Safe Travels
This feature is a reprint from Unwinnable Monthly #189. If you like what you see, grab the magazine for less than ten dollars, or subscribe and get all future magazines for half price.
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Boss Fight Books publishes nonfiction documentary-style books about classic videogames. They’ve just announced the 38th book in the series, Legend of the River King by writer and Unwinnable contributor Alexander B. Joy, about the Japanese RPG and fishing sim of the same name. Joy takes readers on a travelogue through the game’s meadows, forests, lakes and rivers, stopping along the way to explore River King‘s valuable insights in the fields of art, culture, philosophy and ecology. This excerpt takes place early in the game/book, as the young protagonist journeys out into the opening area of Torrent in search of a legendary fish whose properties could cure his sister of a grave illness. You can preorder the book and two others in a new Kickstarter campaign.
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On the edge of the village, at a small remove from the inn’s entrance, is the fixture used for saving for your game. It took my American eyes many years to determine what that rectangular cluster of pixels was supposed to represent. (The instruction booklet offered no help, vaguely calling it a “kiosk.”) I would study the save point now and again, feeling as if I could never discern its true shape. It seemed to transform itself with each uncertain glance, its contours slipping into and out of coherence like a pattern projected upon a closely watched cloud.
The save point’s brown border suggests a wooden frame. That much is easy enough. A few strategic black diagonals represent depth; it’s clearly something elevated or recessed, but, like the classic optical illusion involving a letter E that appears to be both falling forward and sinking into the ground, it seems to oscillate between the two if you’re unsure which is intended. The rest of the object is white or off-white, crisscrossed with geometric patterns reminiscent of the stitching on an uncovered mattress. As a child, this led me to believe the save point was a bed. Of course, why there would be a bed, uncovered in the open, near both an inn and your own house, was something my younger self never thought to question – still less why the game would want you using such a thing.
Much, much later, with more internet and culture at my disposal, I learned that the game’s save points are actually Jizo statues, stone figures installed along Japan’s roadways and shrines. Stateside, you’d likely see them only in other Japanese games. I’ve spotted them in Super Mario Bros. 3 (1988) on the NES (where Mario and Luigi can temporarily transform into an invincible Jizo while using the Tanooki Suit), Goemon’s Great Adventure (1998) on the N64 (where a side quest tasks you with putting hats on Jizos along a hazardous roadway), Shiren the Wanderer (2008) on the Wii (where you can befriend a sentient Jizo statue who assists you in perilous dungeons), and the Yomawari series (2015–) on the PSP and PC (where they serve as save and warp points), to name a few.
The similarity in function among these Jizo cameos – casting the statue as guidepost, save point, and succor – is deliberate, tapping into the real-life legends surrounding the memorable sculptures. For every Jizo statue, analog or digital, is a likeness of a revered protector deity. They are believed to confer protection unto travelers, especially children. In some respects, the save points in River King are a concession that we’re asking a lot of our hero. As both child and traveler, he’s among the vulnerable populations that Jizo is supposed to watch over, and we’re prompted to consider the difficult situation we’ve placed him in whenever the statue comes into view. Yet this benevolent figure’s blessing carries somber undercurrents.
Louise Hung, writing for The Order of the Good Death’s “Cabinet of Curiosities” series, notes that the Jizo story originates in the afterlife myths of Japanese folk religion. Specifically, Jizo is a key figure in the accounts of what befalls the souls of lost children. In these legends, when children die, they have not accrued enough good karma during their time on earth to pass on to enlightenment. Instead, they are sent to a limbo on the banks of the Sanzu River, which souls must cross to enter the afterlife. There, they must endlessly assemble stone towers as an act of expiation, which riverbed demons knock over after nightfall to undo their progress. It’s said that Jizo Bosatsu forsook his own enlightenment to spend eternity protecting these beleaguered children’s souls, hiding them in the sleeves of his robe and ushering them toward their release across the river. In a harsh afterlife of suffering and struggle, Jizo is portrayed as the departed child’s lone point of safety, sacrificing his own chance at spiritual ascension in order to offer defenseless souls a reprieve from their torments.
Jizo’s graven images are venerated accordingly, serving as vehicles to express gratitude for his assistance – or to solicit his aid. As Hung explains, “while Jizo is primarily associated with stillborn, miscarried, or aborted children, or children who died very young, he also protects all children, as well as women, travelers, and lost souls in general.” Thus, whenever you visit a Jizo statue in River King, you’re not merely saving your game. Your character is partaking of a time-honored travelers’ ritual by asking Jizo for protection; the recording of your save file, and the safe point of restart that it represents, makes it seem like Jizo has heeded the request. At the same time, since Jizo imagery is inseparable from its association with sick children, the statue is an appropriate symbol for your quest. At no point can you disregard why you’re on your journey. You cannot retire for the day without meeting the specter of illness and childhood mortality firsthand. For those acquainted with the Jizo mythos, this setup ensures that your hero’s sick sister remains fresh in your thoughts every time you shut off your Game Boy. (That sendoff stirring of the conscience is a powerful motivator to keep you coming back.)
The save point could easily have been an arbitrary object – a book, a pedestal, a bed, or some other quotidian prop – whose ramifications extend no further than mere visual interest. But River King prefers allusive décor that tells stories via implication, and its save points are no exception. They’re meant to invoke the machinery of grief and mourning – and to instill hope, comfort, and compassion. Thanks to the Jizo statue’s connotations, every save session is something like a prayer, or else a set of selfless affirmations uttered in case there are ears to hear them. I imagine its words whenever I approach the pixelated Jizo: Protect this boy. Protect his sister. Protect all who wander until they, too, find a place of safety.
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Alexander B. Joy hails from New Hampshire, where he used to spend the long winters reading the world’s classics and composing haiku. He now resides in North Carolina, but is plotting his escape. Find him on Bluesky and see more of his work here.
