Aloy’s Heroic Feminism in Horizon: Forbidden West

 

The image above represents two of the first results in Google when searching “Horizon Zero Dawn feminism” and clearly depicts how any art criticism works. On one hand we have an example touting Horizon: Zero Dawn (HZD) as a breakthrough, and on the other, as a disappointment. As it ever was, and probably always will be – but where does that leave us when looking at the sequel, Horizon: Forbidden West (HFW)?

The criticism of “Matt C.” from Digitally Downloaded noted above centers on the assessment of Aloy as the female equivalent of a space marine trope who doesn’t feel multifaceted and human. She is, he says “robbed her of any sort of sexual identity." 

In erasing the entire concept of sexuality, [from the game world] Horizon denies Aloy – and every other character in that game – any sense of sexual identity and agency. That’s fundamentally at odds with a pillar of feminist ideology. (Digitally Downloaded)

Matt C. is also critical of the Nora tribe’s matriarchal system of leadership, saying that the game does little or nothing with it, and certainly does not explore or interrogate the differences between the matriarchal Nora and other tribes in the game.

This criticism is misguided, and unfortunately narrows the concept of feminism in media to merely the task of an overt discussion of sexuality and sexism as plot points. This reminds me of the tendency in the games industry to reduce the speaking opportunities of women in the industry to panels about being a woman in the industry, rather than speaking to their technical, creative or professional expertise. This view suggests the ideal (perhaps only?) feminist action that a woman (real or fictional) can take is to talk about female sexuality or otherwise being female.

The phrasing of the quote above leaves some room for interpretation, but the notion that the “agency” of a female character must be “sexual” agency for the work to be considered feminist is particularly disappointing. Aloy embodies an acutely able female protagonist whose status as an outcast of the Nora imbues her with incredible agency. Her journey of self-discovery (and self-authorship) is largely independent and, as it turns out, absolutely vital to the fate of the world. To suggest this is less meaningful because the story does not foreground sexual identity is a poor argument. 

As for the Nora themselves, one of the very first encounters with Nora leadership in HZD is during the introductory scenes in which Aloy’s caretaker Rost (another outcast, male this time), is undertaking a private naming ceremony highly valued by the tribe. To his surprise, one of the matriarchal leaders of the tribe joins him, to officiate and bless the naming. At the conclusion of the ceremony, the other two matriarchs appear, and condemn the first for her endorsement of the outcast Aloy’s naming. This example of the female leaders of a tribe visibly and firmly disagreeing with one another is a key element to demonstrating a real commitment to an equitable feminist agenda. That is: women in the game, even women leaders, are not taken as token representatives of their entire gender. They are individuals who, despite certain minoritized similarities, have their own opinions and values, and are capable of disagreement amongst themselves. (See, for example, the ‘critical mass’ justifications for race-conscious admissions to college which aim to create a diverse enough student body to prevent just this kind of representative tokenism in the real world.)

Returning to Aloy herself, we see her characterization develop significantly over the course of the two games. In the first, she is certainly independent, but curious and hopeful. She is seeking answers to her own origins and finds them to be not at all satisfying (at least not in the way she’d expected). As it turns out, Aloy does not have a mother at all, in the traditional sense, and so will never find a place in Nora society that she might have wanted. Not only this, but her very genetics put her at the very center of a global catastrophe that only she stands any chance of preventing.

I noticed in the early parts of Forbidden West that Aloy came off brusque, irritable, and overall rather unlikeable. It seems others had the same reaction:

So far, I'm having a hard time taking to Aloy in this game. She's been cold, unpleasant, unfriendly, and alienating. I was especially left with a bad taste after she did the thing she did when leaving Meridian (spoiler-free). That was jacked up. (Reddit)

Other users interpreted this attitude as the toll taken on Aloy throughout the first game and the intervening six months of desperate, unsuccessful searching that immediately preceded the opening of HFW, which seems a plausible perspective to me as well.

She’s been fruitlessly searching for a GAIA backup for six months and almost literally has the weight of the whole world on her shoulders. Then she keeps encountering petty morons who don’t realize how close to the brink of oblivion they all are, and keep serving as impediments to the task at hand. (Reddit)

I would interpret these characteristics as entirely human and multifaceted – something Matt C. claims Aloy is bereft of. Further to this, we see Aloy’s attitude change throughout events of HFW as she realizes the benefits of gathering allies. She becomes stronger herself by assisting others with their problems, realizing, perhaps, that even the strongest, most independent people stand to benefit from help.

For me, the most revealing arc in this vein was that of Kotallo, the former marshal who loses his arm early in the game. Kotallo was every bit as (justifiably?) proud as Aloy, yet the loss of his limb left him even more psychologically damaged than physically. Their first encounters were typified by Kotallo’s storming angrily out of the meeting at the Memorial Grove—shoving past Aloy in his haste to be gone. He mourns the loss of his arm, wallowing in a grim sort of self-pity. He directs his anger towards Aloy, his King, and particularly the leader of the Sky Tribe, acting out as an abject pessimist.

In order to progress, Aloy must take on the contrasting voice of optimism and push past his negativity, even if only for her own, short-term reasons. Aloy demonstrates her own ingenuity and determination to Kotallo by bringing down the wall of the Bulwark and using the Sky Chief’s own oath against him. Over time, their relationship deepens from a grudging respect into an alliance. Eventually Kotallo asks Aloy if she will help him build a prosthetic arm using the advanced technology they encounter throughout the game. The most affecting scene of this arc was the arduous climb up a cliff face, which Kotallo undertakes with one functional arm. He does not ask for help, nor does Aloy provide it. Despite the difficulty, they both make it.

After this trial Kotallo reconciles his disability, calling it part of who he is now, and eschewing the use of his robotic limb. In this way, he heals his emotional grief as well, and he and Aloy come to a new point of friendship. Aloy is, perhaps, somewhat humbled by Kotallo’s new-found grace, and seems to warm to him, showing a softer side of her own personality in the process.

This is only one of many character arcs that Aloy and her companions undertake. I was also particularly fond of Erend’s transition from problematic drunk to sentimental stalwart—for me he became funnier the more sober and snarky his commentary was. I was also fond of Chief Hekarro, whose philosopher-warrior-king personality would be a worthy study in non-toxic masculinity. The antagonists were interesting as well, with the two main enemies also being women. There are also other ways to examine the ideologies at play in Horizon (which I look forward to doing, incidentally), such as the application of Gaia theory, considerations around racism, colonialism, environmentalism, and something like techno-capitalist fascism that the Zeniths represent. (There are also other aspects of Horizon’s feminism that Candice Brusuelas enumerates in the blog mentioned above.)

I am not arguing that the Horizon series is a feminist masterpiece—it is very rarely my ambition to evaluate and rank games one above the other. Rather, I want to unpack the ways in which the game performs a strong feminist agenda that other games do not. Admittedly, this is not a deeply self-reflexive kind of feminism that looks inwards to analyze itself, but rather an outward facing feminism that empowers a hero to deal with the most pressing problems of her world. Gender roles be damned: Aloy has work to do.