3.9 hours played
Written 4 days ago
It’s a game very different from the ones I usually play, and there’s no other word to describe it but wonderful.
Yes, it’s a simple walking simulator. But the breathtaking visuals, the attention to detail, the way each story is told, and the emotional involvement that follows make you completely forget the simplicity of its mechanics. You find yourself immersed in a narrative that, step by step, digs beneath the surface.
The storytelling often feels light and dreamy: death is experienced in a whimsical, almost fairytale-like way. But beneath that lightness lies something much deeper.
Almost all the deaths we witness involve children or teenagers. And no, in my opinion, it’s not a “family curse” at all. It’s a cycle of trauma, neglect, emotional abandonment, and lack of protection.
And I kept asking myself questions I just can’t shake off:
Molly: How long was she left alone and starving, to the point she began eating toothpaste, poisonous berries…? She was a hungry, frightened, ignored little girl. She died from poisoning and loneliness, not magic.
Barbara: Why leave her home alone with a younger brother while the radio talks about a serial killer on the loose? Did no adult really care? And Walter? After being traumatized by his sister’s death, he lives 53 years locked in a bunker. But the real question is: where was everyone? Why didn’t anyone worry about him? Did no one ever truly look for him? Did no one wonder where he was?
Calvin: Perhaps the most “accidental” death. An extreme leap from a swing into the void. But even then… why was that swing built on the edge of a cliff? That scene is truly gut-wrenching.
Gus: During a wedding in the middle of a storm, everyone takes cover… and he’s left outside, alone, flying his kite. No one thinks of him? No one goes to get him? Did no one care about a boy alone in a tempest?
Gregory: How can you leave a baby alone in a bathtub? It’s one of the most poetic and devastating scenes in the game. But beyond the music and imagination… it’s a death caused by distraction. And there’s nothing poetic about that.
Lewis: Who was he really talking to? Did anyone notice he was getting lost in his thoughts, dissociating from reality, retreating into fantasy just to survive? And if he was using drugs… where did he get them? Why didn’t anyone try to stop him? Did anyone really try to help him before it was too late?
Sam: His daughter is crying and clearly telling him she doesn’t want to hunt. And what does he do? He takes a photo. And keeps pushing her. A father who doesn’t listen, who chooses to capture pain in a photo instead of acknowledging it.
These aren’t fairy tales. They’re real, tragic, and painfully believable stories. They’re just told with elegance—with an aesthetic that almost distracts you from their rawness.
What Remains of Edith Finch isn’t a story about death—it’s a story about failed responsibility, about the inability to truly see one’s children, about isolation and loneliness disguised as poetry.
And that’s exactly why this game leaves a mark.
It gets inside you quietly, but then forces you to reflect—and when you do… you realize that the true tragedy isn’t death. It’s the lack of care.