Is Gaming a Superior Narrative Medium? Rethinking Storytelling Across Forms
Contents
For a long time, I believed that games were the ultimate narrative medium.
Compared to books and films, games seem to have everything: text, visuals, sound, and most importantly, interaction. They appear to be a natural evolution—a medium that absorbs all previous forms and adds agency on top of them. From this perspective, it felt almost obvious that games should be better at storytelling.
However, after spending a semester developing a narrative game called Grey Waves, my view has changed.
Not reversed—but significantly deepened.
The Illusion of “More Is Better”
At first glance, games seem powerful because they combine multiple channels of information. But in practice, having more expressive tools does not guarantee a stronger narrative.
In fact, many games fail precisely because these elements are not in harmony.
Text, visuals, sound, and gameplay often exist in parallel rather than in integration. The player may read dialogue, watch cutscenes, and perform mechanics—but these layers do not reinforce each other. Instead of deepening the experience, they fragment attention.
In those moments, games can actually be less effective than books.
A novel, with only text, can guide the reader into an intensely focused mental space. There are no competing systems—no mechanics pulling you away, no UI demanding attention. The reader is free to fully engage with the author’s intention.
This kind of concentration is surprisingly difficult to achieve in games.
What we learned from Grey Waves
To explain what I learned, I need to first explain the game we were trying to build.
Grey Waves is a 3D narrative experience about a middle school teacher trapped in a time loop, reliving the day of a devastating earthquake. The player returns to the school again and again, trying to understand what happened—and whether anything can be changed.
The game is structured around two interconnected spaces:
A time-loop world, where the earthquake unfolds in real time (a short, intense window of around 96 seconds)
A ruin or “mind palace” world, representing fragmented memories and emotional aftermath
Each loop, the player gathers more information:Who died? Why did they die? What choices led to those outcomes?
At first, the player acts blindly. But over time, knowledge accumulates, and the player begins to make deliberate decisions—choosing who to save, where to go, and what to do within a very limited timeframe.
There are multiple ways to “solve” each situation:
A brute-force solution (fast but inefficient)
A more optimized solution (requires exploration and planning)
A narrative-driven solution (requires understanding the character and context)
Eventually, the player can save everyone.
But in the final moment, the game reveals a truth:
These people were never actually saved.
The entire experience is about confronting memory, guilt, and acceptance. The player is not changing the past—but learning to understand it.
Where Games Become Powerful
While building this system, I realized something fundamental:
A game becomes powerful only when playing it is equivalent to understanding it.
In Grey Waves, the time loop is not just a mechanic—it is the narrative.
Repetition reflects trauma
Optimization reflects the human desire to “fix” the past
Discovery reflects the process of reconstructing memory
The player does not just watch a story about regret—they perform regret, again and again, until meaning emerges.
This is something books and films cannot fully replicate.
Why This Is So Difficult
However, reaching this level of integration is extremely difficult.
Even in our own project, we constantly struggled with questions like:
Are players focusing on solving puzzles, or understanding characters?
Does the time pressure enhance emotion, or reduce reflection?
Are mechanics reinforcing the theme, or distracting from it?
It is very easy for gameplay and narrative to drift apart.
And when they do, the experience weakens.
This is why many games, despite having rich audiovisual elements, fail to deliver a coherent narrative experience. In contrast, books and films—precisely because they are more constrained—can achieve a stronger sense of focus.
When Games Truly Work
There are games that successfully achieve this integration.
Titles like The Last of Us, BioShock Infinite, and Red Dead Redemption 2 demonstrate how mechanics, world design, and narrative can reinforce each other.
In these cases:
Gameplay expresses emotional stakes
Systems reflect themes
Player actions deepen narrative meaning
Every playthrough becomes a continuous reinforcement of the story.
But achieving this is rare.
It requires not only technical skill, but alignment across design, art, narrative, and production. It also requires scale—something that is often impossible for small teams.
Why Other Media Still Matter
Because of this, books and films are not replaced by games.
They remain powerful precisely because of their limitations.
A book can guide thought with precision.A film can control rhythm and emotion through editing and framing.
Games, on the other hand, give up control in exchange for agency.
And agency introduces complexity.
Without careful design, it can dilute meaning rather than strengthen it.
A More Honest Conclusion
So, are games a superior narrative medium?
I no longer think the answer is simply yes.
Instead, I would say this:
Most games are not stronger than books or films.
But a perfectly integrated game has the potential to surpass them.
Games are not inherently more powerful—they are conditionally more powerful.
When mechanics, narrative, and player experience align, games can create something unique:
Not just observing a story, but living through it.
Final Thought
Working on Grey Waves changed how I think about storytelling.
The question is no longer whether games are better.
The real question is:
Can we design games where every action carries meaning?
If we can, then games are not just a combination of media.
They are a fundamentally new form of expression.