Link: He Speaks Like No Child

Everyone has a firm grasp on the general story in the Zelda series: A young boy ventures forth lead by the tip of his sword and his sense of duty. With the help of people he meets along the way and by using unique items he acquires, this boy is able to overcome every obstacle in his way up and through the final battle with the embodiment of the opposite of our main characters very being; evil. Upon winning this battle, the adventure is over and life for our hero returns to normal. But this is simply a template for any adventure. And Zelda being an adventure game, has hardly deviated from this formula. Though many have claimed that the formula needs to be abandoned or dramatically reinvented, I feel that there is nothing wrong with its place in the Zelda series.

In the grand spectrum of literature, there are too many stories to count that share the same formula. And without being unnecessarily reductive, some literary critics categorize stories as being either a tragedy, romance, comedy, or a satire. Even within the same style and formula, thousands of different stories can exist. Likewise, even if Link rose up to battle Gannon in every Zelda game (which he doesn’t) how he gets there and the experiences along the way would greatly differentiate each game.

The critical-gamer is interested in observing how the story unfolds for the player from the beginning of a game to the end, but goes beyond describing and analyzing individual plot elements and details in themselves and seeks to draw a connection between the story elements and the gameplay. The critical-gamer seeks to discover if the story elements hinder or enhance the play experience and how the balance is created.

In the case of The Legend of Zelda: Phantom Hourglass, our faithful main character Link sets sail on the open seas acquiring items and aid from friends to build enough strength to defeat his adversary in order to save his friend Tetra, who we all know as Zelda. Although the formula may seem quite banal, what unfolds in this adventure is psychological exploration of a world of the “lack” as psychoanalyst Lacan would say. As the main character teeters on the edge of adolescence and innocence, he comes face to face to a world where the grown ups have lived a life without something very important to them. Stuck in state of arrested development, many of the characters that populate the game world have ruined their lives devoting their time and energy in pursuit of their goal many times at the sacrifice of their families. This searching isn’t the only apparent psychological trait in the game. The world is littered with doppelgangers and a peculiar attraction to death that makes of the death work. These rich and apparently hidden story elements enhance the gameplay experience by using the game’s mechanics and structures to place the player in a role that can interact and eventually help these characters without becoming one of them sufficiently accentuating Link’s role as the main character.

First, I’ll establish the main character and perspective of the player. The player takes control of Link, and aside from a few small cooperative segments on Goron and Dee Ess Island where the player controls a small rolling Goron, Link is the only way for players to interact with the game world. Everything from swinging a sword, buying wares, retrieving items, and visiting characters are available for the player to shape the game world. True to Zelda form, Link never speaks a word. This feature brings the level of interaction closer to the player as everything he/she does is what Link does. In other words, by not saying anything, words can never be put in the players mouth. As if sending a direct message to those who still yearn for Link to utter more than a stifled gasp every now and then, Zauz the blacksmith says this: “People talk just as loudly with their hearts. But because people have mouths, they don’t pay attention to their hearts.” For the Zelda designers, actions speak louder than words, especially when an entire adventure has been carefully crafted to respond to the language of the player’s actions.


Early on in the game Link joins up with a few companions; Linebeck and Celia. Linebeck is everything Link isn’t: grown, a boat owner, cowardly, self centered, evasive, and ultimately childish. These traits make Linebeck the perfect foil for Link. And to increase the level of interplay between these two characters, Celia acts as Link’s voice.

Linebeck: "Kid, adventuring with you gave me a taste of what its like to be a hero. But here we part. It's all up to you now. I'll just be back here mopping the deck."
Celia: "Hey, what got into you Linebeck? Why so serious all of a sudden?”
Linebeck: "Take care of the kid. You [Celia] look out for him got it?"

But just who is Link anyway? To the people in the game world, Link is nothing but kid: “Young people,” Oshu; “pretty brave for being so short,“ Linebeck; “Young man” the mom from Mercay; “little guy” Fuzo from cannon island; “sea shrimp” Eddo the cannon man; “Hey kid!” Romano. Even the bar man serving milk on Mercay Island thinks Link is a “tad too short” to be drinking milk. Milk was perfectly fine for Link in Ocarina of Time, Majora’s Mask, and Super Smash Brothers Melee. Restricting link now from drinking milk makes it clear how the world views Link. As a kid who is also a rising hero for the supposedly second time, many characters in Phantom Hourglass talk down to Link because of his age and appearance.

Link enters this mysterious world through the fog after somewhat foolishly attempting to rescue his friend Tetra. From the outset of the adventure both the player and Link are clear about their objective: get Tetra back. The framework of the adventure is also the theme of majority of the character’s dilemmas: loss. In Jacques Lacan’s psychoanalysis, Lacan describes how humans experience an extreme sense of lacking after they realize they are separate entities from their mothers. This happens at an early age, and to fill this gapping lack in their lives, people take on language. And from there, a multitude of behaviors can emerge that are ultimately an effort to fill the gap and return to that state of complete care and oneness. Link has a lack, but he lacks the language, making him the perfect pivotal perspective for the game to relate and tell the rest of the story. Everything is directly related to Link’s character and the players actions. Playing the game from the main character’s perspective, makes the player constantly aware of the difference between Link and everyone else.

Several characters in the game search for a way to fill their lack as a kind of condensation, or when one substitutes a person or object for something else they desire. The Wayfarer searched for the romantic life of a seaman, and yet couldn’t reel in Neptoona, the legendary fish of the seas. Beyond the search for this fish that he has long given up on, the Wayfarer now searches for a more elusive type fish; a mermaid. This man has sold everything he owned to buy objects that he believes will attract a mermaid. Now that he only has his tales from his more successfully wayfaring days, he’s depressed and he’s and stuck. When the player informs the wayfarer that a mermaid is nearby and interested in the Wayfarer’s stories, the Wayfarer has a difficult time believing Link: “Ahh….I’m a fool to believe such a wild tale. How could you toy with the hopes of my romantic, wayfaring heart?!” Aside from the Wayfarer, the treasure hunters search the seas for common treasures that are rare back where they originated from. Romanos’ dad searched for adventure and was lost, and soon his son follows in is footsteps. A Goron on Goron Island pines after Linebeck’s Ship from a far perhaps to an unhealthy degree, and searches for a way to get one of his own.The wives on Molida Island have lost their husbands while they’re out at sea fishing for a living. However, by the end of the game, the seas have been thoroughly combed by the player and there husbands are no where to be found: "My husband left on a fishing trip and hasn’t returned"

Immune to deficiencies of the inhabitants of the watery world of Phantom Hourglass, Link helps anyone he can by doing what he does best: adventuring and being a kid. It is ironic that Link is one of the more mature, focused, and clear minded characters. And it is even more ironic that Link is one of a few character that takes up arms to become a hero. There is not a character that changes more throughout the game than Linebeck. From self centered, awkward, snappy, somewhat quixotic treasure hunter, Linebeck couldn’t help but change. Link’s purity and courage must have rubbed off on him. At first he underestimates link: “The temple is dangerous. No place for err.. a kid like you.” Later, Linebeck expresses his gratitude by writing Link a letter even though they see each other in person quite often. Soon, Linebeck comes around and even compliments Link face to face: “well you're sort of a good guy Link. Wow. That was out of character for me wasn't it!" During the epic final battle, Linebeck even takes up the sword in order to aid his captured friends. Linebeck’s character is so interesting and complex, he could be the subject for his own essay. I won’t go into too much detail about him here, but just know he is a refreshing deviation on the main-character-hero formula.

But there is still more to this world and these characters that is worth pointing. Within the game world there is a mysterious fascination with death. Skeletons of over-adventurous treasure hunters litter the floors of many dungeons throughout the game. Not only do these bones serve as a reminder of what could have happened to Linebeck and even Link, they also talk. The spirits of the dead are chatty and quick to offer advise to the living. They might mention things about their past life, secrets that they uncovered in their travels, or, as a way of preventing more deaths like theirs, they warn you of imminent dangers. On the Island of the Dead, Link talks to the ghosts of four knights and the ghost of King Cobble himself. Furthermore, Kayo, Astrid’s apprentice, had died and Link speaks to his ghost for tips. Many of these characters were drawn to perilous situations, exhibiting somewhat reckless behavior that classic behavior of Freud’s concept of the Death Drive. But it’s not death that many of these characters seek. It’s life. All of the troubled characters in the game are trying to find the life that has meaning for them. And for some, it’s the after life that is the biggest mystery of all. Romano’s dad sacrificed his family and his old life to pursue adventure:

Mom: "He used to talk about how he had visited that island. My husband...was once content to be a fisherman until he left this place. He sought uncharted lands. At least that's what he said when he finally left. He refused to work, instead ruining his boat by braving the northern fog repeatedly! The last time we saw him was over a year ago... My son... that boy hasn't worked in a long time either. He's peeved at his dad, I think."

Romanos: "All this endless babbling about living with a lust for adventure. Can that put food on the table? Can that make your family happy? Going your own way... is no way to survive in life. My way's a lot better. Staying home, eating cheese, that's the life!”

Dad's letter: "To my son, Romanos. If you're reading these words, you have found my true hideaway...Which means you also have developed a desire to find your own way in life...Know that I'm truly sorry for putting you and your mother through so much...I'm well aware that I'm the world's worst father, leaving you both behind...There's so much about the ways of the world I don't understand. Such as why the Ghost Ship appears and steals people. Where do its victims go? I have decided to dedicate my life to finding out the answers. If I fail to return, please take care of your mother. And please forgive me. In closing, one more thing...Embrace your wayfaring ways, my son!"

What drives these characters is the same thing that drives many of us. We have questions, and sometimes finding the answers at all costs becomes more important than living a life without knowing. Phantom Hourglass is a game in a world filled with people that can’t help but make up and define their own lives by what they believe. It’s a world where each individual has to make up their own minds. The player isn’t excluded from these choices either. They player has to decide whether or not to believe in Astrid’s fortunetelling, Kayo’s ideas on fate, the wayfaring life at sea, romance of the sea, what’s really at the bottom of the Anouki and Yook prejudices, or anything else in the game. Balancing the thin line between youthful innocence and the maturing effect of being a hero, Link’s characters exists at the perfect distance away from all of the issues the game raises. All of the “yes or no” questions that are presented in the game don’t have any significant consequences one way or the other. And the way the responses are phrased comically limits the player into participating in the role of the inconsequential kid that the world of Phantom Hourglass constantly tries to put Link in. The differences between Link and the world creates a level of introspection as the player is constantly reminded that he/she is different and that he/she must make decisions on their own.

The player is faced with a choice in what to believe in on many levels of Phantom Hourglass’ story that extends to the frame work itself. Players have to decide for themselves if the Wayfarer and Jolene’s sister dressed up as a Mermaid is a sufficient reality for either of them. We all know she’s not a real mermaid, but the Wayfarer believes it. We know that Jolene doesn’t have adequate pirating skills if she can’t even take out Link in a sword fight. Yet, she makes bold claims about returning for a rematch, and she refuses to give up on finding Linebeck. We know that McNey the famous explorer is dead because we found his pile of bones. Beyond this, the whole adventure is set up in such a way that the players have to either take it or leave it. Apparently, on my 35+ hour adventure to save Tetra, I was only gone for 10 minutes. One of my shipmates says: “It was probably a bad dream.” Was it all a dream? All of these questions still linger with me when I think about Phantom Hourglass. I hope by now, especially for critical-fans of the Zelda series, you realize that the greatest part of an adventure is the adventure. It’s not the beginning or the ending, but how you get there. Likewise, getting there and how that changes you is where the story lies. No dialog trees. No voice acting. For the Zelda series and Nintendo, function creates the ultimate role playing, and actions speak louder than words. Clearly there was a lot to say about a kid trying to get his friend back that speaks like no child.

Death, Milk, and Diving Suits

For those who aren’t careful, a Psychoanalytic critique of a game appears to only be concerned with the fiction of a game and the relationship of the characters. Unless the game is Psychonauts, most games seem to have little to nothing to do with the human psyche. Neglecting how the game fiction and the gameplay (or game rules) come together to create the Psychological work in a game is a common pitfall. Another easy pitfall is to get wrapped up in Psychoanalyzing the developers of the game, or what may be infinitely more embarrassing, accidentally analyzing one’s own psychological state while trying to pass it off as an analysis of the game. Though it is true that the fiction of a game is an important part of any Psychoanalytic analysis, the gameplay is where the most profound sources of material because the interactivity of the game can influence and transform the player in more powerfully subtle ways than a passive medium. In the following essay, I intend to highlight the psychological work of BioShock that goes beyond the fiction and is backed by the gameplay experience of the player.

To begin, I’ll discuss the death work BioShock. Sigmund Freud theorized that death is biological driven. He called this the death drive in attempt to explain the wide spread self destruction found on this planet (death work). In a nutshell, death work is psychological and physical self-destruction. The evidence of this work can be seen in the individual who destroys him/herself by over eating or over dosing, as well as on the national level where whole nations are constantly at war. Death is a serious matter that we, the living, have no experience in. Yet, despite it being mysteriously and inescapably bound to the end of our lives, death is a force that is perhaps too terrifying for us to deal with. This is why we fear it. Knowing this, it is easy to see how death and the fear of death, shapes our psychology. After all, in Freudian psychoanalytic theory, fear is a key driving force.
In BioShock, death work is evident in the fiction and behavior of splicers. Splicers are genetically mutated citizens of Rapture that are addicted to Adam and the power that is gained from it. Adam is the “genetic material that makes Rapture go round.” Tenenbaum revealed, however, that Adam is a drug that destroys the user: “Adam acts like a benign cancer, destroying native cells and replacing them with unstable stem versions. While this very instability is what gives it its amazing properties, it is also what causes the cosmetic and mental damage. You need more and more Adam just to keep back the tide. From a medical standpoint, this is catastrophic.” Aside from turning the user into a monster that will do nearly anything to obtain more Adam, hallucinations (visions of ghosts) are a common side effect: “Seems like some poor blighters have started seeing ghosts. Ghosts! Ryan tells me it’s a side effect of this plasmid business.” -McDonagh. Ultimately, using Adam ensures one’s psychological destruction. And that’s just the intangible destruction. In the game, splicers behave in a highly self destructive manner. In game terms, the failure of these enemies to assess the battle situation or even their own life and act in self preservation is simply poor AI. But, as part of a Psychological critique, these splicers are characters that consciously and actively throw their lives away. Skilled players can take on large numbers of these adversaries without problem. Even if the splicers didn’t know that they would be no match for the player, surely witnessing previous splicers easily fall to the player in one shot would inform them otherwise. In their rabid state starved for Adam, splicers can also attack Big Daddy’s hoping to harvest the protected litter sister for their next fix. It is very clear to the player, and to all citizens of Rapture that attacking a Big Daddy is a dangerous affair. These splicers are suicidal. Such behavior functions as self destruction on the psychological and physical level.

When analyzing people and material, Psychoanalytic critics and theorists have to be careful not to conceptualize the death drive to avoid moving death away from the world of actions, reactions, and responsibility. Turning death into an abstraction makes blunt its powerful force and by extension works to undermine a significant portion of our psychological frame work. If death is the greatest fear that frames, organizes, supports the existence of other fears (fear of abandonment, fear of intimacy), then removing the impact of death, or worse, removing death itself would work to destroy one’s identity or selfhood. In BioShock, the function of Vita Chambers remove the consequence of “death” in battle, thus turning it into an abstraction. According to the description of the Vita Chambers, “If you are killed by the hostile denizens of Rapture, you will be revived live and whole at the last Vita-Chamber you passed.” The gameplay in BioShock is structured in a way that when the player falls in battle, the game doesn’t reset back to a previous state to give the player another chance. Instead, everything remains as it was, and the player has only to jog back to where he/she fell and resume the battle refreshed of health and a little bit of Eve: “Some of your health will be restored, and you will always have at least a small amount of Eve.” Besides dangerously destroying what little game was present in BioShock by destroying a major structural consequence (based on the Classical game model), death becomes a joke. Without consequences, players quickly learn and fall into habits of taking what would be foolish risks in any other game. Snapping photograph after photograph while turrets and enemies attack you from all sides isn’t dangerous. Striking a Big Daddy from behind with a wrench just to taunt him is a fun game. And in a world where bombs, projectiles genetics, and guns rule, “wrench-revive-repeat” all opponents becomes an equally viable strategy. Falling into any of these or similar patterns works against any identity that exists between the player and game. Like whimsical, make-believe, fairy tale magic, Suchong refers to the Vita-Chambers ability to resurrect the dead with the word “poof:” They keep saying plasmid reconstruction this and quantum entaglement that, and then poof, dead people come back to life.” Suchong was a skeptic for good reason. Can there be life without death?

Freund’s theory of the superego, ego, and the id are represented by Ryan’s rules of Rapture, the player’s freedom of choice within the gameworld, and the Splicers that greedily roam Rapture respectively. The Superego by definition consists of the internalized social values that determine our sense of right and wrong in a particular culture. All of Andrew Ryan’s comments, ideas, rules, and regulations make up BioShock’s super ego. Hacking the vending machines is bad. Free enterprise is good. Big Daddy’s and little sisters are disgusting but necessary. Atlas also shares his views of what is right and wrong. From the beginning of the game, the player learns that plasmids are good and little sisters are little “Frankensteins” that can be disposed with without any ill feelings. True to the Freudian model, the id is directly opposed to the superego. The id is our instinctual selves and is singularly focused on fulfilling forbidden desires of all kinds without consideration of consequences. In BioShock, the id are represented by the splicers who only have a desire for Adam. As I have noted, Splicers will even throw themselves into the jaws of death in attempts to secure Adam from the Little Sisters. Representing the balance between the superego and the id is the ego, or the player of BioShock. The player is the conscious level of the game that experiences the world of Rapture through his/her senses. Because the game is in the first person perspective, they experience the world in a very intuitive natural way. In the game, the player hears Ryan prohibit hacking, yet he sees splicers hacking turrets and other machines, and has to determine for him/herself how to proceed. In this way, the player is the embodiment of the conflict between Ryan and all the orders he/she receives from the many characters who hold power over him/her, and the Splicers who relentlessly pursue Adam. As Freud states, the relationship between the superero, ego, and id speaks to our culture (in this case the dystopic Rapture) and ourselves. By indulging in the forbidden acts around Rapture, and taking out or restructuring the power structures by killing Ryan and Fontaine, the player literally balances out the super ego and the id by playing BioShock.

The family is very important in Freudian Psychoanalytic theory because of the how each member’s role in the family greatly shapes who they are. BioShock contains a very interesting family structure. The family I referred to is not the artificial family flashed in photographs triggered by Fontaine sinister control over the protagonist. And it is not Atlas’ family that was supposedly killed just before being rescued in the fishery. The family I will discuss is both more subtle and more obvious than that. The BioShock family I intend to discuss is made up of the Little Sisters, Big Daddys, Mother Goose (Tenenbaum), and the player. The Little Sisters are innocent little girls whose only concerns are harvesting Adam, finding angels, being tucked in for “beddy” time, and alerting the Big Daddys of any threat. The Big Daddys are the father figure; large, strong, protective. Tenenbaum is the mother figure. Her role throughout the game is of a more passive nurturer who would rather spare words than lift a finger to protect her “children.” So where does that leave the player? The player is the big brother who completes the oedipal conflict and sibling rivalry relationships. According to Freud, an oedipal conflict consists of competition with the parent of the same gender for the affection of the parent of the opposite gender. The player discovers early in the game, that Tenenbaum will make it “worth [their] while” to spare the little sisters instead of harvesting them. For many players, this promise of pleasing “Mother” is all that is needed to save every little sister they come across. In order to save more sisters and make Tenenbaum happier, the player must destroy his father, the Big Daddys, in combat the primary function of BioShock. What is interesting about this bizarre family is the player can choose which core issue they want to embody. When they save a little sister, they participate in the oedipal conflict. When players harvest the little sisters, they’re acting out of sibling rivalry in an attempt to punish the Little Sisters for taking away the attention of mom and dad. If they do both, then they personify both the oedipal conflict and sibling rivalry (and should seek help immediately). Of course I’m only joking about seeking help.

If you’re not completely convinced of the existence of the bizarre family relationships of BioShock, remember that the player cannot harm the Little Sisters outside of the saving/harvesting them. Unlike virtually every other object and surface in the game, shooting or striking at a Little Sister produces no sound effect or reaction from her whatsoever. What’s significant about this restriction is that the only way to affect the Little Sister is tied into the same decision that will either please Tenenbaum or not. In other words, the player is bound to interact with Little Sisters in ways that reinforce the physiological issues. Furthermore, by transforming into a Big Daddy, the player assumes a role that is physically and emotionally removed from Tenenbaum. When gathering the Big Daddy parts, Tenenbaum comments on how disgusting and monstrous the Big Daddy’s are as well as their repulsive stench. In other words, the Player becomes the father figure the player has fought so hard against (even when there’s no little sister present) as part of his inescapable psychological destiny. The Big Daddy armored diving suit that the player wears shields him/her from bullets and emotional intimacy as the guilt from disobeying “mother” by harvesting the sisters, or from destroying “father” haunts the player into becomes what he/she hated most.

After practicing killing your father over and over with each Big Daddy, killing Ryan, the protagonist’s actual father, seemed like no big deal. But you’re not the only one with desires for the mother. Fontaine, during a moment of exhilaration after splicing up for the first time exclaims: “This stuff is the mother’s milk…” We’ll just leave Fontaine be for right now. I won’t even get into an interpretation of the protagonist’s romp through Rapture as part of dream. That’s another essay for another time. Hopefully this essay helped to reveal the physiological work within BioShock. If you’ve come to this point and aren’t convinced about anything I’ve discussed, well….as a true psychoanalysts would say… you’re just repressed.