Originally this post began as an analysis of Deus Ex: Human Revolution, which is both a quintessential work of Cyberpunk fiction and an example of something I have yet to think about academically: a video game. As is so often the case with these things, though, the rabbit hole proved much deeper than I thought, and in an attempt to glean a little background information on the current position of video games within the academic landscape I fell headlong into the wonderland that is ludology. Briefly, ludology is the tentative name given to the practice of studying games. Etymologically ludology derives from the Latin ‘ludus’, relating to games and playing, specifically Roger Caillois’ definition of ludus as ‘games with social rules’ - narrowed further by Gonzalo Frasca as games incorporating rules that ‘define a winner and a loser.’ This stands in opposition to paidia - or ‘play’ - games without rules, or rather without rules defining winning and losing.
Ludology took on its current status as the study of video games in the late 90s, and was born of a need felt by ludologists to define themselves in opposition, or at least apart from, narratology. Not narratology in the more specific, Russian formalist/structuralist sense, but in the wider sense; the study of narratives (ie. film, TV, literature). Early ludologists - people like Gonzalo Frasco - explored an alternative mode of studying video games based on the notion that narratology was ill-equipped to deal with this new and different form. Frasca drew a line between narrative, which he called representation, defined by its retrospective unfolding of events; and games, which are simulations, which Frasca suggests unfold prospectively and offer the possibility of a ‘choice’ not present in traditional narrative. But whilst many ludologists prefer to steer game criticism towards new horizons, I propose in this article to keep the conversation firmly situated in the narrative aspect of games.
The ludology v. narratology debate is, according to Frasca, a ‘debate that never happened.’ Even at the outset of ludology it was clear to see that the alternative method of study could only hope to complement, not replace, a narratological approach to video games. Personally, coming from an academic, literary background and with no knowledge of game design, the narratalogical approach is one I fully support - especially when approaching modern, story-driven video games like Deus Ex. I don’t believe there is any way to justifiably challenge a narratological approach to video games. Any video game with a defined story (and many without) are at their heart, texts; they are simply texts that operate with different rules to traditional literature - but can’t the same be said of theatre, or TV? All that is required is a little tweaking; a little extra to consider when analysing these new texts.
To illustrate my argument, lets consider Deus Ex: Human Revolution through the lens of Barthes’ - one of the most prominent narratologists - five narrative codes: the hermeneutic, the proairetic, the semic, the symbolic and the cultural. All five, I would argue, are present in Deus Ex. Deus Ex is, at its heart, a cyberpunk detective story and thus an archetypal example of hermeneutics. From the moment we take control of Adam Jensen we are presented with mysteries requiring resolution - the first book we read, for example, mentions the mysterious ‘patient X’ whose identity is obscured until much later in the game. If hermeneutics builds suspense with mystery, then the second code - proairetics - builds suspense with action: the immediate need to know ‘what happens next.’ Again, Deus Ex is driven by these proairetic moments; moments such as the first showdown between Adam and Jaron, or less specifically, every moment in which Adam interacts with his environment. One could argue, in fact, that while hermeneutics might be the primary narrative code of traditional fiction, proarietics is the primary code of the video game; in which every action - every interaction the character has with his environment - has a reaction. The secondary, atemporal codes likewise persist in Deus Ex. Semic codes - the connotations evoked by story elements - persist in, for example, the concept of neuropozyne and the attention it draws to the theme of wealth and inequality which consistently operates in the background of the game. Meanwhile the over-arching theme of transhumanism and identity is a solid example of a symbolic code. Finally, the background of real technological and social debate which the game logically extends provides an example of cultural codes.
These codes, of course, all relate to the most overtly narratalogical element of the game: the fictional world of the game and the story which unfolds in that world. Like texts, of course, this diegetic element is only one part of the game: there exists also the extra-diegetic world outside the text: the world of the reader (or the projected narratee, if we want to make the distinction). Unlike traditional texts, however, there is a third level to negotiate in video games: the level that mediates between the fictional world of the character and the real world of the player: what we might call the ‘intra-diegetic’ level. This level is comprised of the rules of the game: the options and limitations imposed on the player, the specific map of controls and input commands the game requires. To translate this into the traditional interaction between reader and fiction, this would be the level at which the book directs the speed at which you turn a page or some other, equally absurd, notion. More relatable is this level in that most literary of games: the choose your own adventure novel. In that case, the intra-diegetic level is comprised of the instruction each reader finds at the bottom of the page, neither a part of nor separate to the text: if x, turn to a; if y, turn to b.
While the fundamental ways in which games operate may differ from the ways in which films and books operate, games still fulfil a narrative function. The narrative is usually multiplied to offer an illusion of chance for the player - particularly overt in moments such as the ending of Deus Ex, or in the way Skyrim offers multiple dialogue options, but in actual fact inherent to the user-input-oriented nature of gaming - but it persists nevertheless and is still fundamentally finite. Frasca, whilst arguing for an alternative mode of studying games, himself still concedes the narrative quality of games. Frasca also touches upon what I have called the intra-diegetic level of the game-text - which Frasca specifically identifies as manipulation rules (ways in which the developer allows the player to have his character interact with his environment - for example the opportunity to kill prostitutes in GTA), and goal rules (rules which the player must use his character to meet to ‘win’ the game) - and how these rules also serve the narrative function of transmitting an ideology, amongst other things. In Deus Ex the player may defeat enemies lethally or non-lethally: a manipulation rule which emphasises the developers’ faith in the possibility of non-lethal conflict resolution. Likewise the ‘goal’ of Deus Ex - while consistently changing as new information is received - is ultimately to investigate the disappearance of Megan and the scientists. What ideology does this transmit? That the truth should not remain obscured? That grief requires closure? That crime cannot go unpunished? The ideological ramifications of goal rules are manifest.
What is my point? The argument for a narrative approach to video game analysis is not new. However it is one I needed to make myself in order to provide a foundation for what I hope to do in the second part of this article: to attempt to classify modern story-driven games in their literary context. Can a game conform to the acknowledged standards of realist fiction, or modernist fiction? I would argue that a classic, story-driven game like Deus Ex is fundamentally a modernist work. Of course, if a game can be modernist, there exists the potential also for a postmodern game. My intention is to draw from Brian McHale’s seminal work Constructing Postmodernism, in which McHale spends a great deal of time contrasting the techniques of modernist and postmodernist literature in order to identify the boundaries of the two movements and the grey area in between. McHale’s book is a work of literary criticism, thus it is vital to my attempts that video games are understood in the context of these articles as strictly literary, narrative fictions. Ultimately I aim to briefly cover some examples of modern games employing techniques in the modernist repertoire (as identified by McHale), and to contrast this with the potential for future games to draw from the postmodernist repertoire characterising contemporary fiction, in an attempt to examine what a postmodern game may look like. Currently I believe at least one - but perhaps many - postmodern games exist in the mainstream gaming canon. In the coming weeks I will explore this hypothesis, and in a fortnight or so I will post the second part of this article; hopefully supporting - but possibly contradicting - my current hypothesis.
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