Yeesh.
The way I approach fiction is generally with two thoughts in mind. 1. What is the goal of the text? 2. How well does it communicate those things? On one hand, I think that sometimes leads me to be a bit overly generous to products one might consider Mid. I just can’t help but think about the positive intent and I get charmed by it. I get wound up in both the actual narrative of a story and the personal narrative of a plucky young writers/filmmaker/game designers trying to put out a game. It makes me more willing to forgive flaws. I just get charmed by it.
I think that speaks to just how poorly the story is communicated that Death Becomes You kinda overwhelms my positive feelings about intent.
The intent of the story is deeply compelling. Magical student and your personal best friend Lyra is dead. Your four classmates are prime suspects. Your goal is to befriend all of them and avenge her death. But the complications are in the motivations. As you unravel Lyra’s relationships, it becomes apparent just how toxic and manipulative Lyra was. Everyone’s got history with her and your protagonist is another victim. The emotional manipulation wraps around the entire cast, haunting them into the present. Half of them happy to see her gone, the other half desperate to bring her back. Working out the nuance of it all determines where you end up.
Except, not really. The key problem with DBY’s web of abusive intrigue is that for such an emotional story, its shocking… unemotional. Well, that’s not quite right. Its intellectual. The characters are enormously aware of their own flaws or the flaws of their peers. They easily recite off detailed, accurate analysis of their loved ones, seemingly without any personal biases or inaccurate info.
Even worse, when character analyze each other, its often with the same sort of point: “you’re just like Lyra” or “you’re nothing like Lyra.” I’m not inherently opposed to a character that haunts the narrative. I enjoy it, even. But every character talks about nothing but Lyra, there’s little room to navigate their own lives. I know every thing about how Lyra made them feel special or awful. I know nothing about their home lives. Their families. Their histories. Their last names. They are creatures to be abused by Lyra. Maybe that’s the point. But it's hard to picture where the world churns outside of this cast.
And at the same time, Lyra’s impact on the world also feels weightless. The characters derisively snort that the administration “hasn’t even noticed she’s gone”, despite the prologue hyping up that the administration will be investigating and potentially framing the protagonist for Lyra’s death. In that same prologue, as characters lead the protagonist away from Lyra’s corpse, they talk about Lyra derisively in the present tense, as if her death hasn’t even occurred. One could argue that the cast still hasn’t processed her death, but the way characters talk about Lyra in the immediate aftermath is identical to how they talk about her two weeks later. Certain plot details might explain this, but it only emerges in the climax, far too late to feel like I have a solid ground to stand on in this world.
It's clumsy. It's really really clumsy, with awkward writing that understands abuse in intellectual terms, but terrified of making it ugly. Of engaging in the interpersonal. Characters are clean-cut and straight-forward, always able to understand the actions of each other, yet inexplicably unable to communicate without the protagonist. It's trying so hard, but it never figures out its own identity. Its tragic to see.
The way I approach fiction is generally with two thoughts in mind. 1. What is the goal of the text? 2. How well does it communicate those things? On one hand, I think that sometimes leads me to be a bit overly generous to products one might consider Mid. I just can’t help but think about the positive intent and I get charmed by it. I get wound up in both the actual narrative of a story and the personal narrative of a plucky young writers/filmmaker/game designers trying to put out a game. It makes me more willing to forgive flaws. I just get charmed by it.
I think that speaks to just how poorly the story is communicated that Death Becomes You kinda overwhelms my positive feelings about intent.
The intent of the story is deeply compelling. Magical student and your personal best friend Lyra is dead. Your four classmates are prime suspects. Your goal is to befriend all of them and avenge her death. But the complications are in the motivations. As you unravel Lyra’s relationships, it becomes apparent just how toxic and manipulative Lyra was. Everyone’s got history with her and your protagonist is another victim. The emotional manipulation wraps around the entire cast, haunting them into the present. Half of them happy to see her gone, the other half desperate to bring her back. Working out the nuance of it all determines where you end up.
Except, not really. The key problem with DBY’s web of abusive intrigue is that for such an emotional story, its shocking… unemotional. Well, that’s not quite right. Its intellectual. The characters are enormously aware of their own flaws or the flaws of their peers. They easily recite off detailed, accurate analysis of their loved ones, seemingly without any personal biases or inaccurate info.
Even worse, when character analyze each other, its often with the same sort of point: “you’re just like Lyra” or “you’re nothing like Lyra.” I’m not inherently opposed to a character that haunts the narrative. I enjoy it, even. But every character talks about nothing but Lyra, there’s little room to navigate their own lives. I know every thing about how Lyra made them feel special or awful. I know nothing about their home lives. Their families. Their histories. Their last names. They are creatures to be abused by Lyra. Maybe that’s the point. But it's hard to picture where the world churns outside of this cast.
And at the same time, Lyra’s impact on the world also feels weightless. The characters derisively snort that the administration “hasn’t even noticed she’s gone”, despite the prologue hyping up that the administration will be investigating and potentially framing the protagonist for Lyra’s death. In that same prologue, as characters lead the protagonist away from Lyra’s corpse, they talk about Lyra derisively in the present tense, as if her death hasn’t even occurred. One could argue that the cast still hasn’t processed her death, but the way characters talk about Lyra in the immediate aftermath is identical to how they talk about her two weeks later. Certain plot details might explain this, but it only emerges in the climax, far too late to feel like I have a solid ground to stand on in this world.
It's clumsy. It's really really clumsy, with awkward writing that understands abuse in intellectual terms, but terrified of making it ugly. Of engaging in the interpersonal. Characters are clean-cut and straight-forward, always able to understand the actions of each other, yet inexplicably unable to communicate without the protagonist. It's trying so hard, but it never figures out its own identity. Its tragic to see.