Play Your Books: Video Games as Electronic Literature

By Jessica M. Tuckerman

Here’s a brief description of one of my favorite stories: Desmond Miles just escaped from Abstergo Industries, the modern day face of the Knights Templar, after he was forced to live out the genetic memories of his ancestor who fought in the crusades. He escapes with Lucy Stillman and two others who help him to reach a secluded cave where Desmond relives the memories of Ezio Auditore da Firenze. The story jumps between Ezio’s story in the Italian Renaissance and the cave where Desmond is desperately trying to find an alien device which will destroy the world if it falls into the wrong hands. By reliving Ezio’s memories, Desmond hopes to find where the device is hidden before Abstergo catches up to him. 
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The story is full of twists and turns. I actually cried when Ezio, the narrator for much of the story, had to watch his family hang in the middle of Firenze. I love the plot, I love the framed narrative, I love seeing Italy during the Renaissance. I was consistently surprised throughout my first reading of the piece and I truly recommend that you pick it up.

The story is from Assassin’s Creed II. A video game.  

Often, when I say that video games should be considered a form of electronic literature I am greeted with reactions like “Oh yeah - Pong is so deep” and “Sure, Candy Crush has a lot going on.” After I’ve rolled my eyes I kindly acknowledge that not every game falls into those categories. ​

The Electronic Literature Organization defines e-lit as “works with important literary aspects that take advantage of the capabilities and context provided by the stand-alone or networked computer.”

Can I find any important literary aspects in Pong? No. Because it’s digital tennis. But I can absolutely find literary devices in more modern games, Assassin’s Creed and BioShock among those.  
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Consider that the assassinations, the gun shots, the knife fights, the murder, death, and fighting which are prevalent in today’s games are just symptoms of it being a game in the same way that turning a page is a symptom of the book as a medium. Take them out of the equation and look at the stories.

Characterization, Plot, Metaphor, Personification, and Point of View are all present in modern day games. 
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Let’s look back at Assassin’s Creed II for characters and characterization. There are actually two protagonists, Ezio and Desmond, through which the narration of the story is framed and they each have their own antagonists. Ezio is battling against the Templar family the Borgia’s while Desmond is fighting the Templar Company Abstergo. Minor characters abound and you-the-player must help them—or ignore them if that’s your prerogative.

Screenshot from GameSkinny.com

The depth of characterization revealed to you in a game is dependent on the level of interaction from the player. If you-the-player do not complete the missions given to you by the minor characters, like your mother and Leonardo DaVinci in Assassin’s Creed II, you will only get the characterization given to you in the major plot line. Playing through only the major plotline of Assassin’s Creed II means that you will see both a dedicated and vengeful Ezio Auditore, as he learns his skills as an assassin and then systematically takes out members of the Borgia who had betrayed his family. But if you collect all of the pigeon feathers to complete your dead brother’s collection, you will have a special moment with your mother, who has not talked since the death of her husband and two of her sons, showing a more tender side to the assassin. 
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But characters don't make the plot.  ​

Image from DragonAge.com

Screenshot from DragonAge.com

Foreshadowing, suspense, conflict, rising action, crisis, even sometimes flat out exposition in the cut scenes also occur in modern video games. In Dragon Age: Inquisition, you play as the Inquisitor as you look for rebellious mages and templars across the land who are waging a war that is catching innocent victims in the crossfire. In the opening scene, your character runs through the realm of the dead and through a portal into the world of the living. Then she, or he, passes out. The first chance you have for interaction is when you are questioned about your involvement in the explosion that caused the very demons you were just running from to fall from the sky.  

The game starts in crisis. Many games actually begin this way, with a war, or a haunting, or a string of murders already in progress. A low level of suspense is then elevated as the situation worsens and reaches a climax. Just like you might find in a book.

Plot and characters are surface aspects of literature. Every story has them. The best stories, however, have a little more meaning to them, and ask the player/reader a big question. 

In BioShock, a first person shooter, you play as Jack, who just crash landed in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean and happened upon the underwater city of Rapture. Obviously designed to be utopia away from the prying eyes of the government and their laws, Rapture is now crumbling as seen not only from its drug addicted residents but also from the many leaks around pathways.  
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You are guided by Atlas who asks you to hijack a series of rooms and items on your descent through Rapture. Each time he asks you to do something required for the story to move forward he states “would you kindly.”

“Would you kindly go in that bathysphere?” ​

“Would you kindly electrocute that door?”

Image from GenGAME.net

Each time you obey. Although, early in the game you assume it’s because you-the-player want to move through the game. But if you-the-reader, the analytical player, listen closely: Atlas doesn’t always say “would you kindly.” ​

Screenshot from BioShock.Wikia.com

When you pick up your first syringe of EVE, the substance used to power your new super powers, at the beginning of the game, you do it without being told.  

Many players take this, and other instances of already knowing how things work, as foreshadowing. Jack already knows why he needs the syringe because Jack was already in Rapture.  
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As you follow Atlas’s suggestions, watching as Andrew Ryan destroys everything in your path in an attempt to kill you, you find out that Jack is actually Jack Ryan, and that he was brainwashed as a child so that he could kill Atlas, aka Frank Fontaine. Oh, and Jack has a trigger phrase, that when said he’ll do anything, even kill a puppy as you-the-player get to listen to on your journey of discovery.

“Would you kindly kill Andrew Ryan?”

Andrew Ryan’s dying words have a lot of meaning in them. As you beat him to death, because you literally have no choice, Andrew Ryan screams at you “A man chooses; a slave obeys.” 

When you hear “A man chooses; a slave obeys” you-the-reader should wonder who he’s talking to. In the grand scheme of the game, you-the-player control Jack and he is a symbol of your choices. So is Jack the slave? Or are you? 

Again, it’s just a game. Certainly no deeper meaning here.  

Screenshot from BioShock.Wikia.com

The obvious symbolism in the game is with the crumbling infrastructure of Rapture. As you walk through its underwater passageways, there are leaks, rust, and just flat out sunken areas. You can peep through windows to see the broken city at the bottom of the sea and glean that its physical appearance is representative of its social and economic situation as well. 

Setting changes from game to game. Not just the when, where, and what but also the level of interactivity. Sure, there are plenty of towns and forests to choose from when talking about setting in games, but the best ones, just like the best ones in literature, make an impact on the story and the gameplay. 
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Screenshot from BioShock.Wikia.com

In Assassin’s Creed II, you need to use your setting of 15th century Italy, to climb up on the terra cotta roof tops and hang precariously from window ledges to air assassinate your foes. You also need to find corners, crowds of people, haystacks, and other hiding places to lose your enemies or trap them.  ​​

Screenshot from AssassinsCreed.Wikia.com

In BioShock, all that lovely water comes in handy if you want to electrocute your foes. It’s not just there for symbolism.  

In the second half of its definition of electronic literature, the ELO states that it has to “take advantage of the capabilities and context provided by the stand-alone or networked computer.”  ​

You mean like—the way a video game is a piece of software that requires input into a device connected to a computerized platform? 

Stop thinking of games as games that children play with monotonous and repetitious game play and start thinking about games as electronic choose your own adventure literature.  

The meanings we can glean from video games depend on the interactions of the player as opposed to non-electronic literature in which we can only bring our own experiences and prejudices. If you play more, you discover more. If you read more, you can only discover what the author left for you. 
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So, would you kindly consider video games a form of electronic literature?