The Revenant's Lament

The Faust legend is an old one – Marlowe’s take goes back to the early 17th Century, and of course there are many medieval and classical antecedents similarly featuring deals with the devil. But it’s one that’s got many modern incarnations, too: Thomas Mann reworked the story to juxtapose Mephistopheles with the Nazi regime, The Master and Margarita does the same with the Soviets, but there are lots of other more or less elastic adaptations. The mere fact of reinterpretation perhaps doesn’t mean that much in our current reboot-heavy culture, but Dr. Faust has a couple hundred years even on Spider Man, so it’s worth considering what’s responsible for the myth’s longevity. Beyond the obvious vicarious pleasure of seeing all the joys that a life of sin can offer (portrayed inside of a moralizing frame offering plausible deniability, of course), the fun of a capering, too-clever-by-half devil, and the compelling image of a scholar who’ll stop at nothing for knowledge – surely there are more than a few literary critics who flatter their egos by seeing something of Faust in themselves – it also satisfies a primitive desire for punishment: Faust makes a rash deal, promises something he shouldn’t, and has to face the consequences. Even if he is sometimes saved in the end, he earns his redemption, and the story as a whole reifies the idea that a moral order exists, which is comforting even if the details of said order may or may not be defensible.

The protagonist of The Revenant’s Lament, John Cassidy King (who winds up going by a variety of names and pronouns over the course of the game, so I’m going to stick with King and they/them pronouns for ease of discussion) certainly seems to believe in the reality of punishment, and even crave it to a certain extent. This is an EctoComp entry so tortured protagonists are de rigueur, but the details here are compellingly specific: King is an Old West cowboy, born as a girl but living now as a man, who escaped a domineering, vicious father though not without committing some crimes in return. They ride their father’s stolen horse but expect it to turn on them at any moment, and it’s not surprising that that guilty conscience seems to hover over the conversation they have when a white-clad stranger shows up at their campfire, offering any wish King pleases just for a song and the warmth of the flames – the narration is close-third on King throughout, but it still judgmentally notes that King is being selfish when asking what the visitor can offer as a gift. And when it appears that the stranger can make good on his extravagant promise, what does King wish for but to live forever, to forestall the day of reckoning as long as they can. And when that decision has consequences – because of course it does – King fights mightily against their fate, but still seems half to believe they deserve what’s coming to them.

Tragedies can’t hold the player in suspense as to their outcomes, so they need a solid dose of pathos to really deliver, and this Revenant’s Lament has in spades. The prose here is very good, propulsive and showing equal facility with drawing characters and displaying well-turned images. Here’s an early bit of scene-setting:

"The trading post is just across the street from the post office, the hitches outside occupied by tall, painted horses who graze on sparse grass, shuffle and snort and wait for their riders to return. The type of creature to make John nervous, beasts so assured of their own existence that fear becomes an afterthought."

And here’s the devil himself:

"The lonesome stranger doesn’t look old. For the briefest of seconds, he looks like John’s father, smiles in the same crooked way, his thin lips curling back into a snarl or sneer, nothing real in the expression. A coyote grin; knowing something John doesn’t. And then he’s a stranger again, one with short, slicked back salt and pepper hair and the shadow of a beard across his jaw, one with eyes black as a clouded night, empty, dull, filled with flame."

Every once in a while it does tack on one clause too many after a comma, or get a small detail wrong (the dead man’s hand was a pair of aces and a pair of eights, not a full house), but that’s only the kind of thing that you’d notice if you were taking notes for a review (er.). The themes here are relatively straightforward ones – identity, sin, all that stuff – but they’re played with a lovely richness of tone, elevating what could have been merely pulp material in lesser hands.

The interactivity is also nicely handled. King is something of a passive character, often deferring their choices to what others wish, and this is nicely mirrored in choices that wind up channeled into a single outcome (either through narrating abortive attempts that turn out futile, or graying out seemingly-valid options to make clear that there’s only one path forward). There is one significant moment of choice at the end, leading to substantially different denouements; by that point events have progressed so far that the outcome is always tragic, but it is an engaging moment of agency by way of contrast with the rest of the game. And this approach does mean that the moments when King does take the reins and articulate what they want for themselves stand out, and land with some force.

The one thing holding the Revenant’s Lament back is its pacing. The plot here is compelling, with a lot of incident – I was very invested in following King’s story to its end – and the characters and prose also help sustain interest. But nonetheless there are a few sequences that felt quite slow to me, notably an extended series of vignettes towards the middle of the story that went on a bit too long, and ill-judged timed text at both the opening and closing of the game which undercut the moments that should have been the most powerful – I know the intention was to slow down and emphasize the significance of what’s happening, but the reality is that I alt-tabbed to check my email until I could actually read the story again.

If I wound up spending a bit longer with King as a result, though, that’s hardly something to lament. The game offers a compelling character study, with a meditation on guilt and violence that’s entirely in line with what the Western genre does best while interjecting unique themes and story beats I’d never exactly seen before – it’s a worthy addition to the deal-with-the-devil canon, even if the reader does wish King had been able to be better at forgiving themself.

Played: 7/26/24
Playtime: 45min

My introduction to this author was via their prose which typically lands squarely in my thirsty, thirsty brain. It is so singularly confident, eloquent and evocative it just pulls me along regardless of the tale it is telling! I have also come to revere their sly use of interactivity and links. Rarely as true alternatives, link choices are instead used build contradictions in the protagonist, often more effectively than simply explaining them. This work in particular, with its changing and unselectable options paints a clear picture of a protagonist struggling unsuccessfully against their own nature, and does so with uniquely effective interactive techniques.

This work also leverages the dreaded timed text in an ultimately successful way, representing a campfire conversation being lived, not laid out to consume at leisure. I will confess to some trepidation before its use was fully exposed. It is NOT a terrific way to consume story-based works, but it works here as both a graphical cue of its framing sequence and is evocative of its setting.

As a campfire tale, an Old West supernatural story, its setup is enthralling: a stolen identity to mask a deeper secret; a tempting offer that does not go optimally (I mean, do they EVER?); all cresting to some sort of resolution and twist. It’s a terrific formula, and the FORM of it is deeply appealing. Let me break it into four acts: ACT I - the setup and mini-climax; ACT II - a short transition; ACT III - a doomed, joyful interlude; ACT IV - turn and finale.

Despite a terrific plot frame, ACT I prose (acharacteristically for this author) pushed at me. It felt like an unedited first draft? I say this because the prose that so often effortlessly pulls me in, pushed at me here. In one dimension there was the disconnect between the language/imagery and its uneducated, hard scrabble protagonist. In another I found the sentences themselves over-claused? This author’s prose style is NOT Hemingway, not at all. But here, it felt like their typical discipline slipped and where extended sentences and modifying clauses usually flow and ebb but close with a punch, ACT I felt overridden with sentences that continued and continued and continued… and closed in confusion. It really felt of a different piece than the ACTs to follow. Because it was the FIRST ACT, it also pushed me away a bit, even as lots of plot (and notably inventive link architecture!) was happening. This was an uncomfortable, unwelcome conclusion for me. Judiciously turning some commas into periods would make a WORLD of difference here, to me anyway.*

For me, the most successful acts were the middle two. In particular, ACT II plays directly to the prose strengths of this author. I could remove this act from context and read it over and over again. Will resist spoiling what it is describing, but let’s just say it uses food chain specifics to paint passage of time (and obliquely evolution of protagonist) in a singularly magnetic way. This stands among the strongest sequences by this author. Because ACT I did not click in so crisply, this was a breath of relief as well.

ACT III delves into emotional interiority in a way that felt both earned and suitably shadowed for the tale. The prose employed to do so remained singular, unintrusive and propulsive. There were some logistical questions not quite clarified… a new character was able to pierce the veiled identity of a new body somehow… but the emotional content felt right. My specific question: (Spoiler - click to show)The host seemed to recognize the protagonist’s biological sex during a bath despite currently inhabiting a body the text leaned into as a male. Layered on top of this was deep sadness over the implications of the ACT I deal, agreed upon with no anticipation of ACT III’s fleeting joy. I found story beats, language and emotional content all clicking together smoothly and satisfyingly here.

ACT IV disappointed me in a different way. There was, throughout the work, some tension in the protagonist’s character. Early self-isolating choices pointed strongly one direction, only for later longing choices to contradict those earlier ones. In ACT IV, choices and mental anguish seemed further disconnected from plot beats and character motivations in a distracting way. In one sequence, the protagonist bemoans the impossibility of locating someone, despite having been told they are the local sheriff. Is it really that hard to find a sheriff when you need one? That seems like a pretty good lead to me! The anguish felt overwrought, given the circumstances. In general, the runup to the final scene felt more of a piece to ACT I than II and III, though the sentence structure definitely carried more discipline.

I am happy to report the final scene absolved a lot of that. A final plot twist is actually quite satisfying, leading to a final tragically impotent choice and open-ended climax. Then a campfire stinger appropriate for the narrative. While I initially rebelled at the open-ended climax, the narrative engaged it directly and turned me 180 on it in like two screens. That is some story-telling power!

So, overall impression: two frictiony acts, two banger acts, and a strong close. Sure, would prefer them all to stitch together cleanly, but if not, that’s good enough for me!

*It is not lost on me that the above criticism is fairly leveled at MY style as well. But this isn’t about me!

This is a long Twine game entered into Ectocomp, Grand Guignol.

You play as what I interpreted as a trans man, someone born as a daughter, raised as a son, who killed his father and took his name and identity. I may have misread it, though.

You have quite a few options in the game. In your life, you come across the devil, who makes a deal with you, which you get to pick.

Near the end, you get to choose between four different endings, some shorter, some longer.

The world setting is a dark and unhappy version of the wild west. Towns are dead or dying; men are jealous and violent; women are suffering. The Devil stalks across the land, doing as he pleases with no mercy.

While the opening didn't grab me, being a bit too rich for me (like thick, bittersweet fudge), the endings grabbed me, being strongly written. I had a love ending, and I liked it.

The timed text was obnoxious; when the game trusted to the text to provide the pacing instead of some html code, it worked better, IMO. I eventually discovered that you can speed it up a bit by clicking, but that meant that for both my endings I missed the finale, which is timed text where a single click skips it all with no way to get back. But the fact I wanted to read those endings was a tribute to the strong writing of the finales. A good game for those in a lonesome mood.

Through the framing of a told tale about a cowboy, his/her choices, and their consequences, the game mixes a western setting with some fantastical elements, bringing an interesting take on 'the Devil's Deal. Because of this framing, the game utilises different interfaces to demarcate the present and the told story (as you are both listening and playing through the tale).

As usual with this author, the imagery is quite vivid through the extensive prose, especially the descriptions surrounding nature and the start of the second part of the story. Though the choices are limited and the story fairly linear, the interactivity in this game (or lack thereof) is nonetheless pretty interesting, especially through the first part.

I particularly enjoyed the endings, revealing much more than the fate of John Cassidy King. Surprisingly, that extra reveal stayed longer in my mind, especially the one of the earliest ending.