I Cried to Dream Again: Discovery and Meaning-Making in Walking Simulators

Key insights

7 takeaways

01
The paper argues that walking simulators such as Dear Esther (The Chinese Room, 2012) and Proteus (Ed Key and David Kanaga, 2013) should be recognised as complex, self-contained game worlds rather than dismissed as minimal experiences.See it on page 1
02
Its central claim is that the peaceful, single-player, first-person, non-competitive gameplay enabled by the island setting heightens affective, narrative, spatial, and kinaesthetic involvement for players.See it on page 1
03
The island works as a practical design tool: its tension between desirability and inaccessibility limits the game world while drawing on players' cultural associations that shape expectations and reception.See it on page 1
04
Islands make unusual elements such as magic or the supernatural easier to accept, and the limited set of available actions reinforces a dream-state reading in both games.See it on page 1
05
Using Kincaid's typologies, the paper places Proteus within 'Islomania' (the island as dream and object of desire) and Dear Esther within 'Insularity' (the island as prison or fortress), based on differences in aesthetic design.See it on page 1
06
The paper draws parallels between walking simulators and immersive performance, both of which use environment dramaturgically and cast the participant as a dual observer and performer.See it on page 2
07
The paper is explicitly framed as an opening step toward bridging game studies and performance studies, linking Machon's 'in-its-own-worldness' with Calleja's account of bi-directional incorporation.See it on page 2

Summary

This paper argues for reclaiming walking simulators as complex, self-contained game worlds that draw players in through experiential aesthetics and exploration mechanics. Focusing on Dear Esther (The Chinese Room, 2012) and Proteus (Ed Key and David Kanaga, 2013), it contends that the island setting shapes narrative, conditions movement, generates atmosphere, and immerses players in a world with its own rules. The authors position these games as islands in a double sense: they are self-contained spaces with distinct logics, and they sit on the fringe of mainstream gaming, pushing against the conventions of the "mainland" of conflict-driven, competitive play. The analysis frames this through Kincaid's typologies of "Islomania," the island as dream and object of desire, and "Insularity," the island as prison or fortress, alongside Di Benedetto's notion of action potential in set design and Jenkins' account of environmental storytelling.

The central claim is that the peaceful, single-player, first-person, non-competitive gameplay enabled by the island setting heightens affective, narrative, spatial, and kinaesthetic involvement. The island's tension, being both highly desirable and difficult to reach, provides designers with a practical means of limiting the game world while drawing on players' cultural associations that shape expectations and reception. Islands also carry a logic that makes unusual elements, including magic or the supernatural, easier to accept. The paper observes that the limited set of available actions reinforces a dream-state reading in both games, while differences in aesthetic design place Proteus within Islomania and Dear Esther within Insularity.

The work draws parallels between walking simulators and immersive performance, both of which use environment dramaturgically to produce meaning and cast the participant in a dual role as observer and performer. Walking and exploration serve as the core mechanics that place the physical or virtual body within a designed fictional world. The island, understood as both constraint and imaginative stimulus, is presented as a functional metaphor linking Machon's concept of "in-its-own-worldness" with Calleja's account of bi-directional incorporation. The paper is explicitly framed as an opening step toward bridging game studies and performance studies.