Monday, 7 October 2013

An Objectivist Nightmare? Political Philosophy in Bioshock

Whilst the validity of narrative in videogames has been contested by academics, ethics, ideologies, and politics have become familiar features of videogame criticism as a growing number of videogame designers experiment with the medium.  These games present a player with situations that ‘represent how real and imagined systems work’ (Bogost 2007, xi) and allow her the potential for the ‘change [of] fundamental attitudes and beliefs about the world, leading to potentially significant long-term social change’ (Bogost 2007, xi).  Author and game designer Ian Bogost suggests that ‘videogames open a new domain for persuasion, thanks to their core representational mode, procedurality’ (Bogost 2007, xi) and it is this that allows the videogame player to actively investigate a particular rhetorical position and to form her own opinions of it, rather than being presented with an ideological standpoint, as is traditionally the case.  Procedural rhetoric, as Bogost labels it, is ‘the art of persuasion through rule-based representations and interactions (Bogost 2007, xi) and is reliant on the ability of the videogame to include the player as part of the execution of a narrative, or game, as a physically active participant.    
            The presentation of rhetoric in videogames can be found in many types of game, not just the narrative driven games that are to be primarily discussed in this chapter.  Bogost cites the game Animal Crossing, an ‘animal village simulator’ (Bogost 2008, 117) as an example of videogame rhetoric; this game, he argues, ‘simulates the social dynamics of a small town, complete with the material demands of keeping up with the Joneses’ (Bogost 2008, 119) complete with an economic system that allows  the player to understand supply and demand, long-term debt, and ‘the repetition of mundane work necessary to support contemporary material property ideals’ (Bogost 2008, 119).  The popular Facebook game, Farmville (Zynga 2009), is also based on economic principles, with the player engaging in farm management, including growing crops, animal husbandry, as well as cooperation, throung trading with other players.  Whilst these ‘casual games’[1] can be played by young children (Bogost uses his own five year old son as an example of a player of Animal Crossing), there is a sophisticated rhetoric at play within the game, the player is part of ‘a full consumer regimen’ (Bogost 2008, 118), which leads to an economic understanding of wealth and its distribution, as well as sophisticated, yet often unnoticed mathematical principles.
            More recognisable to the narrative driven videogame, is the representation of ideologies, both ethical and political as part of the games construction.  Early videogames, due to technological restrictions, were concerned primarily with ludology; that is the playing of the game.  As the medium has matured, there have been a growing number of games that use narrative and ludology concurrently to examine rhetorical issues within a fictional, and safe[2], environment.  This scrutiny can take many forms and cover a variety of themes: Deux Ex: Human Revolution (Eidos Montreal 2011) interrogates trans-humanism, for example, whilst the Mass Effect (Bioware 2007 - 2012) trilogy considers inter-racial cooperation, through the lens of an interspecies mirror.   Heavy Rain (Quantic Dream 2010) takes a more personal approach, placing the player in the role of a father, who must break ethical and moral constraints in the pursuit of a kidnapped child, prompting the question, ‘How far would you go to save someone you love?’ — the game’s tagline (IMDB 2010).  However, the most famous example of a videogame to use procedural rhetoric is Bioshock (2K Games 2007), which places the player in a specific ideological environment, and then asks her to question her actions, her motives, and the information she receives as she plays the game.

A Man Chooses, A  Slave Obeys: Political Ideology in Bioshock
Bioshock (2K Games 2007) offers a ludological adaptation of the philosophy of the philosophy of Objectivism, as portrayed in the novel Atlas Shrugged (Rand 2007) written by Russian born author Ayn Rand, considering the novel in relation to Rand’s philosophy and criticism, as well as offering a critique of the novel itself.  The interactive elements of Bioshock play a direct role in the understanding of the novel and Rand’s philosophy, especially her understanding of free will; the game is filled with references to the novel and, more widely, to Rand’s philosophy of Objectivism, on which the novel is based.  This is achieved through direct references, symbolism, and aesthetic allusions within the landscape.  Predominantly a first-person shooter game (FPS), in which the player controls a character, Jack, as he seeks to escape the underwater city, Rapture[3], Bioshock is concerned primarily with the destruction of enemies, ranging from splicers (humans addicted to ADAM[4]) to the antagonist of the game, Frank Fontaine.  Alongside this, however, Bioshock provides a critique of Rand’s philosophy via its landscape and dual narrative: that of the game: the search for and the destruction of Andrew Ryan and Frank Fontaine, and that of the destruction of the City of Rapture.
Originally published in 1957, Atlas Shrugged is a premeditated vehicle for Rand to articulate her philosophy of Objectivism.  This philosophy, she explained in 1962, holds that facts are facts, regardless of the wishes, hopes, or feelings of man; it also maintains that reason is man’s[5] only source of knowledge, his only means of perceiving reality, and his basic means of survival.  It also teaches that man must exist for his own sake, a quality that she describes as selfishness in which he must put his own interests above all others, but must not do this to the detriment of any other.  The fourth tenet of objectivism describes the political system that this philosophy breeds; that of laissez-faire capitalism, described as
a system where men deal with one another, not as victims and executioners, nor as masters and slaves, but as traders, by free, voluntary exchange to mutual benefit. It is a system where no man may obtain any values from others by resorting to physical force, and no man may initiate the use of physical force against others. The government acts only as a policeman that protects man’s rights; it uses physical force only in retaliation and only against those who initiate its use, such as criminals or foreign invaders. In a system of full capitalism, there should be […] a complete separation of state and economics, in the same way and for the same reasons as the separation of state and church. (Ayn Rand Institute 1962)
Rand believed that altruism—putting the needs of others before one’s own—was inherently wrong and her fiction is a deliberate attempt to demonstrate this philosophy and to highlight what she believed to be a fundamental truth: that altruism would lead to the downfall of society.  In Atlas Shrugged, Rand charts the decline and fall of alternate version of the United States becoming dystopian through its extreme socialist ideology; she also presents an alternative to this, in the form of Galt’s Gulch, a small, isolated community comprised of those people who believe in her philosophy.
            The juxtaposition of the narrative and the ludology is important in Bioshock; the two elements of the game are reliant on each other to create a representational fictional form, such as those described by Kendall Walton in Mimesis as Make-believe (Walton 1990).  The gameplay is constructed within the narrative: Rapture is the play arena of the game; the player explores the city to find and destroy the splicers in order to reach Ryan (and later Fontaine) and to escape Rapture.  Without Rapture and the narrative structure, Grant Tavinor notes, there would be no game. (Tavinor 2009).  Clint Hocking disagrees with this, instead claiming that the game offers the player two contracts, a ludic contract and a narrative contract.  Hocking sees these two as being mutually exclusive, in that the narrative contract is at odds with the ludic contract, creating what he coins ‘ludonarrative dissonance,’ ‘forcing the player to either abandon the game […] or simply accept that the game cannot be enjoyed both as a game and a story’ (Hocking 2007).  What Hocking sees as ludonarrative dissonance, however, is an integral part of the games questioning of free will, both for Jack and for the player. 

Would you Kindly…
Throughout the first part of the game, the player is given guidance from a character known as Atlas, who prefaces his requests with the phrase ‘would you kindly’, as he leads the player through Rapture via a one way radio.  Partway through the game, the player is led to the office of Andrew Ryan, to kill him in revenge for the murder of Atlas’ wife and child, and it is at this point that a number of critical events take place that question Jack’s role in the game, and the narrative  First, the game takes away all control from the player, rendering her a passive observer of events in a game notably devoid of cut-scenes and reveals that the phrase ‘would you kindly’ has been part of the mental conditioning of Jack and that he is programmed to obey any order preceded with this phrase.  This revelation comes not only as a shock to Jack, but to the player as well.  When asked about this, a group of players responded in the majority that the repeated use of the phrase was not noticed, or that if it was noticed, it was considered part of Atlas character rather than an indication of a sinister purpose (Facepunch.com 2009).  The phrase, which seems to be innocuous until this point, instead begins to ‘inspire a retroactive horror’ in the player (Bossche 2009)  as she is shown a montage of examples of this conditioning, from the opening scene (Figure 1 & 2) to the ‘present’ of the game, illustrating that this has taken place whilst the player has been controlling Jack, and that all the events to date have been devised and carried out with Jack operating as a pawn who must obey the instructions of a higher power.  It also becomes clear that the game is addressing the player and questioning her relationship with videogames. 
Figure 1
Figure 2
     Videogames are teleological; that is, all the events and actions are purposefully designed to work towards an ending; even games that are part of a franchise, such as Assassin’s Creed (Ubisoft Games 2007 - 2013) or the Mass Effect trilogy, use this teleological construction, with each ‘episode’ having an ending of its own, as well as being part of the larger structure.  This in turn makes the concept of free will in videogames problematic, as they are predominantly presented as a finished form, with an ending already in place, fully authored by a game design company.  The player is not offered free will at any point in any game, she is merely conforming to a set of predetermined events that dictate her actions, even if she is offered the ability to make choices (Beirne 2012).  Bioshock exploits this determinism through the revelation that Jack has been designed to obey the commands of Atlas, whilst refusing the player the ability to influence this and forcing the realisation, in the player that there is no freedom in videogames: each story has already been written and the player cannot influence that story, despite the game intimating the ability to do so. 

Whilst the player is in the role of observer, during the passivity of the cut-scene, Jack kills Ryan, who makes no attempt to defend himself, his death proving that Jack has been the subject of mental conditioning, with Ryan taunting him repeatedly with ‘A man chooses.  A slave obeys’ as Jack hits him.  Despite Hocking’s assertion that the narrative asks the player to ‘help Atlas and you will progress’ (Hocking 2007) and is thereby a failure to conform to Objectivist principles, the game does not present a scenario as simple as this; at face value, the two men are working towards a mutually beneficial outcome, perfectly acceptable in Randian philosophy as a trade by two men ‘who earn what [they] get and do not give or take the undeserved’ (Rand 2007, 1022).  It is only when it is revealed that Jack has not been operating through free will that this changes, and it becomes evident that Atlas has been acting for his own benefit, and that Jack’s role is that of a puppet as he makes his way through Rapture.

Rapture
As the player and Jack travel down to Rapture in a bathysphere[6], the graphical abilities of game machines are shown to the player, through the first views of the city (Figure 2), whilst a voiceover tells the player that Rapture was born from Andrew Ryan’s dissatisfaction with American left wing politics in the Second World War, and finding that there was no place for ‘men who believed that work was sacred and property rights inviolate’ (Fuller 2007, 42) decided to create one, following John Galt’s lead, as he created Galt’s Gulch as a place where man ‘hold three things as the supreme and ruling values of his life: Reason—Purpose—Self-esteem’ (Rand 2007, 1018) in a society that requires a producer[7] or entrepreneur to be both immolated to society and to accept this as fair and just[8].  Both settings adhere to the policies of Rand’s philosophy, and the freedom that provides for the inhabitants.  However, where Galt’s Gulch remains utopian, Rapture instead becomes dystopian, the freedom of the inhabitants to do as they wish engendering a society of inhabitants addicted to the drug ADAM, and its derivative EVE.[9]  Grant Tavinor considers that the ‘visual impact of Bioshock […] is striking’ and that the game ‘draws on the architectural motifs and cultural themes of 1930s and 1940s America […] to provide a coherent artistic statement’ (Tavinor 2009, 91) and this setting provides the backdrop for two stories in the game, that combine to produce a narrative, one of the city itself, and the other of the protagonist, Jack and his attempts to escape Rapture.

Figure 3: 'Aerial' view of Rapture
              For the reader familiar with Atlas Shrugged, Rapture is instantly recognisable as a representation of Ayn Rand’s utopia.  Most obviously, both are hidden from the majority of the world; Rapture through its immersion in the sea, and Galt’s Gulch by refractor rays in a remote valley in the US.  More closely signalling the relationship between the two is the presence of Rand’s ideology.  Andrew Ryan of Rapture created his city to be a place ‘where the artist would not fear the censor, where the scientist would not be bound by petty morality, where the great would not be constrained by the small.’  Rand uses Galt’s Gulch as an example of a perfect society, founded on individual freedom and where the Government serve as a police service, ensuring that business and individual alike are law-abiding.     
Beyond this initial indicator, there are a number of specific references to the title of Rand’s novel in Bioshock.  During the opening sequence of the game, for example, the player crashes near a lighthouse in the middle of the ocean and the doors to the lighthouse are decorated with a frieze of Atlas holding the world (Figure 3).  Further in the game, the player also comes across a statue of Atlas holding up the world and there are many statues reminiscent of these through the game, men with their hands stretching upwards to the sky.

Figure 3: Atlas holding up the world.
There are several other signals in the game to point to this relationship; the protagonists of both the game and the novel discover this hidden community through crashing a plane, and there are ‘Easter eggs[10]’ that reveal Rand’s face in photographs (Figure 3), leaving little doubt that Levine used Rand’s fiction in this game, and that he used Bioshock to comment on it, critiquing the practical implementation of her philosophy (just as Rand herself did in Atlas Shrugged through the Twentieth-Century Motor Company and the famous slogan From each according to his ability, to each according to his need, popularised by Marx in 1875), all pointing to the importance of the setting of the game as a critical exploration of Rand’s philosophy.

Figure 4: Ayn Rand Easter Egg

Andrew Ryan, the founder of Rapture, is a key figure in Bioshock.  The narrative indicates that Ryan fled the USSR in 1919 for the USA and, after becoming increasingly disillusioned by US politics, built Rapture in order to house the Atlases[11] of the world, ‘men who refused to say yes to the parasites[12] and the doubters. 'Men who believed that work was sacred and property rights inviolate’ (Fuller 2007, 37).  Ryan’s character shares some biographical links with Rand; she fled the USSR during the rise of Communism, eventually settling in the US, where she wrote her novels (Ayn Rand Institute 2013).   Ryan and Rand also share the same attitude to religion; Rand is open about her views on religion, believing that religion and ‘Faith, as such, is extremely detrimental to human life: it is the negation of reason’ (Ayn Rand Institute 2013) and Bioshock shows Ryan to have similar views; throughout his city, banners proclaim that there are ‘No Gods or Kings, Only Man’ (Figure 3) and religious paraphernalia has to be smuggled into Rapture to be enjoyed by the residents.  In naming Ryan, the game designers were explicitly linking the character to Ayn Rand—a masculine version of the novelists name. 

Figure 5: No Gods or Kings.  Only Man
Andrew Ryan is representative of John Galt, one of the three protagonists of Atlas Shrugged, despite spending much of the novel being called ‘The Destroyer.’  It is he that takes away the brightest minds from the world and gives them the individual freedom to follow their own passions in Galt’s Gulch, with no restrictions.  Ryan’s utopia is the same as Galt’s:  a place where a man can be free from censorship and governmental restrictions to use his skills, and Ryan offers a similar freedom.  As well as this, Ryan stands for similar characters of the novel, collectively known as ‘thinkers’, and can be seen through Ryan’s speeches and public addresses.  At one point Ryan details how
I once bought a forest. The parasites claimed that the land belonged to God, and demanded that I establish a public park there. Why? So the rabble could stand slack-jawed under the canopy and pretend that it was paradise ‘earned’. When Congress moved to nationalize my forest, I burnt it to the ground’ (Fuller 2007, 18)
This closely mirrors the actions of oil baron Ellis Wyatt at the end of the first part of Atlas Shrugged (Rand, 2007, p.336); When forced to give the majority of his (pre-tax) revenue to the government because he is ‘best able to bear the brunt of the national emergency’ (Rand, 2007, p334), and still being expected to maintain his employee levels and other costs, sets fire to his entire oil field and disappears, rather than comply with this government directive.
            It appears at first, that Andrew Ryan represents the failure of the Randian ideology at work in Bioshock, as critics such as Joseph Packer consider (Packer 2010) to be the case. As detailed, Ryan represents the ‘thinkers’ in Atlas Shrugged, choosing to leave the world, and to join like-minded people, 'men who believed that work was sacred and property rights inviolate’ (Fuller 2007, 37) to bring to fruition the utopian space that Atlas Shrugged promises; however, this Utopia is flawed and by the time the player enters the story, Ryan’s rule has taken on a number of dystopian characteristics.  As the narrative is uncovered, the player discovers that Ryan, initially, allowed free rein to entrepreneurs and free will to the inhabitants of Rapture, believing that there would be economic self-regulation, as Objectivism preaches.  However, when his position as ruler of Rapture is threatened, he begins creating laws contrary to Objectivist policy, leading to a power struggle that culminates in the New Year’s Eve battle and destruction of Rapture, as well as the apparent failure of Objectivism as a practical ideology.
Even with Rapture in ruins and the Utopian experiment failed, Ryan still adheres to the principles of Objectivism and to one of the clearest themes found in Rand’s fiction – that of the sanction of the victim[13].  According to Rand’s ideology, the sanction of the victim is ‘the willingness of the good to suffer at the hands of the evil, to accept the role of sacrificial victim for the “sin” of creating values’ (Binswanger, 2011).  It is at this point Ryan reveals that the protagonist is the product of mental conditioning and has had the phrase ‘would you kindly’ implanted as a trigger for mental control. Furthermore, Ryan chooses to die in order to try to break Jack’s conditioning, citing it as an example of free will: ‘A man chooses. A slave obeys’ (Fuller 2007, 35).  In killing Ryan, Jack proves that he is nothing more than a slave; the words ‘would you kindly’ triggering and enforcing this servitude.  Free will is one of Ryan’s original principles for the city, as an audio file reveals: ‘Free will is the cornerstone of this city. The thought of sacrificing it is abhorrent’ (Fuller 2007, 22).  John Galt is similarly willing to face death as long as his principles are not compromised; in Atlas Shrugged, Galt almost welcomes torture and pain, going so far as to instruct the governmental aggressors in how to fix their broken torture machine so they could resume their cruelty, but refuses to compromise his principles in order to appease the government who want him to save them.  The premise on which the ‘looters’ in Atlas Shrugged depend is the same mental conditioning as Jack is subject to, albeit less explicitly.  This is foregrounded in the novel with the statement ‘You’ll always produce […]. You can’t help it.  It’s in your blood.  Or, to be more scientific: you’re conditioned that way’ (Rand 2007, 984-985).  It is at this point in the novel that Hank Rearden, presented with this knowledge, ‘opts out’ of American society and becomes a member of Galt’s Gulch.
At this point in the game, it seems clear that Bioshock is showing Objectivism in a negative light, with Andrew Ryan’s utopia in ruins showing that this ideology has failed.  It is here also that Atlas is revealed to be Frank Fontaine, Andrew Ryan’s competitor, and Ryan’s position as antagonist is questioned, as well as the premise that the political ideology he represents is adverse to human wellbeing.  It is also here that the game is exposed as not just a criticism of Objectivism, but rather a more rounded critique, using Fontaine as the basis for this.


Frank Fontaine is a gangster who challenges the rule of Andrew Ryan in Rapture, known in the first part of the game as the amiable figure Atlas.  During the first part of the game, until his true identity is revealed, Atlas appears to be a familiar figure in videogames: a character who gives advice and instructions to the player to allow her to complete the tasks that comprise the game.  The revelation that this amiable character is Frank Fontaine, who has faked his own death in order to take power from Ryan through the mental conditioning of Jack, so he could murder Andrew Ryan, is designed to shock the player and to once again call them to question what they are being told within a game.  Here, the role of the player and the identification the player has with a game becomes foregrounded, as considered in chapter 2[14].
During the first part of the game, whilst unwittingly helping Frank Fontaine kill Andrew Ryan, the player is shown Ryan’s Utopia as a failed endeavour; Atlas relates how he brought his wife and son to Rapture for a better life, but quickly became disillusioned, as it became clear that there was a Marxist class divide developing and that ‘Ryan's […] up in Fort Frolic banging fashion models; we're down in this dump yanking guts out of fish’ (Fuller 2007, 16).  Atlas openly blames Ryan for the deterioration and destruction of Rapture, saying, ‘He’s the one who built this place, and he’s the one who run it into the ground’ (Fuller 2007, 11).  At this point in the game, the player has no reason to doubt Atlas’s words, and Ryan’s actions appear to validate this.  Once unmasked as Fontaine, this along with the rest of Atlas’s words are called into question; the likeable Irishman was a fiction, making the player question whether Ryan is the megalomaniac that he has been portrayed as being.
            As a character, Fontaine/Atlas should be the perfect objectivist; his ethics are based in self-interest, valuing his own happiness and success above all others, initially earning Ryan’s admiration and respect as a fellow Objectivist.  However, he also personifies several negative aspects of humanity, being manipulative and dishonest in his dealings with others, undermining the principles of objectivism[15] and a fair society, under the guise of freeing the inhabitants of Rapture from the tyranny of Ryan, thereby calling into question the practical implementation of objectivism.  The narrative details how Fontaine becomes a figurehead for the underclass to revolt, in a clearly Marxist reference to the overthrow of capitalism by the proletariat.  Atlas cites Ryan filling Rapture with the best of society as a failing in the City, as there is no-one to carry out the menial work that needs to be done (Fuller 2007, 39) and that the divide between the rich and poor is the fault of Ryan’s political agenda.  After the death of Ryan, the game shows Frank Fontaine as the primary antagonist, placing Andrew Ryan in the role of the victim rather than the antagonist role he has held, and calling into question the supposition that this is a world that portrays the failings of Objectivism, which then opens the player (and Jack) to the notion that is is Fontaine who brings about the downfall of Rapture, investing twelve years in planning and initiating the downfall of Ryan, calling it a ‘long con’ (Fuller 2007, 47) and replacing the Objectivist ideology with a bastardised form of Marxism[16], resulting in ‘violence, crime, and disrepair replacing the peaceful efficiency Rand attributes to Galt’s Gulch’ (Packer 2010, 215).  More symbolically, the role of the monster is given to Frank Fontaine (Figure 3), showing him, as ‘a menace [that] represents the threat of further chaos emerging’ (Butler 2010, 10) in a city that is already failing to function.

Figure 6: Atlas/Frank Fontaine
Once revealled as the antagonist,  portraying Fontaine as the monster allows the game to present him as the physical embodiment of the ethics and morals he upholds.  Just as Dorian Gray makes the transition to his real self in The Picture of Dorien Gray at the end of the novel, his ‘withered wrinkled, and loathsome’ (Wilde 2006, 188) corpse on the floor, so too does Fontaine’s first taste of ADAM reveal his monstrosity to the player. 

I believe in no God, no invisible man in the sky. But there is something more powerful than each of us, a combination of our efforts, a Great Chain of industry that unites us. But it is only when we struggle in our own interest that the chain pulls society in the right direction. The chain is too powerful and too mysterious for any government to guide. Any man who tells you different either has his hand in your pocket, or a pistol to your neck." (Fuller 2007, 24)
The Great Chain is a motif Ryan frequently refers uses in his speeches and musings regarding the economy of Rapture and is consistent with the economic elements of Rand’s philosophy.  Ryan’s own philosophy of the Great Chain of Industry is visible in Rapture through statues (Figure 5), and banners, just as Rand uses her characters in Atlas Shrugged to extoll the virtues of a free economy, and the understanding that all men will participate in this system, providing for themselves, and creating employment for other men, at a fair and just rate of pay.  The idea of industry being the chain that unites all men is, for Ryan, the foundation of Rapture and provides the basis for the City’s economy; the Great Chain of industry is the economic freedom given to the inhabitants of the City in regard to their business and the success of the City.  As long as each person, each link in the chain, is working for their own self-interest (and not contrary to objectivism), then the chain will be level and strong, as each link (business) in the chain is regulated by the principles of the consumer; if there is no demand, or the business is not functioning as the market would wish, they will simply not use it, thereby eliminating it from the economy.  However, when dishonest dealings, such as smuggling or cheating a competitor enters the economy, then this upsets the equilibrium of the Great Chain and the dishonest business becomes a weak link that can then pull the chain apart. 
Ryan's Chain


Jack's Chain
There is also a more personal symbolism associated with the chain; Jack has chains round both of his wrists, (see Figure 6) symbolising his slavery and lack of free will.  The chains are a symbol of this control, a metaphorical joke by Fontaine, that Jack (who is genetically Ryan’s son) is a slave to Fontaine and Jack’s inability to disobey him, his mental chain forcing him to obey commands preceded with ‘would you kindly’.  This makes Jack himself the weak link in the Great Chain, in that he can cause the downfall of Rapture’s economy by causing the death of Ryan.  The chains on Jack’s wrist are also a frequent reminder to the player of their own servitude to videogame design companies.     

            Whilst it seems clear that Bioshock offers a consideration of Objectivism, there is some confusion over whether this is a criticism of the philosophy, or whether the game tries to empower the player into making her own decision about whether she agrees with the philosophy.  It is true that the game shows Rapture, the realisation of the philosophy ,as a dystopia; the game does not, however, simply show this as a result of Objectivism, but rather as a result of the introduction of a destructive force, in the form of Frank Fontaine, that undermines the philosophy.  This is symbolised through the representation of Fontaine as a monster.  However, the game offers the player an exploration of the philosophy from within, rather than from without, and allows her to form a decision based on all the information she collects in the game.

Bibliography

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[1] Casual games are considered to be games that can be played quickly and easily, with little learning curve and generally no need to save the game's progress.Invalid source specified.
[2] The player is physically safe, in that she is interacting with fictional characters and situations, without any real danger.
[3] This is one of a number of religious references in the game.  Here, Rapture is descriptive of the inhabitants being taken from society and led to a better life, just as God is said to intend to do when he causes The Rapture.
[4] ADAM is a drug created from the stem cells of a parasite, which replaces human cells with that of the parasite, causing side effects that act as ‘superpowers’.  However, this also causes cosmetic and mental deterioration in users, resulting in the need for more ADAM.
[5] Rand was a self-professed male chauvinist, who believed that women should engage in male hero-worship, and so the use of gendered terms that favour the male is deliberate in relation to Rand’s philosophy. (Thomas 2013)
[6] An automated submarine that carries the player through underwater areas.
[7] In Randian terms producers are ‘independent, rational and committed to the facts of reality, […] and to their own happiness (Younkins 2007, 14)
[8]This is also the basis of the Randian notion of the ‘sanction of the victim’—being acquiescent to one’s own rights being infringed.
[9] The religious symbolism cannot be ignored here.  Just as Adam and Eve ate of the fruit of the tree of knowledge causing the Fall, so too does the use of ADAM and EVE cause the society of Rapture to become dystopian.
[10] Content not considered part of the game, or as extra content, and hidden within the game for the player to find.
[11] In the novel Atlas Shrugged, these characters, metaphorically speaking, hold up the world through their creativity and ability.
[12] The use of the word parasite to describe any character that is not of the same ilk as Ryan is taken directly from Rand’s fiction; she postulated, through her fiction, that any person who relied on another to survive was a parasite – and that this reliance on another person was forcing them to live for your sake.
[13]This is a recurring theme in Rand’s fiction, most explicitly found in Anthem and The Fountainhead as well as Atlas Shrugged.
[14] I am not certain whether this is where the discussion will go – maybe Ethics is a better place?
[15] Objectivists believe that whilst they put their own self-interest above others, they do not do this to the detriment of any other person, which is perceived as having another person live for their sake. 
[16] Fontaine does not uphold Marxism; he is working for his own gain, and the lower class inhabitants are useful to his plans to conquer Rapture, rather than for altruistic means.

Friday, 14 June 2013

Letters To Esther: The Haunted Landscape in Dear Esther

Dear Esther.  I am on a stone Jetty, the sun is setting, and I am alone on this island.  I cannot interact with anything; all I can do is walk, look, and listen.  As I walk, I hear a voice speak, reading fragments of letters to you.  It becomes clear, as I listen to the fragments that I am following the path that someone else has already trodden; the author of the letters has preceded me in my traversal of this island.  I walk on, the fragments of letters becoming more confused, the mental state of the writer deteriorating as time passes, until I have a vision of climbing an aerial tower, and plunging to the ground.  I fly over the island, over all the locations I have already visited, until once again I am at the stone jetty, and the screen fades to black, with the words ‘come back’ ringing in my ears.  Then I am back—back at the stone jetty; the sun is setting and I am alone.

Dear Esther is not a typical videogame, but part of a growing genre known as the first-person walker.  It's Creator, Dan Pinchbeck, wanted to remove most of the ludic, the playing, elements of a game, leaving nothing 'but story to engage a player’ and so immerse the player into the world of the game, with no distracting enemies to kill, points to score, or princesses to rescue. (Biessener 2011).  This means that I, as the player, am able to concentrate on the narrative, the setting, and the soundscape of the game with no distractions; the barren landscape is complemented by a gothic score, which creates a feeling of solitude, of increasing uneasiness as the game progresses, and I begin to make sense of the narrative.  My aim today, is to show how these three elements, the landscape, the soundscape and the narrative combine to bring about a gothic experience in videogaming and produce an immersive, haunting, story.

At its core, Dear Esther is the story of a man who has lost his wife, Esther, and about his struggle to come to terms with her death, and his suicide, through which, he hopes to be reunited with Esther.  The narrative unfolds through a series of letter fragments, written after Esther's death, in which the narrator relates the chain of events that has brought him to the island, and his death.  As with many other Gothic stories, the haunting return of past transgressions forms the basis  of a narrative that destabilises the boundaries between fantasy and reality, causing me, the player, to doubt what I am experiencing, where the differences between fantasy and actuality are no longer secure (Botting 1996, 11-12).  Another classic trope, that of doubling is found not once, but four times in the game.  Most obviously, the narrator is doubled with an explorer, Donnelly; the narrative text makes this explicit;  the experiences of the two men are closely linked, both dying on the island of a broken limb and blood poisoning, alone.  As well as this, there is a doubling of the narrator and Jacobson, a Shepherd hermit, and of Paul, who was involved in the crash that killed Esther.  However, it is the doubling of the player and the narrator that is pertinent to this paper.  The player follows in the footsteps of the narrator, as he returns again and again to the scene and the trauma of his death and just as the narrator becomes a ghost that haunts the island, the player to becomes a spectre of herself, and must repeat her passage through the island to reveal more of the story, again and again. This necessity of having to double oneself to attempt a fuller understanding is appropriately Gothic and uncannily echoes the conventional desire to replay a game in order to achieve a higher score.  The player becomes the haunter, haunting the landscape, each replay re. enforcing of the narrators haunting of the island.
The doubling of the narrator and the other characters also produces a narrative in which the player is not certain who is responsible for what actions as the narrators psychological state deteriorates.  The narrator begins by suggesting that  Paul is responsible for the accident that caused Esther’s death, drunk-driving on the M5.  The doubling of the characters, and the delirium invoked by the blood poisoning, begins to break down the mental barriers that the narrator has constructed, until the narrator implies that the accident was caused by the himself, not Paul, and that the denial of his culpability is broken down as he nears death: as he says at the end of the game in one of the fragments ‘He was not drunk Esther, he was not drunk at all.'

Clearly, then, the speaker’s role in the car accident is central to the narrative: the narrative bringing about the question, was he responsible for the death of Esther?  The game does not reveal the answer to this question, or any other that arises, but leaves the player to interpret the letter fragments as they become increasingly more confused.  At the beginning of the narrative, the letter fragments are lucid, detailing the theft of a book from Edinburgh library, written by a man named Donnelly to provide a guide to the island, and charting the death of Esther in a car crash, and as I have said, considering the responsibility of the character, Paul for her death.  During the game, after the narrator relates that he has fallen and broken his leg, and that it is infected, the narrative becomes increasingly disjointed, the narrator revealing this confusion to Esther, relating that he is ‘increasingly unable to find that point where the hermit ends and I [the narrator] begins’ as he confuses himself with the doubled characters, and the strands of the letters being written to Esther become more and more entangled in the other characters, until I am no longer sure what is true, and what is a result of the delirium of the infection.  What does become clear, however, is the narrators wish to die, and that the path that I am following is that of the narrator as he contemplates and commits suicide, before being returned to the stone jetty, to begin his journey again, a ghost haunting the island, with the player haunting the narrator as he does so.  The narrator's haunting is manifested in shadowy, human shapes that are visible in the distance if the player looks, but disappear as she approaches, belonging in, and to, this beautiful landscape.
The setting of Dear Esther on a deserted Hebridean island, places it firmly in the Gothic context.  The barren, yet beautiful landscape is as sublime as that found in Frankenstein or Wuthering Heights, inspiring awe in me as I walk round the island and also chilling me with its bleak emptiness.  I pass, but cannot interact with the evidence of previous inhabitation, ranging from a stone circle thousands of years old to an aerial that sends a red beacon into the perpetual twilight of the game, their ruinous presence reminding me that I am in a typically Gothic space.  I am told through the narrative, that the island was abandoned in 1778, and so most of the broken buildings that I pass are at least this old, their presence creating a feeling of gloom, of ruin that pervades the entire landscape.  As with many other Gothic texts, the setting is an important device in the creation of the game, as important as the Gothic castle, a central character in the narrative providing clues for me to interpret the information I am given by the narrator, and as with many other Gothic texts, ranging from the Castle of Otranto onwards, the setting of the narrative is a space that houses secrets from the past, that haunt the characters (or in this case, the character).  Dear Esther, furthermore, is part of the terror gothic tradition, which holds characters and readers (or players) in suspense about threats to life, safety and sanity, which are kept largely out of sight, in the shadows or in the suggestions of the past found in the setting.  The games relationship to the landscape, and the primary playing technique of the game can be summarised best by one of the fragments the narrator relates as he crosses the third beach of the island:

To explore here is to become passive, to internalise the journey and not tou attempt to break the confines.  Since I burnt my boats and contracted my sickness, this has become easier for me.  It will take a number of expeditions to traverse this micro continent.

Playing through the game, the landscape foregrounded and my interactivity limited, I begin to question the landscapes verisimilitude. Like the narrator, I find myself ‘slipping into the delusional state of ascribing purpose, deliberate motive to everything’ in a landscape that is wholly created, whether that is by a game designer, or by the narrators own mind.  For example, one of the opening narrative fragments has the narrator reveal ‘I sometimes feel as if I’ve given birth to this island’, while another fragment asks ‘was this island formed during the moment of impact, when we were torn loose from our moorings and the seatbelts cut motorway lanes into our chests and shoulders.  Did it first break surface then?’ Most tellingly, the narrator repeatedly uses the motif of himself as travelling through his own body as he makes his way around the island, like the infection that courses through his veins.  This landscape then, it is inferred, is created by the narrator himself, and is a product of his own imagination; the island is created in the aftermath of the accident that killed Esther.  Visually, the landscape is littered with detritus from the car accident, and surgical equipment that would not be present if the narrator washed ashore, as he says, supporting the supposition that the island is a imaginative creation.  The final passage of the game, at the point of the narrators death is a final letter to Esther, in which he tells her that he has ‘painted, carved, hewn, scored into this space all that [he] could draw from him’ and that he ‘will rise from  the ocean like an island without a bottom, come together like a stone, become an aerial, a beacon’ giving further credence to the islands internal construction in the mind of the narrator.    Where am I then, as I walk this island?  Trapped, with the narrator, in his own mind, whether that mind is being held in limbo on an imagined deserted Hebridean island, or in a hospital bed, comatose, nearing death.

The third facet of this game is the soundtrack.  I am by no means an expert on music and the sounds of Gothic, and so the influence of Isabella van Elferen and Vivien Saunders is clearly noticeable in what I say next.

The ideal method of playing Dear Esther is in a darkened room, with the sound playing through earphones to block out any external noise. The sensory concentration of this allows the sounds of the landscape and the musical score to become foregrounded and to take their place as an integral part of the narrative experience, alongside the landscape. Jean-Luc Nancy argues that music engenders a time and space of its own, which alongside the perpetual twilight of the island means that the player leaves behind the here and now of reality, entering the universe of the game and this perfectly describes the immersive effect of the soundtrack to Dear Esther, the ambient sounds, the disembodied human noises, and the musical score combine with the landscape to create this effect.  Van Elferen, in Gothic Music, considers that gothic 'game music defies the borders of the screen and envelopes game and player alike in its own, sonic version of virtual reality' (van Elferen 2012, 106) with its Gothic sounds, ranging from 'hollow footsteps' to 'ghostly melodies’ (van Elferen 2012, 1).  The game is filled with the diegetic sounds of the landscape, the crash of the waves on the sea, the sound of the wind across the island and the plaintive cry of a single seagull as it is disturbed, with the only diegetic man-made sounds being footsteps as I walk the island, The source of the footsteps is enigmatic; are they my footsteps as the player, or are they the footsteps of the narrator, reminding me of his prior claim on the narrative, and the setting, a supernatural echo that only I can hear, but the source is not locatable.  Occasionally, the sound of a female voice, whispering ‘come back’ reminiscent of Cathy Earnshaw’s ‘Let me in’ (Bronte 1968, 54) at her bedroom window, can be heard if I sink into the sea, refusing to let me fade into nothingness.

Music plays at almost randomly, as I walk; a violin or a piano’s disembodied tones penetrate the diegetic sounds, dragging me, as van Elferen says, ‘along in the musical movement from the mundane to the divine or the occult’ and enveloping me in the timeless nature of the narrative, a time parallel to, within and yet without the present outside the game.  A female voice can be discerned within the music, her voice a non-diegetic element of the game, which seems indistinguishable from the diegetic noise of the landscape, her litany an almost religious undertone to remind me of the islands position as limbo.  As I pass specific landmarks, the non-diegetic sounds of the music are interspersed with extra-diegetic sounds relating to the landmarks origins, the sound of groaning metal as I pass the wreckage of the car on the beach, the soundscape and the landscape combining to create a haunting, eerie journey.

In removing the ludic aspects of the game, Pinchbeck makes the player focus on that which is frequently ignored.  The landscape of Dear Esther, whilst beautiful, is not dissimilar in construction to Bioshock; both landscapes, while visually different, provide narrative background, and use audio clips to further the narrative history.  Where Bioshock foregrounds gameplay over the narrative though, Dear Esther chooses instead to forgo this in favour of directing the player's attention to these narrative tropes as the primary object of the game.  Combining this with the score and the fragmented, traumatic narrative, the game becomes an immersive and sensory experience that leaves the player haunted, understanding the actions of a man whose only hope of life is death and she is left moved by this experience in a way not as easily achieved by other media.

There is not enough time here to interrogate the game fully, to consider all the elements of the narrative, such as the repeating religious motif, or the relevance of the number 21 that is foregrounded by the narrator.  However, what I hope to have shown is that playing this game, alone in a darkened room, with all external sounds removed, produces a ghost story in which the player is the haunter, haunting the narrator, just as he haunts the island, reliving with him his final days and death repeatedly in order to fully understand the narrative of the game, and that the medium of the videogame, with its visual, sonic and interactive elements (or enforced lack thereof), bringing about a novel method of presenting a sensory ghost story.

Wednesday, 27 June 2012

Fifty Shades...

I succumbed to the hype and bought these books.



Firstly, I have to admit that I enjoyed them.  I did not read them for the sex, which I am reliably  informed, is not that different to Mills and Boon.  They are written from the point of a young, inexperienced graduate who falls hopelessly in love with a Billionaire, charting the first few months of their relationship.  I am not going to go into plot details, as they might spoil the story for the few readers who are not reading for the many sex scenes!!

I have a large problem with these books though.  They remind me of the same thing I did not like about the Twilight novels; the portrayal of women. 

I get why women are reading these novels, they are more than just sex.  There is a story there, and it reminded me of falling in love with my partner- just like Twilight reminded me of being 16 and falling in love for the very first time.  The angst and uncertainty of entering an deep relationship are something people can relate to - and there is the mind-blowing getting to know each other sex - the hormones overload that is a new relationship.  But, is it enough?

Ok, so there will be spoilers now - If you do not want to know what happens in these books - do not read any further!

The heroine, Anastasia Steele, is pursued by the Billionaire Christian Grey (Steele and Grey?  I suspect they are meant for each other!!)  He is a Dom, and decides that Ana (young, virginal and inexperienced - maybe like Bella from Twilight?) would make a great new submissive for him.   She, on the other hand, whilst falling head over heels in love with him, does not want to be a sub.  The first novel sets up Ana as being a feisty young woman who wants to be in control of her fate, and does NOT want to be a sub.  Reading this book, I could almost respect Ana.  She was willing to try new things, even if they appeared to be - well, violent.  The book finishes with Ana realising that she is not willing to be Chrisitan's sub, and walking out on him.  Maybe the author should have left it there.  

After that, the books have a pattern.  Ana defies Christian.  Christian subjects Ana to 'punishment' - which she is willing to put up with because she loves her man.  Each time she does something to defy him, the level of punishment rises.  The justification for Christian treating Ana this way is given as him being seduced by an older Dom when he was younger, and the abuse he suffered at the hands of his mother's pimp, resulting in him being emotionally disturbed.

At the beginning of the second book, Christian (apparently) realises that he does not want to be a Dom anymore, through Ana leaving him.  This would be fine, if he stopped being a Dom.  He doesn't.  He carries right on doing the things Ana does not want.  He is controlling, he smothers her.  He stalks her.  He demands her full attention all the time - and she capitulates.

This is where the problem lies.  The novels are presented as if they show character progression - and I suppose they do.  Christian gets falls in love, gets married, has babies and smiles.  However, the character changes appear to be all on Ana's side.  She forgoes her independence. she allows him to control her.  She puts up with his rapid and sometimes scary mood swings and she gives up most of her friends to give him her full attention - and eventually, she becomes his sub - for life.  It's just not said like that.  According to the novel, she likes him being rough and being controlling.

Just like the Twilight novels, this series paints women as if they are just waiting for the right man to come along and to take care of them - to sweep us off our feet and be all strong and protective around us.  We are not like that.  I do not dream of that.  I can put my hand on my heart and say that I have never been like that.  AND I do not want my daughters growing up thinking that it is OK for a man to impose his will on her - to lose herself in his identity.  Women have spent a very long time changing that perception - proving that we are strong and capable of looking after ourselves, and we do a very good job.

Just not in this series - where what women do, is what what her man wants.