Polyhedral Diegesis: Mimicry, Narration, and the Linguistic Turn in TTRPGs

Though the concept of mimesis and diegesis is one frequently explored in TTRPG spaces, Benjamin Klug hopes that returning to the roots of the framework in classical philosophy will return more useful ideas. He argues that tabletop criticism ought to continue a “linguistic turn” and interest itself in frameworks which analyse the different types of language games played throughout the process of a TTRPG.

This article, written for the first issue of Playtest Material, will appear alongside an additional article by Amelia Stephen on Speech Act Theory in "Apocalypse World". The illustration by Yanahn was drawn for use alongside the latter article but will be used for both online.

Tabletop role-playing games are, at base, language games. They occur in the medium of language, whether as table conversation, text communication over the internet, or in the textual representation of a game’s written rules and systems. Even as we augment that language with maps, dice, tables, charts, miniatures, or the many and ever-expanding array of tools and mechanics used in tabletop systems, language is the fabric of tabletop gaming.[1] Various genres usually associated with tabletop games can more easily be entirely without text or speech – chess, among other board games, can be played in silence and without reading – but TTRPGs operate through words. By approaching them at the level of language, we benefit from the long history of literary and artistic analysis that pays close attention to the level of rhetoric.

The phrase ‘linguistic turn’ in the title is borrowed from that intellectual history – though the linguistic turn identified in philosophy and literary theory occurred in the middle of the twentieth century, even before TTRPGs crystallised as a genre themselves. The Linguistic Turn, a 1967 anthology by philosopher Richard Rorty, proposed that there had already by that point been a ‘turn’ or change in thinking to consider language as a primary site of interest, more or less in the wake of Ferdinand de Saussure’s Course in General Linguistics (published posthumously in 1916). The phrase has since been used for this shift, though the specifics of Rorty’s account have become more generalised; the broad linguistic turn covers interest in the operation of language across many fields and disciplines, with varying conclusions. 

Theories of Language

By itself, asserting that TTRPGs are linguistic is not a groundbreaking revelation. What is of interest is applying that assertion – making use of different theories of language, and of narrative, to analyse the medium.  

That the medium of tabletop role-playing is language has been recognised in tabletop design since at least (and certainly before) 2010, which saw the publication of the first edition of Apocalypse World by Vincent and Meguey Baker. The influence of Apocalypse World can hardly be overstated; it represented a linguistic turn in tabletop game design, with the language element taking center stage. Elements of the system which have become central to the Powered by the Apocalypse (PbtA) lineage of design are explicitly about language: it frames the underlying operation of the game as ‘the conversation,’ and emphasises that play occurs in the exchange of words between the players, with the fiction of the game existing within that conversation. This extends to the general philosophy of Apocalypse World, including the delightfully tautological assertion that ‘to do it, do it’ – when a player says that they are doing something, they are doing it, and the mechanical rules for that action come into play. This is not unique – nearly all tabletop game actions are speech acts, which are simply actions a person takes by saying they are taking them. Apocalypse World makes explicit the way in which tabletop game actions are comprised primarily of speech acts, as well as drawing attention to the linguistic nature of TTRPGs.

One theorist whose account of language is immediately applicable to TTRPGs is the science fiction author and theorist Samuel R. Delany; he invoked Saussure in his description of science fictional (and fantastical) language in the essay “About 5,750 Words” (1968). Delany proposes that fiction is at the language level linear, but recursive, as we first develop an idea or image with the very first word, then ‘correct’ it with every subsequent word, so that “each new word revises the complex picture we had a moment before.” This process of correction continues for the entire length of any given text, a piece-by-piece expansion and revision. 

This process is, of course, also apparent in TTRPG play, where the linear medium of language is the means by which the players negotiate and produce the fictional world. Each presented word revises (or expands, which in Delany’s model is a kind of revision) the shared fictive scenario. A TTRPG, of course, may have many other ways to dictate what language will next occur, and what change will be made to the complex image of the game’s world, but the process itself seems quite clearly similar. 

Mimesis and Diegesis

However, long before the modern “linguistic turn,” philosophical concern for the operation of language and the basic building-blocks of storytelling and narrative made up some of the earliest analysis of art in the Western tradition, and arguments about art and reality among the philosophers of Classical Greece, circa 400 BCE.

Plato, in the Republic, proposed a contrast between diegesis and mimesis when he was discussing the Odyssey and the Iliad of Homer, a line of analysis taken up first by his student Aristotle and later by many theorists of literature through the present. 

“That there is one kind of poetry and tale-telling which works wholly through imitation, as you remarked, tragedy and comedy [theatre] ; and another which employs the recital of the poet himself, best exemplified, I presume, in the dithyramb [technically a hymn in honour of Bacchus, here used in general to refer to hymns and odes]; and there is again that which employs both, in epic poetry and in many other places, if you apprehend me.” (Plato, Republic Book 3)

As Plato proposes it, Mimesis is artistic representation, in the sense of a depiction through mimicry. Mimesis in Homer took the form of the words spoken by the characters themselves, rather than the voice of the narrator; in theatre, mimesis includes the bodily movements of the actors and the presence of props, all of which directly represent what they depict; similarly, realist painting is mimetic, and realist novels, which describe things in detail and in particular. 

Diegesis, on the other hand, is narration; diegesis describes events, presents them in the abstract or the narrator’s voice, and – to use a common phrase – tells where mimesis shows. This is not to set one against the other, as the standard writing advice to ‘show, don’t tell’ would suggest; while Aristotle may have championed the mimetic qualities of art, and Plato criticised them, both saw diegesis and mimesis as the constituent parts of a storytelling whole. 

Diegesis in this sense is not referring to the same thing as the common film studies usage of ‘diegetic’ and ‘non-diegetic,’ in which ‘diegetic’ refers to elements of the fictional world of the film; this other usage is in large part reversed from the older narratological meaning, and can confuse the narratological approach substantially, as it takes the diegesis as the entirety of the narrative and its story-elements, rather than as a specific form of narration and voice. This makes sense for film, but is more or less inapplicable to a purely linguistic medium. This use of the term diegesis has, in fact, been widely used in TTRPG discussion, as it provides a useful synonym for ‘in-setting’ or ‘in-universe,’ terms which can feel fuzzy or overly credulous towards the fictional world of the game. Mimesis has also occasionally been used in the context of TTRPG commentary, though it has not developed a settled or common meaning, usually being invoked as the counterpart to filmic diegesis.  

For the purposes of clarity, it is worth emphasizing that just as these uses do not describe portions of play or of the text, the narratological uses of diegesis and mimesis do not attempt to describe the limits or shape of the fictional world. As we discuss the language-game of TTRPGs, we are using the terms in their pre-film senses. 

Mimesis and Diagesis in Play

Since their Classical origins, mimesis and diegesis have seen considerable use in literary analysis. The descriptions above are as much informed by their more contemporary usage as by the Greek philosophers. Their ancient origins, however, help outline their application to TTRPGs more clearly than the context of the realist novel. After all, TTRPG play resembles theater and epic poetry recitation perhaps more than it does the text of a novel. TTRPGs take place in an active recital by the players, through speech acts and description, with dramaturgical elements rather than static text. With that in mind, what do mimesis and diegesis look like in TTRPGs? 

Mimesis in play is the operation in which players directly embody characters, like actors on a stage, though usually through dialogue and the equation of speech acts to imagined actions within the fiction, rather than physical depiction. Dialogue is the clearest form of mimesis; when players fall into the ‘voices’ of characters and engage in conversation, they are playing in a classically mimetic fashion. Their actions (or at least, their speech acts) become their character’s actions. 

Acted emotion, specific phrasing, and even timing and mistakes might be incorporated into the table’s understanding of the fictional events, to be built on and inform further play. Further, mimesis is the mode of close description, when players describe the actions of characters in detail and in chronological order; this means that many systems which encourage closely detailed actions will tend to produce mimetic play. Mimesis in rules and systems is more traditionally concerned with representation, presenting the details of settings and characters concretely and elaborately. 

Mimesis-heavy TTRPGs, as texts, often use what the literary scholar Roland Barthes called the ‘reality effect’ in novels, in which incidental and plot-irrelevant details reinforce the sense that a reality is being represented to the reader; in games, this effect can be the result of specific and particular mechanical representation of different game elements, as well as extemporised details about the fictional world. For an example, the tables of random encounters, travel times, market values of commodities, and other minor details in the OSR merchant caravan point-crawl Ultraviolet Grasslands serve to provide a constant source of texture and distinction to objects and locations in the world, even as many are effectively interchangeable narratively and only subtly different mechanically.    

Diegesis in play is the operation in which players indirectly represent the world of the fiction, usually via narration, which is generally looser and more abstracted. The most obvious form of diegesis, in contrast to mimesis, is when a player depicts their character’s dialogue indirectly, expressing a description of what kind of thing the character says without directly engaging in one-to-one recitation of dialogue. For example, whenever a player on returning from a solo scene to a group of other player characters states “My character will explain everything that just happened to the party.”

Diegesis is often less chronological and more flexible in time, less concerned with detailing and more concerned with the broader scenes and structure of the game. Diegetic play often moves out of the perspective of characters into discussion of a wider scene, or proposes possible events rather than asserting actions. In traditionally-structured TTRPGs with a game master playing opposite the main characters and their player-actors, the game master is often responsible for the most obvious diegesis through the omniscient narration they provide, but any player can narrate backstories, internality, and out-of-focus activity (downtime or off-camera activity). In game text, diegesis might be encouraged by advice, procedures, and the principles or agendas which describe more abstracted themes or purposes for a game, rather than specific details of setting; mechanics can also mandate diegesis. In Fellowship, a PbtA remix of Tolkien, the framework of agendas set forward by Apocalypse World is further developed with the distinct layering of directives for the players who make up the titular fellowship and for the player whose role is the Overlord, the antagonist of the narrative; the fellowship are directed to be courageous, the Overlord to keep their word and to dismiss the fellowship as a true threat until the narrative approaches the climax. Further, the Overlord is instructed (at certain intervals) to progress plans not directly visible to the Fellowship, but to announce that this has occurred, producing mechanically-driven diegesis directed at their fellow players.   

Diegesis can remind the reader that the work is fictional, and that its construction is made up of rhetorical decisions and shared assertions, rather than having a substantive reality outside of the language-game of conversation; this anti-reality or distancing effect serves a valuable role when it makes players decide thoughtfully, as players and actors rather than as characters or audience, how they intend to proceed.

While certain systems may prioritise mimesis or diegesis, and certain play habits may similarly lean towards one or the other, most TTRPGs will in practice alternate between diegetic and mimetic voice, usually quite fluidly. To generalise from my own experience, one of the most common shifts from diegesis to mimesis is what we might call the change of gears into a specific scene from a more abstracted table conversation about what characters intend to do, or where to go next. Players get into character, the scene is detailed, and the characters encounter something with which to engage. 

This can be prompted by a mechanical shift in context, such as rolling dice to join battle in fantasy adventure games such as Exalted (2001-2016) or determining the narrative twist before an act in Fiasco (2009). It can also be prompted simply by player desire for expression or interaction in mimetic mode, as mimesis has pleasures distinct from diegesis (and vice versa). This shift is often one of attention, as something which is sufficiently interesting or important to the players has been suggested diegetically, and they wish to interact (examine, oppose, acquire, or any other verb) in the closer and more detailed mode of mimesis. This does not require players to have specific characters, or to stick to a single character themselves – for example, a player taking the role of game master might present a ‘non-player’ character mimetically for fun or because the particular performance will be important to the other players’ understanding of the situation – but does change the tenor and focus of play. Notably, mimesis often makes the scene chronological and continuous, and usually causes in-universe time to move more slowly than out-of-character time.[2]

The other shift, from mimetic to diegetic play, is seen not only at the ends of mimetic scenes or sequences, but also very commonly in an unintentional moment in almost any game: the moment of correction. What exactly is being corrected varies widely, but the same shift usually occurs. A player has done something mimetically that they are not satisfied with, or about which another player voices a concern. This could be a missed rule, a mistaken character name, or stumbling over improvising a speech or an approach to a problem. Often, these moments of friction pass without comment, but when there is something to correct, players will generally shift away from mimesis to brief diegesis: discussing what could have happened, describing what they intended, confirming what the new version of events should look like. 

These corrections, which per Delany’s theory of language and image formation are just a slight rewinding and resumption of the usual process, do not usually involve mimetically repeating the same events, but rather narrating just what in particular will be taken as different. Then, the players can return to mimetic play, or continue in diegesis. For example, during an August 2025 play session of The Chronicles of Darkness: Dark Eras 2 (2020), in which the author took part, a player depicting the biomechanical demon in human guise ‘Mrs. Spear’ gave a brief, carefully worded speech to the rest of the player characters as part of negotiating an alliance with other pirates; immediately after finishing the speech, Mrs. Spear’s player realised she had revealed an incriminating detail regarding the demon’s nature that she had forgotten was still a secret, which she felt the demon’s perfect memory and verbal control would not have allowed to slip past. The table agreed this was both out of character and a fair correction, and rather than repeat the speech in full, Mrs. Spear’s player narrated that nearly the same speech had in fact been made, but with the offending information replaced with a vague reference to ‘supernatural aid.’ Then, other players reacted, argued, and generally responded to the speech mimetically, integrating both the original mimetic performance and the narratively-delivered correction. In this sense, the second, diegetic version of the speech allowed the original mimetic performance, which the player was generally happy with, to stand despite the change. 

This shift shows one of the uses of the difference between diegesis and mimesis; where mimesis cannot go back or change what it has already represented, diegesis usually can. Speech acts occur at the moment of speech; diegesis being less precisely set in time than mimesis can more easily change or amend what has been said.

These shifts illustrate the symbiotic nature of mimesis and diegesis. Each provides particular advantages and opportunities in the course of play, and different systems or games will prioritise one or the other, or a particular relationship between the two, and that relationship will be colored by the specific habits and approaches of particular players (and communities). There is little profit in elevating one over the other, though some discourses have loudly sung the praises of qualities mostly accessible through only one (usually, mimesis is lionised as the means to immersion or some kind of radical sincerity, but rarely without some diegesis for the passage of time or changes of scene). 

Eliminating mimesis entirely from a game seems like it might be possible, but require an exhausting discipline for questionable benefit; eliminating diegesis entirely would seem nearly impossible without fully committing to a single scene or scenario with absolutely minimised abstraction. More interesting might be the application of various literary theorists to the distinction; Plato’s criticism of mimesis as constantly drawing away from true reality (as the narrator is deceiving audiences into accepting their narration as the presence of the actual character) seems unlikely to provide much use, but the contrast drawn by Hungarian literary theorist György Lukács in his seminal essay “Narrate or Describe?” offers an interesting avenue to change the balance towards diegesis. To gloss broadly, he argues diegesis represents the world as dynamic and historical, compared to the static world of mimesis. [3] Another approach would be to apply the different, specific styles of mimesis considered in Erich Auerbach’s appropriately titled Mimesis: The Representation of Reality in Western Literature (1946, English trans. 1953) to different game systems or design traditions. Like Plato, Auerbach begins with the Odyssey, contrasting it with other classic texts. Either of these approaches might provide further insight into the ways TTRPGs are built out of language, and the variation between different works.

Differences in voice and language are easily overlooked, occurring as they do well below the level of difference we normally compare across systems, works, or communities; they are less determined and less visible differences than those created by different resolution mechanics and settings. However, despite this variability and obscurity, approaching TTRPGs writing and play rhetorically – at the level of language and textuality – provides an analysis starting at the most atomic level of the medium, and a way to see the language games we are playing as we play games through language.

Ben P.S. Klug is a long-time TTRPG player, relatively recently a TTRPG designer, and quite recently received his PhD in literary studies. He studies genre, especially the operations of science fiction and fantasy, and has a particular interest in the formal operations that make particular subgenres unique. He also co-hosts a podcast on science fiction studies, Starboard Vineyard Tours.  

Footnotes

[1] Those experimental games that avoid the use of language in play are rare, and mostly still constituted in text rules; language is hard to avoid. More commonly, language is restricted in particular ways to create particular formal effects. Avery Alder’s The Quiet Year (2013) and Sign: A Game about Being Understood (2017) by Thorny Games are both examples of games played with substantial restrictions on language, though their rules and system are articulated in text.

[2] An interesting counterexample is offered by the role of ‘rituals’ in Chuubo’s Marvelous Wish-Granting Engine (2014) by Dr. Jenna Katerin Moran, which are not necessarily but substantively mimetic despite moving to a more abstracted or variable kind of time. In a ritual, the players are prompted by the Hollyhock God (game master) with specific questions about concrete details or personal actions or statements, arranged as a montage or broad gesture at the events occurring in the fiction. Rituals are presented as a way to intervene when play goes beyond the subjects the game can usually handle, and like a film montage, are a kind of storytelling composed of fragmentary but concrete and potentially mimetic moments without their usual chronological relationship.

[3] “Narrate or Describe?” argues that the element of ‘chance’ (no stranger to TTRPGs) is vital to narration, and that it is in diegesis that we find the real possibility of different directions for a story; clearly, this discourse has something to offer us.

Bibliography

Literary Criticism

• Auerbach, Erich. Trans. Willard Trask. Mimesis: The Representation of Reality in Western Literature. 1953. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.
• Delany, Samuel R. The Jewel-Hinged Jaw: Notes on the Language of Science Fiction. 1978. Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press, 2009.
• Halliwell, Stephen. “Diegesis – Mimesis.” The Living Handbook of Narratology. Accessed July 25, 2026. https://www-archiv.fdm.uni-hamburg.de/lhn/node/36.html 
• Lukács, György. Trans. Arthur Kahn. “Narrate or Describe?” Writer and Critic. 1971. New York, NY: Grosset & Dunlap. 
• Marks, Aaron. “Diegesis, Mimesis, and You.” Cannibal Halfling Games, 2025.

Games Referenced

• Alder, Avery. The Quiet Year. Buried Without Ceremony, 2013.
• Baker, Vincent and Meguey Baker. Apocalypse World. 1st ed. Lumpley Games, 2010.
• Fitzgerald, Meghan. Chronicles of Darkness: Dark Eras 2. Onyx Path Publishing, 2020.
• Hymes, Kathryn and Hakan Seyalioglu. Sign: A Game about Being Understood. Thorny Games, 2017.
• Mini, Vel. Fellowship. 2nd ed. Liberi Gothica Games, 2019.
• Moran, Jenna Katerin. Chuubo’s Marvelous Wish-Granting Engine. Self-published, 2014.
• Morningstar, Jason. Fiasco. Bully Pulpit Games, 2009.
• White Wolf Publishing. Exalted. White Wolf Publishing. 1st ed. 2001; 2nd ed. 2006; 3rd ed. 2016.