“Identity of an individual is based on its ability to create and maintain a narrative on what he thinks of himself. Our identity is then defined by the discourse we make about ourselves for the others”. (Anthony Giddens)
In the ‘real’ world, an individual sense of self emerges from one’s interactions with others and the environment, symbols that are interpreted and communicate to us intangible ideas and feelings. The meaning of these symbols is affected by social context and are expressed through cultural markers like language, dress and behavior that others can recognize. In Journey, while symbols are in plenty, these symbols lack any cultural context. As one travels through the world, its symbols – the expansive landscapes; our faceless, nameless and armless avatar; ruins; hieroglyphics; and other objects – are open to being interpreted and read in multiple ways. The simple controls, obstacles and the lack of an explicit narrative further engenders reflection on part of the player. The abstract and minimalistic game then, provides the player with symbols that are blank slates to be filled by them. So, while the game does have a narrative, the narrative is equally constructed by the player. The game mechanics of Journey let us play with questions about the construction and maintenance of one’s identity.
The game begins with one’s avatar climbing atop a hill, from where one can see the faint outline of a distant mountain. The name of the game appears on the screen. One now knows their destination but nothing else – who our avatar is? why it is making the journey? The expansive desert, ruins and scraps of cloth invite experimentation and exploration. One jumps, sings and skids through the landscape to interact with fluttering pieces of cloth. One figures that the ‘cloth fragments’ or ‘flags’ light up the avatar’s ‘scarf’, that allow it to ‘jump higher’. One returns to the flags to ‘replenish energy’ before moving onto experiment with the next obstacle. In our Journey-playing session, the cloth fragments came to be regarded as ‘aiding’ the avatar’s actions. Each subsequent level built on the previous one, as new objects and spaces were invested with meaning. The once hollow objects came to be invested with meaning that reflected the biography of the gamer/s.
We further construct narratives in our interactions with others. In Journey, when an irreducible mysterious other entered the virtual landscape, we sang and ran along with them. We learnt that there was a bonus in socialization – we could replenish each other’s energies. In our non-linguistic, non-verbal collaboration, there was a kinetic display of ideas – as our friend waited for us, we learnt to wait for them. In sticking with our ‘friend’, we came to recognize their idiosyncrasies and patterns and this in turn shaped our actions. When our ‘friend’ ‘afk-ed’ on us, we lost a part of ourselves – the affect generated by this loss was almost tangible in the room. I for one wanted our friend back when we faced the ‘light-beaming-fish-creature’. Based on our affective collaboration with our ‘friend’, on what we produced together, we became authors of how we felt and the narrative/s we created.
In conclusion then, by stripping the player of basic modes of interaction and in providing little direction, the networked gameplay of Journey allows for a deformation and reformation of the stories we tell.
http://www.isabellearvers.com/2012/08/identity-otherness-games-machinima/