You are in control of the titular Edith, a teenage girl who has inherited her family house. Edith returns home after a period of absence. The place is deserted and she admits to have been afraid of it. Her goal is to uncover the mysteries of the house; mysteries she was made aware of as a child.

The history of the house is that of its people. Every one died under circumstances that suggest the presence of a curse. From the early stages of the game we are led to believe that something supernatural is at play.

Edith maintains a diary, which we are reading from as the game progresses. In its pages are records of the individuals who lived in this house, going all the way back to the progenitors of the Finch family.

The Finches moved from Norway to America in hope of finding a better life. They were ambitious and capable folk. However, the world is neither simple nor accommodative. One does not get to experience comfort without discomfort. In fortune there is latent misfortune, the most gruesome tragedy contains elements that are benign, while even a peaceful presence has the attendant forces of its undoing.

A stream of water carries with it seeds that turn into vegetation along its edges, whose eventual overgrowth has the effect of diverting the stream further away from them, which in turn leads to the undoing of the vegetation, which re-enables waters to flow from its position, and so on. The conditions that give life a certain form necessarily set in motion the makings of the form’s undoing in an incessant process of transfiguration.

Against this backdrop, the story of the Finches is in its most abstract the history of humankind through its struggles. Another is born, another is gone.

In more concrete terms, the Finch family is understood through a series of personal misfortunes and untimely deaths. The forefather of the family dies on the journey to America, forcing the family to build a cemetery before even making their house. Little kids and adults lose their life in strange and horrible ways.

One may discern the common in the multitude of those sad endings as the machinations of some monster. There are good reasons to believe in such a theory. Though I personally adopt a literal view, which nevertheless recognises the potential of self-fulfilling prophecies.

What Remains of Edith Finch is an artful exploration of isolation and mental illness. Starting with the house itself, it is designed in a convoluted way, which mirrors a conscience of the same kind. Greeks have a saying that translates as “house that is not seen by the Sun is seen by the doctor”, which is exactly what we expect to happen to the Finch establishment with all its claustrophobia-inducing spaces (and this is, by the way, why I designed the house I built to optimise for natural exposure to light, with widely open, minimalist interiors).

There are no indelible lines between subjectivity, imagination, and madness. They exist on a continuum of connection to disconnect from the here-and-now of material conditions. Molly dies because in her pre-teen mind inedible items can still sate her hunger, inducing a hallucinatory trip before the eventual death from poisoning. Why would parents even punish a child to not have dinner and why would they, in so doing, engender in it a want to escape from its immediate reality?

Abandonment, neglect, and an overall lack of situational awareness is ultimately what is causing all those deaths. Sam dies because he wants to take a picture while standing at the precipice, thus underestimating the risks involved. Gregory drowns because his reckless mother left him in the bathtub while she was talking on the phone. Lewis meets his end because (i) he is pushed to increasing isolation and must find solace in an inward turn, (ii) succumbs to substance abuse which is the material extension of inner escapism, and (iii) inevitably lives in a world of his own making since his surroundings marginalised him beyond return.

I can apply this pattern to the other stories. Each person is fundamentally left alone, without support, to face a world that is too much for them. Sometimes the game places an emphasis on the emotional manifestation of abandonment. At others it unfolds through a certain situation, where the person is left to cope with an extremely dangerous, and ultimately lethal, phenomenon, such as Gus who is flying his kite amid the storm while others are having a party.

We can think of the family curse not as some monster that is pulling the strings in the background but as the set of natural attributes the Finches are endowed with, plus their cultural norms. It is, in this regard, their fate to experience what transpires in the story exactly because each is allowed to rely on their own devices when those are woefully inadequate for their survival. One may then discern the adverse effects of gritty individualism on those who are not made for it.

Or, to put it differently, this is an appreciation of what happens when freedom of initiative is bestowed upon someone who has yet to develop the requisite accountability structures: they are not prepared to live with the consequences of their actions. For example, you take care of a child because it is not ready to live on its own terms. Even adults may be children in this way, which is why the social milieu, with its robust hierarchies and tutelary figures, is essential, litanies to the contrary notwithstanding.

Yes, there are some folks who are the lone wolf type: capable, ever-alert and dangerous, and content despite their solitude. Yet they are the exceptions to the norm. One cannot become that which their nature does not render possible nor may they escape from what their condition has made unavoidable. Even wolves, apex predators in their own right, need a pack to thrive. They do not get to choose.