Riven: On Isolation

Riven: the Sequel to Myst holds a slot somewhere in my heart and mind for being one of those rare games to be devoid of human life. That makes me sound like a type of misanthrope, or a hermit living in the mountains, but let me plead my case and you might agree.

I replayed Riven: The Sequel to Myst not too long ago and every time I revisit it I’m always astounded by how well it holds up compared to games of the time. Riven not only looks a treat to the eyes but it remains a haunting experience all these years later. The reason for retained graphical fidelity is another matter entirely, pre-rendered graphics I suppose, but I think the reason Riven remains an engrossing player experience – and I say engrossing, not immersive as the latter word is practically dead thanks to marketing and PR - is due to it's careful design. Mystery, puzzles, a well-realised world. All of this experience in complete, total isolation.

We are alone in Riven.

We often think of isolation as something lonely, the two words going hand in hand, when I think quite the opposite. Isolation is to be alone but it is not to be lonely, just as to be lonely does not mean you are alone; there are lonely people surrounded by all the friends in the world. Isolation is a much more desolate affair; it can mean anything from an empty room to a deserted house or even mental isolation. The point is isolation can be taken in any number of ways, but we more often than not interpret it as a single meaning.

The original Myst is a game played entirely in isolation, all the action taking place in a void where you seem to be the only perceptible life. The island itself, in a mirror flat expanse of water, brings to mind some kind of lonely forgotten place in some distant corner of the world and one of the first questions many players have upon arriving in Myst is this: where is everyone? Why are you marooned upon this island?

The presence of life is so ubiquitous in games – and indeed, in real life – that the absence of it is enough to elicit feelings of discomfort. The removal of people, of the ever present non-player characters or the removal of multi-player elements can create an empty world which players, more often than not, find an isolating and haunting experience. Recent examples of games like Journey or Lifeless Planet show us that creative and immersive experiences can be made with little – or no – human interaction. And while the original Myst does allow us to feel that emptiness, it is in the sequel work that we feel it more. You are inhabiting spaces that you can tell humans were meant to be in, or that humans have once inhabited but are now gone. You remain.

From the beginning of Riven, isolation, as we will call it, features prominently as a device to enhance player immersion. Looming above the game are two figures: Gehn and Atrus. We see Atrus at the beginning and he barely has time to speak to us, let alone explain the full immensity of the affairs unfolding. In fact, he can barely take the time to look at us properly, as he works furiously to repair a breaking world, before sending us to Riven; barely meeting our gaze as we enter a world with more risk than ever before.

And as for Gehn, mentioned above, he is someone who remains a presence on Riven throughout the game, in some ways intentional and in others not. Everywhere you go, Gehn is there in some way or another; trees felled on Jungle Island, the intricate rules and systems built to separate the Rivenese, the flaws and holes appearing within the created age itself. As the player is free to take things at their own pace, many players could go hours, days, without seeing Gehn yet by the time we meet him we know what kind of a person he is by observing the effects on the world.

It’s a very ingenious thing, game designers now could take a tip from Riven for world building, if only on conveying character through the subtext of the world. We know Gehn has trouble with the rebel Moeity; the large daggers permeating the world tell us this. We know Gehn is creating books; the logical connection between the felled woods, the mine cart, and the boiler island allows the player to realise what he is doing. Books of Gehns, drawings of him, descriptions of him and yet we don’t see him until much later. His obsession with the number five, the way the villagers have made him a deity and whatever happened with the mysterious Star Fissure has been immortalised in stained glass reliefs.

As mentioned prior, I said that ‘we are alone in Riven’ and that is not strictly true and I knew it when I wrote it but rather we are alone in our actions. Perhaps the reason Riven works is not that the game is an isolated experience - we know for a fact there are other humans somewhere - but rather that the first few humans we do meet leave us apprehensive to meet others. Within seconds of arriving in Riven, our Trap Book is stolen by a Rivenese guard - Cho, as I understand he is named in lore – and shortly after that, he is knocked unconscious by a poison dart by the Moiety rebellion. From behind bars, we see ourselves robbed only to see ourselves freed and from the moment we now begin, we are cautious of a world we have only just arrived in.

Human contact on Riven is minimal to say the least and was often the thing I found the most uncomfortable. Children run from you, alarms sound as you enter the village and no matter how much you knock on doors or wander the village, you cannot elicit a response from the villagers. Mistaken for a rebel, it is almost as if you were a monster or a ghost of sorts; no one will give you a moment of time, we are deprived of human contact. No one addresses us, acknowledges us, thanks us, guides us. We are alone in our actions.

In this strange world, we are very alone, glimpsing human elements through our limited reactions and actions to them. Even on Tay, the Rebel Age, we can only see the lights across the water. We never reach them, only able to imagine what's going on inside the immense tree.

But within Riven is not only isolation; running parallel to isolation is the idea of imprisonment and in fact, the two go hand in hand. You are alone in Riven with no clear way out, just as Gehn is alone with no way out. Both of you want the same thing; escape.

When we do meet Gehn, it is clear he is alone, isolated in his 233rd age but it is also clear that he has waited for this moment for a long time, rehearsing it and preparing to meet another like-minded being. Everything is coordinated for him; Gehn's brief pause for a smoke is a moment for him to organize his next theme of manipulation. He realizes that his own confession of self-pity may not be enough to persuade you, so he turns to draw you to sympathize with the people of Riven, those same people who run and hide from you too.

It is also important to note Gehn's animal-like qualities. We are caged when we meet him first, just as we were when we entered the empty world of Riven. The cage has two psychological themes in this speech; one is that it appears that Gehn imprisons you from entering his lair, kept at arm’s length from an isolated man but in his speech you realize that HE is imprisoned like a predator animal in a cage. He paces back and forth, waiting for the moment to be freed and behaving in good manners to hope that someone will open the "cage". But when he realizes you will not help him, his raw behaviour surfaces, the realisation his imprisonment and isolation will not end is too much.

Perhaps we are not meant to like other people, or form a serious connection, if you would accept such misanthropic thoughts. I played first Riven at a young age, perhaps too young to appreciate it and certainly, without the connection to the first game it made little sense. But upon completing it – albeit with assistance from my father – I was under a great impression that I had been betrayed, or rather used, by Atrus. I know that is not true now, but at the time I was under the impression I had failed.

With Catherine freed from Gehn’s clasps and Gehn imprisoned within the trap book, Atrus gets what he wanted. And as Catherine and Atrus disappear into their linking book, you are left alone for a few brief seconds on the collapsing world of Riven before you too fall into the stars below, that immense black empty void of the Star Fissure gets smaller and smaller above you; you are isolated once more.

The isolated world of Riven remains unparalleled in my eyes; certainly, game designers could learn a few things from rich world building and showing things, not telling.

We are shown that we are isolated and we do not resent it; rather, we become more immersed in an empty world because we trust ourselves more than we could ever trust another.