Last week, I removed two features from the game design that I really liked. Both would take a lot of time to fine-tune and polish. And frankly I’m not even sure how much they would contribute to the whole. But removing certain features gives me more time to work on all the others, so they can become better.

The continuous exercise in minimalism when creating a videogame can be very frustrating at times. There is never enough time, there is never enough money, and the technology is never good enough to make what one really wants to make. But in my experience, this is the only way to come to a finished project. And it is of the utmost importance that projects are finished and released. Without that, there is no progress. Even if the game is not as good as one envisioned it, and not as rich, a released title will always be better than an unreleased one. The former can make a difference, the latter cannot.

I do believe in the aesthetic value of a videogame that is as sparse as it can possibly be: where everything in the game is essential and beautiful and nothing is excessive or badly implemented. But such minimalism goes against my creative nature. I keep having ideas and often only know if they are any good after implementing them. But that takes a lot of time, so I need to continuously reject ideas at the risk that some of the few sparse features that I do decide to keep, turn out to be completely uninteresting. Minimalism may be the only way to come to a finished product, but it’s also terribly risky.

The only solution for this dilemma is to accept the possibility of failure. Let’s make this one project as good as we can and if it turns out to be bad, so be it. Then we simply move to the next project, older and wiser.

Jean Giraud, better known as Moebius, died yesterday, aged 73. This reminded me of my admiration of his work. He worked in a popular medium (comics and movies), in a popular genre (science fiction and western), but managed to infuse his art with beauty, clever humour and intellectual depth. I work in a popular medium as well (video games) but I’m far less comfortable with it. I keep fighting what I cannot accept to be the nature of my medium. While Moebius simply became a Master of his.

I’m especially fond of the Incal series, and World of Edena. Perhaps as a tribute, I will increase the science fiction aspect in Bientôt l’été. Not to copy Moebius’ style, but to learn from his comfort with working within a popular genre. Both Jean Giraud and Marguerite Duras are French, so that should work out, shouldn’t it?

It’s kind of titillating to think of this combination of high literature and pulp entertainment. Duras in space. Why not? Less holodeck, more space station. Maybe you travel through space in the beginning of the game, or you awaken from cryogenic sleep. Then you boot up the holodeck for a morning scroll by the seaside. Maybe the café table where you meet another player is not virtual. Maybe it’s a kind if space station phone booth. I was already planning to depict the other player as a holoprojection.

I like the idea of combining sci-fi style technical language of futuristic computer interfaces with the dry and subtle phrasing of Duras’ amorous prose. Maybe the machines can start sounding poetic or romantic at some point.

My aim with this project has always been to make the beauty of Duras’ art more easily accessible. Maybe science fiction offers a way to do this.

PS: Interestingly, the music teacher in Moderato Cantabile, the novel at the basis of Bientôt l’été, is called Giraud.

Il la regarde de toutes ses forces. Avec les mains il dénude son visage pour la voir jusqu’au non-sens, jusqu’à ne plus la reconnaître.

I don’t want to see your face. Turn away from me. You are me. I don’t want to see me.

Et puis il pose la question rituelle. Déjà ils parlent pour parler. Ils tremblent. Leurs mains tremblent.

I feel a tension between my desire to entertain people and my reluctance to manipulate them. On the one hand, I’m interested in “good game design”. I want players to enjoy themselves and I want them to be drawn to my work. I have no problem with seduction. I want players to become immersed in my work, to imagine that they are somewhere else. But I don’t want them to lose themselves.

I want them to remain alert, to be who they are and allow the aesthetic experience to come from the interplay between their world and that of the game. Not because I feel they should be critical but because in my experience the awareness of being manipulated heightens the joy.

I’m not sure why that is. Or even if there’s anybody else who feels the same. Maybe it’s related to the joy we find in seeing people experience joy. Or maybe it’s because awareness of what the art is doing with us, reminds us of the author’s hand. And then we suddenly feel a connection with this other person. And the fact that we most likely do not know this other person (he may even be dead), gives the experience the magical, almost transcendental aspect of feeling close to the unknown.

When I observe my reactions to stimuli, my pleasure is doubled: first I enjoy an experience, and then I notice that I am enjoying the experience and this surprises and delights me. The initial experience is like a spontaneous reflex but in the awareness of this event, I become human. It is this realization of being human, of being a creature that can feel joy, that brings about the second layer of pleasure. I think that’s what happens when I am moved by art.

— Ce qui est vrai c’ est que j’ ai envie d’ être toute seule, une fois. Pour penser à toi et moi. À ce qui est arrivé.
— Et aussi à rien.
— Oui – et aussi à rien.

When making the kinds of games that we do, it’s common to think in terms of expression, meaning and narrative. And while it is important to at least guide the player a little bit towards an interpretation that makes sense, I believe that a videogame should allow for as much freedom as possible for the player to play how they want to. Often technical limitations prevent us from offering all the possible interactions and features a player might desire. But sometimes reducing the amount of features can lead to more ways of playing.

My best experiences in multiplayer games are often the ones in which I “abuse” the system for my own story. Having our avatars intersect with each other in A Tale in the Desert is a beautiful romantic memory. Having Jin and Xiaoyu tackle each other in Tekken turned into an erotic fantasy. We didn’t need our avatars to play animations of hugging or having sex. In fact, it was more fun to attribute our own meaning to what we were doing. It made the activity more personal.

I remember adding such personal layers to table top games as well: inventing stories that are only vaguely related to what the board and the pawns and the rules represented. It’s a fun thing to do together.

So rather than defining the meaning of certain actions that a player can do in Bientôt l’été, or figuring out how to implement a wide range of recognizable gestures and interactions, I think I will offer simple, rather meaningless things to do instead. Putting an object on the table and moving it around means nothing. Until you do this while another person is watching and when this other person can do the same. Then a communication can develop. This communication may not have any specific meaning. But does that matter? How many of our conversations in real life are actually exchanges of information? Is communication often not simply testing how much we like each other and expressing these feelings? Even when we might not really feel all that fond of someone, it’s often simply fun to act as if we are.

If I could say “Read Duras the way I have,” there would be far less reason for me to make this videogame. But I can’t say that and believe that you will. Some people, sure. But from what I read about her here and there, many not.

Bientôt l’été is not about Marguerite Duras, it’s not a videogame version of one of her novels, nor is it an attempt at a faithful presentation of her style. Bientôt l’été is driven by my experience with reading Duras. The things I have learned while reading her work. The beauty I have felt. Not only the literary beauty of the text, but also the beauty of the real world that her work points out.

Bientôt l’été is also an expression of admiration for the artist, and a posthumous nod of sympathy for a woman whose flamboyance served as both the flame under her extraordinary gift as the target for mockery and derision by the less talented, the less interesting.

I would like to say what it is that I enjoy so much in her work. But I can’t. So I’m making this videogame to try and capture and express the feeling.

Not just that. I also want to share these feelings. To inhabit this world with you. With words, one can never be sure. But in a videogame, I feel we can get closer. It’s about experience, about shared experience. And videogames can be poetic on a sub-rational level that is far easier to share than the joys of French literature.

At least that’s what I hope to achieve, what I aim for. It’s probably far too ambitious or hopeful to be realistic, let alone find a significant audience, but if even a fraction of this comes across, it’ll be worthwhile. If only because knowing that there’s people out there that can share this emotion, will make me a happier person.

In a way, Bientôt l’été is fan art.

I have been “live-blogging” our short trip to Trouville-sur-Mer on Tumblr. Here’s my Trouville observations.