This is where we meet the first of two dilemmas posed by Dear Esther - whether or not to explain anything more about it. You don't know his name, much less if he can be trusted to speak the truth. The bulk of it is more direct, though, if equally open to interpretation, such as the bursts of half-crazed dialogue spat out by the nameless narrator through whose eyes you're exploring. Some of the plot comes through ambiently, expressed through the collision of muted browns and fierce - blues, as welt as via graffiti on a hillside and flotsam washed ashore. Moving around the island, you experience the story -with 'experience' being the appropriate term to describe the way you're pushed deliberately into the passenger seat of this stow-motion ride. It could be that it's more of a destination than an aim, like death. You aren't told your identity, nor your goal or the reason to pursue it in fact, as the experience develops, you may begin to doubt whether you even have a goal. The pitch is simple you're a man on an island in the Hebrides, starting on the coast and moving inexorably towards a radio tower on the other side.
Think of it like a piece of beautiful music something to be savored for its peaks and lows.
Dear Esther isn't built to be rushed it's made to be explored. Dear Esther isn't really a game, and if you try to approach it like a game, speeding as fast as you can and giving the storyline only a fraction of your attention, you'll quit in frustration by the end of the first level.
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