Killswitch: A Brief Review
I’ll try not to gush.
Killswitch is one of the greatest ghost stories written in (and very much for) the modern era. While far from my sole wellspring of inspiration, The Invisible Games archive has inspired and shaped the way in which I write my own tales of dread more than any other source. Catherynne M. Valente is a master of form, and of atmosphere.
Now, having failed my original intention, I shall (in brief) elaborate:
The Invisible Games archive is an online short fiction collection, penned by Catherynne M. Valente, which charts (in part) the exploits of an enigmatic electronic entertainment company — the Karvina Corporation. Herein, the story Killswitch recounts, in a very matter-of-fact manner, the buzz surrounding the titular video game, released by Karvina Corp in 1989. Practically unknown until the late 90s, and beyond, Killswitch was programmed to wipe itself from the user’s computer once played. The tale ends with a scramble to secure the final unplayed copy. The man who succeeds then sits before the unplayed game, and weeps.
Given the anonymity under which Valente wrote Killswitch, and the fact that I can find no interview with her in which she mentions the Invisible Games project, I can only speculate upon her intent. However, for me, Killswitch represents a universal human fear — that of our own mortality. In the story, Karvina Corporation releases a statement in response to growing demand for more copies of their game to be produced, stating;
“Killswitch was designed to be a unique playing experience: like reality, it is unrepeatable, unretrievable,and illogical. One might even say ineffable. Death is final; death is complete.”
By the end of the story, the character of Yamamoto has purchased the last remaining copy of Killswitch, but has been driven mad by the enormity of merely selecting his character — a choice which he knows may not be changed. In effect — his journey is over before is has begun. His indecision has killed his mission to unlock the secrets of something he has idealised and spent hundreds of thousands of dollars on. Killswitch could perhaps be said to represent life itself — its linear path with an inconclusive ending overshadowing a strange, unknown “other” choice.
Life is an echo chamber for anxiety, and we obsess over the doors we close with our choices, rather than the opened way ahead. In this manner, Killswitch embodies the mystery and potential of a thing, soured by the self-inflicted horror of those attempting to appreciate it. This forms the crux of my love for Valente’s tale — it is a modern ghost story, playing on innate, universal fears as old as time. This is the idea of horror that I took away from Valente’s writing — that it should not simply be a way to describe an acid-scarred serial killer for twelve paragraphs, but rather a vehicle for exploring deeper fears, buried within all of us. It is this formula for horror that makes the story so brooding, and mysterious.
…and perhaps, if you and I are at all alike, then long after reading it you may find at odd times — like Yamamoto — Killswitch replaying, over-and-over, in your mind.
