The Legend of the Lost Emerald: Demystifying the Sacred Object
In many ways, the basic foundation of every game is the pursuit of some sacred or lost ‘object;’ Zelda and Princess Peach will always be kidnapped, and there is always a Big Bad boss to defeat. However, what happens when the object is found and the destination reached? After perhaps a moment’s jubilation, the player hears the same old voice from the void– “now what?” The next game, the next pursuit, the next lost object?
The Legend of the Lost Emerald is a fascinating and important game for children, in that it directly confronts this often disregarded tenet of video games, one which also happens to be the cause of much suffering ‘in real life.’ Combining unique educational tools, a healthy dose of humor, an excellent score, and a subtle but fascinating deconstruction of history, the game somehow manages to be intellectually stimulating on analytic and philosophical levels while also being a great, brief children’s game.
The story follows Jules, a young girl in a family of maritime explorers of sorts. For the entirety of her life, Jules’ father has been telling stories about her grandfather’s shipwreck of the SS Emerald, focusing more on the wreck and less on the man. When Dad discovers an old letter from his father describing treasure “worth more than gold” and obsesses over its possibilities, Jules gets roped in to further exploration. “The Emerald has been lost for so long,” he tells his daughter, digging through a literal treasure chest. “If I could just find it, it would fix everything.”
“Fix what?” Jules asks, receiving no real response at all. That’s the way sacred objects work; we fool ourselves into thinking that they’ll fix everything if we can only attain them. We are all seeking the final treasure, the defeat of some last boss, whether it’s a relationship, career, physicality, community, or anything else. We tell the story about how it will fix us, yet if we finally do grasp our treasure but remain broken, we dismiss the sacred as profane. The makers of this game remind us that it’s the journey toward our treasure which is worth more than gold, not the gold itself.
The Legend of the Lost Emerald teaches this tough philosophical lesson in ways which are surprisingly friendly to children. The title alone hints at this, but the gameplay itself is very intentional. Jules utilizes a variety of actual techniques in the explorer’s toolbox, different ‘technologies of the self’ which help them locate wrecked ships the way Jules does. The player maps out on a board the name, cargo, location, ‘lost artifacts,’ ship type, and wreck cause of different ships, using friends, (often actual) news reports, and diving techniques to explore various ships toward finding the SS Emerald. This is both a constructive learning mechanism and an interesting way to approach storytelling, since each boat is a story of its own.
This gameplay dynamic is indicative of the ways in which people (including children) make meaning and construct their own narratives in their pursuit of some future thing. It also reminds players that some kind of historical practice is needed to discern meaning from chaos; one cannot simply escape their place in history (and family), but these methods help us tell better stories in order to create new histories.
Sometimes, the sacred object gets in the way of how we enjoy the journey, how we tell stories about and love one another. Jules asks her father about his father. “Well, what is there to talk about?” he responds, while literally selling his father’s history and possessions away at a yard sale. “The lost shipwreck of the Emerald has been haunting me my whole life.” In the frenzied pursuit of the Emerald (the wreck), Dad has lost the meaning in the narrative (the ship). The Legend of the Lost Emerald doesn’t make the same mistake. The game is explicit in how each step of the journey is just as important and enjoyable as the final product. It quickly teaches the player to enjoy the process, and in doing so, redefines one’s relationship with the sacred object, the fabled treasure at the end of the story. It isn’t about getting the treasure, because sometimes when we acquire the sacred object, it ends up sinking us; we cling to it so desperately that we forget what it, and we, are worth.
None of this is to say that the ending is unsatisfying, however. If it’s anticlimactic at all, it is so on purpose. The ending is actually a beginning of sorts, transitioning the player from the realm of legend to real-world engagement. Focusing a bit on the uncovering of corporate malfeasance and an embrace of social action, the game shifts the player’s perspective from localized meaning-making to larger, more politically urgent storytelling. “The goal isn’t from legend to history,” co-creator Sarah Gagnon says, “it’s from legend to politics.” Gagnon and her co-writer Linda Biller are able to rush through this traversal of fantasy in a way that’s kid-friendly but also intellectually stimulating.
Psychoanalytic and philosophical subtlety aside, the game is simple and beautiful. Utilizing wonderfully animated cutscenes from 2-D artist Reyna Groff (which only exist after the player has used historical methods to create the narrative) and vibrantly created characters, the design is bright and detailed. The solid backgrounds seem distinctly hand-drawn and artistically shaded, with Groff painting memorable images while also utilizing empty space in an interesting (and possibly thematically relevant) way. The usually aquatic 3-D animation from Forest San Philippo oscillates between being colorful and cute above water (in a way slightly reminiscent of The Legend of Zelda: The Wind Waker) but locating a vast, silent darkness beneath the surface. Each character (especially the three family members) are descriptively created and memorable. Even the absence of certain images makes an impression, such as the matriarch of the family, who is perhaps a different Lost Artifact than the ones presented in the game.
The score from Luke Bassuener (the artist behind Asumaya) is surprisingly excellent, with a wide range of rich sounds like xylophones, accordions, and synthesizers all highlighting the different emotional textures of each sequence perfectly. The use of history is educational, fun, and surprising, cleverly mingling legend with fact in order to interrogate the idea of storytelling and meaning-making, but that’s the subject of a different discussion. Its emphasis on fairness and a lack of sarcasm in its humor also helps ensure the game’s enjoyment and ultimate success.
By the end of the game, and after the surprising discoveries along the way, Jules can actually talk with her father, not about treasure and Emeralds but about actual people and real life. This is the beauty of the journey, of finally recognizing that the pursuit of the ‘lost artifact’ and changing our relationship to it is vastly more important than the sacred object on its own. The Legend of the Lost Emerald explores the depths of these ideas with refreshing clarity and earnestness, and has the potential to orient players’ perspectives outside the game toward stories worth telling.
Play The Legend of the Lost Emerald for free here.
