There seems to be a perpetual struggle in the world of video game enthusiasts to define exactly what is and is not a game.

At the head of this nontroversy is Fullbright Studios’ Gone Home, a first-person interactive story where you walk around a house sans its inhabitants, piecing together a number of different plot threads scattered around the place, some of which are more explicit than others — and some of which are handled better than others. I liked Gone Home, but I felt like its “main” story — the one that lets you “finish” the game when you reach its ultimately rather mundane conclusion, despite what it has built you up to expect — was by far its weakest aspect, with much more interesting things going on through the “unspoken” stories: the bottle of whiskey hidden on top of a bookcase; the condoms in a drawer; the documents lying around the place.

To some people, Gone Home isn’t a game, much as similar games in the genre that has become semi-derisively known as “walking simulator” aren’t considered games either. Dear Esther, The Stanley Parable, Everybody’s Gone to the Rapture, and others like them: all too many people are far too hung up on the rather dull question of whether or not they are actually a game rather than unpacking the dense, interesting narratives that each of these experiences feature.

For some reason, visual novels appear to largely escape this sort of discussion, despite being less interactive than a walking simulator. In your average visual novel, you click through reams of text for hours and hours and hours and occasionally make a choice. In a particular subset of the visual novel called the kinetic novel, you don’t even make any choices: you just read and read and read, and then it’s over with you not having actually done anything.

Even these almost entirely non-interactive affairs don’t seem to get lambasted in the same way as Gone Home and its ilk, though, despite arguably being less of a “game” than something that has a 3D engine, WSAD movement controls and mouselook. In fact, even some of the most well-regarded games in the genre — The Fruit of Grisaia is the most prominent that springs to mind — only have maybe one or two meaningful choices to make in the whole game, with each acting as a fairly transparent means of setting a flag as to which character’s route you’re going to follow, and whether your get their Good or Bad ending.

I wonder why this is? Is it subject matter? No, I don’t think so, because while, say, Gone Home has its narrow-minded detractors for being “progressive” — I think the statute of limitations is probably up on it by now and we can say its main story is actually about a young lesbian couple running away together — there are certainly plenty of well-regarded visual novels out there that deal sensitively with homosexuality, both male-male and female-female.

Is it about artistic intent and the overall “honesty” of the work? Perhaps. Titles such as Everybody’s Gone to the Rapture often draw ire for being “pretentious” and, while I enjoyed all of the titles I’ve mentioned thus far, it’s kind of hard to argue with that label. Everybody’s Gone to the Rapture in particular feels very much like a case of “let’s make this as arty and confusing as possible” before kind of running out of steam in its final moments and getting just a bit too silly and implausible. Dear Esther suffers from a similar problem, deliberately mixing a number of different narratives together — with some randomisation in the mix, too — to try and obfuscate what the whole damn thing is actually about for as long as possible. The Stanley Parable, meanwhile, completely runs with this and knows exactly what it is doing, laughing along with the player at every opportunity, too.

Contrast with a visual novel, such as the one I’m currently reading/playing: Supipara, by minori. Supipara is a kinetic novel: there are no choices whatsoever. Yet it’s charming, compelling and addictive purely by virtue of its beautiful presentation, likeable and mysterious characters and intriguing premise that blends the mundanity of a slice-of-life tale with elements of the supernatural.

At no point does Supipara let any part of itself run away or overwhelm the rest of it. Its supernatural elements are incorporated honestly and without attempts to obfuscate or explain them away as quickly as possible, hoping we won’t notice — Life is Strange, I’m looking at you. It just is what it is, and it invites you to judge it on that basis. There’s no need to critically analyse it just to understand what the fuck happened in it — though this isn’t to say there isn’t value in applying some literary theory to unpack the various subtexts and themes in it — and thus it can be enjoyed on a number of different levels without Dear Esther’s implicit suggestion that “you must be this smart to enjoy this ride”.

I don’t have an answer to the question “is [x] actually a game?” because your definition of “game” will doubtless be different from mine. Ultimately it doesn’t really matter, anyway; the only thing you should be asking yourself when engaging with a piece of interactive entertainment — regardless of how interactive — is, quite simply, “is this a good use of my time?” If yes, great. If no, maybe put it down and try something else instead, while acknowledging the fact that some people might enjoy it more than you. There’s really no need for the bitter arguments that have ensued since technology has allowed developers to get a bit more “artsy” with their creations.

Supipara is great, by the way. I’m going to do a full write-up on MoeGamer in the near future once I’ve read the whole thing, but for now I’ll say it’s one of the most beautifully presented visual novels I’ve ever seen, has a compelling, if low-key story, and some grade-A waifus. And what more, really, do you need to have a good time of an evening?