Starkly opposing the march of time, recollections – however faint – we harbour within the depths of our psyche prove to be dear enigmas; glistening through the gloom of existence. Immersing ourselves within this kaleidoscopic treasury, in spite of everything we find solace in instances which remain vivid no matter how many years pass – such as those which spring to mind involuntarily. A Proustian marvel, madeleine moments harbour the capacity to carry us through the sands of time. A tangy aroma tickling nostrils, soft rustling of fabric gracing fingertips, melodious notes swaying past ears elicit sensations with striking acuity. Shimmering threads such as nervous words exchanged, a smile breaking out across a loved one’s face, well-worn shoes uneasily stumbling forward are tenderly woven into a tapestry of beloved remembrances.

And yet, despite the tenderness and tangible spirit to these lingering moments – the caress of an autumnal breeze rumpling one’s dress, the unexpectedly sharp aftertaste of a pleasantly sweet cocktail, ‘I don’t want to forget this’ giddily exhaled – they are by design fallible. Within the turbulent maelstrom of time, they evolve and shift; slipping through one’s trembling grasp, like fine grains of sands cascading through life’s own hourglass.

They are by no means delicately sheathed in amber, awaiting our keen gaze through a prism – a distinctly bittersweet element persists in that the prismatic, multi-layered contours of the moment as we are experiencing it can only survive in this one beautiful burst. Upon recollection, they are surrendered to the capricious realm of memory distortion, altering ever so slightly during each instance of recall. As the edges blur considerably, sensations dulling, our brain nevertheless endeavors to fill the crevices while fashioning a seemingly whole image based on myriad influential factors.

The truth of our most cherished memories, all that we hold dear, is inevitably called into question. And that’s frightening.

Enmeshed within a swirling vortex of geopolitical tension, oppressive portrayals of masculinity, profound social upheaval extending to anti-nuclear protests and murmurs of espionage, South of the Circle (2022) emerges as a striking period piece which explores the inherent fallibility of memories. Our game opens with climate scientist Peter left marooned in the ruthless expanse of Antarctica’s snowy wilderness following a plane crash. With its pilot injured, the pair’s fate is left up to whether Peter can find anyone else out there. As he trudges through the harsh, desolate terrain, wandering from eerily vacant base to eerily vacant base in search of aid, a series of flashbacks occur. Strewn amidst the hallucinatory wreckage of these temporal junctures are dialogue choices which, ostensibly, harbour the capacity to alter the trajectory of Peter’s life.

We witness his drawing ever-closer to Clara – a fellow PhD candidate at Cambridge University similarly grappling with her thesis’ direction. Bright and open-minded, she loathes the encumbering grip which archaic modes of masculinity have on academia and the world at large. She expresses fear at the prospect of the myriad young women she teaches being reduced to typing skills, scholarly efforts fading into irrelevance due to their gender – and recognizes this may have very well been her path, had there not been an earlier split due to a tragic family death. Virginia Woolf’s fictionalized sister of Shakespeare from A Room of One’s Own springs to mind.




Emerging from the stifling thicket of masculinity, an ideological conflict ensues as Peter grapples with the prospect of enacting change at the cost of pernicious societal expectations which require him to champion the boy’s club above all. Emblematic of toxic restraints which define much of Peter’s behaviours, its members breathe down his collared neck; demanding the relinquishment of progressive beliefs with a return to patriarchal traditionalism. An austere professor cuts a remarkably foreboding figure amidst the gloom of his inner sanctum, with the shadowy silhouette of Cambridge threatening to engulf those dwelling within.

Claiming that women simply aren’t “built” for academic work, the building stands tall and indicative of the tradition which he strives to uphold. Womanizing PhD candidates eagerly pursue vulnerable undergraduates, with barbed remarks regarding chastity spilling from smirking lips. A resentful father rigidly adhering to the stiff upper lip regime encourages his son to strike first, nursing a bitter resentment towards his wife for raising a boy enamoured with books instead of fists.

Navigating the uncertain avenues of self-discovery, depending on one’s chosen path Peter may ostensibly carry a staunch resistance towards all that threatens to submerge his existence within the austere nadirs of traditionalism. Seemingly exhibiting a considerable degree of growth, he may attend anti-nuclear protests, eschew partaking in the hedonistic debauchery of pursuing undergraduate women, and perhaps, most importantly – muster up the courage to provide support to the woman he supposedly cares deeply for. And here lies the brutality of South of the Circle – exercised with precision, taut as a violin string. As past and present converge, the scope of Peter’s arrival in Antarctica comes to fruition.

Dangling the allure of glory in front of his all-too eager eyes, Peter’s professor pressures him to remove Clara’s name from the thesis which they co-wrote in turn damning her to irrelevancy alongside Shakespeare’s theoretical sister Judith. Women are perceived as lesser, unfit for academia and amidst Cold War hostility, her affiliating with an individual accused of espionage would serve as a blight upon an otherwise immaculate canvas which is nevertheless collapsing behind the scenes.

The removal of Clara’s name would result in a coveted research position in Antarctica (of course, this is merely what Peter is told and as he will come to realize, does not necessarily reflect the reality). Despite the increasing coalescing of past and present I sought to meticulously steer Peter towards openly encouraging Clara; firmly of the impression she deserved any potential accolades which came her way. As this narrative thread is pulled firm, with mounting horror however you realize the inevitability of all that has ensued over the course of South of the Circle. No matter how fervently the player pushes Peter towards selecting choices deemed to be socially progressive and future-forward, in support of Clara, he nevertheless ends up in Antarctica.

Now, why would this be?

In a rather bittersweet twist of fate, for Peter to find himself marooned within the chilly expanse of Antarctica and desperately seeking aid can be traced back to casting aside Clara’s indispensable research – alongside Clara herself. Her dreams, her ambition, and indeed – her love. The spectral veil of traditionalism enveloping Peter’s existence refuses to be cast aside, irreversibly clouding his beliefs. Surrendering to the siren call of conformism and hegemonic strictures, he in turn sides with the professor sullenly claiming not to care for politics in his college, the colleagues objectifying women as prizes to be attained, and the father coaxing him to deliberately harm others. Icy conformity as opposed to the warmth of tenderness, oppressive patriarchy to true equality, past to future.

During the final confrontation with Clara, the true extent of Peter’s spineless nature is revealed and rather suggestively, its direction appears to be one and the same no matter which possibilities you steer Peter towards. In a remarkable narrative feat, South of the Circle suggests that he will continue to cast aside Clara in favour of the prize dangled before his hungry gaze revealing the inherent fallible quality to Peter’s reminisces. Stumbling towards death with a lethal blast imminent, he attempts to make sense of all that ensued.

Rather paradoxically, however, if one steered Peter towards the options which championed Clara he does not make peace with the extent of the damage he committed because that simply does not reflect the reality. During that fateful argument with Clara, she calls his memory into question – his uncertainty and lack of conviction stark, indicating how his own recollections had been significantly altered to portray the past in a more optimistic light. And so with this option, he presumably perishes in the blast not being able to reconcile the atrocities committed against Clara – and more broadly, against women and those who continuously battle against patriarchal systems.

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