When a game is based on something as beloved and deeply entrenched in cultural mythology as The Lord of the Rings, expectations are inevitably high. Even if the game doesn't aspire to capture the epic scope of Tolkien’s work, there’s a baseline assumption that it will at least respect the world it's borrowing from, and bring something novel or comforting to the table. Tales of the Shire, developed by Wētā Workshop, had all the hallmarks of a promising endeavor. It aimed to merge the cozy, slice-of-life mechanics of a life simulator with the idyllic, nostalgia-drenched environment of Hobbiton. When first previewed in 2024, it gave the impression of a warm, pastoral retreat that would charm players with its simplicity and heart. Now, in its full release, the game stumbles, and not in the endearing way a hobbit might trip over an oversized mushroom—more in the way a cart loses its wheel and careens into a ditch.
The first impression of Tales of the Shire is one of restraint. It doesn’t try to blow you away with visual spectacle or bombard you with lore-heavy exposition. It drops you quietly into a slower, gentler world. The setup is simple: you're a hobbit moving from Bree to Bywater to start a new life. There's a nod to Gandalf—thinly veiled, perhaps legally so—in the bearded wizard who gives you a lift, and your adventure begins. This choice of a soft beginning is on-brand for the tone of the game. Unfortunately, it also sets the stage for what becomes a lethargic and ultimately hollow experience.
Character creation is often a player’s first emotional handshake with a game. Tales of the Shire does an acceptable job here, allowing you to fashion a convincingly hobbit-like avatar. It avoids the pitfall of over-complication, offering enough flexibility to personalize your character without drowning in sliders and minutiae. My own hobbit, Jessamine, was charmingly round and rustic, and in those opening moments, I felt a flicker of excitement. That flicker, however, would not ignite into flame.
Tales of the Shire banks heavily on the appeal of hobbit domesticity. This is a smart choice in theory—after all, Tolkien fans and cozy game lovers alike often romanticize the peaceful life of the Shire. The problem lies in the execution. The core gameplay loop revolves around collecting ingredients, cooking meals, and bonding with townsfolk over shared food. Gathering materials through foraging, gardening, fishing, and trading sounds relaxing on paper, and it can be, briefly. The issue isn’t that these activities are simple—that’s part of their appeal in the genre—but rather that they lack depth, nuance, and progression. Fishing is mildly engaging but doesn’t evolve. Gardening feels disconnected and unsatisfying. Cooking is perhaps the one mechanic that tries something interesting, asking you to align flavor and texture on an axis, which provides a novel twist. Even then, it wears thin as repetition sets in quickly.
The game’s quests, which ostensibly should provide structure and motivation, fall into the all-too-familiar trap of fetch quests that lack any creativity or urgency. Rather than feeling like part of a living, breathing world, they feel like chores. Worse still, these tasks often serve no purpose beyond extending playtime or pushing the player toward already-familiar mechanics. This failure of quest design is emblematic of the broader issue with Tales of the Shire: it doesn’t trust the player to find joy in small things, nor does it provide the scaffolding necessary to support bigger ones. The narrative arc is limp, with no real stakes, surprises, or emotional anchors. While that might seem appropriate in a game designed to emulate a simple life, the lack of any meaningful progression or character development leaves the player feeling aimless.
This is further exacerbated by the game's characters. In life sims, relationships are often the heartbeat of the experience. Whether you're wooing a potential partner or simply becoming the local hero through generosity and empathy, your connections with NPCs are vital. In Tales of the Shire, the townsfolk are not unlikable, but they’re profoundly forgettable. There’s an obvious attempt to give each of the 15 interactable characters some personality, but their limited dialogue, absence of voice acting, and lack of dynamic responses to your actions make them feel like cardboard cutouts. The town of Bywater is meant to be a cozy community, but instead it feels like a sparsely populated stage play where the actors have forgotten most of their lines. You can’t gift items, you can’t flirt, you can’t really do much besides invite people to dinner and hope they like your stew. Interactions lack consequence and feedback, which means there’s little incentive to care about the characters at all.
Worse still, there is an overall audio-visual void that defines the experience. The world of Bywater, while theoretically charming, looks muddy and dated. On the Nintendo Switch, it performs terribly, with constant crashes, graphical clipping, and moments of sheer unplayability. Black screens interrupt conversations, models flicker or fail to load, and on more than one occasion, the game had to be rebooted entirely. When transitioned to the Steam Deck, some of these issues improved, but not significantly. For a game built on ambiance and mood, these constant technical hiccups are immersion-breaking and frustrating. The art direction might have intended to mimic a rustic, handmade aesthetic, but what comes across is a cheap, unfinished look. Add to this the absence of voice acting and minimal music—both of which could have infused the game with needed warmth—and you're left with an experience that feels eerily silent and empty. Even small details like the sound of a bubbling brook or birds in the trees are either entirely missing or barely audible, reducing the sensory richness that is typically the hallmark of a cozy sim.
Bywater itself is a decent-sized map, but the feeling of lifelessness permeates even its geography. Much of it is occupied by non-interactive NPCs, static buildings, and terrain that serves no gameplay function. Exploration feels more like wandering through a diorama than immersing yourself in a living village. The passage of seasons offers some visual change, but little mechanical impact. Weather doesn't influence your activities, characters don't behave differently in different conditions, and there’s no sense that the village changes or evolves over time. It’s like walking through a museum exhibit rather than living in a vibrant world.
One of the biggest missed opportunities lies in the game's rejection of progression systems. Many cozy games, from Stardew Valley to Spiritfarer, balance their peaceful tone with goal-oriented gameplay. This structure is what keeps players engaged. Tales of the Shire seems to intentionally eschew this in an attempt to lean into the hobbit philosophy of taking life slowly. That would be fine if the game had other ways of encouraging continued play, such as rich storytelling, evolving character arcs, or delightful surprises. Instead, it becomes a sandbox with no toys. The argument that the lack of optimization or progress is thematically consistent with hobbits is interesting on paper, but it doesn’t translate into fun gameplay. In practice, it results in boredom. There’s nothing inherently uncozy about goals, especially when they’re aligned with community building or personal growth. Tales of the Shire offers neither in any satisfying capacity.
Even decorating your home—a staple of cozy gaming—is underwhelming. While you can personalize your hobbit hole, the process is bare-bones. Placement is overly simplistic, customization options are limited, and there's little reward or recognition for your efforts. Still, it ends up being one of the few consistently enjoyable parts of the game simply because it's one of the only things that feels fully in your control. When the rest of the game feels like it’s slipping through your fingers, rearranging a kitchen table can weirdly feel like a triumph.
What makes Tales of the Shire particularly frustrating is how much potential it squanders. It has a brilliant foundational concept: combine the whimsical peace of the Shire with the mechanical satisfaction of a life sim. It even gestures toward themes that could have been compelling—earning your place in a new community, honoring simplicity in a world obsessed with progress, and connecting with others through the timeless ritual of sharing a meal. But none of these ideas are developed with enough care or consistency. They’re presented, and then left to rot.
The disappointment is compounded by how long this game has seemingly been in gestation. A delay that seemed like a responsible decision now looks like a missed opportunity to truly polish the product. Instead of refining its gameplay, improving its visuals, deepening its characters, or expanding its world, Tales of the Shire feels like it has simply stalled out. It is less a game than a proof of concept—one that should still be in beta.
For fans of Tolkien, there’s a heartbreaking sense of betrayal in how little the game does with its source material. Yes, there are names and places that will be familiar. Yes, there’s a general hobbit sensibility in how things are framed. But the richness, the poetry, the spark of life that defines the Shire in books and on screen is absent. There’s no poetry, no music, no fireworks, no mischief, no joy. Just an undercooked stew of good intentions and poor execution.
In a crowded field of cozy sims—where players can farm, fish, cook, and bond in games that are prettier, deeper, more meaningful, and more reliable—Tales of the Shire doesn’t hold its own. It doesn’t have to be a Stardew killer or a genre-redefining masterpiece, but it does have to be engaging and functional. Right now, it’s neither.
Perhaps future patches will address the technical flaws. Perhaps a re-release or definitive edition will find ways to deepen the experience. But as it stands, Tales of the Shire is a disappointment—a frustratingly lifeless journey through a world that should be brimming with joy. If the developers ever do manage to return to this concept, there’s a wealth of potential here waiting to be uncovered. For now, though, this hobbit's tale is better left untold.