions and speech of NPCs with intricately woven dynamics related to narrative and story development, subtle (and not-so-subtle) shifts in mood, and a lot else that takes place behind the scenes to create a constant flow of activity that shifts, either subtly or dramatically, from one game to the next.

In the now-well-established and big-money industry of video and computer gaming, it can be astoundingly difficult to find works which really go against the tide and create something new. Games that are intellectually challenging at any level are rarer still. Emily’s games somehow manage to do these things while remaining fun and alluring — and constantly breaking new ground that keeps getting her noticed by the industry.

Artemisia Gentileschi was an Italian painter in the 1600s, daughter of the (also pretty cool) paint Orazio Gentileschi. Artemisia grew up learning to paint in her father’s shop; he, in turn, had a collaborator of his, a painter named Agostino Tassi, tutor Artemisia in painting. Tassi took advantage of his position and raped the then-18-year-old Artemisia; following this, she continued to have relations with him due to his assurance that they would be married. He changed his mind, however, and, Orazio pressed rape charges against him. During the trial, Artemisia was subjected to torture and threats, and although Tassi was found guilty of this and other crimes — including other rapes, and the probable murder of his own wife, who was missing — he was sentenced to only a year of imprisonment… and never served it.

So, that sucks, and is a snapshot of the massively sexist and totally effed-up attitudes of the time. But what’s so cool about Artemisia herself?

1) She didn’t let the trauma of the rape and publicized trial stop her from achieving her goals. She was also respected in her own time; her paintings were considered exceptional examples, and not just because she was a woman. She was the first woman ever accepted to the Florentine Academy of the Arts, and went on to a long and fruitful painting career. She corresponded with Galileo. She was a friend of the Buonarroti family. She was favored by Charles I, and spent time as his court painter. She traveled, she studied, she married, she mothered, and she painted until the end of her life.
2) In a time when the female form was becoming quickly idealized, Artemisia’s work shows women who are burly, brutal, and unusually natural. Their breasts are subject to gravity, as actual breasts usually are. Their faces are expressive. The women she depicts have agency: they are not only not objects within the context of their own paintings, but they are not objectified for the viewer, either. Probably her most famous work depicts the Biblical story of Judith beheading Holofernes: in Artemisia’s depiction, blood sprays from Holofernes’ throat towards Judith’s face, and down onto the bed where he is lying, drunk. Judith’s face is not timid or reserved: she grimaces with disgust and resolve. The story behind it — of Judith’s seduction and assassination of Holofernes — could be understood as an allegorical assertion of the existence and danger of female power in the realms of both sex and violence. For contrast, here is another depiction of Judith and Holofernes from the same time, by another female painter, Fede Galizia. The work — while totally beautiful — is very staid; Judith’s expression is blank, and the natural brutality of the story seems to be treated with a vague embarrassment. The act has already been done, and Judith’s knife is mirror-clean. She is posed in a stance of inactivity, adorned, and seemingly awaiting recognition, with nary a drop of blood on her bodice. (It’s possible, I suppose, and I can’t claim to have personal experience of it yet, but isn’t beheading someone usually a fairly bloody prospect…?)
3) Even ignoring the implications of Artemisia’s depiction of women, her work is just cool. It’s the kind of stuff I love: romantic, and classical, generally narrative in nature, with a real mastery of color and light, much of which was drawn from Caravaggio, and some of which was uniquely hers. But she had mastered many techniques that were being tackled by various artists at the time — foreshortening, chiaroscuro, and the use of narrative, and allegory. Still, the most compelling aspect for me is the natural emotion conveyed by her works — even when that emotion is a little silly.

Aung San Suu Kyi is a Burmese political figure. She is the daughter of Aung San, the man responsible for negotiating Burma’s independence from the British Empire in the 1940s. Suu Kyi travelled for education and work to the US, England, India, and other places abroad. She married in 1971, and was widowed 28 years later, her relationship marred by the military junta’s denial of a visa for her husband. In 1990, they allowed an election process with the result that the Burmese expressed support of a democratic government; under this circumstance, Suu Kyi might have become an elected official of the Burmese government. They proceeded to ignore these results, and placed Suu Kyi under house arrest in Burma. While under house arrest, she was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize; she used the monetary prize to establish a health and education trust for the Burmese. She became an outspoken proponent of nonviolence in politics, which is not necessarily weird for a Buddhist to do, but still admirable to see from someone who was herself the target of violence, threats, arrest, and attacks. During her house arrest — which lasted (with a few breaks) over 20 years — Suu Kyi was subject to dedicated persecution from the government; among other things, she was sentenced to three years of imprisonment with hard labor because an intruder in her home had caused her to violate her house arrest. This sentence was commuted in a show of faux generosity to allow her to continue her house arrest. The timing of her updated release date from house arrest was not without its suspicious aspects: it was set to be six days after the controversial general election (the first in 20 years), effectively keeping her from running. She was released in November 2010, and, after navigating health problems and political campaigning, was elected to the Burmese parliament in 2012.

Obviously, being put under house arrest (even by a military dictatorship) may be notable, but it isn’t particularly heroic. So here’s why I think Aung San Suu Kyi is so amazing:

1) She speaks eloquently and carefully. Her speeches are beautiful pleas for peace, negotiation, and contain a running theme of injecting personal courage and individual strength into the political process in a way that encourages higher standards of discourse and conflict resolution. In her address at the NGO Forum on Women in Beijing, she wrote:

“For millennia women have dedicated themselves almost exclusively to the task of nurturing, protecting and caring for the young and the old, striving for the conditions of peace that favour life as a whole. To this can be added the fact that, to the best of my knowledge, no war was ever started by women. But it is women and children who have always suffered most in situations of conflict. Now that we are gaining control of the primary historical role imposed on us of sustaining life in the context of the home and family, it is time to apply in the arena of the world the wisdom and experience thus gained in activities of peace over so many thousands of years. The education and empowerment of women throughout the world cannot fail to result in a more caring, tolerant, just and peaceful life for all.”

2) Despite being placed under house arrest for 20 years, the assassination of her father, the government’s denial of a visa to her husband, violent attacks, and legal persecution, Aung San Suu Kyi loves her homeland. She loves it so much that, when the government essentially told her that, while her husband couldn’t enter Burma, she would be allowed to leave Burma to see him, she refused, because she was afraid that she would not be allowed back into the country. She loves it so much that she established a $1.3 million trust to safeguard the health and education of its people even though she was not allowed to leave her home at the time. She loves it so much that despite suffering a lifetime of abuse and persecution, she continues to dedicate her time and energies to the growth of democracy, freedom, and justice in Burma. It’s an extraordinary story of patriotism. Patriotism does not mean that you will not criticize your country’s government, citizens, or military or religious leaders. It does not mean nationalism, or the assertion of supremacy over other nations. It does not mean obedience or silence. Nor, on the other hand, does it necessitate revolution or violence. Patriotism is simply the love of one’s homeland; in Suu Kyi’s case, this is admirably manifested as a genuine concern for the well-being of the Burmese, and the hope of peace both domestically and internationally.