[Content warnings: depression]
Hades, a roguelike video game by Supergiant Games, is something I’ve been obsessed with for the better part of the last four months or so. It’s a damn good game. For people who are familiar with Hades, I need not preach to the choir, and for people who aren’t, all it’ll take you is a quick Google search to see the overwhelmingly positive reviews, the accolades and awards, and the dedicated community of fans this game has accumulated. I’m not here to discuss why Hades is a good game—a lot of other people have done that before me—I’m here to discuss Hades’ story, its implications, and how it helped me as a mentally ill individual.
That’s a bit of a jump, so let’s start from the beginning. What is the story of Hades trying to tell?
[Spoilers ahead for the plot of Hades just so that we’re on the same page.] The story of the game involves the main character, Zagreus, trying to escape the Underworld in search of his mother. Post main-plot, after his mother is returned to the Underworld, Zagreus still regularly fights to escape and reach the surface. Once there, however, he is destined to never stay very long for he always dies shortly after, sent back to the House of Hades to try all over again.
This story, with these main plot beats, is a story of tragedy. A tragedy is a story that hinges on suffering, sorrow, and pain, and at first glance, Hades can look like it fits in here. Afterall, it involves 1) the futility of Zagreus’ escapes, how he is cursed to try again and again, 2) it involves an arduous journey which, no matter how fun gameplay makes it, is filled with hardship for Zagreus, and 3) the nature of Zagreus’ victory is fleeting and finite, as he can never stay on the surface for too long.
And yet everybody I know who has played the game does not see Hades as a tragedy, because while it has the skeleton of one, it has the soul of another story altogether.
So when is a tragedy not a tragedy?
When pain isn’t the point.
A story about futility? Hades makes it clear to the player that while Zagreus’ story involves countless attempts and countless more failures, succeeding is still possible, and with possibility comes hope. A story about hardship? If we took the reality of wounds as one that discounts possibility for future value, we would be miserable people. Hades makes it so that no matter how much hardship Zagreus goes through, he still fights on, because he believes in that future that is waiting for him. A story about how all is fleeting? Sure, but is ephemerality synonymous to meaninglessness? Things in this world this world end, but that doesn’t mean they don’t matter. Hades shows you Zagreus who knows that there is merit in victory, even if it doesn’t last, and so he continues on.
While Hades has the bones of a story about suffering, it has the soul of a story about perseverance and hope. A story like this in the roguelike genre—a genre that I personally dislike because of how it only rewards perfect successes—is both novel and important. This game isn’t about celebrating the perfect successes. This game celebrates the messy, human, genuine act of trying.
So what does that mean? Well, for one thing, it means that—among its other amazing aspects—Hades’ story makes it a very fun game to play. While it has its fair share of drama and angst, overall it’s a hopeful story that doesn’t depress the player and pushes them to keep on going. So this kind of story is great, but this kind of story is also meaningful.
Stories about trying, about failing, about trying again anyway.
These matter.
See, I had a Zoom call with my psychiatrist a few weeks ago. It was the first time we were going to talk ever since the pandemic happened, and I was not exactly excited, per se, to report that I had lately backslid into “regular depressive episodes” territory once again, but my psychiatrist reassured me that I shouldn’t be too hard on myself.
“There have been studies on how quarantine and the pandemic has affected those with mental illness,” He had said. “A large percentage of those with depression like yourself, have gotten worse.”
“Oh, okay,” I said. “So it’s like, totally normal that I’m having depressive episodes every other week?”
“It’s not normal, but it has been observed to be more common, with the current circumstances,” he told me. “Times are hard right now, but you can still fight against it.”
And fight I did. Fight I always did. Whenever the episodes would hit, whenever I would wake up in bed and not feel like moving a single inch for 24 hours, whenever I would only think about my failures and shortcomings until the thoughts washed me away into oblivion, I would try to push back. I would try to get up. No matter how many times it hits, I try again, because I will have depression most likely for the rest of my life, but I keep fighting because those days where I can get myself to feel okay matter, even when those days have to end.
A tragedy is a story defined by the suffering and pain a character goes through. But my story isn’t a tragedy because my pain isn’t the point. Zagreus’ story isn’t a tragedy because his pain isn’t the point either.
“Again,” Zagreus says as he emerges from the Pool of Styx, determined to fight for a glimpse of the sun.
Again, I agree, because that glimpse of the sun matters. Again.