The Quiet Things Review (Xbox Series X|S & PC)

The Quiet Things is bravery manifest—a story that has the emotional wrath and power to unleash feelings that even the most prestigious of blockbuster movies often fail to convey on a digital landscape. It’s woe and dismay incarnate—a harrowing reminder, if anything, that bravely and unapologetically illuminates real conflicts and the turbulence of adolescent relationships. In other words, it’s a game that doesn’t beat around the bush or disguise itself as anything other than a heart-punching chronicle. It’s depressing, nostalgic, and above all, a perfectly serviceable example of how to wax poetic with interactive fiction and personal experiences.

For the record, The Quiet Things isn’t a game that you would naturally revert back to if you were ever in the mood for a pleasant distraction. On the contrary, The Quiet Things is a deeply emotional experience that touches on themes of suicide, exploitation, and harassment without leaning on the slightest hint of cookie cutter nonsense. It’s an intimate affair—a disturbing yet factual episodic flip book of childhood sagas that frames the real story of a young girl-turned-indie developer. It is, for lack of a better statement, a journal that you can and will leave you hanging on each and every word, even when you dread the thought of the contents that befall the next chapter. Frankly, not a lot of indie games can accomplish that without stepping on a few toes. But here, it all feels surprisingly natural. Uncomfortable, but natural.

As Alice, you find yourself bolted to a timeline of events that share an intimate connection with adolescence, tragedy, and familiar perpetual fears. With a world of keepsakes and childhood memories before you, you set out to piece a story together from the remnants of old trinkets. A plush toy of a wolf ushers you forward, and before long you find yourself spiraling through a rabbit hole of unchained memories. A personal tale begins to unfold, and you, as the fly on the wall, take your seat to witness its revelations, its conclusion, and its moral.

The Quiet Things isn’t so much of a game as it is an audiobook with light interactive gameplay elements. Given that you spend the majority of your time fumbling around in the world in search of objects to help push the story forward, there really isn’t that much for you to do here. Reluctantly, you find yourself with a presentation of static images and audio logs, none of which you can interact with or comb over. Simply, it tells you a story, and it pours its heart and soul into leaving in all of the details.

Without divulging too much information about the plot, The Quiet Things invites you to explore a little over a hundred chapters, with each segment having its own theme, voiceovers, and characters. It touches on memories of childhood, of loss, and of social isolation in the south of England during the early 2000s. As Alice, the curator of tales, it falls to you to weave the focal points together to construct a timeline of events and, more importantly, to unravel the breadcrumbs that led Alice from a familiar place to a series of foster homes. Again, it doesn’t provide you with a million jigsaw pieces in the hopes that you’ll assemble them in an orderly manner, but rather, in the hopes that you’ll witness them as they formulate their own portrait.

With some genuinely convincing dialogue and a striking art style to ferry its rather somber message, The Quiet Things delivers an elegant yet oftentimes heart-wrenching experience that feels far easier to spectate than interact with. It’s still incredibly short in terms of gameplay, but to be honest, it isn’t a game that you need to play in order to understand. The composition speaks volumes here, and if it does anything at all, it uses that same voice to convey a powerful message, of hope, of despair, and of fickle lights that loom in a familiar darkness.

It goes without saying at this point, but it’s best to treat The Quiet Things as a delicate piece of art rather than a full-fledged work of fiction. Even with a hint of gamification, it is, above all else, an intimate experience that doesn’t quite hold back on its punches to deliver a message that will stick. To that end, I’d say that if you enjoy story-driven games like Gone Home or What Remains of Edith Finch, then there’s a good chance that you‘ll find something to write home about in this episodic tale. Better yet, if you’re looking for an emotional tale that blends light gameplay with deeply personal stories and difficult subject matter, then you ought to consider The Quiet Things as a good opportunity to get the waterworks flowing and the nerves in tatters.

All in all there’s a good piece of writing here that deserves to be heard. Granted, it is a story that might not appeal to everyone, given its subject matter and its weighted approach to social issues and what have you. That being said, it is a game that knows its worth, as is it an experience that doesn’t shy away from difficult themes or actively pretend to discredit them. For those reasons, I’d say that The Quiet Things definitely makes for a compelling journal entry. It might not be the greatest game in the world, but its commitment to rally around the unsung heroes and defy conventional practices is admirable, to say the least.

Verdict

The Quiet Things bravely introduces a powerful yet somewhat uncomfortable episodic experience  that, while still evidently light on gameplay and interactive mechanics, is forthright in its portrayal as a self-contained journal entry. It’s dark, complex, yet unapologetically confident in its own skin as an experimental novel that dares to push the boundaries. That, really, is the making of an excellent game.

While I’d definitely recommend approaching a game like The Quiet Things with caution and an open mind, I will say that, as far as personal love letters to turbulent times go, it is one of the better portrayals of its kind. It might not put a smile on your face, though it will make you tap into emotions that have no place in the ordinary nine-to-five. With that, I’d take it with a grain of salt. You won’t find a fairytale ending here, folks.