Let’s consider Barthe’s argument in The Death of the Author within the context of games. Barthe describes a problem for readers (think players): if we presume the existence of an authoritative capital-A-Author (think game designer) then readers lose the freedom to actively derive their own meaning from the text and are limited to uncovering the “secret” meaning in the text. However, Barthe does not posit an adequate solution to this problem. The solution he proposes is to, in a rather romantic turn of phrase, “kill the Author” and replace her with a stateless being devoid of passions, humors, sentiments, and impressions. While this approach may be effective at removing the limits on readers searching for a “secret” meaning, it introduces a new set of problems. For one, a reader without guidance can easily get lost and become discouraged from delving deeper. While she may have the potential for further discovery beyond the writer’s intended message, there is no guarantee a listless reader will even make it that far.
In my first playing Dr. Langeskov, The Tiger, and The Terribly Cursed Emerald: A Whirlwind Heist I yelped in fear, chuckled out loud, and spent lots of time searching for coins, pretzels, and “secret” lines of dialogue. On my second playing, I found myself quite bored and tried to complete the game as quickly as possible. The world was still deep, and some parts were still novel: I could have poured over the notes and posters or combed through every crack for coins, but I felt like I had heard, seen, and done everything already. I had already experienced what the game designer had intended for me to experience.
We can imagine Barthe’s reader as me in my second playthrough. Without the knowledge a payoff is coming, I would quickly lose interest. The game becomes an empty movie set. Would some players still get enjoyment from combing through the props and playing with the lights? Sure, but I’d argue a vast majority of players would poke around for a few minutes, get bored, and close the game. Crucially, the game designer’s intent for the player to find secret pretzels, uncover funny dialogue options, and get scared by a tiger give the player momentum to continue through the game in the hopes of discovering more intentionally placed secrets.
This is where we must note that games and texts are very different mediums. One big way they are different is that most games are presumed to be fun. Reading a book can certainly be fun for some but entertainment is not the most dominant reason people read, especially compared to the reasons people play video games. Unfortunately, Barthe did not play any video games (although it is interesting to imagine how his ideas would be different if he had) but we can still understand Barthe’s reader would want to gain some sort of knowledge or satisfaction out of a book, like the way a gamer seeks entertainment.
For two, a reader that closes themselves off to the context of the writer also risks cutting themselves off from a great deal of meaning. If, for example, Langeskov et al. had been made by a large AAA studio, the imagery and reference to worker strikes and their impact on the game the player is trying to play may carry a different meaning than it does currently being made by a smaller independent game studio. Indeed, it is questionable if a AAA studio would ever even think of making a game like this.
Two of several signs used in the strike.
Just like any form of art, games are not created or experienced in a vacuum. The game’s two programmers, Sean O’Dowd and Andrew Roper, no doubt have lived experience of the unforgiving video game industry, and that experience is reflected in their work. An outsider who had never experienced the intense pressures of crunch time or the underpaid salaries of game programmers would struggle to create a game environment and weave a storyline that feels real and true to that experience. Yet Barthes’ framework, in freeing the reader from the author, offers no language for the relationship between them. In a increasingly predatory video game industry, it is more important than ever that player and game designer have empathy for each other, not only for the sake of entertainment or meaning-finding, but for the goodness of art and humanity.
