Games Aren't Numbers

Myst was re-released on GOG.com the other day. This is hardly a major event since it's one of the best selling games of all time and has been released on virtually every system capable of containing its size. Statistically speaking, if you're reading this post then it's safe to assume you have played this game by now and have made up your mind on whether it's either one of the greatest adventure games or if it's scum that killed adventure games. This single and simple game left such a huge impact on videogame culture that it almost seems pointless to post anything new about it. But this GOG.com re-release is special to me. GOG.com has been devoted to keeping the original games intact (or in this case, the “remastered” version which is essentially equivalent). This means I can load the exact same files that I did all those years ago when I first inserted the Myst CD.

There's a reason why nostalgia is such a strong force among people who grew up with games. When people grow up with games there's a certain relationship that is formed between the person and the game. Games are like places and people, returning to an old game you played years ago is like visiting the town where you grew up or reuniting with and old friend.

I was one of the thousands of people who spent a significant amount of my childhood immersed in Myst. It was a sensory and cerebral experience. Every frame was a hand crafted digital painting. Ambient sound effects flowed through the environments. I accepted the game's invitation to travel through its worlds at my own pace. I read the journals, clicked on buttons, admired the static pre-rendered water ripples, and let my imagination bounce off of these. There was no motivation other than my inner curiosity to discover everything that I could. Simply existing inside its world was all the reward I needed to keep playing, and that is exactly what I did during most my time playing it.

When I first entered Myst I was not new to videogames, but as a child I was still new to life. The world became a secret space I could visit in solitude, everything was at peace. But this peace, I realized, was not a natural peace. It was a Mysterious, dead peace. This wasn't a virginal island paradise, there were once people living here. But now everyone was gone and all they left was a library of broken artifacts recording their footprint on history. My feelings toward the island grew increasingly uncomfortable as I gradually understood that I was not alone. Ghosts of its past inhabitants haunted the remains. Not just the disembodied holographic heads, but a dormant energy which waited for a trespasser to disturb its grave. I became that trespasser, and spirits were soon unleashed. I can still remember the moment when I first carelessly turned that red valve in the cabin and released a deafening mechanical clatter from outside.

The this unease rippled into an overwhelming anxiety. The understanding crept upon me, there was a malicious spirit haunting these islands. I power greater than my current comprehension. Evil symbols littered the rooms, and deadly toys were strewn carelessly. At first a ghastly holographic mouth speaking a frightening gibberish, then a dagger stashed in a drawer, then severed head, then a skeleton, subtlety was a feature which these islands were quickly being drained of.

Myst turned from an escapist fling with alternate reality into a nightmarish dream. A lucid dream, but every last amount of effort must be spent to fight the creeping terror. Every time I was able to glimpse part of a solution to the puzzle it was overwhelmed by the haunting Mystery, all of the remaining pieces. I was just like Sirrus and Achenar, trapped and struggling to peer through cloudy static.

Today I've grown older. My world has changed but Myst's remains the same. The water's frozen ripples no longer wow me, Atrus' journals aren't the great literature that they were before, and the Mystery of course has long since faded away. None of these matter for me though, the game is still a home to me. Despite the critically superior sequel Riven and the next three attractive but sadly stale additions to the series, I can never feel the same about them as I do when I load the original. In many ways Myst has become a standard for me, I will often subconsciously measure games in terms of their similarities and differences to it. The game's influence on my present life has shrunken compared to its past, but it remains in focus nonetheless. This effect isn't mere nostalgia, this a reconnection with a game from my past. I can continuously return to the island and experience a new chapter of my virtual life's story. Each time I bring with me new creative experiences and reasons for the return. And now I close, realizing that perhaps the ending has not yet been written.