It’s about two non-binary people, Ao and Bo, who are figuring out what to do after graduating university. Ao has to return to Japan because of government visa rules. Bo and Ao have to look back on the life and memories they’ve built over the past year of living together in the face of an uncertain future.
It’s a pretty straightforward game. As players switch between Ao and Bo, they’ll look at the monuments to their past year together. You’ll get a feel for their thoughts, feelings, wants, and worries. Even though the flat only has a couple of rooms and a backyard, it makes the world feel much bigger than it is. Bo and Ao’s friends will occasionally reminisce about the good times they’ve had together as well. In one of the rooms, they might build a fort where you can play a game together (the game-within-a-game was great).
Rotating the camera will let you see things from a new perspective as you explore and interact with your surroundings. You’ll see doors and objects you couldn’t see before. It’s a fun little effect that opens up early on, and somehow expands the game’s little world. You can also have a lot of conversations with Ao and Bo, and sometimes you can choose whether to reply with Ao or Bo, which can give the dialogue a whole different flavor.
It’s oddly beautiful, No Longer Home. At first, I liked the low-poly look, but it only got better. You’re more likely to connect with the characters because of the art style. You’ll hear memories trigger by talking to someone or looking at something, and the walls of the flat (which is set up like a diorama) will slide away in pieces, like a theater set being rearranged right in front of you. I like the soundtrack; nothing really sticks out, but it’s not terrible either.
It’s charming and evokes emotion, but No Longer Home isn’t perfect. There wasn’t enough use of the demon-y roommates in the game. I’m also not a fan of the weird fractals you find. The graphics are undeniably beautiful, but I honestly can’t decide whether they improved or hurt the experience. In the long run, it felt like whatever grew beneath the flat was largely ignored. Despite a few issues, No Longer Home is great. A tiny window into the human experience, ethereal yet substantial, ephemeral yet lasting, remarkable yet mundane, it’s a tiny window into the human experience.
