Hollow Knight: Bugs like people
The mysterious bug with a stylish poncho leaps off the high cliff, marking the point of no return. I call her Buggo. Her weapon, which is a metal nail, is brittle and on the verge of breaking; it’s seen plenty of use, and, from the way she grips it, there’ll be more of that. This new world below is dull with dim stones and rotten wood, ominous, funeralesque statues mark the foreground. The path is hard to navigate on bug’s feet, and after miles or meters (the scale is unclear), a gargantuan stone gate with light filtering through its cracks. It breaks open after some unceremonous knocking. Then, there is an old bug, a firefly lantern, and an inviting iron bench.
Welcome to Dirtmouth.
Hollow Knight starts out contained and quiet. The foggy, undersaturated hues of blue and gray give the game a gloomy, lonely atmosphere, each of your small footsteps seems to echo louder as a result. Buildings have been boarded up, which Elderbug explains is because everyone’s left. You see, there’s a vast kingdom underneath the town, just down the well over yonder. One by one, towncritters have disappeared to try their luck. Elderbug wonders if no one’s come back because they’ve found happiness down there, but then shakes off his own naivete: “They were most certainly gobbled up!” He comments you’re a quiet type, but that’s alright, and you should rest on the bench.
Of course, that mystical city is the reason Buggo is here. She dives into the well, entering the ‘Forgotten Crossroads’. A network of paved tunnels and hanging bridges guides her way up and down, with territorial critters strewn across the subterranean ruins. Every new screen has an intriguing little detail about this buggy civilisation: hot springs, public transit, lanterns. It doesn’t seem to actually be that ancient. The engravings and iconographies are familiar enough to discern “ah yes that’s a religion pillar”, but are conversely too ‘bug-like’ to discern its spiritual or cultural significance. Every area feels haunted, maybe by ghosts, but mostly by a history Buggo has no idea about.
The ‘ghostness’ of the world is contrasted strongly by those inhabiting it. Every character has a unique, cartoonish charm that is brought to exuberance by the hand-drawn animation style. For real, it’s super good. But the charm isn’t just in the way they speak or look: every NPC has voice-acting! Each bugfolk has multiple lines of monologue that are warm, striking intonations in a made-up language that sounds like Mongolian and Suomi. No spoken word of any two people is the same, everyone has something different to tell Buggo.
I want to tell you about some NPCs I’ve met so far: An old grub who only cries when you first meet him, and who smiles and gives you gifts after you rescue his children. Willoh, a giraffe-ladybug who is on a quest for delicious treats. Cloth, a burly warrior who loves to nap, because she has to stock on energy for the journey ahead (she only ever sleeps). ‘The last stag’, a retired transporter bug who hasn’t worked in so long he’s forgotten about the beauty of the world. As you guide him to new stations deeper in the ruins by ringing stag bells, he slowly but surely regains his purpose and his happiness. Cornifer, an elderly cartographer who sells you incomplete maps. The places he hasn’t filled in are spots he can’t get to because he’s not that nimble anymore.
About Cornifer, and mapkeeping in general — exploration is a big deal in Hollow Knight. The areas are puzzling, vast, and easy to get lost in. Only by buying Cornifer’s blueprints (and a compass that tracks your location), do you gather and keep your bearings. Whenever you explore anywhere outside of the map, the next time Buggo sits down on a bench, she patiently fills it in, each quillstroke a proof of bravery. If you’ve bought them, she also adds cute pins that show you the location of bug stops, vendors, or hot springs, etc. This is a lovely mechanic that literally adds colour to the world the more you see of it. The eagerness by which the game urges you to explore lends credence that these empty, forgotten places are still very much living.
The ways the characters interact with the world, and how this reflects in their interactions with Buggo, are definitely my favourite thing about the game. The more bugfolk you convince to take refuge in Dirtmouth, the happier Elderbug gets. And as Buggo digs deeper, so does she keep encountering Quizzel, a chipper adventurer whose burning curiosity leads him on a journey parallel to hers.
After a hazardous descent through a slippery-soapy valley and a toxic fungal cavern, Buggo reaches the ancient capital: the City of Tears. Its streets wandered by bugs who forgot to die, statues with hollowed-out eyes catch the perennial rain, overflowing as if constantly crying. It reminded me how morose the world is when I entered the place. Quizzel’s there, too, sitting on a bench. He sounds somber, the usual fire in his voice a wary flame. You sit down next to him, and he wonders “is this worth it?” He looks over at you, then stares back at the city beyond the glass.
I haven’t beaten the game yet, but there’s already so much to love and talk about I simply had to write this thing. You can compare it to Bloodborne or Momodora, but it feels more like a French animation project that’s one big salient metaphor for the Parisian subway. Despite all odds against you and the fears that its world entrenches, Hollow Knight keeps familiarising you with people, memorable and talkative. Every new bugperson you meet feels reassuring. It seems to tell Buggo: you have a friend. It seems to tell me, you, anyone the same thing. The world is often bleak and blue, but it’s the people that count. And when the going gets tough, just sit down and take a nap.
