7 June 2025
Have you ever cried while playing a video game? Or maybe felt goosebumps when that one twist hit you out of nowhere? That right there—that emotional punch—is storytelling at its finest. And just like in books or movies, it’s the clever use of literary devices that brings those game narratives to life. But here’s the twist: games are interactive. That means writers need to think creatively when adapting traditional literary techniques to a medium where players call some of the shots.
Sounds tricky? It is. But it’s also what makes storytelling in video games so ridiculously exciting. So grab a snack, get comfy, and let’s dive into how literary devices are being reimagined for the gaming world.
In video games, it’s not just about telling a story… it’s about living it. So developers and writers have to tweak these devices, making them work within an environment where players are actively shaping what happens next.
Simple—because they’re the secret sauce. Without them, a game’s story can feel flat, predictable, or totally forgettable. With them, you get unforgettable moments like Bioshock’s twist, The Last of Us’ emotional depth, or the haunting atmosphere of Inside.
Games can be experiences, not just entertainment. Literary techniques give writers tools to create those experiences.
Imagine trying to build suspense with foreshadowing… but the player skipped that cutscene. Or trying to tell a story using flashbacks… but the player can tackle missions out of order. That’s the challenge—and the beauty—of adapting literary techniques for games.
In games, it’s used more subtly. Think environmental storytelling—those bits of a world that whisper hints instead of shouting exposition. In Dark Souls, for example, item descriptions and eerie statues often hint at the lore well before it’s explained (if it ever is). That’s foreshadowing minus the cutscenes.
It also pops up in level design, character dialogue, and even music cues. But here's the catch: because players explore at their own pace, writers need to weave these clues into multiple layers so players won’t miss them entirely.
Games like Journey or Limbo are built almost entirely on symbolic storytelling. The colors, the landscapes, the creatures—they’re all metaphors for things like grief, hope, or fear. It’s minimalism with emotional weight.
In interactive media, symbolism becomes even more powerful because players physically move through it. It’s like walking through a poem.
Some go full-on nonlinear. Take What Remains of Edith Finch—each mini-story is its own self-contained vignette with a unique style and tone. The result? A narrative that feels like a painting made from 12 different brushes.
The key here is context. In a book, a chapter breaks the fourth wall and says, “Hey, here’s a flashback now.” In games, developers have to signal it visually or through gameplay—like using a washed-out filter, changing music, or shifting the controls.
In games, the challenge is timing. Since players explore at their own pace, developers have to structure events so those ironic reveals still hit hard—even if the player took a weird detour through the side quests.
A great example? Spec Ops: The Line. It flips the typical military shooter into a critique of violence, and the player’s earlier choices come back in ways that sting. That’s irony turned into emotional gut-punch.
Games shine here because they trick you, the player, into believing one version of the story—only to pull the rug out from under your feet. Ever played Bastion or The Stanley Parable? You’re following a voice, thinking it’s guiding you… but it’s actually bending the rules, lying, or even mocking your choices.
The interactivity makes it even more personal. You’re not just watching the unreliable narrator—you’re inside their world, trying to make sense of it yourself.
Take Celeste, for example. It’s a brutally hard platformer about climbing a mountain. But it’s not just a mountain—it’s a metaphor for anxiety, self-doubt, and mental health. As you struggle to complete each level, you’re literally experiencing what the main character feels.
Gameplay becomes storytelling. That’s next-level literary device adaptation right there.
Games like Mass Effect, Detroit: Become Human, and Life is Strange give you control over how characters grow or crumble. Your choices lead to different arcs, different relationships, and wildly different endings.
The challenge? Writers have to build multiple versions of the same character—and make sure they're all believable. That’s like writing three novels layered into one game. No pressure, right?
Voice and tone in games don't just come from dialogue—they’re baked into the art style, the soundtrack, the UI, and even the pacing.
Think of Borderlands with its over-the-top sarcasm or Firewatch’s emotional intimacy driven by just two voices in a walkie-talkie. That’s tone doing its job and pulling you in.
Every time you swing your sword, make a moral decision, or choose a dialogue option, you're affecting the story—not just watching it unfold. That means literary devices need to work around and with the player's input. They need to be flexible, quietly adapting, and always aware that someone unpredictable is at the wheel.
It’s storytelling with training wheels off—and it’s incredible.
Games have the unique ability to make us live a metaphor, walk through a mood, or unravel a mystery at our own pace. And when they use literary techniques well? They become unforgettable.
So next time you're playing a story-heavy game, look a little closer. Notice the hints, symbols, ironies, metaphors... they’re everywhere. You’re not just playing a game—you’re living a novel, one decision at a time.
all images in this post were generated using AI tools
Category:
Interactive StorytellingAuthor:
Kaitlyn Pace