Desolation

I've been so hit-and-miss with this recently. I wrote a newsletter for paid subscribers about it in my 'general life update' series of posts that I do, and then I thought: I should probably share this with all the subscribers, not just the paid ones. There's a lot going on here at the moment, and at the same time, not a lot going on at all.

But first: The Excavation of Hob's Barrow.

The Excavation of Hob's Barrow (or Bob's Harrow as I keep accidentally calling it) is deceptively gruesome. The writing is great, the voice acting is great, but the visuals are what I found most surprising. You know how much I love the whole '90s point-and-click look; I've got a whole book about the art of point and clicks, because I could just stare at it for ages. From my brief foray into pixel art during the lockdowns, I have gained a new appreciation about how difficult it is, and how specific, how a single pixel can change a facial expression and the feeling it gives to the player.

On the face of it, The Excavation of Hob's Barrow is a charming point-and-click mystery set in a beautiful village. The protagonist, Thomasina, is what my mother likes to call 'gutsy'. She's funny and intelligent and takes no prisoners. When she arrives in the isolated Bewlay and encounters the locals, the reactions range from fascination to hostility. There are hints of something strange from the start, but it's nothing too disturbing.

And then you go hunting for the vicar. You find him, eventually, stumbling around in the woods. He retches. His whole face seems to bulge and strain under the pressure. His movements are jerky and unpredictable. He is a man desperate to exorcise something from his body. (Which he does, all over the floor.)

It's surprisingly grim, and extremely well done. Suddenly I start noticing these moments. If you hit the menu button, you'll see Thomasina's slightly twitching eyeball. Later, new characters are introduced with a startlingly up-close look at their faces. It's these little things that switch it from 'mildly creepy' to 'oh shit, something's really happening here'.

What I love about Hob's Barrow, too, is the setting. I've got a heart for little villages with crumbly old cottages, partially because I used to live in one, and because I remember its thick, uneven walls and constantly draughty windows with a bit of fondness.

It's the moors that get me, though. Beautiful. Desolate. Lonely. When the kids were very young I read a book about the Brontë family. It painted this vivid picture of these endlessly imaginative siblings, perched on the edge of Haworth Moor, with nothing to do but make up stories, to write them down in tiny little books, with characters and mapped-out worlds and intricate, linking ideas. Sometimes when I feel guilty about screen time, I think of the Brontës and the sheer power of boredom, and I make my kids stop playing Geometry Dash for a while.

I mean the above picture looks stunning, doesn't it? I can't imagine feeling anything other than awe in a place like this. But I've always been interested in lonely places. Growing up in one seaside town and then moving to another, I've seen what happens when the tourists leave. The seafront can feel so bleak in the winter. So grey and desolate and sad, somehow, with all the little shops laden with buckets and spades and plastic windmills, and nobody around to visit them. A seaside town in the off-season goes from being vibrant and charming to almost dead.

I think that's probably how it would have felt for the locals sometimes, in real-life Haworth Moor and in-game Bewlay. On grey days, when the sun doesn't really seem to rise, the never-ending, cold, misty moors might well drive you a bit insane.

Earlier this year, in the midst of a moderate depressive episode, I went into town, wrapped a giant scarf around my face, and walked the length of the seafront, staring out at the water, looking for things: little hidden walls of street art, small boats with slimy undersides waiting for warm weather, and quiet side streets where nobody goes. (I also blasted Jagged Little Pill on a loop directly into my eardrums which should give you a good idea of my state of mind at the time.) I just find it really compelling, you know? I like being in places after everyone else has gone. I like the sadness of it.

Bewlay is a lonely place. The locals, many of whom are unimpressed by the introduction of a railway, are not all happy to entertain visitors. They have a way of life, you see. They've created a village in which they can happily block out modernity, if it suits them.

But some of the locals are starving for new connections. One character, Arthur Tillett, asks Thomasina to have a drink one night after a slightly unfortunate introduction. We chose to go for it. One drink reveals a common thread of grief between the two: Arthur is coping badly with the loss of his mother, while Thomasina is trapped in her strange grief for her father, who is alive, but unable to move or speak. One drink turns to two, three, and four. They end the night with a song and a closeness that neither of them would have expected.

I think this is what I loved the most about The Excavation of Hob's Barrow. The unexpectedness of it. When you fire up a game like this, you expect it to go a certain way. And yes, I knew it was a horror, I knew there would be creepiness involved somewhere. But the story beats, the character reveals, and the art direction kept throwing surprises at me. Poignant conversations about grief. A girl, suddenly appearing at the edge of the screen and running away. A surprising friendship in a lonely place. It kept me on my toes, you know? And I keep thinking about it.

I said up top I'd explain what's going on a bit with me. I suppose, in essence, after about a year of slowly building mental and physical health issues, I hit a crisis point. I've started having therapy, and that's both good news and bad (good because it's what I should have done ages ago, and bad because it's a bit scary). I've hit a point of burnout with work, where I'm not sure if I can keep going, and when the appropriate point is to jump ship, especially when part of me loves it so much.

And the newsletter has suffered a bit. I got to the point where I was just frazzled by the idea of playing another game, or reading another book, and I kind of ... stopped. I lost the passion, I suppose. Once I lose the passion for something, I lose the momentum, and I start doubting myself. I start wondering if anyone's reading, if my opinion actually means anything, and if people are reading, if they'll even get anything out of it.

That's why I've been hit-and-miss with this. I started this two years ago brimming with ideas and excitement. The thought of having my own little space, where I can talk about whatever I want, even write a whole newsletter about a game that was hugely popular two years ago, was very refreshing after spending years crafting everything I write to hit constantly shifting SEO targets. I'm getting that feeling back, slowly. But I don't want to force it. I've settled for writing when I can, for now.

Anyway. My newsletter is small but significant to me, and I felt like I owed people a little explanation as to where I've been, or why I haven't been keeping up with it. It's not really important in the grand scheme of things, but there you go. I've got several ideas brewing at the moment. I'll be back when my mind can settle on one. <3