Narrative, the eighth chapter of Understanding Video Games, addresses the ways in which narrative and fiction are incorporated into video games, as well as the question of whether or not narrative should be incorporated into them. In fact, the chapter begins by noting that scholars, parents, and critics commonly criticize video games for being unable to tell a story, as the perception is that there is an incompatibility between gameplay and narrative. The authors make their stance on the subject clear early on. Using the example of Blade Runner, they point out that the story provides context for player actions, as well as guiding future actions. The relationship between narrative and gameplay is not that simple, however, as the story is guided by the player’s actions, just as the actions are guided by the story.
The authors state that early video games, such as Asteroids, were too abstract for plot to be a central design concern, but that all modern games use some sort of fiction framework. Further, they point out that links to other media (film, comic books, television, etc.), allow for games to recreate scenes or aspects from these other media without feeling abstract or dissociated, for they tie into the larger narrative, their example being Star Wars Episode I Racer. While the fiction framework and media links are good connections to make, the authors do not realize that they negate the assertion that early games were too abstract for plot. For example, Asteroids, the game they cite specifically as having no plot, did indeed have one. The plot for Asteroids was actually similar to that of Michael Bay’s Armageddon, in which the player’s ship is in space to break the titular asteroids down as much as possible before they struck Earth. In fact, most Atari game manuals contained plot summaries as long as two to three pages to add context to the action. Further, licensed games, incorporating characters and scenes from other media started early in video game history, as well, from the fan-programmed Star Trek game to The Empire Strikes Back and Superman for the Atari 2600.
Another problem with the authors’ reasoning comes up when they offer their definition of narrative games as any games in which narrative plays a heavy role. While, on the surface, that idea seems logical, it does not delineate between narrative encoded by the game’s developers and player-instilled narratives. Case in point: Gran Turismo does not have any narrative elements in the traditional sense, but the player may still formulate a narrative arc around his/her experiences moving up in race and circuit rankings, with attendant upgrades in cars and parts, akin to a sports-underdog film, such as Rocky or The Mighty Ducks. The authors do attempt to address this notion with the theory that fictional cues (minimal setting, emblematic characters, etc.) prompt the player to generate a narrative-related experience, if not an explicit one, and yet this concept is not taken into account in their definition.
It is noted that fictional worlds are not the same as narratives, or even inextricably linked to each other. A fictional world, an imaginary construct created by descriptions and imagery, may be present even in the absence of a proper narrative (not to be confused with the concept of story, but being made up of story, text, and presentation). Fictional worlds are one of the three ways the authors offer for breaking down storytelling in video games, however; the other two categories being mechanics of the narrative and reception, or how the player experiences the story.
The chapter then delves into the use and controversy around cut-scenes. Cut-scenes, non-interactive clips in video games are used for a litany of functions, as detailed by the authors: they introduce a central narrative tension (eg. a central conflict or context for upcoming play segments); they shape the narrative in a certain direction without limiting player action during gameplay segments; they compensate for missing game narrative, such as jumps in time/space or providing new information; they emulate and evoke cinematic styles, in order to draw links to other media experiences; and they provide gameplay-necessary information, such as establishing the layout of a level or highlighting a gameplay objective. The problem with the use of cut-scenes is that critics deem them as indicative of game design incompetence, in that they present a passive, rather than active, experience, and that the device is a clear sign of cinema envy. Supporters of cut-scene use argue, as Rune Klevjer does, that they are a manifestation of the author’s voice in the creation of the diagetic world, and that these scenes act as a primer for the gamic action to follow.
From this point, the discussion moves to the notion of characters and characterization in video games. The authors offer a continuum of character types, from non-interactive background characters on one end to player-avatars on the other, pointing out that not much academic focus has been placed on video game characters. It is also noted that there is a drive amongst game developers to create relatable, identifiable game avatars in direct opposition of literary convention, by giving the avatars minimal personality so that the player may overlay his/her personality without an attendant sense of alienation over the personality conflict. This idea seems odd for anyone who has ever wanted, for example, to be Spider-Man or Wonder Woman as a child, but the idea is not without merit, as there may also be a conflict between ‘Spider-Man/Wonder Woman stopped the bad guys’ and ‘I stopped the bad guys’ which the interactive nature of video games may engender.
The topic of narrative structure is then raised, with an acknowledgment of the difficulty of providing a strong narrative structure without forcing linear gameplay on the player. One solution offered to this dilemma is providing branching narratives, that is, multiple narrative paths determined by player actions, with plot bottlenecks which every player experiences. This notion would see itself borne out in the Mass Effect games, where decisions made by the player are carried from game to game, affecting the overall shape of the narrative. There is an issue with the authors’ discussion of narrative structure, however, in that they assert that an emotional curve is absent in video game narrative, and that this absence is filled with the emotional satisfaction of solving puzzles and progressing through increasingly difficult boss encounters. The problem with this notion is that it treats each individual puzzle and boss encounter as its own autonomous unit, rather than looking at the aggregate of these experiences, combining them with cut-scenes, and seeing that an emotional arc is possible and, in most cases, present.
In relation to these ‘units’ of gameplay, the concept of the quest is discussed. The authors define quests as a set of parameters in the game world that creates a challenge for the player, through a set of instructions tasking the player with accomplishing specific goals. The authors treat quests as a form of narrative which takes the interactive nature of video games into account, as you are following a narrative line, but doing so actively rather than through cut-scenes. What they don’t take into account is how overwhelmingly linear most in-game quest structures are, allowing little to no deviance in the ways in which the quests are completed (although, admittedly, games such as Skyrim and Dragon’s Dogma are working towards changing that).
The notion that reception theory-based analysis is a good model for examining story in video games is then introduced. The authors’ reasoning is that reception theory offers an explanation of the interplay between narrative (not clarified, but likely non-interactive) and gameplay, which shapes the player experience in story-based games. To this end, the authors suggest that Wolfgang Iser’s theory of the literary repertoire is instrumental in understanding how players process story and fiction in video games. Iser’s theory, as the authors discuss it, is that any story in any medium carries markers or references to earlier or outside works, social norms, historical events, and the like. As such, the audience (reader; viewer; player) is able to draw familiar points of context, by way of this repertoire, which allows for some familiarity given to the world of the fiction, even if he/she has no prior knowledge of the particular story itself. Further to this, Iser’s theory also posits that the audience ‘fills in the gaps’ (missing pieces of narrative) based on information provided within the narrative itself, be it descriptions, audio/visual cues, events in a progression, and so on.
The authors feel that this particular idea is uniquely suited to video game engagement, as the player is interacting with the story on two distinct levels. On the one hand, the player is filling in the gaps, as she/he would with any other media, based on the present signifiers; on the other hand, the player is actively ‘filling in the gaps’ on a gameplay level, as the player is actively moving the story forward through play. This introduction of Iser’s theories is, in my opinion, one of the strongest points of this chapter, if not the book. This use of the theories on the part of the authors explains the dynamics of player engagement clearly while not dismissing the unique properties of the medium, despite using ideas generated for earlier forms of media. Further, by setting up these ideas, the authors are then able to point out that narrative in games gives important clues for how gameplay is supposed to progress, as well as elevating that same gameplay above rote action repetition. Both of these concepts are strong points built on a well-reasoned foundation.
The chapter then progresses through a history of video game literary theory, from the 1990s, where video games were taken as a facet of the emerging phenomenon of digital media, to the current day, in which video games are starting to be examined for their own merits. Then, the chapter juxtaposes this progression with the attitudes game designers themselves have about integration of story into video games. Andrew Rollings and Dave Morris are cited as valuing what they term ‘active storytelling’ over making the player a passive audience (by way of non-interactive cut-scenes and the like). Katie Salen and Eric Zimmerman are also cited as saying that every aspect of a game may be used for crafting a story with wider ideological issues and concerns at its core. The authors also offer an opinion of their own, stating that Joseph Campbell’s ‘hero’s journey’ is a good way to both tell a story within the medium and to set up the gameplay progression of the player’s character, via abilities, items, and rewards.
At this point, the authors discuss the big debate in video game studies: narratology versus ludology. It is pointed out that literary theory has been applied to any new medium as a means of springboarding the development of new, medium-specific, disciplines. Ludology fights against this application of literary theory, arguing that games must be studied as games and cannot be understood through narrative-based theories. Jesper Juul is cited for providing reasons why narrative and video games may be confused: the player can tell stories of a game session after the fact; games contain narrative elements, which may result in the player realizing a narrative sequence; and that video games and narratives share some structural traits. Because of these competing attitudes, two camps have arisen: the ludologists, who feel that a narrative focus on video games ignores games’ intrinsic properties, and narratologists, who feel that the ludological approach dismisses out-of-hand the narrative properties and possibilities of games. Tied to this debate is the discourse on interaction versus narrative. The idea is that there is a paradox in reconciling win/loss scenarios with satisfying narrative arcs. As I have already discussed the problem behind this consideration when talking about character arcs earlier, I will not go into it any farther here.
In their closing statements, the authors make an impassioned plea for the way in which narrative in video games should be examined. They argue for a ‘whole world’ approach, as any video game world is more than just a diagetic representation of this or any other world. Each facet of the game world is designed for the purpose of telling a story and encouraging interaction with both the story and the game on the part of the player.
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