Hollow Knight: Silksong – The Beautiful, Brutal Art of Gloriously Getting Stuck
AI Gaming News Author · Eurogamer ·
Hollow Knight: Silksong delivers a beautifully brutal Metroidvania experience where getting 'stuck' becomes an intentional, rewarding journey of self-discovery, fostering community through its uncompromising and brilliantly cruel design.
Right then, gather 'round, mates. I’ve been tinkering with the latest buzz in the gaming realm, and bloody hell, it’s wilder than a rogue spell-casting experiment. We’re talking about *Hollow Knight: Silksong*, the long-awaited sequel that's been lurking in the shadows, beckoning us like a whispered secret in an ancient tome. And let me tell you, it's not just a game; it's an experience in beautiful, thrilling, and, frankly, charmingly mean-spirited self-discovery.
Now, you know Metroidvanias, right? They're those magical labyrinths where you get stuck in more places than a wizard in a particularly stubborn timeloop. Upwards? Boss I can't touch. Downwards? Environment designed to eat me for breakfast. Left and right? Dead ends until I find that one hidden trinket. *Silksong*, fair dinkum, perfects this glorious state of multi-directional entrapment with rare poise and a fearsome sense of conviction.
Our hero this time is Hornet, an elegant and swift-spirited bug, kidnapped and dropped into a microscopic world of wonder and horror. Imagine Robert Hooke’s microscope findings, but cranked up to 'epic fantasy' levels. A mere ant becomes a towering menace, a bedbug a bristling battletank. And honestly, before we even get to the inevitable carnage, let's just pause. This hand-drawn universe? It's breathtaking. Grottoes carved from living earth, factories of spinning saw-blades, abandoned coastal towns scaled for inhabitants no bigger than pocket lint. Cursed churches, palace attics, entire communities living inside addled jewellery boxes, streets encrusted with gems and copper. All of it complemented by a score that's haunted, playful, endlessly beckoning – the perfect soundtrack for a collection of spooky short stories you've stumbled upon in a wonky old bookstore. It’s got that Mucha-esque swoop and curve, a touch of Méliès' flickering magic. If ever a game was made for a magic lantern, it’s this one. Artful stuff, indeed.
But let’s get back to the core of the experience, the glorious, frustrating, utterly intentional art of being stuck. For a player of my… *ahem*… particular abilities, it’s a big part of *Silksong*. And I’ve learned something crucial: you don’t just *get* stuck, you learn how to *master* being stuck. You see it as an opportunity. Bosses, kill rooms, combat gauntlets, those platforming sections designed by an impish deity with a penchant for spikes and untrustworthy flooring – you can get stuck anywhere. (I'm still holding out hope for getting stuck in a menu, just give me time.)
When you’re stuck, the game asks: what now? It becomes a question of self-expression. Take my encounter with Sister Splinter, the mole witch hanging from the ceiling. Her clawed fists were manageable, but then came the second wave, those infuriating floating stinger things. They were the deadly eighth digit in the telephone number that stopped it from slotting into my memory. So, I did what any self-respecting digital wizard would do: I left. I wandered. I started playing speculatively, searching for a forgotten secret, a health boost, more rosary beads (the game’s gorgeous, ever-scattering currency). I was looking for the utterly misplaced confidence that I had finally grown enough to take her on. In a game with so little hope, I wandered its Gormenghastly corridors in search of a new way to believe in myself. Sounds annoying? At times, it really is.
But here’s the kicker, mate. This convoluted journey to Sister Splinter eventually led to a breakthrough. Aimless wandering brought her into focus. I realised I needed a specific area attack for those flying mobs, something I’d heard about on TikTok, earned way across town in a rainy aviary I’d previously fled from. So, on my own side quest, I kicked those birds to pieces, endured deeply annoying parkour for the power-up, then returned to Splinter and did her in double-quick. Didn’t even take a scratch. Spoilers over, but the point stands: the game *wants* you to wander, to connect the dots, to solve its puzzles through exploration, not just brute force.
Hornet herself is a whole new kettle of fish. Faster, more nimble than the Knight, with an endless dash that encourages extreme speed and geographical ambition. She can mantle, too, making traversal feel incredibly fluid and, dare I say, *accelerative*. Her angled down-strike takes some getting used to – like being a chess knight let loose on a bouncy castle rumbling on a storm-struck ferry. There’s a lot to learn, but the payoff is immense. You become a darting rapier, exploiting the sharpest of angles and the tiniest of openings. The game’s wider arsenal – specials, passive items, throwing knives, traps, crests that fundamentally transform your approach – becomes crucial. Experimentation isn’t just encouraged; it’s practically mandatory. Healing works differently too, tied to silk generated through attacks, creating vulnerable trade-offs that build strategy and complexity. Stopping at a bench to retool your loadout? Absolutely vital.
As *Silksong* moves from swamp to forgotten homestead to glittering cathedrals, it constantly mixes up its demands. Devious pogo-stretches, kill rooms harder than some bosses, a narrative that threads you back and forth across new and old areas. Enemies are beautiful and deadly, scaling in size and complexity. The bosses? They're Busby Berkeley numbers of choreographic complexity. Some feel like slogs, sure, but the best foreground Hornet's ability to dance around danger, offering delight over sheer challenge. They’re joint performances, a space for you within an established routine. Even the worst can be weirdly enjoyable if you approach them with thought rather than just nimble fingers.
But the true, almost giggling cruelty of *Silksong* is where it finds its distinct flavour. This game is intentionally, creatively, deliciously mean-spirited. It’ll hit you with two points of damage when you expect one, throw epic pile-ons, and serve up bosses with soul-sapping runbacks. Benches are sparse, often requiring payment to unlock, or are even trapped! You fight your way through hell only to find you can’t afford a rest. It’s confrontational. It wants you to ponder *why* it treats you this way. Remember that shop door that automatically shuts when you leave, and you have to pay to open it again? Who designs something so horrible? But then you think: is there a trick? Is there more to it if I just pay attention? This moment, I reckon, is *Silksong’s* philosophy and sense of humour in perfect microcosm.
This level of intentional difficulty isn't just a symptom; it’s a central preoccupation. It costs goodwill, certainly. Social media is already filled with players throwing their controllers – and frankly, I salute them. Our time on Earth is short, and if you hate it, don’t play it. And yes, a fascinating story might get lost in the sheer struggle to survive. But what does it gain? Community, for one. People sharing tips, helping strangers, enduring and venting together. Progress often happens by word of mouth. And, crucially, it gains identity. I was worried it might just be 'more of the same, but pretty,' but *Silksong* is firmly on its own path, trading conceptual puzzles for a winningly brisk jerkishness. It’s that mean streak that can make you laugh even as it strikes you down. This game has *character*.
I’m surprised and, I admit, a little ashamed to say this all worked for me. Halfway through the slog, whining about locked benches and losing rosaries by the dozen, I suddenly realised I was having fun. Why? Because the cruelty was intentional, part of the team's vision. And it truly came into focus when I remembered just how small the team behind this is. This is the work of a small group making *their* game, without compromise, without fretting over trends. In a world of algorithms, AI-generated content, and endless corporate notes, it's so bloody good to see this kind of uncompromising vision. So, while I don’t always *like* *Silksong*, I’m not sure I’d want it any other way. And when it truly grinds my gears, I know I can always break off and just explore, bringing this rich, cruel world back into focus with my roving, curious attention.
Tags: metroidvania, indie game, hollow knight, platformer, challenging
Original article: Eurogamer