One of the things I love most about Gone Home is the way the game tells its story through the spaces. We pick up the narrative (and micronarratives) through exploring all of the objects we can interact with; notes, crumpled pages, letters, photos, private possessions etc. Ultimately, the level of engagement can be up to the player's willingness to follow all of these threads.
In addition, each space in the game has its own affect: an office in slight disarray with self-deprecating notes ("You can do better"), a cozy yet bare attic getaway separated from the rest of the world, closets full of old board games... I think the game is perhaps one of the best examples of environmental or spatial storytelling, especially if we link it to Jenkin's thoughts about melodrama. We are, in effect, invading privacy and picking up story pieces from private thoughts. The main departure here would be Sam's journal, since she's left that for us purposefully.
Here, I also want to connect Gone Home to Jenkin's discussion of "evocative spaces." Jenkins talks about evocative spaces through the example of amusement parks or games that take place in already-formed story worlds, but I want to focus on his note about "genre traditions." In his words, evocative spaces are ones that we recognize, drawing on "our previously existing narrative competencies." For me, the spaces of Gone Home clearly evoke horror storytelling traditions through its sound design and visuals. In the pounding of the rain, strikes of lightening, darkness and emptiness of the house, Gone Home crafts a distinctly unsettling space. As a player, I feel the need to leave all of the lights on in part to track my progress but also to feel more... well, at home. (The note from her mom about leaving lights on all the time here made me chuckle, as I'm sure it's also a direct address to the player.)
The game utilizes things like secret passageways and panels, and the opening surely makes it seem like we might be walking into a terrifying situation. The bursts of songs from the tape players are jarring and disturb the quiet of the house, and I found I could never really leave them on for more than five seconds.
There's no doubt that despite its emptiness, the house feels alive. There are strange sounds spread intermittently through gameplay, small knocks and taps that unsettle the player. Of course, Uncle Oscar's story and the Ouija board only add to this, especially since we don't get that many answers about Oscar and his apparent descent. All we know is that this house belonged to him and it has now been passed down. We get a snippet of his presence in the seance, with him saying he wants to "come back."
There are other moments that come back to the horror atmosphere, with the slow opening of the attic and basement doors and the darkness of the staircases. I actually jumped when I got to the bottom of the staircase and the light broke behind me. Because I was already on edge, it was easy for things to rattle me, even though I've played it before.
What I'd like to say here, reflecting on the idea of evocative spaces, is that Gone Home effectively uses the genre traditions of horror games to create a tactile experience for the player. Even though the gameplay is a lot of exploring, I woudn't by any means describe it as relaxing.
It is interesting to think about what this affect does for the narrative in the game, which stays away from more overtly scary elements. Instead, the game tells us many stories: a relationship seems to be breaking apart, hints of affairs and changing feelings, a father struggles with self doubt and a lack of encouragement from his own father, parents respond to their child's coming out with denial and unsupportive replies, a teen struggles with her place in the world and feeling a need to run away... Then, we as the player arriving in the midst of this chaos, fitting ourselves into a new space that does not feel ready for us. In fact, it feels a bit unwelcome, so I find myself completely understanding Sam's need to leave. These are heavy subjects, all trapped in this house, all more developed through the use of evocative spaces and horror conventions.
Sources
Gone Home. The Fullbright Company. 2013.
Jenkins, Henry. "Game Design as Narrative Architecture."
Great points here, Riss. I'm a huge baby, so the myriad horror cues actually kept me from finishing the game as quickly as I should've (especially when elements of the occult started to creep in, at which point I started to get serious Hereditary vibes). At a certain point, though, I almost started to read the cues as cheeky and self-aware, evocative as they were. The drone, the dark hallways, the red dye in the bathtub, the pentagram... all the while I felt I was being primed for a jump scare that never came. I had the paranoia of, say, a JFK assassination obsessive. I felt almost manipulated by this game, in the best possible way.