Regrettably, many ostensibly enjoyable video games have been guilty of enveloping players in a wholesome haze, shrouding their minds in an aura of escapism. Minimalist and subtle experiences challenge the prevailing approach to online game design, which typically prioritizes action, straightforward gameplay, clarity, and often violence. In harmony with Naiad, one embarks on a tranquil aquatic journey, where melodic expressions coax vibrant blooms into being and poetic musings unfold through enchanting exchanges with avian, apiarian, lepidopteran, and other natural companions.
The reason for my pity was that this young man, with a promising future ahead of him, had been reduced to begging on the streets. With the diverse array of video games offering precise controls, far-reaching repercussions, and heart-stopping surprises, I, too, had initially found solace in this digital escape. What other purposes might my neck-snapping spree have served? Without the indulgence of base pleasures, Naiad is not transformed into a revitalizing haven amidst a wasteland of annoying video games, nor does this state render it more appealing than its peers. The experience actually instilled in me a sense of uncertainty, leaving me feeling somewhat uneasy and perturbed.
Naiad, a type of water spirit, burst forth into the world courtesy of a whispering cloud that introduced her to a limited vocabulary of verbs, many of which are closely tied to the art of swimming. You may use the X button to propel yourself forward, mimicking the movements of a frog, which can attract real-life frogs to follow your character. Meanwhile, pressing the A button allows you to swim underwater like a fish, effortlessly gliding past obstructions such as floating logs. In Singing, a unique mechanism allows you to modulate your pitch using an analog stick, reminiscent of Wandersong’s innovative approach.
You employ these skills to investigate the environment through experimentation. As you guide individual frogs to a gathering of lily pads, the culmination of your efforts reveals a trail of effervescent orbs that lead to a mysterious underground passageway. The tunnel yields a space where Naiad can flourish, potentially yielding a sunbeam that rewards the discoverer with a rare creature, offering a modest boost in vitality, or – if fortune favors the player – a short, uninspired poem that barely merits attention. Reunite a scattering of wayward ducklings with their seemingly negligent duck parent, and you’ll be treated to a heartwarming reward: a gratitude message prominently displayed on your screen.
Discoveries take on a new form as coveted collectibles, enriching Naiad’s pause menus with a sense of accomplishment that subtly invites experimentation with the environment in a way that’s both accessible and engaging. As you navigate the waters, you’ll quickly notice that every bend and twist in your journey yields a familiar sight: the same enticing frogs, beckoning you to pause, and the same scattering of ducklings, their tiny forms dotting the landscape like nature’s own tiny mosaic. When introducing new species to their habitats, our methodology remains consistent. Singing, regardless of pitch or melody, can entice butterflies towards radiant limbs, yielding a reciprocal poetic offering or an aura of gratitude. These birds within the branches? Singing sweet melodies to deposit sufficient magic within the radiant, luminescent chamber, an enchanted egg will miraculously hatch. The fledgling rooster will instinctively respond to the arrival of another bird of prey, akin to a hawk, requiring your cooperation over an extended period to unlock… a coveted Steam achievement.
Lackluster connections between Naiad’s diverse parts are woefully one-dimensional and tediously repetitive, rendering the sense of play utterly extinguished. The disconnect lies in the fact that your actions lack tangible consequences, rendering them seemingly harmless. Normally, gathering a cluster of blooms within a specific timeframe can unexpectedly prompt the activation of a rock that interrupts the flow, thereby clearing a path forward; in other cases, it might instead precipitate the emergence of a person from a dwelling, who subsequently flips a switch, unlocking a previously inaccessible gate. Despite lacking literal meaning, the phrase’s ambiguity remains inconsistent, making option reversal impossible. When encountering a closed gate in the future, you may need to stop a motorboat’s engine and manually operate the gate mechanism to gain access.
It’s arbitrary in its approach, rendering any attempts at puzzle-fixing futile, and converts overcoming obstacles into tedious busywork instead of meaningful progress. Rather than deliberating through an issue and arriving at a conclusion, you simply act on the one possibility available to you in that situation. By tackling multiple tasks simultaneously, you tackle everything, whereas if an issue appears insurmountable, you adopt the meticulous approach of a robotic vacuum, meticulously covering each area twice and methodically navigating every corner?
Must I deliberately pummel these blossoms in order to make progress? No concept. Am I supposed to hit them in some way? No artificial constraints, as a result of not offering any conceptual framework or rigid structure, Naiad presents a flexible environment in which to explore and create without predetermined notions of what constitutes success. As the menus solely imply the existence of unknown problems waiting to be discovered, it naturally instills an uneasy sense of trepidation within me that I may inadvertently overlook something crucial. This experience lacks enjoyment in every aspect.
Despite being driven by anxiety, I still overlooked a few concerns, betrayed by the unexamined spaces within the menus. I’ve decided that the path ahead will not lead me back to confront those problems, as it would likely involve juggling even more responsibilities. The infuriating frogs, determined to leap onto every floor except the very one where I’m endeavoring to guide them towards their designated lilypad destination? As the Naiad demands, you can effortlessly navigate through its tranquil waters at a pace of your choice; yet, when I’m awkwardly manipulating physical entities or futilely trying to corral abstract concepts, all fluid motion ceases. I surrender to Naiad’s whimsical grasp as she layers the concrete with ambiguity: within the labyrinthine logic of a nonogram puzzle, I become entranced, my thoughts dissolving into a state of serenity akin to slipping into a warm bath.
Now that you’ve had the chance to peruse multiple screenshots on this website, it’s evident that Naiad is undeniably captivating, at the very least? When unencumbered by manual control, the game’s visuals are often at their most breathtaking, with the camera drifting away from your protagonist to reveal tantalizing glimpses of the environment. As individuals, we are living portraits in motion, our forms undulating like ripples on a sun-drenched lake, as if the very plants around us were inhaling and exhaling with every gentle breeze.
We’re in the realm of Gris’s surreal beauty, where the grandeur is “terribly, painfully apparent,” as if Alice herself had penned this enchanting passage. While Naiad’s beauty may go unappreciated, the uninspired artwork adorning a corporate hotel restroom’s walls remains a dull and underwhelming experience. The sheer grandeur defies sentimental attachment, its majesty unencumbered by narrative structures or emotional manipulation that could be tediously foreseeable.
As I read Pilgrim at Tinker Creek by Annie Dillard, I found myself making assumptions about the work, which is an unconventional nonfiction narrative with no discernible plot, yet overflowing with vivid descriptions of nature that fill its pages.
As I stood on the island’s barren winter grass, feeling lost and stunned, my gaze fixed on a tiny frog perched just four feet away in the creek. With eyes that were remarkably broad and dull, the tiny frog stood out in stark contrast. As I watched him, he gradually wilted, his strength visibly ebbing away. His gaze dimmed, as if the spark of life had been extinguished. His pores sagged, his skin deflated like a punctured balloon; his skull seemed to disintegrate, collapsing in on itself like a toppled tent pole? As he dwindled before my gaze, he resembled a punctured football slowly losing its air pressure. As I gazed at his shoulders, I noticed the taut, glistening pores and skin begin to wrinkle, rumple, and slowly slide downward in a somber descent. As swiftly as mortal eyes could discern, a portion of his epidermis, amorphous as a burst balloon, drifted in loose, translucent layers atop the liquid surface, resembling garish muck: an abhorrent and awe-inspiring sight. I gaped bewildered, appalled. As the last droplets of water evaporated from the pond’s surface, a silvery oval shadow materialized behind the abandoned frog, its gentle ripples momentarily frozen in time before it silently slid across the mudflats and vanished into the surrounding vegetation. The frog’s skin began to sag, forming a waterlogged pouch that slowly sank.
While I’m not repelled by Naiad’s frogs being devoured like a milkshake by a water bug, Dillard’s lyrical prose successfully weaves a habitat where nature’s brutality coexists with the space for exploring complex emotions and themes that might otherwise be inaccessible to readers. Isn’t it exciting to experience something new? The gentle cadence of “ruck, and rumble, and fall” is capable of reviving me for days on its own merit alone. Naiad’s poetry, be it literal or otherwise, never fails to leave a lasting impression. These waters don’t run deep.
When Naiad ventures closest to articulating a profound insight, it occurs when individuals appear to be utterly absorbed in their own thoughts and experiences, oblivious to the world around them? These massive meanies! In an effort to thwart the destructive actions of humans, who are carelessly trimming bushes, disrupting a bear’s slumber through noisy gem mining in a cave, and potentially causing chaos elsewhere, it is up to Naiad, as guardian of nature, to intervene by singing a melody that lures distracting animals towards these offending parties, thereby maintaining balance in the ecosystem. Their transportation habits and urban planning decisions are disproportionately contributing to environmental degradation, leaving individuals powerless against this pervasive issue? Is this endeavour to proselytise children genuinely advisable? I’m skeptical that any infant wouldn’t find saccharine sentimentality dull. Time and again, I revisited existing literature that explored the themes of nature, leveraging these insights to craft engaging parables. Tove Jansson’s Moomin novels are imbued with a deep understanding that winter is inevitable, as even the most resilient creatures like the squirrel with the extraordinary tail must eventually succumb, while Little My will have to adapt by donning its tail in an unexpected way.
I fear Naiad will receive a minimum of broad acclaim from most reviewers (“Luxurious.” – 3 stars) and many gamers, and I must emphasize that I’m not attempting to be contrarian; rather, I’d like to acknowledge my genuine enthusiasm for its wholesome allure. Here’s the rewritten text:
I’m the punk rock critic of cuddly video games, ready to take down the saccharine sentimentality and blowtorch the blandness of non-violent gaming, only to realize my gum is gone.
As a direct consequence of my affection for Abzu, I find myself here having loved this similarly captivating game about exploring a vibrant underwater environment. After mastering each of Abzu’s Journey-like puzzle environments, I found myself lingering, captivated by the opportunity to delicately tinker with the lush flora and whimsically interact with the fascinating fauna – all while basking in the sheer magnificence of this underwater world. I also fondly enjoyed Journey and A Brief Hike, along with a dozen other lighthearted and carefree games. I’m generally supportive of video games that restrict verb access for players, aiming to provide a more reflective experience. If Naiad were an effortless and carefree exploration of the joys of wild swimming, I would be utterly delighted.
While Naiad’s “enjoyable” aspect poses some drawbacks, one crucial point is that making it more enjoyable than other games requires a significant departure from the norm. What remains. In Naiad’s instance, responses are both overly abundant and perpetually inadequate.
The notion of excluding such an onerous task from Naiad’s scope feels particularly egregious in a world where video games already dominate and, by extension, are extra specific, leaving gaming culture relatively barren of experiences that combine swimming with duckling rescue. But the game’s uniqueness isn’t solely defined by its contrast with other games.
Naiad is, sure, typically nice. It’s a straightforward acoustic cover of a song, with a few people acknowledging its success in accurately capturing the melody. While others may find elevator music endearing, it’s a far cry from my personal taste, leaving me feeling stuck in a never-ending hold.
