Ideally, I’d want to write a book about Silent Hill 3. The game deals a lot with violence, the human condition, and birth—all things that I write about a lot. But I have only ever watched my husband, Kenny, play this game, and absolutely could not play it myself—it’s technically difficult and scary.
I haven’t even beaten my favorite game, the one I started with: Ocarina of Time. I have tried many times since my dad beat it. I can easily navigate the Great Deku Tree, Dodongo’s Cavern, and Lord Jabu-Jabu’s Belly. Once, I got stuck at the Water Temple (a classic spot to fail). The last time I tried, I got stuck in the Gerudo Fortress. Even looking up how to sneak past the busty Gerudo women, I couldn’t figure it out.
white boy
with blonde hair and blue eyes
fits all sizes
Why do we return to these games we’ve utterly mastered? To answer that question, I asked seven other writers what their “comfort food” was.
There is a certain agency that entering into a game allows the player that they can’t necessarily experience outside of the virtual world, a space to interrogate their inner world through the conceit of the game.
We think video games are literature, and so why shouldn't there be literature about video games? That's the question we're hoping to answer here. Read more.
