My Handheld Dream
Trigger Warning: This piece contains themes of death, suicide, self harm, and mental illness.
For as long as art has existed, the prospect of horror has existed. Despite often being described as embodying “the dread of light and darkness” and “unseen fear”, the identity of Silent Hill (1999) – and thus its sequels – lies in exploring what spectacles might be observed arising from the darkness – as stated by series creator Keiichiro Toyama (shmuplations, 2021). Fear, discomfort, trauma, and disgust have always existed as partners to more positively associated emotions, and they inform humanity’s survivability. For most people, the longevity of horror as an artistic vehicle lies, entrenched, in how it reminds them of their humanity and grounds them in negatively resonating and upsetting emotions. For those who appreciate horror and don’t have it hard enough already – or those who want solace in their experience with hardship – horror becomes easier to appreciate because it makes them read between its lines for positivity. It has a profoundly positive impact on one’s day-to-day life if they’ve learnt to find the light in their hardship and distress instead of simply hoping for it. Keiichiro Toyama is responsible for some of the most resoundingly horrifying and discomforting pieces of art ever made. His work explores grounded, visceral, and uncompromised depictions of abortion, maternity, rape, PTSD, and suicide; nevertheless, he still sees his games as a platform for positivity and an experience wherein the player’s main takeaways should pertain to the spectacles and light that they’ve observed.
I was bullied when I was a kid. I was very fat and antisocial and didn’t know I was autistic. My loneliness made it impossible for me to fit in and, because my social skills never grew, I became a worse person morally until my late teenage years. I was very prejudiced. As a child, I spoke derivatively and without deliberation. I choose to separate myself from my past through a developed vernacular and confident extemporising. I dislike talking about my past too much: when I do, I expose myself. I use un-insightful language and miss details, provoking hyperbole. I make it sound awful, being me. I’d like to think that I’ve changed, that I’ve grown; I identify as pansexual today and I’m in a long-term relationship with someone gender non-conforming. Even now, I feel that my past is still clearly visible from where I stand, and its consequences are burnt into me, seared all over, and scarred on my face and shoulders for all to see.
For as long as video games have existed, the prospect of the “cozy game” has existed. Minecraft’s first release was on May 17th, 2009, and it left early access on PC in 2011 to then hit consoles for the first time in 2012. Minecraft needs no introduction. Part of its popularity came from releasing at a time wherein it could connect a generation of millennials and everyone younger through the same digital platforms that typically infringed upon their social lives. Of these platforms, YouTube was had just hit its newest peak by the start of the 2010s, Instagram released in 2010, and Snapchat released in 2011. Instead of being platforms to trap young people in dopamine loops and prevent them from connecting – for a lot of people – these were just platforms to watch Minecraft content or see its promotional material. They became platforms to encourage children and teenagers to play the game with their friends. The reason these platforms were so easy to distribute and host Minecraft content and discourse through – especially compared to other contemporary releases – was that the game was designed to prioritise accessibility. It didn’t have a prominent plot or story to follow, its main gameplay mechanics were focused on creation and destruction, consequently making itself an excellent platform for competition or creativity, and it was extremely easy to pick up and play with friends.
Over a decade later, on March 20th 2020, Animal Crossing: New Horizons came out and exceptionally blew up in popularity from its outset. Understanding why is not difficult: COVID-19 had almost everyone in the Western world locked in their homes and struggling to pay for rent and bills with the newly imposed restrictions from the lockdowns instilled in their lives. In Animal Crossing: New Horizons, a cute raccoon called Tom Nook tells the player that he doesn’t care when rent gets paid late. He also tells them that they can afford anything they want with next-day delivery provided by their cute golden retriever friend, Isabelle, with only twenty minutes to half an hour’s work. In Animal Crossing: Wild Wood (2005), the player is even afforded the leniency to turn their console (Nintendo DS) off and bypass the game’s save system, allowing tasks to be reattempted after mistakes are made. If the person playing the game chooses to abuse this power, they are always greeted with Resetti, the mole. He criticises the player for not embracing their mistakes, interposing about how the ability to turn back the clock doesn’t exist in the real-world, so every moment should be enjoyed for what it is. Colin Milburn, writing in the conclusion of Respawn: Gamers, Hackers, and Technogenic Life(2018), succinctly surmises the impression that Resetti’s existence gives off: “Resetti knows irony, it seems, and he asks us to feel it, to internalize the impurities and paradoxes of the game in our own flesh. Life is not a game, says Resetti, but he suggests that playing games can teach us how to live” (Milburn, 2018). Animal Crossing’s sempiternal legacy as a franchise could be pertained to how it provides players with a ‘pseudo-nine-to-five’ indulging lassitude whilst still prescribing direction to those who want it. The franchise has always provided people with a way to learn to live life and punished no one for being unable to confront the challenge. Significantly, even Resetti can’t stop the player from resetting the game and he’ll indulge them if it’s done just to talk with him.
Artists who have committed suicide have always led me to introspection. The public perception of their legacies irks me and knowledge about their circumstances has somewhat driven my outlook on myself. Whilst I don’t want to take away from people the sensitive or painful parts of themselves that they see in others’ works or find meaningful relatability in, it’s hard not to feel existentially challenged and upset at how most people see the works of Osamu Dazai, Vincent van Gogh, or Sylvia Plath as simply the build-up to the end. Their portfolios only thematically correspond with their descents through depression. I’d hate to have my work dissociated from its colour, intelligence, or focus. I’ve felt for a while that if I manage to put more of my art out into the world, then I’ve a reason to live, and to keep producing more art. However, I’m not very good at making video essays with efficiency, or writing with frequency, or publishing my work. I feel cornered by managing my work life, social life, studies, fitness, hobbies, and family. I feel cornered when I try to act like a human being. I’m not very good at giving myself a reason to go on.
For as long as game consoles have existed, the prospect of handheld game consoles has existed. One of the reasons that difficult games like Dark Souls and Spelunky are loved by so many is that they allow individuals to participate in a challenge through a medium that accommodates complete environmental autonomy and pace control. There is no tangible consequence for being unable to overcome the designated struggles of a difficult videogame, and there is no obligation to face a challenge under uncomfortable circumstances. The benefits of handheld gaming can be more easily perceived knowing that people want to feel grounded in their emotions, relieved through escapism, and maintain the ability to overcome challenges in any setting. The last “truly” – pocket-fitting – handheld consoles from large publishers were the Nintendo 3DS and the PlayStation Vita, both from 2011. It’s been thirteen years since major competitors unanimously prioritised producing consumable, creative, compact, and exciting experiences against always-online, lucrative products with overly clean and marketable visuals. Since then, Blaze Entertainment has produced various models of the Evercadeand Super Pocket, costing roughly between £60-£200 to buy – new with games that rarely breach £20 each. There has also been the Playdate, which was announced in 2019 and released in 2022, but only in February of 2024 did it reach its preorder targets. There’s been nothing else of note since 2011. It’s been a long while since the priority of a major company has been my ability to fit Silent Hill (1999), Minecraft or Animal Crossing: New Horizons into my pocket.
To best understand the loss endured from corporations discounting the handheld gaming market, art from another medium should be considered for apt comparison. Jenny Holzer’s Inflammatory Essays (1979-82), viewable at Tate Modern, is an artistic series intended to, first and foremost, inflame. Each essay is a mono-paragraphed stance that introduces, argues, and concludes an opinion within a singular canvas and precisely one hundred words. Each pithy essay can capture their reader’s imagination by grappling with their lacking details. Games created for more substantial hardware designed to compute and process maximal detail are given more opportunities to fall short of their potential than Jenny Holzer’s work. The essays provide more opportunities to resonate with more people; there are more of them and they have stricter boundaries to push more creativity in ways that more quantitively substantial essays cannot. They are essays that can be returned to, without time commitment being compromised. They are essays that fit in pockets.
In January of 2023, I failed one of my first four university modules, which was the start of a downward spiral that led to me failing two more in the second term and subsequently having to re-sit my exams that Summer. Going into my first exams, I was prepared with my pencil case, calculator, and the grief from two of my friends dying in a car crash and a family member dying of natural causes. This meant that I wanted Silent Hill in my pocket. My long-term partner had asked me out just prior to all of this. I am extremely glad, although I still struggle to depart from the mindset that I need to maintain an extremely confident image of positivity to hold their interest in me. This meant that I wanted Minecraft and Animal Crossing: New Horizons in my pocket. I still feel trapped by the events of the past and often struggle to look beyond deep insecurity and fear to see positivity in the future. For 2023, after that January, I longed for a change and sought it by obtaining my first Animal Crossing game for my Nintendo Switch, jealous of the escapism that I had seen others indulge. It often still feels like my relationships are burdened by my expectations of other people to die or drift away and I felt for a while that I wouldn’t have to worry about it there. If the raccoon, Tom Nook, had revoked my property for not paying my rent on time and Isabelle, the golden retriever, decried how I hadn’t seen her for too long and demanded the termination of our friendship, that would have been enough to stop me from going on. That didn’t happen, of course. Regardless, playing the game didn’t help me through anything. Another friend of mine passed just before the Summer of this year. Whilst my academic output did not suffer this time, this event succeeded in cementing the subsistent anxiety I feel towards the fragility of myself and my relationships.
Once I’ve written this essay, in which I failed to make a coherent reflection on why I think handheld gaming consoles are really cool and should make a comeback, I’ll probably sit down for a while. When nothing inevitably comes from it, when I read it back and it doesn’t flow, I might cry. For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted an escape in my pocket.
For as long I live, I’ll think I need a directory in my pocket.
- Milburn, C. (2018) Respawn: Gamers, Hackers, and Technogenic Life. Durham, Duke University Press. Experimental Futures.
- Shmuplations (2021) Silent Hill – 1999 Developer Interview. Available at: https://shmuplations.com/silenthill/(Accessed: 17 December 2021)