Putting Memories Together: How Gorogoa Turns Puzzles into Story
One of the first things I noticed about Gorogoa was that it almost never used dialogue or cutscenes to tell its story. Players discover the protagonist’s life by moving, stacking, and combining illustrated panels, gradually revealing fragments of his memories. By the end of the game, I wasn’t just solving puzzles anymore—I was putting together someone else’s past. That was what made Gorogoa unlike any puzzle game I had played before.
What impressed me most was how naturally the gameplay and the narrative worked together. Every new connection revealed another piece of the protagonist’s memories, so solving the puzzles and understanding the story gradually became the same experience. It took me a while to notice that almost everything in the game could connect to something else, even tiny details I had ignored only a few minutes earlier. Looking back, I think the MDA framework explains why this experience felt so engaging. The simple mechanics of moving and connecting panels created the dynamics of exploration, which led to feelings of curiosity, surprise, and emotional connection. Rather than explaining everything directly, the game encouraged me to build the narrative myself. That sense of discovery was what made Gorogoa stand out from other puzzle games I had played.
Before playing Gorogoa, I believed puzzle games were mostly about logic and finding the correct answer. I never expected one to make me feel emotionally connected to its story. Playing Gorogoa completely changed that expectation. Exploring, observing, and trying different ideas became just as rewarding as finding the solution. At first, I honestly thought I was doing everything wrong. I even searched online for a walkthrough because I felt I had misunderstood how the game worked. A few tips helped me realize that the game wasn’t testing whether I could memorize rules or discover hidden tricks. It wanted me to slow down, pay attention, and experiment. Once I understood that, I stopped using the walkthrough because solving each challenge on my own became much more satisfying. Gradually, it became clear that the uncertainty wasn’t bad design—it was exactly what the game wanted me to experience. The fragmented puzzles mirror the protagonist’s fragmented memories, making it feel as if we were both trying to make sense of broken pieces. When everything finally clicked, it felt like I had remembered something instead of solved something. That feeling matches Lazzaro’s idea of Hard Fun, where satisfaction comes from overcoming meaningful challenges. Rather than testing how smart I was, Gorogoa used confusion to help me understand what the protagonist was feeling.
Not every part of the experience worked perfectly for me. Sometimes I wasn’t sure whether I was making real progress or simply clicking on everything and hoping something would work. Unlike Portal, which usually lets players know they are moving in the right direction, Gorogoa provides very little feedback. As a result, every successful solution felt like a genuine discovery. I understand why Jason Roberts designed it this way, but I can also see why some players might give up before reaching those rewarding moments. If I could redesign the game, I would add an optional hint system that appears only after a player has been stuck for a while. Instead of revealing the answer, it could gently highlight a panel that has not been explored yet. This would preserve the excitement of discovery while making the experience less frustrating for new players.
The game also made me think about who it is really designed for. Players who are unfamiliar with abstract visual storytelling may find both the gameplay and the narrative difficult to follow. It may also be less accessible for people with visual impairments or cognitive differences. Since I needed a walkthrough at the beginning, I can imagine how much harder the experience would feel for players who face additional accessibility barriers. I don’t think Gorogoa needs to change its artistic style, but optional accessibility features, such as adjustable hints, higher contrast, or alternative visual cues, could help more people enjoy the game without changing what makes it special.
When I finished Gorogoa, my idea of what a puzzle game could be had completely changed. Rather than simply asking me to solve puzzles, the game invited me to rebuild someone else’s memories through play. I know this kind of design won’t appeal to everyone, especially players who prefer clear goals and constant feedback. Even so, it changed the way I think about puzzle games. I used to believe they were mainly about finding the right answer, but now I see they can also help players connect with another person’s life.
