Minecraft: The Unlikely Tale of Markus "Notch" Persson and the Game that Changed Everything (11 page)

Lydia has always wanted to be a celebrity. As a child, she dreamed of becoming a singer or an actor. Growing up, she harbored ambitions of becoming a renowned photographer. Instead it was, more or less by chance, a peculiar game developed in Sweden that made her famous. In the autumn of 2010, Lydia’s doctor informed her that she had an increased risk of developing breast cancer. She decided to start fund-raising for cancer research and started a campaign called “f/stop breast cancer,” after the word for the aperture setting on a camera lens. The intention was for photographers to auction off mentorships and course time and donate the proceedings to research. To drum up interest, Lydia recorded her own video addressing the photographers she admired in which she talked about her plan and asked them to join the campaign. She also created a challenge: if she could raise at least $10,000, she would shave off her hair in front of the camera.

“F/stop breast cancer” became a talking point in the photography world. When it came time to tally the funds, Lydia found that she had raised more than $20,000. The YouTube clip where Lydia shaves off her hair has been viewed, as this book is being written, more than 90,000 times.

“I realized that things I did with video just worked,” she says.

The breast cancer campaign taught Lydia the basics of how you attract attention on the Internet: be real, and find a gimmick. It also gave her an appetite for more of life as an Internet celebrity. If a film where she shaves off her hair could get so much attention, she thought, maybe she could turn it into a career? She decided to start her own YouTube channel. The only question was what the clips would be about. Lydia thought long and hard before some friends suggested
Minecraft
. It was a game she barely knew of, but that, according to what she had heard, was undoubtedly the next big thing on the web.

Two things made Lydia unique in the world she now entered: she is a woman, which is still relatively rare among gaming enthusiasts on YouTube; and she had never played
Minecraft
before. Her first films would be about how she took her first, shaky steps in the game. While others uploaded films of their most daring breakneck accomplishments and impressive buildings, she made entertainment out of her lack of experience. Her hair hadn’t grown back out after the fund-raising campaign, and she’d bought a shocking-pink wig that she always put on before she turned on the camera. It swiftly became synonymous with the brand name Minecraftchick.

For Minecraftchick is just that: a brand name. Lydia didn’t start playing
Minecraft
because she thought the game was fun. Rather, she understood the power and potential of connecting her name early on with a phenomenon that was exploding into popularity.

“I’ve always liked attention. Deep down, I believe, most people are like that. Having people read what I write and watch my films is a real kick,” she says.

She had her first contact with Mojang just before the Swedes went to the E3 Expo. Lydia had contacted Carl, introduced herself, and asked if there was anything she could do to help. Most of all, she was trying to get a filmed interview with Markus. A chat with Notch would be a real scoop in the
Minecraft
world, and if she succeeded, her viewer ratings on YouTube would most likely skyrocket. The release with Sony Ericsson meant that Mojang needed all the help they could get, and Carl asked if she could stand in their shared booth. She would rave about how fantastically well
Minecraft
worked on the Swedish-Japanese cell phones.

When she arrived, Lydia noticed with disappointment that Markus didn’t even seem to know who she was. He was surrounded by so many people that it felt hopeless to ask for an interview. But Carl saw her natural demeanor when speaking to people and offered her a job on the spot, on the condition that she would move to Stockholm.

“Only companies that don’t have a community hire a community manager,” said Carl, when asked about the job. So, Lydia was given the title Director of Fun. Even so, her job essentially entails taking care of the community that has grown around
Minecraft
. She was given the tasks of speaking with players on social media, organizing events, and being the company’s public face.

No one who has seen Lydia speak in public can question her suitability for the job, but maybe her position at Mojang is also somewhat symptomatic. She was recruited because Markus, Jakob, Jens, and Carl don’t have time to do what they themselves actually described as one of their most important jobs.

Jeff Bezos, the man who founded Amazon.com and one of the Internet business community’s most influential people, has coined the expression “two-pizza team.” That’s a measure of how large a company that lives on creativity and new ideas should allow itself to become. If a project group needs more than two pizzas to feed it, meaning between five and seven people, then it’s too large, says Bezos. In a larger team, creativity and flow of ideas are limited and replaced with bickering and internal politics.

During the spring of 2012, Mojang hired its sixteenth employee.

As the millions rolled in and the number of
Minecraft
players grew that winter, these issues increasingly consumed Markus, Carl, and Jakob’s time. How do you become a big company without becoming a big company?

There wasn’t much in the numbers that was cause for worry, though. Mojang’s revenue kept growing at an astonishing rate. From September 17, 2010, when the company was founded, to December 31, 2011, Mojang brought in a total of $78,722,300. Not too shabby, but for competitors and investors keeping an eye on Mojang, it was the company’s profit margin that really impressed. Mojang’s costs for the period were just over $8.7 million, including overhead. The remainder, more than $69 million, was pure profit. Markus’s own company, Notch Development, directly received $60 million of it in license fees.

In the last few years, the whole Internet world has talked about the valuation of the new generation of Internet companies, defined as the sum an investor can reasonably be expected to pay for all the shares in a company. In other words, what the founders would get if they sold their company. The existing climate on the market has meant that Internet companies are often valued at ridiculous amounts of money, mainly based on projected future potential. Which means that even companies that are not particularly profitable can have a high value if investors agree that they are likely to earn big money in the near future. The most well known example is Facebook, which was valued at the dizzying sum of $104 billion when it went public on the NASDAQ. The euphoria was subdued, however, when the newly introduced stock plummeted during the first days of trading. Calamity howlers began to talk about a bubble bursting.

Since Mojang has never taken onboard any investors, it’s difficult to put an exact value for the company. But looking at other prominent Internet companies gives a good estimate. Zynga was valued at close to $9 billion when it went public. That is twenty-five times more than the company’s profits, which were just over $285 million at the time. According to investors, a valuation of between twenty and fifty times the profit margin would not be unfeasible with a company such as Mojang. Using that model to calculate its market value if sold, Mojang would have a price tag of between $1.5 and $4 billion.

Carl just shakes his head when numbers like these are mentioned. And perhaps there are more down-to-earth ways to measure how successful
Minecraft
has become than listening to the financial world’s overly optimistic calculations. One way is to take a closer look at who is actually playing
Minecraft
, because the game is now used for much more than just entertainment. The best example of this is found on the other side of the Baltic Sea, deep in Finnish Karelia.

Chapter 13

More than a Game

The small Finnish
town of Joensuu is located more than 200 miles northeast of Helsinki, barely an hour’s drive from the Russian border. Most of the city’s life revolves around the university there, one of Finland’s largest, with more than fifteen thousand students. In the autumn of 2010, Santeri Koivisto was attending a teacher-training program there. He was almost twenty-five years old and had bigger plans for his career than becoming just another teacher in town.

One of his ideas was to combine two of his biggest interests, computer games and education. In academic language, it’s called game-based learning, a relatively new branch of education theory. Koivisto was fascinated by the thought of trying to harness the powerful attraction that computer games have on children and using it in the classroom.

The idea wasn’t original. Many before Koivisto had tried to introduce games into schools to help increase students’ interest. The concept of “edutainment,” a cross between education and entertainment, was coined during the 1980s, when game developers realized that parents preferred to buy their children games that were educational as well as entertaining. In the nineties, boxes full of edutainment titles were sold, featuring popular animated characters that taught spelling, math, and history.

But Koivisto was far from impressed by what he’d seen so far. Messy math games and elementary vocabulary tests had nothing in common with the games that students played in their free time. It hardly felt worth the effort to investigate which of the existing games actually had an educational benefit. They were missing the most important thing of all—they were simply no fun.

In the winter of 2011, Koivisto read an article about
Minecraft
in the Finnish game magazine
Pelit
. He downloaded the game, installed it, and tried it out. Like so many others, he encountered a world where you could swiftly build pretty much anything. Just as typical, he couldn’t put his finger on what the objective was.

But for an aspiring teacher in search of a game to take into the classroom, the lack of a goal and instructions was not disadvantageous. Koivisto saw
Minecraft
’s potential and decided to experiment with the game as a learning tool. He just had to find a class where the kids, parents, and school leadership would approve.

Just a little later, while winter still had Finland in an iron grip, he got a chance to put his ideas into practice. Outside of his studies, Koivisto sometimes worked as a substitute teacher in nearby Kontiolahti. One day, he stood in front of a class of ten-year-olds and asked if any of them had heard of
Minecraft
. Almost every hand flew up. Koivisto remembers in particular that almost as many girls as boys knew of
Minecraft
—something that could not be said of most computer games.

What
Minecraft
could contribute to the classroom experience was less than obvious. Finding something that the students are fond of isn’t difficult, and neither is knowing what they need to learn. A teacher’s challenge is to combine the two, and Koivisto was convinced that games in the classroom would be a way to succeed.

He explains his reasoning when we meet with him during a visit in Stockholm. In short, it’s based on dissatisfaction with how most teachers run their classrooms today. “Most of them believe that students learn whatever the teacher writes on the whiteboard,” he says.

Koivisto disagrees, and with that, he takes a stand in a pivotal question about how effective educational methods actually work. He speaks about the antiquated belief that children’s brains absorb everything they are exposed to.

“Many teachers pile as much information as possible in front of their students and hope it goes in,” he says. Koivisto recommends discussion and experimentation instead, letting students proceed by trial and error until they get results. Children can only learn when their brains are active, such as when they are actively discussing a subject or when they are totally attentive, like they are when trying to succeed in a game. Many would disagree, but it’s clear that
Minecraft
fit very well into Koivisto’s vision of how education should function.

In the classroom, Koivisto watched as the ten-year-olds clicked around, concentrating on the
Minecraft
world that he had built for them. There was still no version of the game designed for teaching, and each lesson had to be improvised using the standard version of the game. In the back of his mind, Koivisto began sketching larger plans.

Around the same time, Joel Levin was walking down West Ninety-Third Street in New York, on his way to work. He was a teacher at Columbia Grammar and Preparatory School in Manhattan, a private school near the city’s most exclusive addresses on Central Park West. He taught computer skills to elementary school kids, and this spring, he wanted to try something new. After the winter break, he usually gave the students a new exercise using tools he found and liked on the Internet. The previous year, it had been Google Earth, and the lesson had been in geography. That wasn’t his main area of expertise, but by letting the pupils learn about how to find countries with the help of the Internet, he made sure they would get their computer skills honed in the process.

Levin had been playing
Minecraft
for a few months, often at home in his apartment in uptown Manhattan, where he lived with his wife and two daughters, one and four years old. His first attempt at the game had gone so-so. He’d connected to an unmoderated game server and found himself in a world full of gigantic penis constructions and smashed castles. You couldn’t even begin building before someone turned up and destroyed what you’d started or swiftly refashioned your creation into an impressive male organ of dirt and stone. It could have been worse, Levin reasoned. At least his kids hadn’t been there to see it.

But he did have them with him later, when he’d found better servers to play on. His four-year-old daughter, Ellie, soon developed her own
Minecraft
habits. She navigated the game herself, but turned it over to dad for more complicated building, which he completed according to her instructions. The monsters were scary, so she asked him to turn them off in “the world game,” as she called
Minecraft
.

One of his daughter’s first solo projects in
Minecraft
was to build a tree house.

“You need to remember that we live in New York City. As long as she lives here, she will probably never build a real one,” says Joel Levin.

The thought of using
Minecraft
in school had taken root in Joel’s mind at the same time that Santeri Koivisto was making his plans in Finland. Levin’s ambitions were initially humble. If nothing else, he thought,
Minecraft
could teach the students to use a mouse and keyboard. The blocky and relatively simple
Minecraft
world would be a suitable first step into a 3-D environment. If they wanted to build more complicated constructions, they would need to get out onto the web and learn more. During the first week, maybe he would give them the task of building their own stone pickaxes.

He brought the game to school on a chilly day early in the spring semester. His intention was to experiment with
Minecraft
for a couple of weeks, to see what it contributed to his classes and if the students learned anything.
Minecraft
remained a component of computer class for the rest of the year. The earliest lessons were no more complicated than giving the children the task of building something according to his instructions. Once they had learned to navigate and complete the simplest kind of building, the task was to go online and find information about how a certain material or tool could be made.

During another class, Levin built a golden pyramid that the kids could only get into if they helped solve a puzzle. Inside the golden pyramid were tiny, pixel-built ancient treasures. The first students to solve the puzzles and get to the treasures of course wanted to pick them up and escape with their loot. But Levin, noticeably proud, recounts the discussion that sprang up in the classroom. If you were to find antique objects in real life, he asked his students, would you just take them? Without having been there, it’s impossible to say if it was really the kids’ own idea, but Joel Levin says that, after some deliberation, his students finally arrived at the decision to build a museum, safeguarding the treasures instead of committing digital grave robbery.

Levin was worried that parents would think he was wasting their children’s time playing unnecessary games in school. He was careful to limit
Minecraft
to being strictly a part of the curriculum, and even wrote a letter to the parents asking them not to buy their own copies of the game for home, at least not yet.
Minecraft
would be something that the kids did during class.

“In the beginning, I needed an excuse to use the game. It’s not that way anymore.”

Back to Karelia. Santeri Koivisto didn’t really know where his experiment would lead, but the school principal had been positive about him trying out the new game in class. In contrast, to his colleagues at the university he was basically a laughing stock. Most of them thought it was a terrible idea, and even his adviser recommended he abandon the project. And yet, his students liked their new tool. The only thing left for Koivisto to do now was convince everyone else. After unveiling his plans at the annual Joensuu science fair, Sci-Fest, a discussion began online about introducing
Minecraft
into the schools. One of those who discovered what was happening in Finland was Joel Levin in New York. Another was Carl Manneh in Stockholm.

Most people who are sure they’ve had a stroke of genius are terribly disappointed when they find out that someone else has already discovered the same thing. That’s exactly what happened to Santeri Koivisto when the teacher at the private school in Manhattan e-mailed him and enthusiastically described what he’d been doing in his own classroom. Once Koivisto’s disappointment over not being unique had passed, the two of them proceeded to talk about the possibilities of collaboration.

They immediately agreed on a few points.
Minecraft
must be adapted to teachers’ classroom needs in order to work well in schools. The world the students scampered around in had to be controllable, the monsters would have to be taken out, and they needed a way for teachers to supervise specific tasks, or else the project would never amount to more than unusually entertaining lessons for those kids who were already devoted gamers. The game needed to be rewritten and that wouldn’t be possible without help from Mojang. This would turn out to be easier than they imagined. Once they got in touch, Carl Manneh immediately jumped onboard, asked them to start planning, and drafted up a reseller license agreement, the first and only one that exists for
Minecraft
. Carl’s only condition was that the new version of
Minecraft
wouldn’t just be about education, because then it wouldn’t be fun.

The
Minecraft
code needed to be chopped up and reconfigured into a version where the teacher could control what happened in the game. Santeri Koivisto convinced Aleksi Postari, an IT student in his twenties, to spend his summer modifying the game. The custom mod he developed was given the academic-sounding name MinecraftEdu. The retail agreement with Mojang gave Koivisto a few euros for each copy sold and he began traveling around to schools, introducing MinecraftEdu to teachers and training those who wanted to try it for themselves. Santeri and Aleksi handled the transactions with their newly founded company, TeacherGaming, and brought on Joel Levin as a partner. At that point, the two Finnish students had never met the teacher from Manhattan in person. TeacherGaming board meetings were held via Skype or on a chat forum. None of them had met Carl either, or anyone else at Mojang.

Initially, Santeri Koivisto had no idea what his experiment with
Minecraft
in schools would lead to. Maybe he could add a couple of conclusions to his thesis or maybe just make a little money, he thought.

“Now I wake up in the morning and I’ve sold fifteen hundred dollars’ worth of licenses. You realize that, yes, it might turn into something big,” he says, and smiles a little awkwardly.

MinecraftEdu was an unusual success among educational games. In just the few first months after starting out, TeacherGaming sold Minecraft to enough schools to reach more than 100,000 students. At first it was just Finnish schools, but now there are teachers in Great Britain, the United States, Australia, and China using the game. By meeting with teachers in Minecraft, Santeri Koivisto and Joel Levin are able to hold courses where they demonstrate the possibilities that the game has to offer.

It isn’t easy to explain why so many teachers have adopted
Minecraft
. The question of whether computer games contribute anything to instruction is even more difficult to answer. For the uninitiated, it sounds strange—playing games is something children do in their free time, isn’t it? Hundreds of teachers the world over disagree, instead finding games a valuable learning tool for their students.

To find an explanation, we need to consider
Minecraft
’s open-ended design, which lets teachers quickly build up the surroundings they need for particular lessons. Some of the first experiments in Finnish schools tried to show how deserts are created when trees are chopped down, a process that isn’t very difficult to simulate in
Minecraft
. Other teachers have experimented with building models of molecules with
Minecraft
blocks. Obviously, the same thing can be achieved using other tools, but if kids feel more at home in
Minecraft
than with plastic models, why not meet them on home ground?

We find a similar example in the shabby, gray concrete giants of the Swedish government’s housing projects in Stockholm’s suburbs. Many of these properties, developed in the sixties and seventies, are now badly in need of renovation. Politicians argue over the best way to finance the task and about how the areas should look when finished. And there’s at least as much squabbling about how the tenants in these areas will be able have their say in the design of their buildings, parks, and streets. Through an initiative of the company Svensk Byggtjänst, property owners in Fisksätra, Nacka, and Södertälje, south of Stockholm, have used
Minecraft
to help them solve these problems. The project was introduced under the name “My neighborhood.” A
Minecraft
server was created, accessible to anyone. With the help of Mojang, Svensk Byggtjänst contacted experienced
Minecraft
builders, who began to construct a typical Swedish mass-produced suburb inside the game. Everything in it is made of the typical
Minecraft
blocks, which makes it easy to hack away pieces and put them somewhere else. Thus, one part of the neighborhood can get a makeover or one building can be torn down and replaced with another.