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This review is a bit of a cheat: although I played and finished the Shadow of the Colossus video game, I never bought this strategy guide (although I will admit that I did use online resources to figure out how to beat several Colossi). So what is this review about? It's about the actual game: why I loved the story, why I thought it was extraordinarily effective, and why I'm no longer quite as huge of a book snob as I used to be.
The story is simple: a young knight rides into a forbidden land upon his horse Agro, bearing a stolen sword and the body of a young woman. At the center of the forbidden and abandoned land is a ruined temple inside of which is trapped an ancient power of many voices called the Dormin. The knight begs the Dormin to restore the young woman, and the Dormin agrees - if the knight travels through the land and slays sixteen Colossi, weird fusions of stone and magic and power.
As the knight progresses in his quest, further story is revealed, but never in any great detail - we never know who the woman is to the knight, how the Dormin was imprisoned (although if you reverse the Dormin's name, it's a big hint to the direction of the plot). And yet. . . there is a subtle fullness to the tale that I think would not have been easily done using the written word. The stark loneliness of the knight is conveyed well from the opening, with a lone bird winging its way through the mountains, the knight riding slowly far below. The land is full of ruins, but green ruins, a shattered legacy overtaken by nature. And the Colossi. . .
. . . well, they are something else. Towering, monstrous, massive; guardian, perpetrator, victim: each of them are distinct and memorable, and yet they all invoke the same sense of awe when they rise into view. Climbing onto their backs, struggling to hang on as they attempt to shake you off, desperately plunging your sword into their sigils as the music rises - it's everything a child imagines when he or she dreams of felling a giant.
And yet. . . when the final blow is struck for each of them, the heroic music changes into a dirge; the Colossus collapses with the inevitability of a falling mountain; its strange power leaks out of it and into you; and you are suddenly very aware that you have just destroyed a wonder, one that can never be replicated. This feeling of loss is heightened near the end when you face one of the final Colossus, a massive serpent that circles in the air, doing nothing but plaintively cry out as you puncture its air sacs and force it down.
I'm saying "you" instead of "the knight", and that is purposeful. A video game forces the participant to be an active participant, equally culpable in the actions that occur. It was that sense of culpability that grew in me as I played the game, and it both stirred me and made me sad. I am not entirely sure a book would have had the same effect.
The ending of Shadow of the Colossus is not a happy one, nor is it exactly sad. It's a redemptive ending, one that offers hope regarding the fates of all involved; and when I finished the game and turned off the console, I remember going to bed and lying awake and reflecting on everything I had just seen and done.
The story is simple: a young knight rides into a forbidden land upon his horse Agro, bearing a stolen sword and the body of a young woman. At the center of the forbidden and abandoned land is a ruined temple inside of which is trapped an ancient power of many voices called the Dormin. The knight begs the Dormin to restore the young woman, and the Dormin agrees - if the knight travels through the land and slays sixteen Colossi, weird fusions of stone and magic and power.
As the knight progresses in his quest, further story is revealed, but never in any great detail - we never know who the woman is to the knight, how the Dormin was imprisoned (although if you reverse the Dormin's name, it's a big hint to the direction of the plot). And yet. . . there is a subtle fullness to the tale that I think would not have been easily done using the written word. The stark loneliness of the knight is conveyed well from the opening, with a lone bird winging its way through the mountains, the knight riding slowly far below. The land is full of ruins, but green ruins, a shattered legacy overtaken by nature. And the Colossi. . .
. . . well, they are something else. Towering, monstrous, massive; guardian, perpetrator, victim: each of them are distinct and memorable, and yet they all invoke the same sense of awe when they rise into view. Climbing onto their backs, struggling to hang on as they attempt to shake you off, desperately plunging your sword into their sigils as the music rises - it's everything a child imagines when he or she dreams of felling a giant.
And yet. . . when the final blow is struck for each of them, the heroic music changes into a dirge; the Colossus collapses with the inevitability of a falling mountain; its strange power leaks out of it and into you; and you are suddenly very aware that you have just destroyed a wonder, one that can never be replicated. This feeling of loss is heightened near the end when you face one of the final Colossus, a massive serpent that circles in the air, doing nothing but plaintively cry out as you puncture its air sacs and force it down.
I'm saying "you" instead of "the knight", and that is purposeful. A video game forces the participant to be an active participant, equally culpable in the actions that occur. It was that sense of culpability that grew in me as I played the game, and it both stirred me and made me sad. I am not entirely sure a book would have had the same effect.
The ending of Shadow of the Colossus is not a happy one, nor is it exactly sad. It's a redemptive ending, one that offers hope regarding the fates of all involved; and when I finished the game and turned off the console, I remember going to bed and lying awake and reflecting on everything I had just seen and done.