Games of chance
Card table, Hampton Court Palace, England.
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by Mitchell Thomashow
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Abstract games featuring random elements fascinate me. By “abstract” I refer to games that use colours, shapes, and symbols. Purists insist that abstract games also must have perfect (or near) perfect information. Now such games are often referred to as combinatorial games. I do not have any preference. Call them what you wish. However in this essay I am referring to that genre of games that uses colours, shapes, and symbols as the basis of territorial, spatial, and pattern relationships.
Let us briefly explore the meaning of random. Typically in gaming, random refers to the element of chance—throwing dice, picking tiles out of a bag, drawing a card, and other tried and true mechanisms that generate a new game situation. When a game effectively utilizes random processes, it creates new situations that demand analysis, creativity, and intuition. I consider that blend as crucial to improvisational learning. How do you blend spontaneity with experience?
Random processes are a foundation of improvisational learning. Here is why. First, they may reveal new patterns as you encounter circumstances that you have not quite seen before. Second, a random process can help you orient your thinking when you are faced with too many variables. Third, randomness demands that you adapt to changing circumstances. Fourth, random processes are just plain fun. Games of chance have a long, long history in human culture. A well-designed game allows you to explore the relationship between chance, strategy, and outcome.
I believe, too, that improvisational learning is the foundation for perceiving global environmental change, and I write about this at some length in my forthcoming book, To Know the World: Why Environmental Learning Matters (The MIT Press, 2020).
Now let us get to the games.
Ingenious by Reiner Knizia is a now “classic” example of this genre. The random element involves picking tiles from a bag. You never know which tile you will pick, but the number and types of tiles is always known, so you can deduce the likelihood of picking a specific colour, and more information is revealed as the game proceeds. Prior to the Eurogame, there were dozens of these types of games released annually. Check out the work of the important designers from 1960-1990 and you will see games of this sort from Sackson (Intersection), Randolph (Corona), Hoffman (Spiel der Turme), Kramer (Tempo), among many others. And if you peruse the back issues of Games & Puzzles (I have done so by scanning my collection) there are great examples of this genre—Mentalis [AG1], The Quantum Game, Quinx, Janus, and Entropy [AG11] come to mind.
The Euro in large measure represents a thematic and more complex expansion of this genre. Stefan Feld’s games are a perfect example. A game like Trajan is organized around a mechanism derived from Mancala, and then features positional alignment, territorial expansion, set collection, and pattern recognition. Knizia’s early hits were essentially a transition from the Abstract Game featuring random mechanisms to the Modern Euro. Through the Desert emulates Go. Tigris and Euphrates is the quintessential integration of tile placement with territorial expansion and pattern recognition. Knizia’s recent games Blue Lagoon and Babylonia are further explorations of tile placement, connectivity, and territoriality.
Knizia published a book in 1990, Neue Taktikspiele Mit Wurfeln Und Karten, that is a compendium of dice, card, and abstract games, including some theoretical chapters. This book contains the seeds of many of his future designs. There is now an English translation, New Tactical Games with Dice and Cards (Blue Terrier Press, 2019).
Since the popularity of the Euro, fewer of these types of games have been released, as people tend to favor theme over the abstract, and those who love abstracts tend to favour perfect information. Knizia finds a middle ground as a game like Babylonia has a vague theme that may add colour for some, but is essentially window dressing on a fine abstract design.
I am pleased to see that abstract games with random elements are gaining in popularity, spurred by the now international market, the extraordinary number of new designers, and the relative success of Kickstarter initiatives. I find it impossible to keep up with all the new releases. So I will instead comment on two game-series, both of which utilize random processes in innovative, but very different ways—The GIPF games and the Azul series.
Let us briefly explore the meaning of random. Typically in gaming, random refers to the element of chance—throwing dice, picking tiles out of a bag, drawing a card, and other tried and true mechanisms that generate a new game situation. When a game effectively utilizes random processes, it creates new situations that demand analysis, creativity, and intuition. I consider that blend as crucial to improvisational learning. How do you blend spontaneity with experience?
Random processes are a foundation of improvisational learning. Here is why. First, they may reveal new patterns as you encounter circumstances that you have not quite seen before. Second, a random process can help you orient your thinking when you are faced with too many variables. Third, randomness demands that you adapt to changing circumstances. Fourth, random processes are just plain fun. Games of chance have a long, long history in human culture. A well-designed game allows you to explore the relationship between chance, strategy, and outcome.
I believe, too, that improvisational learning is the foundation for perceiving global environmental change, and I write about this at some length in my forthcoming book, To Know the World: Why Environmental Learning Matters (The MIT Press, 2020).
Now let us get to the games.
Ingenious by Reiner Knizia is a now “classic” example of this genre. The random element involves picking tiles from a bag. You never know which tile you will pick, but the number and types of tiles is always known, so you can deduce the likelihood of picking a specific colour, and more information is revealed as the game proceeds. Prior to the Eurogame, there were dozens of these types of games released annually. Check out the work of the important designers from 1960-1990 and you will see games of this sort from Sackson (Intersection), Randolph (Corona), Hoffman (Spiel der Turme), Kramer (Tempo), among many others. And if you peruse the back issues of Games & Puzzles (I have done so by scanning my collection) there are great examples of this genre—Mentalis [AG1], The Quantum Game, Quinx, Janus, and Entropy [AG11] come to mind.
The Euro in large measure represents a thematic and more complex expansion of this genre. Stefan Feld’s games are a perfect example. A game like Trajan is organized around a mechanism derived from Mancala, and then features positional alignment, territorial expansion, set collection, and pattern recognition. Knizia’s early hits were essentially a transition from the Abstract Game featuring random mechanisms to the Modern Euro. Through the Desert emulates Go. Tigris and Euphrates is the quintessential integration of tile placement with territorial expansion and pattern recognition. Knizia’s recent games Blue Lagoon and Babylonia are further explorations of tile placement, connectivity, and territoriality.
Knizia published a book in 1990, Neue Taktikspiele Mit Wurfeln Und Karten, that is a compendium of dice, card, and abstract games, including some theoretical chapters. This book contains the seeds of many of his future designs. There is now an English translation, New Tactical Games with Dice and Cards (Blue Terrier Press, 2019).
Since the popularity of the Euro, fewer of these types of games have been released, as people tend to favor theme over the abstract, and those who love abstracts tend to favour perfect information. Knizia finds a middle ground as a game like Babylonia has a vague theme that may add colour for some, but is essentially window dressing on a fine abstract design.
I am pleased to see that abstract games with random elements are gaining in popularity, spurred by the now international market, the extraordinary number of new designers, and the relative success of Kickstarter initiatives. I find it impossible to keep up with all the new releases. So I will instead comment on two game-series, both of which utilize random processes in innovative, but very different ways—The GIPF games and the Azul series.
Azul
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Lyngk
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All abstract gamers are familiar with Kris Burm’s remarkable GIPF series of games —Gipf [AG1], Zertz [AG6, and others], Dvonn [AG8], Yinsh, Punct, Tzaar [AG17], and then Lyngk. Please check out my extended essay "GIPF: Game Design and Aesthetics" in Game & Puzzle Design.
These are very deep games, all of which reward repeated play and analysis. Two of these games—Tzaar, and Lyngk—begin with random arrangements of the pieces on the board. With both games, the board shrinks, as pieces are captured and removed. In effect, the opening position is an emergent property, patterns will reveal themselves as the gaming state changes. It is very challenging to analyze the opening positions. Rather, you need intuitive vision to perceive how the patterns will change and how you can make the most of them to maximize your tactical efficiency. More information is revealed as the game state emerges. With Tzaar you have to settle on which victory condition is attainable. With Lyngk you have to choose which colours give you the best chance of victory. The best players will come to recognize how these patterns emerge, will develop skills in perceiving the emerging patterns, and will let improvisational excellence inform their tactical analysis. You must be flexible, attentive, and alert.
The other games in the series, while also rewarding good improvisational play do not involve any random elements. Many of the flashy Euro games also use random opening positions, but the GIPF games do so using an abstract aesthetic, and there is a wonderful purity about them.
The AZUL series are not nearly as rigorous as the GIPF games, but they are are very interesting as well, and rely on a random element to sustain interest. If you are unfamiliar with them, they are now a series of three—Azul, Azul: Stained Glass of Sintra, and Azul: Summer Pavilion, linked via a common gameplay mechanism and a medieval Islamic pattern aesthetic. Each game revolves around tile drafting. New tiles come out every round. You decide which ones to take, and then you place them on an individual board, scoring points for how they ultimately fit together. Each game in the series features a different scoring approach.
The random element revolves around the neat tile drafting mechanism. Every round brings a new suite of tiles and you have to figure out which ones you most need, which ones your opponent(s) needs, and then the optimal way to place them. There are both short- and long-term scoring options, so there is a good mix of tactical opportunism and strategic planning.
I derive great enjoyment from these games, as the tile mix presents new challenges, the placement puzzle is intriguing, and you have to go with the flow as you may not always get the tiles you need. Sometimes you have to make the best of a bad situation. With random processes, there may well be adversity. Can you weather the storm? And can you take full advantage of the scoring opportunities when the tiles you need come your way?
The AZUL system is sufficiently robust that I can see the series extending for more iterations, especially if the designer, Michael Kiesling, can develop new ways of placing and scoring tiles. AZUL requires that you place tiles on a five by five grid, with rules of patterned symmetry. Stained Glass of Sintra, emphasizes the proper alignment of colours along movable vertical grids, and then Summer Pavilion challenges players to develop patterned symmetry of a different sort, requiring the completion of colour-coordinated florets and number patterns.
Flip through a book of Islamic or Celtic pattern designs, or various colour wheel illustrations and you can imagine an entire portfolio of possibilities for Azul. Abstract tile placement is a form of mapping, so I think it is a matter of developing neat scoring possibilities on intriguing abstract mapping templates.
The AZUL games are thoughtful, interesting, and visually appealing. Similar to most games that feature random processes, there are times when no matter how well you play, things just will not go your way. However, in the long run, the skilled and experienced player will win the majority of games. The GIPF games are entirely skill based, although they also make use of improvisational processes.
Like most readers of Abstract Games magazine, I am enamoured with the beautiful patterns that abstract games reveal. Random processes liberate the possibilities of pattern, and that is why I find them so enjoyable to explore. And when a game series does this well, the games are appealing to a wider audience, and that is certainly, especially in these times of screens and instant gratification, a very, very good thing. ◾️
These are very deep games, all of which reward repeated play and analysis. Two of these games—Tzaar, and Lyngk—begin with random arrangements of the pieces on the board. With both games, the board shrinks, as pieces are captured and removed. In effect, the opening position is an emergent property, patterns will reveal themselves as the gaming state changes. It is very challenging to analyze the opening positions. Rather, you need intuitive vision to perceive how the patterns will change and how you can make the most of them to maximize your tactical efficiency. More information is revealed as the game state emerges. With Tzaar you have to settle on which victory condition is attainable. With Lyngk you have to choose which colours give you the best chance of victory. The best players will come to recognize how these patterns emerge, will develop skills in perceiving the emerging patterns, and will let improvisational excellence inform their tactical analysis. You must be flexible, attentive, and alert.
The other games in the series, while also rewarding good improvisational play do not involve any random elements. Many of the flashy Euro games also use random opening positions, but the GIPF games do so using an abstract aesthetic, and there is a wonderful purity about them.
The AZUL series are not nearly as rigorous as the GIPF games, but they are are very interesting as well, and rely on a random element to sustain interest. If you are unfamiliar with them, they are now a series of three—Azul, Azul: Stained Glass of Sintra, and Azul: Summer Pavilion, linked via a common gameplay mechanism and a medieval Islamic pattern aesthetic. Each game revolves around tile drafting. New tiles come out every round. You decide which ones to take, and then you place them on an individual board, scoring points for how they ultimately fit together. Each game in the series features a different scoring approach.
The random element revolves around the neat tile drafting mechanism. Every round brings a new suite of tiles and you have to figure out which ones you most need, which ones your opponent(s) needs, and then the optimal way to place them. There are both short- and long-term scoring options, so there is a good mix of tactical opportunism and strategic planning.
I derive great enjoyment from these games, as the tile mix presents new challenges, the placement puzzle is intriguing, and you have to go with the flow as you may not always get the tiles you need. Sometimes you have to make the best of a bad situation. With random processes, there may well be adversity. Can you weather the storm? And can you take full advantage of the scoring opportunities when the tiles you need come your way?
The AZUL system is sufficiently robust that I can see the series extending for more iterations, especially if the designer, Michael Kiesling, can develop new ways of placing and scoring tiles. AZUL requires that you place tiles on a five by five grid, with rules of patterned symmetry. Stained Glass of Sintra, emphasizes the proper alignment of colours along movable vertical grids, and then Summer Pavilion challenges players to develop patterned symmetry of a different sort, requiring the completion of colour-coordinated florets and number patterns.
Flip through a book of Islamic or Celtic pattern designs, or various colour wheel illustrations and you can imagine an entire portfolio of possibilities for Azul. Abstract tile placement is a form of mapping, so I think it is a matter of developing neat scoring possibilities on intriguing abstract mapping templates.
The AZUL games are thoughtful, interesting, and visually appealing. Similar to most games that feature random processes, there are times when no matter how well you play, things just will not go your way. However, in the long run, the skilled and experienced player will win the majority of games. The GIPF games are entirely skill based, although they also make use of improvisational processes.
Like most readers of Abstract Games magazine, I am enamoured with the beautiful patterns that abstract games reveal. Random processes liberate the possibilities of pattern, and that is why I find them so enjoyable to explore. And when a game series does this well, the games are appealing to a wider audience, and that is certainly, especially in these times of screens and instant gratification, a very, very good thing. ◾️
The article above is an extensively revised version of an article first published in Counter magazine. Dr. Mitchell Thomashow is a former university president and environmental studies professor. These days he writes books, teaches from time to time, plays the piano and guitar, roams the hills of southwest New Hampshire, and plays as many games as time will allow.
The author does not refer specifically to card games such as WYSIWYG or card-and-board games like Marrakesh, both covered in this issue. These two games are abstract games, but with an element of luck, in the same sense perhaps as the AZUL games. The chance factor in Tzaar and Lyngk is of a different type. The random starting positions in these two GIPF games are surprising in the sense that they typically give equal chances to both players, in games that are otherwise completely without luck—at least this is the case for Tzaar (see AG17), and perhaps the same is true for Lyngk. Nevertheless, the author opens the door for a discussion of card games, for example, as abstract games in which chance plays a role. Another obvious example of an abstract game with luck is Backgammon, including its variants and games such as Chebache (AG3); Parchisi and Tâb are further traditional games with luck, as covered in Historic Board Games, reviewed in this issue. I agree with the author that the element of luck can be an enjoyable feature of an abstract game.
David Ploog discusses theme, metaphor, and narrative of games in this issue. Games may have clear themes based on the real world, or may have metaphorical significance, such as racing, fighting, or collecting territory. Metaphors are not themes, but metaphors enable us to understand games in human terms. None of David’s characterization of theme, metaphor, and narrative in games concerns whether or not games have random elements. A game with random elements is abstract if it does not deliberately mimic aspects of the real world. Backgammon is the foremost example of an abstract game with some randomness. Card games like WYSIWYG also fall into this category. On the other hand, card games are not so amenable to metaphor as Backgammon or Chess. And Marrakesh is even more distantly metaphorical. Perhaps Marrakesh is more genuinely abstract, in the same way as Hex, in that metaphor and narrative in Marrakesh is much less obvious than in Backgammon or Chess. ~ Ed.
The author does not refer specifically to card games such as WYSIWYG or card-and-board games like Marrakesh, both covered in this issue. These two games are abstract games, but with an element of luck, in the same sense perhaps as the AZUL games. The chance factor in Tzaar and Lyngk is of a different type. The random starting positions in these two GIPF games are surprising in the sense that they typically give equal chances to both players, in games that are otherwise completely without luck—at least this is the case for Tzaar (see AG17), and perhaps the same is true for Lyngk. Nevertheless, the author opens the door for a discussion of card games, for example, as abstract games in which chance plays a role. Another obvious example of an abstract game with luck is Backgammon, including its variants and games such as Chebache (AG3); Parchisi and Tâb are further traditional games with luck, as covered in Historic Board Games, reviewed in this issue. I agree with the author that the element of luck can be an enjoyable feature of an abstract game.
David Ploog discusses theme, metaphor, and narrative of games in this issue. Games may have clear themes based on the real world, or may have metaphorical significance, such as racing, fighting, or collecting territory. Metaphors are not themes, but metaphors enable us to understand games in human terms. None of David’s characterization of theme, metaphor, and narrative in games concerns whether or not games have random elements. A game with random elements is abstract if it does not deliberately mimic aspects of the real world. Backgammon is the foremost example of an abstract game with some randomness. Card games like WYSIWYG also fall into this category. On the other hand, card games are not so amenable to metaphor as Backgammon or Chess. And Marrakesh is even more distantly metaphorical. Perhaps Marrakesh is more genuinely abstract, in the same way as Hex, in that metaphor and narrative in Marrakesh is much less obvious than in Backgammon or Chess. ~ Ed.