My own birth is close enough to the birth of Myst that we’re basically siblings. I’m the older sibling that played with the younger; Myst is like the second child conceived for the added value of entertaining the already-existing child. So we grew up together, me a little bit ahead, looking back, able to see Myst change through my ever-shifting lens of nerd, heroin-chic, genderbending, trenchcoating, earth tones nihilist, big beard short hair (that’s a chronology if there’s ever been one.)
But I’ve always cared about Myst. In the late 1990s, I played it with my mother. Sometimes she would stay up all night playing and then back up a save the next day to show me how she solved a puzzle. She saved and scraped and cashed out a southern factory job “retirement” fund to buy a computer that would run Riven. And we played it together.
So congratulations Myst. You’re still lodged in the public memory. People feel the need to contextualize and memorialize you. Gamelife could be worse.