If you like Greek history or Greek mythology, you'll also probably like Zeus for awhile. It's a fun lesson about the lifestyle and culture of the Grecian world.

However, if you need a lot of action in the timeslice allotted to your gaming habit, you're probably better off skipping this game. Zeus is the epitome of the whole "take your time, build it right, sit back and wait" simulation world. It's slow, intricate and frustrating, like watching paint dry.

Not that there aren't some good points.

The artwork, documentation and introduction are each done well. The manual is thick at 208 pages, and comprehensive. I didn't find the style to be particularly engaging — it's written as though the Muse Calliope is speaking directly to "the noble and heroic Democrates," which got on my nerves at times. Here's a sample passage: "As Phaeton sped away, Democrates again began thinking how nice it would be to have a drink of wine. He'd even settle for a nice, cool drink of water, but he realized that his city didn't have any Fountains."

Guess wine will have to do.

In fairness, the manual had good graphics and ample navigational aids, and while the index was kind of puny, I got the information I needed. The manual turned out to be my friend. After many long lunches spent poring over the pages, I finally developed a sense of what I was doing wrong. But that was quickly followed by a kind of despair that I would ever build up anything grand.

A hefty section in the manual listed about 90 beta testers. That made me feel pretty safe from annoying bugs. I did notice some severe stuttering from the Gods whenever their voices cut into the gameplay. But other than crashing the game when I placed grape vines too aggressively, that was the worst glitch I found. In fairness, it could be that my Montego sound card needs to be replaced.

The opening movie was awesome, and set up high expectations. The online aids were adequate, but a better interface would intercede when the user is doing dumb things. I wanted rollovers when I was first learning the game, but they don't seem to be used. I also could have used a Greek "boot camp" that actually forced me to learn to solve problems, so that I could quickly lick unemployment or housing challenges. I kept expecting someone to tell me what was wrong with my city, but clicking on each passerby didn't reveal enough information. I finally got the hang of revealing the ills of the town, but by then I was starting to cast covetous glances at an old copy of DuneII. I was reduced to being entertained watching gardeners prune olive trees by this time.

Some of the tutorials were just useless. For example, I got myself all worked up to get some battle scenes going. I'd read that when attacked, if you don't have an army, you'd be reduced to gathering up a mob to throw stones. That reminded me of Seattle during the WTO protests, and I wanted to see it. So I started the military tutorial. But after two hours of building up horse corrals, importing bronze, staffing my armories and placing watchtowers everywhere, I still wasn't attacked. What kind of a tutorial is that? Drop me right into a battle and let me spill some Greek blood!

I found it hard to summon up the courage to launch into one of the detailed, multi-layered scenarios. How anyone could keep a day job if they ever developed a Zeus "jones" is beyond me. Intricacy, thy name is Zeus. Just when I started getting excited about the game, my popularity would plummet, a God would trash half the town or a monster would appear and decimate the population. Maybe in two or three days I'll get that balance back?

The truth was, after so much conditioning in the adrenaline-packed worlds of Command and Conquer, I was speeding around at about three times the necessary velocity. I had to fight the tendency to solve every problem with brute force, for the gameplay is set to a slow and subtle standard. When I found myself down about 500 workers, I created housing for 800, figuring they'd work it out. Then I had food problems. My structures began falling apart, catching fire or succumbing to plague. All hell broke loose.

Naturally, I'd slam down three or four infirmaries near the plague and resume building roads and generally getting further out of control. Finally, rather than start over for the umpteenth time and figure out the pace the designers had in mind, I searched the Web for cheats, which I was able to locate easily. That solved my treasury problems.

It was only after several late nights that I was able to kick back a little and enjoy the touches the creators employed. For example, these are all nice details: When plague breaks out, old geezers wander the city with flies buzzing around their heads; Hunters do a good job of dispatching wild boars to the nether worlds, with much squealing; The olive press has a little tyke swinging on the big wooden pole as it goes up and down; Wrestlers in the gymnasium do a little WWF smackdown, Greek style; and When Gods come to visit, they have a nice glow as they stride through the city. The city hums with activity once it is set up right. The attention to detail is superb. Carts rumble from dairy to storehouse to trading pier or marketplace, while out in the forests the hunters snag pigs. All is harmonious and tranquil: Lumberjacks whack at trees and miners pick away at ore or marble. Birds whistle in the background, and the plucking of a harp is mellow and calming.

Inevitably, however, something breaks down. The user has to micromanage things way too often. Carts of goods pile up unless the cart dude is set on the correct path. Roads have to connect everything, which means in many places, you end up paving over paradise. There isn't enough room to build sanctuaries for all the Gods who demand one, because the footprint for the top structures is enormous. I was lucky to get a few slabs set aside for Dionysus.

All elements require absolute perfection and exquisite balance. Otherwise, it's a mess. Sanctuaries stand half-built, workers go hungry and your popularity wanes. It's enough to drive you nuts. I found myself howling, "When do I get to the good stuff?" My military power was always pitiful, but it didn't seem to matter. Diplomacy seemed to be out of the question, as my neighbors all hated me. But I was having trouble feeding my own miserable citizens — how was I to find a spare barrel of wine for some tinhorn next door?

While the game is purportedly a kind of history lesson, the truth is you won't learn a lot about ancient Greece. I guess I picked up some vocabulary: boats are triremes, and the market is an agora. I didn't realize plucking sea urchins from Poseidon was big industry, either. Now I know better.

My patience level just isn't high enough to sink 10 hours into a game before it gets good. Maybe if I had a hobby like model railroading, I'd be a better fit for this genre. "Slow down, enjoy the ride," the game seems to coo. But in my ear, I hear the driving heavy metal concussion of C&C, and my forefinger starts to twitch. Before I know it, I've laid out dwellings for another thousand workers, and I'm looking for copper deposits to mine for the armory shops.

I suppose games such as these aren't enough of a challenge if the user is able to accelerate through everything. But with so much attention to detail and so much potential, the designers seem to have missed out on what they were trying to do. It's almost as if there are two games in one. First it's a Greek sim, and you need to run things as efficiently as Athens at its peak. Then, once you reach a certain threshold, monsters attack, Gods pop up and other cities send emissaries. When disaster strikes, you'll need a hero "on retainer," lounging at a Hero's Hall. At this point, your Greek history lessons definitely kick in. The only problem is that it takes way to long to get here. Despite the intricacy and the detail, that's just not great gaming.