Set the Scene: My Third Attempt at Hollow Knight
“Damn it. I died again. All right, let’s try that one more time. Maybe I’ll do better this time.” That was the soundtrack to my third attempt at Hollow Knight, Team Cherry’s beloved indie adventure that has spent years earning its place among the most celebrated games of its kind. Originally released in 2017, the game became a phenomenon, establishing its Australian development team as one of the most respected names in independent gaming and building an audience that has spent years anticipating its follow-up, Hollow Knight: Silksong. Yet despite all the praise, the glowing reviews, and the seemingly endless recommendations from fellow gamers, I had never managed to get very far into the original. I tried it once, bounced off after getting my ass handed to me, gave it another shot, and somehow walked away with the same impression: this game looked incredible, but I couldn’t make myself care enough to keep playing.
With Silksong on the horizon, I decided it was time to confront that blind spot in my gaming history. As someone who loves indie games and regularly celebrates the creativity of smaller studios, I felt like I owed Team Cherry a fair shake. How could I keep talking about the best independent games in the industry without giving one of the genre’s defining releases a legitimate chance? This time, I wasn’t going to play for an hour, get distracted by something else, and quietly abandon the adventure. I was going to start fresh, commit to the experience, and find out whether Hollow Knight could finally click for me.
There was just one problem: on paper, Hollow Knight combines almost everything I struggle with in a video game. I appreciate Metroidvanias, but I prefer ones that give me a clearer sense of direction. I respect Soulslike games, but I rarely enjoy their approach to difficulty and punishment. And while I can appreciate a great 2D platformer, I am not exactly the person you would recruit to compete for a world championship in one. Hollow Knight doesn’t merely dabble in these elements; they are fundamental to the experience Team Cherry set out to create.
So I established a simple rule for myself. I would give the game three dedicated hours, and if I needed help figuring out where to go, I would look up a guide rather than spend my time wandering aimlessly. If the game grabbed me, I would keep going. If it didn’t, I would accept that some experiences simply aren’t designed for every player. I eventually extended that commitment well beyond my initial three-hour goal, spending somewhere between 10 and 12 hours exploring Hallownest before finally admitting defeat. My conclusion was complicated: Hollow Knight might be one of the best games I’ve ever played that I don’t actually love.
A Beautiful World Worth Getting Lost In
If there is one thing I understood immediately, even during my earlier attempts, it is that Hollow Knight is a gorgeous game. Team Cherry created a dark fantasy world populated by illustrated insect characters, ruined civilizations, mysterious creatures, and environments that feel as though they have been pulled from a particularly beautiful nightmare. Its visual identity blends thick, expressive line art with painterly backgrounds, subdued colors, and carefully placed sources of light that make the world feel haunting without draining it of wonder. The result is an atmosphere that feels distinctly its own, and the longer I spent exploring Hallownest, the more I appreciated the amount of care that went into bringing it to life.
The environments are particularly impressive because they communicate so much without needing to explain themselves. The architecture, crumbling structures, distant silhouettes, and remnants of a once-thriving civilization suggest a history that existed long before the player arrived. Blues, grays, and muted earth tones establish the world’s melancholic atmosphere, while glowing lamps, illuminated objects, and the occasional burst of color draw the eye toward the details that matter. Although the game is presented in two dimensions, its layered backgrounds create a convincing sense of depth, making Hallownest feel larger than the confines of the screen might suggest. I played on both Xbox and Steam Deck, and the game looked fantastic on each platform.
There is an almost picture-book quality to the presentation, although the world itself is considerably darker than that description might suggest. The art can be cute, unsettling, melancholy, and beautiful within the same stretch of exploration, giving the game a personality that many imitators have attempted to reproduce. It is easy to understand why Hollow Knight became such a visual reference point for subsequent indie developers. The art style is memorable without being needlessly complicated, and its consistency helps make even the most unfamiliar corners of Hallownest feel like parts of the same living world.
I also appreciate the contrast between the game’s bleak setting and the small moments of warmth scattered throughout it. The world is full of danger, abandonment, and the remains of something that has gone terribly wrong, but there is still beauty in its quiet corners. That tension gives exploration an emotional quality, even when I wasn’t entirely sure what I was looking at or why I was supposed to care. I may not have developed the attachment to Hallownest that so many fans have, but I never stopped admiring the artistry behind it.
Christopher Larkin's Soundtrack Is a Triumph
The presentation would not be nearly as effective without Christopher Larkin’s soundtrack, which is one of the game’s strongest accomplishments. The music establishes the tone of Hallownest before the player has fully understood the world, using orchestral arrangements, piano, strings, and atmospheric compositions to make exploration feel mysterious and occasionally heartbreaking. The soundtrack knows when to make itself felt and when to recede into the background, allowing the environments to breathe without making the journey feel empty. It is an excellent example of how music can strengthen a game’s identity rather than simply accompany the action happening on screen.
The opening track, “Enter Hallownest,” immediately establishes the sense of mystery and adventure that defines the experience. It suggests that there is something worth discovering beneath the surface of this ruined kingdom, even if the truth is likely to be more complicated than the player initially expects. Dirtmouth’s music offers a different kind of atmosphere, balancing whimsical melodies with an underlying sadness that makes the town feel like a refuge in a world that has otherwise fallen apart. The combination of strings and piano captures the feeling of beginning an adventure in an unfamiliar place, where the possibilities seem exciting even as the surrounding world hints at tragedy.
The soundtrack also understands how to elevate the game’s combat. “False Knight” introduces a more energetic and dramatic sound, using percussion and bright melodic elements to build tension during one of the early boss encounters. The music swells at the right moments, making a fight feel like a genuine confrontation rather than another enemy standing between the player and the next checkpoint. When you’re trading blows with a boss and trying to find an opening without taking another hit, that musical escalation helps make every successful dodge and strike feel significant. Even when the difficulty had me questioning my life choices, the soundtrack made the battle feel important.
My personal favorite is “Reflection,” a slower, more introspective piece that plays around benches and other quieter locations. There is a sadness to the composition that feels almost ghostly, as though the world is taking a moment to remember everything it has lost. These quieter musical interludes provide a necessary contrast to the tension of exploration and combat, giving the player room to breathe before heading back into danger. Larkin’s work does not need to overwhelm the experience to leave an impression; it simply understands what each location and encounter needs. The soundtrack is a major reason Hollow Knight feels so cohesive, and it is one of the game’s accomplishments that I can praise without reservation.
Combat That Demands Precision
Combat is a major part of Hollow Knight, and Team Cherry builds its encounters around a deceptively simple set of mechanics. Your primary weapon is the Nail, which allows you to attack in four directions: left, right, upward, and downward. That last option is particularly important because striking downward while airborne lets you bounce off enemies and certain environmental hazards, creating opportunities to maintain momentum, cross dangerous gaps, and attack without landing. As the game progresses, additional abilities and Nail upgrades expand what you can do, but the core system remains easy to understand while demanding considerable practice to master.
The combat feels responsive, deliberate, and unforgiving. Enemies can punish careless attacks, and even a small mistake can leave you vulnerable to a devastating follow-up. You need to pay attention to enemy animations, understand their attack patterns, and recognize when an opening is worth pursuing. Button-mashing is rarely a reliable solution, especially during boss encounters, where a poorly timed strike or an unnecessary jump can quickly turn an otherwise promising attempt into another trip back to a bench. When the system works, victories feel earned because the game expects you to learn from your mistakes rather than simply overpower whatever stands in front of you.
The Soul system adds another layer of decision-making. Landing attacks generates Soul, which can be spent on offensive spells or used to Focus and restore health. That creates a constant tension between staying aggressive and preserving a resource that might save you from a later mistake. Healing is not a free escape from danger, either, because Focus requires time and leaves you vulnerable if you try to recover at the wrong moment. Bosses can occasionally stagger after sustained attacks, giving you a brief opportunity to heal or capitalize on the opening, but recognizing when that window is safe is part of the challenge.
Charms provide additional ways to customize your approach. These equippable items can change how the Knight moves, improve offensive capabilities, or alter the way certain abilities function. I particularly liked the Quick Slash charm because it made the combat feel more aggressive and allowed me to get more attacks in when I found an opening. The charm system gives players meaningful opportunities to experiment with different builds, although the available combinations and limited capacity mean that choosing one benefit often requires sacrificing another.
I can recognize how much thought went into these mechanics, and I rarely felt that the game was simply cheating when I took a hit. The movement is tight, the attacks are readable, and the systems generally reward patience and practice. Team Cherry has created combat where mistakes often feel like something the player could have avoided, which is exactly what fans of challenging action games want. Unfortunately, there is a difference between recognizing a well-designed combat system and enjoying the experience of being tested by it. I understood what Hollow Knight wanted from me. I just wasn’t having enough fun giving it what it wanted.
These are "ME" Problems but Not a Reflection of Quality
The Problem With the Challenge
I have nothing against difficult games in principle, and I can appreciate why players enjoy the satisfaction that comes from overcoming a demanding boss or mastering a difficult section of a platformer. My problem is that Hollow Knight builds so much of its identity around the kind of challenge that I generally don’t enjoy. Its Soulslike influences are apparent in the way enemies punish mistakes, the way boss encounters demand precision, and the way progression encourages you to learn through repeated failure. The game does not simply ask you to win; it expects you to understand why you lost and return better prepared.
For some players, that process is the entire appeal. Every death is a lesson, every new attempt is an opportunity to improve, and the moment a difficult boss finally falls can feel incredible. I understand that satisfaction, even if I don’t naturally gravitate toward it. The only Soulslike-adjacent games I’ve thoroughly enjoyed are Star Wars Jedi: Fallen Order and Star Wars Jedi: Survivor, and even those work for me because their Star Wars setting, narrative, and Jedi power fantasy give me reasons to push through the tougher encounters. Their stories and worlds provide a reward beyond simply proving that I can defeat a difficult enemy.
Hollow Knight does not offer the same incentives for my particular tastes. Its challenge is closely tied to its combat, platforming, and exploration, while its storytelling asks me to piece together the larger narrative through the world itself. Those are the very elements that I struggle to enjoy, so the difficulty often feels like another obstacle between me and the parts of the experience I appreciate. I can see the appeal of learning a boss’s patterns, but after repeatedly dying to an encounter and then navigating back through dangerous territory to try again, I began asking myself why I was putting myself through the process in the first place.
I also wish the game offered difficulty options. I know that lowering the difficulty would change the intended experience, and I understand why Team Cherry designed the game around a specific level of challenge. Still, I would have appreciated the ability to reduce the punishment enough to let me focus more on the world, movement, and atmosphere. Difficulty settings would not make the existing design bad, nor would their absence automatically make the design better. They would simply give players like me another way to experience a game whose artistic and mechanical accomplishments are worth appreciating.
Eventually, I reached a point where I was spending more time being frustrated than enjoying myself. I had met enough bosses to understand what the game was asking me to do, and I had improved enough to know that I wasn’t making absolutely no progress. But I wasn’t looking forward to my next session, and I wasn’t excited about the prospect of another difficult encounter. I was simply trying to force myself through a game because I felt that someone who loves indie games should love Hollow Knight. That is a terrible reason to keep playing anything.
Getting Lost Is Part of the Design. It Is Also My Kryptonite.
The other major obstacle is exploration, which is arguably just as important to Hollow Knight as its combat. Hallownest is designed as an interconnected world that gradually opens up as you discover new areas, obtain abilities, and uncover routes that were previously inaccessible. The satisfaction comes from learning how its different spaces connect and recognizing that a path you passed earlier may now lead somewhere new. Instead of giving you a clear objective marker and a convenient route to follow, the game encourages you to investigate, remember locations, and figure things out for yourself.
I understand why people love that approach, and I don’t think every game needs to point an enormous arrow toward its next objective. Discovery can be rewarding, particularly when the environment itself provides enough information for players to understand where they are and what might be worth investigating. But I have always preferred Metroidvanias that are more generous with their maps and directions. I want to explore a world without constantly wondering whether I’m missing something obvious, wandering in the wrong direction, or spending my limited gaming time retracing my steps for no good reason.
The map system made that frustration particularly apparent. Mapping Hallownest requires finding and purchasing maps from Cornifer, the cartographer, while other upgrades and tools can help make exploration more manageable. That system fits the game’s philosophy: the map is another part of the world to discover rather than a convenience automatically provided to the player. It encourages exploration and rewards players who pay attention to their surroundings. For someone who enjoys uncovering every corner of a Metroidvania, that can be an appealing part of the adventure.
For me, it was frequently a headache. I want the map to help me understand where I am and give me a clearer sense of where I should consider going next. Hollow Knight expects me to do considerably more of that work myself, and the experience can become disorienting when I don’t remember the layout of an area or recognize which paths are worth pursuing. I eventually gave myself permission to consult guides whenever I became stuck, because I wanted to give the game a fair chance rather than let my frustration with navigation end the experiment prematurely. Even with that adjustment, the exploration never became something I particularly enjoyed.
The important distinction is that I don’t think the game is wrong for making discovery a central part of its design. I think discovery is the point. Team Cherry created an interconnected world that rewards curiosity, and removing every bit of uncertainty would undermine some of what makes the experience special. But a design philosophy can be successful without being universally appealing, and this is one area where my preferences are almost perfectly opposed to the game’s. I don’t want to spend my time getting lost just because getting lost is part of the intended adventure.
A Story That Asks You to Do the Digging
The same divide extends to the narrative. Hollow Knight does not rely on a conventional, cinematic storytelling structure in which the player is regularly guided through lengthy cutscenes, direct exposition, and clearly defined character arcs. Instead, it presents fragments of information through environmental details, conversations with NPCs, lore entries, and the remains of Hallownest’s fallen civilization. The player gradually pieces together the kingdom’s history and the forces responsible for its current state, with much of the larger narrative left open to interpretation.
This approach has obvious strengths. The world feels older and more mysterious because its history is not presented as a neat sequence of events for the player to consume. Ruined structures and abandoned settlements suggest a civilization that once had a purpose, while brief conversations and scattered details hint at stories that extend beyond the Knight’s immediate journey. The game trusts players to make connections, consider what they encounter, and develop their own understanding of what happened. For people who enjoy uncovering lore and building a picture of the narrative from small details, there is a great deal to appreciate.
Unfortunately, I prefer a more direct approach to storytelling. I like games that give me characters to invest in, a narrative that establishes its central conflict, and a clearer understanding of why I’m traveling through the world in the first place. I don’t need every mystery solved immediately, and I appreciate a game that leaves room for interpretation, but I want a stronger narrative thread pulling me forward. When the story is primarily something I have to uncover through exploration, I need to be especially invested in the process of exploring.
That investment never fully developed for me. I could appreciate the atmosphere and recognize the hints of a larger history, but I wasn’t sufficiently connected to the Knight, the surrounding characters, or the fate of Hallownest to feel compelled to uncover every secret. The more I struggled with combat and navigation, the harder it became to motivate myself to investigate the narrative. I wasn’t just missing story details; I was missing the personal connection that might have made those details worth chasing.
Once again, this is a matter of preference rather than a declaration that the game’s storytelling is bad. Hollow Knight has a clear artistic vision, and its restrained approach is part of what makes it distinctive. I simply prefer a game that tells me more of its story directly, rather than asking me to piece together the narrative while simultaneously fighting difficult enemies and navigating a sprawling world. When almost every major pillar of the experience pushes against my preferences, even excellent execution can only carry me so far.
An Extraordinary Game That Wasn’t Made for Me
After somewhere between 10 and 12 hours, I finally admitted that I was done. I had given Hollow Knight considerably more time than I had during my previous attempts, pushed through the early frustration, consulted guides when I needed help, and tried to approach the game with an open mind. But I was getting my teeth kicked in, I was frequently lost, and I wasn’t invested enough in the world or its characters to justify continuing. I knew there was more to see and more to learn, but the promise of what might come next wasn’t enough to overcome how I felt about the journey itself.
That decision does not erase what I admire about the game. Its combat is carefully constructed, its movement feels responsive, its platforming demands precision without feeling inherently sloppy, and its world is one of the most visually distinctive environments in independent gaming. The boss encounters are thoughtfully designed around recognizable patterns and opportunities to improve, and the broader progression systems give players room to develop their skills and customize their approach. Most importantly, the different pieces work together to create a cohesive experience. The challenge, exploration, atmosphere, music, and storytelling all reinforce the same vision of a mysterious kingdom that must be understood through persistence.
I also appreciate the achievement behind the game’s success. Team Cherry built something that could stand alongside major releases in terms of artistic identity and mechanical polish without losing the qualities that make independent games exciting. Hollow Knight feels like the product of a studio with a clear idea of what it wanted to create and the discipline to see that vision through. Its influence is easy to recognize in the broader indie landscape, and its reputation as a genre-defining release is understandable even to someone who doesn’t share the enthusiasm of its biggest fans.
But admiration and enjoyment are two different things. I can appreciate the precision of a challenging boss fight without wanting to spend another hour learning its attack patterns. I can admire a sprawling interconnected world without enjoying the process of navigating it. I can recognize the artistry in a story told through environmental details without wanting to discover every piece of its narrative myself. Those are not contradictions; they are reminders that games are subjective experiences, even when their quality is apparent.
So, yes, Hollow Knight beat me. It got the better of me, and I am officially tapping out. Maybe I’ll return to Hallownest someday, but I’m not going to pretend that I want to continue just because the internet has collectively decided this is one of the greatest indie games ever made. I can respect that reputation while acknowledging that I am not the audience Team Cherry was designing for. Sometimes the right response to a great game is to appreciate what it accomplishes, accept that it isn’t for you, and move on to something you actually want to play.
Pros
Hollow Knight features a stunning hand-drawn art style that gives Hallownest a distinctive identity, with expressive character designs, atmospheric environments, and layered backgrounds that create a surprising sense of depth. Christopher Larkin’s soundtrack is equally impressive, shifting between mysterious, melancholy, whimsical, and intense compositions that strengthen the atmosphere and elevate the game’s most memorable encounters. The combat, movement, and platforming are responsive and thoughtfully designed, with a satisfying range of abilities, charms, and boss encounters that reward players who take the time to master them. Taken together, these strengths make Hollow Knight an extraordinary example of what a focused independent development team can accomplish.
Cons
The game’s demanding combat and platforming can become exhausting for players who don’t enjoy repeated failure as a central part of progression, particularly when difficult encounters require substantial precision and patience. Its exploration-heavy structure and map system also make it easy to lose track of where to go next, which can turn an interconnected world into a frustrating maze for players who prefer clearer direction. The fragmented storytelling is effective for those who enjoy piecing together lore, but it offers fewer immediate narrative hooks for players who want a more direct connection to the characters and central conflict. These elements are intentional parts of the game’s identity, yet their combined emphasis makes it difficult for players like me to enjoy the experience despite its many strengths.
Is This a Good Single Player Experience?
Absolutely. Calling Hollow Knight a bad single-player experience would be wildly unfair to a game that executes its creative vision so effectively. The combat is challenging but carefully constructed, the platforming feels precise, the boss fights offer satisfying tests of skill, and the world is brought to life through gorgeous artwork and an exceptional soundtrack. Team Cherry understands the experience it wants to deliver and consistently reinforces that vision through its mechanics, exploration, and storytelling. For fans of Metroidvanias, difficult action games, and environmental storytelling, Hollow Knight is an essential experience that deserves its reputation.
The caveat is that this game demands an appreciation for the very things that make it difficult for me to enjoy. If you prefer discovering the world at your own pace, piecing together a fragmented narrative, and overcoming punishing encounters through persistence, there is an enormous amount to love here. If you prefer more forgiving combat, clearer navigation, and a story that directly guides your investment in the world, the experience may be considerably more frustrating. Hollow Knight is a fantastic single-player game, but it is not a universally appealing one, and my own experience is proof that even a great game can be the wrong fit for a particular player.
Why This Passion Score?
My Passion Score of 40/100 is not a statement about Hollow Knight’s quality; it is a reflection of how little I personally enjoyed playing it. I admire the world Team Cherry created, the care that went into its visual design, the quality of Christopher Larkin’s soundtrack, and the precision of its combat and platforming. I understand why players have spent years praising it and why so many independent developers have looked to it as a source of inspiration. This is a game with a strong creative identity, and the fact that I struggled to connect with it does not diminish the achievement.
The problem is that the experience repeatedly asks me to engage with systems and design philosophies that I don’t enjoy. I don’t like Soulslike punishment, I prefer Metroidvanias with clearer navigation, and I have limited patience for platforming that demands repeated attempts to get everything right. The fragmented narrative also left me at a distance from the world rather than drawing me closer to it. I could see the craftsmanship in nearly every aspect of the game, but seeing that craftsmanship did not make me want to keep playing. Eventually, I realized I was forcing myself through an experience because of its reputation rather than because I was having a good time.
I know there will be people who read that and tell me to get good, and I can already hear the response. My answer is that I don’t want every game to be easy, but I also don’t believe I need to master every difficult game to have a worthwhile gaming experience. I play games because I want to enjoy them, and sometimes the things that make a game special for one audience make it a poor fit for another. Hollow Knight is a beautifully crafted game that I respect far more than I love, and a Passion Score of 40/100 reflects that disconnect. I can admire the art without falling in love with the experience, and this is one of the clearest examples of that distinction in my gaming history.
