A strange, many-gabled grey house stands on a rocky headland above a stormy night sea, one attic window glowing and a small boathouse at the water's edge below.

Original artwork, not a still

Edith Finch

If we lived forever, maybe we'd have time to understand things.

— What Remains of Edith Finch ‧ 2017

Behind the line

What it means

Our interpretation.

The line is the game's thesis, offered without sermonising: a long family tragedy that never explains itself ends with a mother telling her child that understanding is not on offer, but attention is. It sounds like comfort without promising anything, which is why it is one of the passages people single out from the game. It recasts the whole house of strange deaths as a record to be looked at, not solved.

Context reviewed

In context

Spoilers for What Remains of Edith FinchShow the scene

Edith says it near the very end of What Remains of Edith Finch, as the game's final journal narration. After the player has explored the Finch house and lived through each relative's death, Edith recounts how she and her mother Dawn moved from place to place, how Dawn fell ill and died, and how Edith was left the last living Finch until she learned she was pregnant. Addressing her unborn child, she admits she does not know what to tell them. She says the best anyone can do is open their eyes and appreciate how strange and brief it all is. The journal turns out to be written for a child she may not live to meet.

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Context reviewed

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