Universe for Sale: A Conflicted Critique

 

Make your own universe with two ingredients.

You add a cup of coffee.

Your universe is warm. Steamy and calm, it is a perfect heater for a rainy day. The cup is not to be drunk in one fell swoop. Rather, it is to be sipped slowly. You let the vast expanse wash over your tongue.

You add a twisted vine.

The vine has been cut from a larger specimen. It is writhing and entangled. Climbing down your throat, its pin pricks you with excitement at first, but it quickly chafes and scrapes your airways. Thorns and shoots stay within. You are left voiceless, perturbed.

 

The mad (and possibly confused) alchemist that you now are, you may have just concocted Tmesis Studio's Universe for Sale (2023). The sci-fi, cozy, dystopian visual novel follows the journeys of Lila and Master, as the former struggles to stay alive under the immensity of a tyranny that disallows her space to grieve—only getting by via selling universes of her own creation—and Master, a renowned cultist traveler, looks to correct Lila's doomed fate.

The Tmesis team made an astonishing effort to bring Universe for Sale to life. The orange, rusty air circling the squalid but bustling alleyways of Jupiter, paired with the hum of faulty bots and market-goers, they all make for an audiovisually believable world. Even the first scene makes its immediate impact: the children's bedroom pasted with slow-dancing star lights and Guglielmo Diana's sonorous jukebox melody—it brings one to a time of youth and innocence, matching the scene's tale-telling curio. Make no mistake, Universe for Sale is not alive. But its art breathes.

The warm, detailed world of Universe for Sale gives it its uniquely inviting entry, a coffee-like taste, but its story is what makes it, at first, captivating. The visual novel is mostly told non-linearly, with timelines jumbled and scrambled. What could happen first may have been the third sequence, and what could happen last may have been the first in the chronology. It's useful to think of the plot's chapters as if they were temporally rearranged. As a result, much of the early sections of the plot induce a sense of mystery, with the characters not entirely understanding their situation, and us discovering it with them.

 

Having given all this praise, it frustrates me to say that Universe for Sale suffers from, I believe, some major narrative flaws. These are the "twisted vines", of which many could be synthesized with the idea of inadequate functional mechanism, leading to contrived and poorly developed plot points throughout the story. Points that do not work on the surface, but conflictingly and perhaps tragically, do present depth when their meaning and metaphor is pondered. I will be detailing these plot points below, which will contain minor to semi-major spoilers.

1.)

Lila's 'doomed fate' (that Master intends to correct) works on a metaphorical level, but is inadequately explained on a functional level. To give you a semi-major spoiler, Lila is stuck in a time loop due to her and Master's timelines diverging in the past. It turns out that the two had been closely linked before, but a cosmic event meant that Lila had died in Master's timeline, and Master had perished in Lila's. Their goal? To converge timelines, creating one 'correct' timeline, even if it means one of them must truly meet their end.

The game explicitly states that, due to Lila's time looping, the very dimension of time has become meaningless for her. It is why she claims to only "feel alive" around Master's presence, for besides her subconscious attachment with him, he is also the key to a correct timeline.

The cosmic horror of time, by its looping made meaningless, presents a powerful analogue to the debilitating nature of grief. Having lost important people in her life (Master being one of them), Lila expresses herself as an enervated, temperamental gal; she whose sole goal is to exist despite existence. She gets by with her power to create and sell universes—a power she gained as a byproduct of the timeline divergence—yet she finds no meaning in this act. For her, there is no life here on Jupiter, not after losing those close to her.

Metaphorically, Lila's time loop represents her loss in sense of self, and the loss of drive to keep on going. Depicting one's soul detaching from one's body, time loop is misery.

Functionally, however, Lila being in a time loop is not consequentially seen in her character, her actions, or, indeed, in any of the game's events. Time is jumbled, sure, but it's not as though time was ever looping. Lila's depression wasn't portrayed as if it were caused (or explained) by the time loop, and the more sensible explanation of grief worked well enough prior to the time loop's reveal. If we were to accept that the time loop exacerbated her senselessness, she certainly makes no comment of it. And even if we were to believe that she is not aware of her time loop, as it seems to be the case, the gravity of an endlessly repeating universe is hardly if at all felt.

I understand that the time loop was contrived as a mere way to drive Lila and Master to return to their past; to depict retrospection and confrontation with survivor's guilt. This is further cemented by the act of literal meditation being the means for time travel, as our two main characters dig into their consciousnesses.

However, I stand that the ramifications of a time loop were neither displayed nor explored. Like an asterisk or a footnote, the time loop serves little purpose other than to make the metaphor of retrospection by way of time travel work. It is integrated into neither the gameplay nor the storytelling. Time loop is mentioned once, near the end, as an introduction of an abstract evil to be taken down, long after the rules of the universe had already been established. There's nothing wrong with the time loop per se, but it simply induces more questions than answers, especially with everything else in the climax that had already been thrown at the wall. Speaking of other such contrivances in the climax...

2.)

The surprise appearance of the evil archbishop in the climax makes sense on a thematic level, but is again inadequately developed on a concrete level.

Thematically, the archbishop represents Jupiter's theo/autocratic tyranny that assumed all sovereignty over the planet. Being depicted as a greedy, power-hungry elite, he was first seen (out of two appearances) rallying people to follow the Church's orders, as well as shoo'ing away Master for being part of the cult. The archbishop's second appearance half a game later sees him interrupting Lila's and Master's meditation into the past, as he attempts to coerce Lila into following him, luring her to do his bidding so that he could "steal Lila's powers".

Again, thematically, the archbishop's appearance in the climax is a sort of closing ribbon that wraps the whole "evil institution" part of the game, which probably would have been left hanging had it not played a role in the end. It's a tying of a loose end, I suppose.

But seen through a concrete lens, the archbishop was simply not featured or developed enough for his reappearance to make any sort of meaningful impact. Even in his first scene, he was not the focal point, as arguably Master (and the Church's relationship with the cult) was. His character was so fleeting, in fact, that I had to remind myself who he was when he mysteriously appeared again in the climax. He also had no explicitly displayed powers and nothing to make the player believe he could steal Lila's. 

There is nothing wrong with a symbol of institutional evil playing an important role in Universe for Sale's story, but his meager recurrences in the story makes his role questionable and confusing. In fairness, it's not as though his appearance was entirely 'surprising', as the Church and its loyal servants as a whole had been mostly depicted as diligent oppressors throughout the story, so the archbishop's final act of decadence is like a natural conclusion to that fact. However, his appearance draws the question of why he had appeared personally, how he had reached into their meditation, and what exactly he wants from the two main characters, and why they, in particular, attract his utmost interest. Other than "stealing Lila's powers"—however loose and powerless that statement is—the archbishop fails to be explained, or to be explainable, any further.

Finally, the archbishop and his villainous plan eliminates a possibly heart-wrenching dilemma that could've made its way into the game's climax, and his inclusion processes that dilemma down into a much shallower choice. Recall that Lila and Master had to return to the past to converge and correct their timelines, though in doing so, one of them must die. The dilemma being set-up is clear: you choose to save either Lila or Master, with an ending dedicated to either choice. But because the archbishop interrupted their time travels, the choice that ended up being presented to the player was whether to trust the archbishop or not. The thing is, he is cartoonishly evil, and, again, he's only ever appeared once, so it's clear not to trust him. In the end, what could have been a difficult decision between saving one of the two main characters was all but superseded by a simple "are you gullible?" question.

3.) 

The third and final point is less so a 'major' flaw (I suspect most won't even notice it), but it's a discrepancy in detail that underlines the messiness of the plot's mechanisms. 

The visual novel's denouement sees Lila wake up late into the 'corrected' timeline, as she proceeds to comment how she has to stop running her business of selling universes.

 

Here's the thing... she should not have a universe-selling business to begin with in this timeline. Recall that Lila gained the power to create universes as a byproduct of the timelines diverging. If, in the true ending, Lila and Master's timelines had already converged, then there would have been no reason for her to start a universe-creating shop. And she is not simply commenting on her experiences post-climax; even in the corrected timeline, she still has her shop intact. Why would Lila act like she stopped being able to make universes just after she wakes up in a time long after the converging point that would incite this inability? Why does she still have her shop in this timeline?

These three points, along with a few others I did not mention here, blueprint the holes in Universe for Sale's foundation. Many of these plot points serve a deeper meaning, and were written for a purpose or another, though their contrived and undeveloped nature make them feel questionable or, worse, disengaging. On a functional level, these plot points fail to be reasonably believable, and they introduce more questions than answers.

 

Stories do have the liberty to be contrived. Sometimes, events can simply happen because the narrative calls for it, and, when done well, is more than acceptable. If the story of Universe for Sale necessitated a time loop to corroborate Lila's apathetic, mindless state through a profound, abstract cosmic fact, then the story may incorporate this.

The keyword there is incorporate. When the execution of such contrivances feel rushed, abrupt, like bandages covering emergent wounds, the player or reader is not thrown for a loop: they're thrown for a whirl, flinging them across the air and, in their eternal spin, causing them to miss the deeper imagery. There is some depth here—that's the tragic part. The mezzo-soprano is prickled by thorns in the throat; she has meaningful ideas, but without enough voice to sing all her notes. The sad part is I think these supposed 'flaws' could've worked well had the story been given more time to simmer, and had concepts more room to develop.

I was not entirely convinced of the time loop, I just went along with it. I was not compelled by the archbishop's appearance, I just went along with it. I never understood why Lila made a universe creating business when she no longer had powers, for I simply went along with that too. With all this going along, my role in the story transformed from a curious mystery-solver to a passive observer, accepting whatever that came. It was the only way I could stay engaged by the end.

So I'm conflicted. In awe, I adore Universe for Sale's audiovisuals, thesis and mystery, and its hook drew me in to completion. In confusion, its story and telling left some unoccupied room. Many ideas were clearly had during its conceptualization, but they all fought for time in a game that couldn't give much of it.

For what it's worth, Universe for Sale is a beautifully styled, captivating piece. It simply had potential to deliver more.

Might I recommend tea? 

 

Danton Remoto's "Riverrun": Capturing Fleeting Moments and Future Memories

 

I read Danton Remoto's Riverrun at a striking time when, if one so placed my life beside that of the main character's, half the novel would be my past, and the other my possible future.

Riverrun's structure—that of short, flash fiction-style chapters each detailing a specific event in Danilo Cruz's life—guided my reminiscence. Its chapters didn't feel so much as "chapters" and more like brief, disparate moments in someone's biography, as if the book were a man's diary, but if it only included the diary's "Greatest Hits". Each of its chapters essentially had its standalone story (as proven by their being individually published on PhilStar), and no chapter really led itself to the next. As a result, reading Riverrun felt less like a novel per se but more like looking through the images of a scrapbook or an old slide projector, each vignette different than the last.

There's something oddly nostalgic and painful about Riverrun's first half, which detailed Danilo Cruz's life from his childhood to his high school years.

"Nostalgic" in the culture it showed, culture I had much taken for granted, recipes I'd grown up eating, practices I'd unknowingly hold on to until now. Even the way Remoto tackled a budding gay man's relationship with Filipino Catholicism felt surreal in its closeness to my and others' experiences: traumatic, forced, at times hypocritical, but still watching by the waysides, believing from a distance.

"Painful" in the wounds borne by the past, of governmental corruption all too familiar, of familial disconnect and the guilt it comes with, and, of course, the pain of figuring out one's sexuality in an ever chaotic, hetero-normative world. God, the push and pull of chasing a feeling despite being taught against it is far, far too palpable. So much of young Danilo's crush-induced, fluttery imagination only went as far as holding hands, touching elbows, and hugs. Even the thought of a kiss with another boy was framed as a question, not a desire, for it may be too far, too risky, too wrong.

A quiet, bittersweet emotion permeated the air after I read Riverrun's Part 1—which included Danilo Cruz's life up until his high school years. Slices of the life that Danilo had lived felt so close and dear to me. It made me happy, realizing I was there in similar places too, years ago. But, also, it vanquished me, realizing that I had forgotten my years ayonder. It took one sentence in this book to make me remember ice pops and Vicks Vaporub, and those words alone spelt childhood. I suppose there is comfort in knowing the memories are always there, waiting to be called, like secret agents.

Riverrun's second half (Part 2) dealt a lot more with Danilo's college life and beyond, or in my case, what I like to call "future memories". Detailed experiences of an imagined future flowed out of the book's pages, and the ever increasing temporal distance between chapters made the second half faster in pacing, mimicking the feeling of years accelerating too quickly when you grew up. 

These weren't my experiences, but like Danilo, I too am an Atenean, and I too am trying to find my way in the winding maze of adulthood. I may not end up living Danilo's life, but I'd like to think I might. Although, I'm not sure how much he would appreciate knowing he carved out someone else's path, as he and many queer folk had given their all to avoid following the paths carved out for them. At the very least, I'd hope that I, like Danilo, still remain groovy, even after all these years.

Riverrun was not particularly climactic or eventful. It was a life. And, for me, it held itself quite close to home.

 

 

P.S.: My favorite chapters were How I Spent My Summer Vacation, Fourteen, When the Wind Blew, and Farewell, My Lovely.