Space and Narrative

A few months ago I decided to replay The Legend of Zelda: The Wind Waker. As soon as I started the game however, the inconvenient but expected pressures of work and school forced me to place Wind Waker back on my shelf, alongside other games that had been victim to the same fate.

Now, as classes are ending, I’ve reached the point in the semester where things have slowed down a bit. Having more free time, I decided to bring Link back to life and complete the game. As I found myself in the main menu and choosing my save file, I came across a problem: I wasn’t so sure of where I had stopped playing in the story. I didn’t remember what I had to do or what I had done already.

I started exploring the landscape at first. Taking in the beautiful cell-shaded world of the game, I came across characters and button-smashed my way through dialogue. I finally ported at Windfall Island and began completing petty tasks given to me by its inhabitants.

On the one hand, there was a sense of freedom in being ignorant of the main story arc. I was able to indulge in exploration, which helped me better understand the setting Wind Waker exists within. My companion, a red boat, kept reminding me of my mission. It was vague: go rescue the princess. Not too helpful. Though the tasks given to me by characters were inconsequential and they never moved the main narrative forward, it did add depth to the world knowing that these characters had needs and feelings that were in no way connected to the main narrative.

As I kept playing, a nagging feeling kept bothering me. I needed to resume the adventure; I had to rescue Princess Zelda. The Great Sea forced me to continue the narrative: many times during my exploration I found that I couldn’t do or reach anything until I had X item or weapon. At times, these small stories would not develop since the main arc had not either.

Games that are linear, as if on rails, use space to guide the participant forward in order to develop the plot. This can sometimes lead to a lack of depth, since the landscape’s function is more opaque. In games that create a whole world— even if sand-boxed —there is a chance to stop the main narrative for a moment and explore. Rockstar games are known for successfully establishing a place and time in their works. The result is that the game itself acquires a kind of credibility or realness.

In games like Wind Waker, there is always a push-and-pull between wanting to finish the principle arc and traverse the landscape. Yet some games, like Grand Theft Auto series, punish the participant for exploring too much and pausing the narrative; a certain part in the game must be completed for another piece of the world to become available. This is not necessarily a bad thing, but when you revisit the game after a few months, this mechanic becomes apparent. If you strip narrative from a game, what remains is a space that both enhances and restricts curiosity.

In general, a game’s function is to tell a story. But this story is one that we have some control over, whether it’s choosing our path or stopping the story to fulfill some side-quest. Being a part of the development of an arc or of an experience does not apply to books or movies. Regardless of how much we linger in a video game, there is always the inherent need to move the narrative forward and to find the effects of our accomplishments or failures.

After a few hours I gave up trying to find my way through the game and instead looked to the internet for help. I scanned walkthroughs until I found my position in the story. Once I started heading in the right direction, it felt like the world began to open up. For the time being, I am letting the narrative guide me, knowing that I would have the chance to make a pit stop or two along the way.