Tender is The Light at the End of Childhood

Maturity is so often found in the absence of oversight. Such is the case of eponymously tender Aster in Tender, a brisk journey into the mind of a child set loose in the galaxy alone.

The world of Tender is not a kind one. Aster’s direct surroundings are the sterile walls placed around children for protection and control. Aster lives on a hostile planet of carnivorous, sentient plants and yet their actual world consists of teachers, recess, friends, and played pretend. They, in turn, construct a terrarium to keep a small piece of the wilderness contained in their bedroom. Such is the crux of the game—keeping, maintaining, and growing a glass jar of plants both foreign and familiar across a collection of progressing months.

From the homely milkweed (which doesn’t require a graduate degree to connect to a metaphor of metamorphosis) to the more literal alien offerings, Aster’s plants are lovingly rendered in deep, jeweltone, chalky strokes. Everything in the game carries an artsy, heavy texture overlay, giving the UI at times an appearance not unlike felt. The artstyle is both childlike and beautiful, the mechanics both simple enough to scarcely be called a puzzle and yet whimsical enough to evoke an eagerness to proceed. Click repeatedly to use a pipet. Focus your microscope. Plant your precious seeds. Grow a garden, and reap the rewards.

One of Aster’s first kept plants is a carnivorous pitcher plant. A distinctly Earthen species that echoes the hostility of the foreign wilderness that surrounds them—a universal connection between the known and the foreign in strange, terrible, beastly flora. A reminder that, just beyond our Earthly, suburban walls, there exists all manner of things that desire meat. Plants are living creatures in the world of Tender. Plants have thoughts and digestive systems and cravings. Plants possess a propensity for danger, and plants may in fact possess a capacity to love.

When Aster’s parents leave the safety of the human research colony and go missing, the danger of this world is laid bare. A week missing turns into a month, and then months. We see Aster struggling with anxieties and nightmares about the unspoken reality of their absent parents. Mortality comes for Aster strong and too soon, their longing for childhood storybooks now warped into a simple desire to see their parents again.

It’s a quick jolt of drama—Aster’s parents are revealed to be alive and well just a few short chapters later—but in their newfound mortality Aster finds the freedom of life without parents. Their absence demands Aster adapt to this new reality: that they can do what they want, when they please, with little oversight, for better and for worse.

Aster as a protagonist is not as lost as they first appear. The simple fact that they use gender neutral pronouns suggests a character that has already possessed the gumption to make decisions about themself and who they are from a young age. They develop romantic and mutual intentions towards a classmate, Hazel, and together we see their heartfelt doodles to one another through the margins of Aster’s increasingly annotated field guide.

Aster exists with rare confidence on the cusp of sexual maturity. Their puppydog affections are innocent yet true. While this universe appears to exist free from queer trauma, it still takes great courage to face the end of childhood with Aster’s level of grace and bliss. Tender revels in the joy of coming of age where so many stumble upon the awkwardness and the bodily morphisms. Aster finds grief in the loss of youth, but what awaits them is not the cold, grim world of adulthood. Instead, they find a planet of danger and love, carnivorous plants and friendly aliens, a life purpose and a first love. It’s a startlingly hopeful outlook on the cusp of puberty. Puberty is, as a subject, too often bogged down with debilitating nostalgia or recollected shame. Tender sidesteps this baggage for something far purer at the heart of the preteen.

Aster presumably gets their name from Asteria, Titan of falling stars. Indeed, falling stars litter the backdrop of the game’s sole window into Aster’s world (a vertical slice of their bedroom, centered on the terrarium). Falling stars are the burned remains of something bright and innocent, but also the vehicle through which wishes are granted.

Tender sees the light at the end of childhood. The mortality of parents and the loss of bedtime stories, yes, but also the wild and wonderful world of pure independence. ✧