Types of Information: A Comparison of Boards and Cards

[Let me first say, as far as taxonomy goes I consider card games to be a sub-genre of board games, where the category 'board games' exists to differentiate it from other forms of tabletop games, namely tabletop RPGs. However, within the broad category of board games we find games that are mostly a single board and tokens and other games that are mostly cards. The purpose of this post is to look at the design spaces created by the different choice of components. I won't be looking at modular boards or tile games; those components fall somewhere in the middle of the spectrum.]

The primary purpose of components is to convey information. Different components are capable of better conveying different types of information. Public information may be either shared or personal, depending on how the information is intended to be used. Shared information is typically best presented by a board. A single board is easy to set up and is usually equidistant from all players. Information contained on a board is also typically constant information, information that does not change from game to game. Cards are more likely to be used to convey personal or private information- information that is only known to one player. Cards are also used for hidden information, information that is not known to any player. Because cards are easy to randomize by shuffling, they are well-suited for use in conveying variable information, information that changes throughout the game and/or from game to game. 

Pawns on a grid are capable of conveying much finer spatial information than cards in the same amount of space. Most games with a strong spatial component have a central board that all players use. Pawns also make use of a third dimension, visually separating the information conveyed by the pawns from the information conveyed by the board. Both boards and cards make use of spatial information as a way to direct a player's gaze to what area is important or more important than another area. As discussed in the post on scale, size can be used to indicate what information is more important than other information. Size can also be used to indicate how a component is intended to be handled, such as poker-sized cards versus jumbo cards. Players will assume the cards best sized for human hands are the ones that should be held. Location of information can indicate what order the information should be processed, although this changes from culture to culture depending on the directionality of a language's writing system among other factors. Most people process visual information in roughly the same order they would read a page. Orientation can be used alongside location to further refine the relationship between components. Cards that are laid orthogonally to each other often trigger differently depending on orientation. 

Another aspect of spatial information is how information (especially public information) is presented to players. Perspective is important for designers more so than players, especially when designing boards. Players play sitting down in a single location in the vast majority of tabletop games. A well-designed board should convey information to every player of average eyesight without a player needing to move around the table to get a better look. Cards are much easier to inspect and replace without upsetting the current play-state. Thus for cards, perspective is less of an issue. Distance is similar, but where perspective is about angle of view, distance is describes proximity to components. Scott Roger's zones of play should be considered here, as areas of play further from a player are generally more difficult for players to remember and interact with. As with perspective, components should not be so distant from players that they need to move around the table to see the information. And as always, how far a player has to reach for components will affect the rhythm of the game. Reach is a type of distance that focuses on how components are handled, not merely if they are legible. Any component meant to be shared should be easy for players to reach. This may require designing a space on the board for a card deck to live, for example.

Graphical information refers to all language, icons, and art (or illustration) printed on the game components. Language conveys both direct and indirect information. Large amounts of writing convey a different type of game experience than no writing. Lots of numbers and tables convey yet another type of game experience. Make sure that your game components are advertising the experience you intend. Writing on boards runs into the perspective problem detailed above. Cards are better suited for more and smaller text, although the size of the cards limits how much text can be included. 

Icons and graphics have the advantage over language in that they are easier to 'read' upside down and don't need to be translated when marketing the game to a different language group. The downside is that too many icons can become a language in themselves, one that has no native speakers. Ideally, icons should be used to speed up and smooth out information processing, not create a new barrier to entry. One common way to do this is to use the graphical design of a board to clearly show where other components should live on the board, reducing the amount of information players have to remember when learning the game. I'm not an expert on UI/UX, but I found this page to be a useful overview of concepts. 

Art can be used to set the mood, provide lore information, or merely organize mechanics in a more visually appealing way such as through a map of the area that players are attempting to control. Boards are better suited for landscapes, maps, and other large pieces of art that help establish the setting of the game. Cards are more appropriate for showcasing individual items or characters. In the case of cards, art allows players to identify a card faster than if the card was merely text. This is especially useful in set collection games, but the art must be distinct. I very much doubt even the most devoted fan would be able to match the spaceship illustrations to the cards in Space Base. 

Finally, component choices convey genre conventions whether we intend them to or not. By choosing to design around a single shared board or a deck of cards, we set player's expectations as to the weight and style of the game. Card games have the expectation of being lighter and shorter, generally. Similarity to other games with regards to art and components also sets expectations. A beige game board with lots of rectangular spaces used as some sort of action selection mechanic will convey "dry euro game with little thematic integration that takes three hours to play." Subverting expectations can be a good thing, but that is difficult to do with visual information, because components are static and don't change to match tonal shifts in gameplay. And you still have to know the rules before you can break them. 

To recap, types of information conveyed by components:

• General 
• constant 
• variable
• Use
• public (shared or personal)
• private
• hidden 
• Spatial
• size
• location
• orientation
• perspective
• distance and reach
• Graphical
• language
• icons/graphics
• art/illustration
• Genre conventions/player expectations 

That's a lot of information before even touching on specific rules or mechanics. Bottom line, the components you include in your game have a lot to say about what type of game it is, how you play, how accessible the game is, and how easy the game is to learn. A well-designed game's components convey all the necessary information about the game in a way that facilitates play. Well-designed components should not send mixed messages about their use. 

Theme in Small Games

There is a tendency within the board game community to use 'thematic' as a euphemism for Ameritrash/Amerithrash. This usage bothers me because it puts artificial limits on what we mean when we say "thematic games" and because I don't find Amerithrash games to be the pinnacle of 'thematic.' 

When it comes to narrative-driven media, I prefer movies, plays, and books that don't try to do too much. I love lots of detail, but detail needs to make sense and fit the narrative. Stories padded out with lots of detail just to add length are a bad writing choice. As I have stated many times on this blog, every element should serve the whole production. 

This is why I prefer small theatrical productions. Large splashy productions have more opportunities for failure, more details that have to fit together. Some Broadway shows (or Vegas shows because they have more money) are fine-tuned and perfectly balanced pieces of entertainment. But most that I have seen are uneven in quality- usually a few perfect moments surrounded by choices where it's clear that compromises had to be made. Hamilton has one of the most technically perfect scenes in musical history and also moments where songs were cut and the seams really show. Small theatrical productions have fewer moving parts and cost less. As a result, the quality has a chance of being more even throughout. The people working the show simply have more time to get all the details perfected. I've worked enough shows to know what I'm talking about. 

As far as I can tell, games have to exceed a certain size to be considered Amerithrash. If the mechanics are fairly simple, the game makes up for it in an abundance of plastic. There are too many details. The details themselves tend to be fairly thematic, but making every detail of a large game work together in a thematic way is inherently difficult. This is not a statement on the enjoyability of these games; this is a statement on the nature of creating a piece of art with a lot of moving parts. 

Small games offer a chance to really polish every detail. But that in itself does not mean that small games are a good vehicle for theme. However, if you approach a small design with the intention of creating a thematic game, you have the opportunity to make something that really resonates. A small design offers an opportunity for a strongly focused theme, such as in simulation games like Super-Skill Pinball: 4cade. I think simulations work best as small or simple games. For more ways to add theme in a small box, look at my post on resonance. 

I believe that small games can be as thematic or more thematic than large games. There are several benefits to designing small thematic games. As previously stated, it is easier to polish every detail. That may mean tweaking a theme for more resonance or creating more thematic components or focusing on integrating theme and mechanics. (A small design also means that the mechanics are easier to playtest thoroughly.) I find that lowering the rules overhead leaves me more space to take in the theme- in other words, fewer rules means fewer breaks in immersion. Lastly, fewer components allow for an uncluttered visual design and fewer icons leave more room for art. 

I believe that it takes more skill to add a single thematic detail than it does to add twenty to a game. Simple, effective design choices are the most challenging parts of mechanism design and also thematic design. Thematic choices that synergize with mechanics and produce a unified, integrated experience are not produced at the last minute via flavor text and art. A strongly thematic game is thematic even as an unpolished prototype. Throwing in lots of details gives the appearance of theme, one that often doesn't withstand scrutiny. 

So what is a better definition of a thematic game? I think that truly thematic games are ones that if you removed the art and flavor text and a bystander missed the rules explanation but watched the gameplay, that the bystander would be able to give an accurate explanation of what the game is about. The art, flavor text, and components simply need to match that narrative. Every piece should serve the whole, regardless of the size of the game. 

Resonance in Board Games

What makes board game themes resonate with players? 

Resonance is a quality of sound signified by the depth and reverberation of tone. In music, resonance is created by the shape and clarity of the tone, not just the volume. How do designers get their themes to reverberate across the hobby? By adding depth, shape, and clarity to their themes. 

The opposite of resonance is muddiness. Themes that lack clarity can create confusion, both of rules and narrative. While games should create puzzlement, they should not create confusion. By examining our themes in detail, we can clearly express what the intended game experience is supposed to be. 

Common qualities of resonant games are 1) theme and mechanics that align, 2) use of theme to explain the why of game play, 3) themes that are relatable to players on an emotional level, and 4) themes that fill a void in the market. I’m going to focus on the two middle qualities: using theme to explain 'why' and relating to players on an emotional level. Aligning theme and mechanics will be discussed as part of that, but I won’t be looking in depth at specific mechanics in this post. Also, I think if a theme resonates it will naturally seem to fill a void in the market, so you shouldn’t put the cart before the horse: work on your theme first, and the market will sort itself out. 

I have developed a short list of tools to tweak themes to help them resonate better by making them more relatable to players and by adjusting mechanics to make the rules and mechanisms more relatable to the theme. These tools are not the only ways to achieve resonance, but I think they are a good place to start. 

But first, I am going to pivot and discuss theatre for a bit. In 1570, literary critic Lodovico Castelvetro codified the three neoclassical unities of theatre: unity of action, unity of time, and unity of place. In sixteenth century Italy, this meant a play must have a single plot, one location, and take place in a 24 hour period. The idea was that the audience needed a clear grounding in the events of a play in order to follow what was happening. Theatre has largely moved away from this stringent formulation, but this is a good starting place for looking at game themes. I have borrowed the unities for my list of tools for resonance and added one more. My list of tools for building resonant theming is plot, location, time, and character. 

Note: You don’t need all of the things I’m going to suggest. Many times you may find you only need one or two to give your design the spark it needs to hook players. Also, this won’t be a comprehensive list of how to use these tools, just some broad ideas that should make the tools easier to remember. 

Let’s start with plot. The most impactful design choice you can make is to have the game objective and narrative or theme align. How you win the game should feel similar to how a character succeeds in the narrative. For example, in Sheriff of Nottingham the characters goals of making money at the market are closely aligned to the players goals of making the most points because most of the points are analogous to money the character has made. 

Game actions should help further the narrative arc, not just game objectives. This means that the actions players take should not just be thematic, they should feel important to the story. Every location in Tokaido makes sense to the narrative; none of them are naked mechanics poking through. A game like Space Base, on the other hand, is almost all naked mechanics with a lightly thematic setting. Space Base's mechanics may be better than Tokaido's, but the game isn't as emotionally resonant. 

Another way to add resonance through plot is to ground your story in a ‘universal’ experience. People like what they can relate to. This experience should provide the emotional impetus of the game, but you can layer whimsy on top of it. The movie My Neighbor Totoro is an excellent example of a whimsical setting that is still deeply grounded in the emotional reality of the real world. Adding depth to themes means adding layers of meaning and subtext, not simply a more detailed world. Ideas like friendship, sacrifice, and revenge add resonance. Made-up words and endless fantasy creatures do not. 

One way to avoid muddiness is by clearly indicating the location of the game-narrative. Stories are more accessible if listeners know ‘where’ events are taking place. This can be done through game board illustration, character movement, and game ‘physics’. Illustrations help remind players of the scene ‘around’ them. Character movement helps reinforce distances and topography. Tokaido gives the impression of a journey because the characters are moving across the board even though the 'map' is abstract. Game mechanics that incorporate physics like gravity help make the game feel more real, such as in Walking in Burano. Even components can provide a sense of location like the conveyor belts in Sushi Roll. It’s important to note that you don’t need a ton of detail to achieve the desired effect. A few details added very intentionally was all the aforementioned games needed to create a greater sense of location.

Another way to orient players within your game is to provide a sense of the timescale of the narrative (i.e. epochs, real time, seasons, etc.). Advancement of gameplay should align with the timescale you are using. Be aware that different scales produce different experiences. For example, a condensed time frame makes the action more immediate which adds excitement to a game. Civilization games lack that sense of immediacy. Does the game take place in one day? Does a round? A turn? Would adding what time of year a game occurs change your game in a meaningful way? One thing that made Viticulture stand out when it was published was how it used seasons to give a rhythm to the mechanics.

One of the best ways to tap into players' emotions is through character. Character goals should align with game objectives. Special powers should signal what a character desires or their strengths/weaknesses. Characters with narrative motivated goals and obstacles that are provided by game mechanics will seem more like real people. 

Individuals make more sympathetic characters/avatars than entities or corporations or factions. Games like Terraforming Mars don't interest me on a thematic level because players play as corporations. However, games with unrelated individuals are less resonant than games that give characters relationships. Relationships add depth and drive home meaning. I have already written about this, though so I won't dwell on it here.  

My favorite game that uses all four tools to great effect is the video game Untitled Goose Game. However, I believe that Tokaido is underserved in the hobby community when it is judged solely by its mechanics. Tokaido uses each of the tools I listed and creates a very resonant game that is very accessible to new gamers. Would a better game do everything Tokaido does well but also have more variety in gameplay? Sure. But if you want a single game to study how to add resonance without a Gloomhaven sized box, that game is Tokaido. Look at the theme: you play a person (character) traveling (plot) across Japan (location) for vacation (time). Helpfully, condensing the tools for resonance into a one sentence description is a good formulation for a hook. 

Resonant games have depth of theme, clarity of narrative, and a strong shape of mechanics that provide scaffolding for the theme. Plot, location, time, and character are tools you can use to create that depth, clarity, and shape. 

Good Criticism of Game Design

I love quality criticism. I started watching reviews of games to learn about games I don't have the time or money to play, but I follow a number of reviewers simply because I enjoy the quality of their criticism. Good playtesters give me the same feeling as good reviewers with one exception: now the high quality critique means I have work to do making my game better. When playtesting for specific feedback, one playtester who understands the core of your game and wants to see the gameplay match the potential of the design is worth more than a hundred playtesters who think your game is fun. I don't always love receiving criticism, but I do love a good critique. 

In my Design Practicum series, I have looked at each game a little differently. The purpose of that series is to illustrate how the design principles I write about in my other posts can be deployed when analyzing published games. In other words, I want a record in this blog of how I think about actual games and not only about game design principles. In my most recent practicum, a look at Monopoly, I made a list of criteria in order to organize my thoughts about the game. In this post, I wanted to look at that list of criteria and why I think good criticism incorporates all the categories on the list. 

Here's the list: quality, quantity, composition, dynamics, meta, and innovation. I didn't discuss innovation in my Monopoly post because what was innovative about the game now falls under history and not innovation. This list contains what I think should be covered by in-depth reviews of published games. Obviously, prototypes should not be judged by their art or components in the same fashion. But I do think that playtesters who understand the purpose of quality criticism become better playtesters. 

Games are a form of entertainment that cost money. I think it is perfectly reasonable to begin a critique with the quality of a game. Quality should encompass components, but also writing, editing, art, graphics, and even packaging. Each part impacts the experience of the game. And on the whole, I think the hobby- reviewers, designers, and consumers- are aware that all of these elements matter. 

Quantity comes after quality because quantity includes price point, and you cannot talk about pricing until you've established whether the game's quality should command a high or low price. Quantity also includes size of components and packaging, game length, number of players, number of components. Basically, anything with a number attached to it. These numbers matter in comparison to the price point but also in comparison to the average size of a dining room table or a Kallax shelf. In other words, is the physical existence of the game an impediment to its playability? 

Composition is where we intersect most with the principles of design: unity, emphasis, scale, balance, rhythm, and mood. All of these principles are elements of composition. In addition, composition looks at how components, rules, mechanics, and theme interact and align, how their quality and quantity affect the experience of play, and whether any simple changes could have reduced friction between these elements for players. I don't expect reviewers to use the same language I do, but good critiques should cover the totality of game composition, not just if the mechanics work. 

I include players' reaction to gameplay in dynamics as well as emergent strategies and players' interactions with each other. Also in this category is whether a game feels competitive throughout, whether it fits the weight it's marketed as (family, gateway, strategy, etc), and whether the game will continue to be interesting over multiple plays. Composition is about a game's relationship with itself; dynamics is about a game's relationship with the players. 

Meta-critique is the most underrepresented criteria in reviews that I see. Meta looks at how the game relates to the world outside of the game. This category looks at trends in game design and publishing, initiatives to grow the hobby, and the ethics around what sort of stories we tell in games. This category includes discussion of colonialism, diverse representation, and appropriation, as well as overused themes or mechanics, accessibility, and distribution models. My favorite reviewers are those that sprinkle in a healthy dose of meta to their reviews. This is the category that elevates a book review to literary criticism or a movie review to a masterclass in film studies. Games need this level of criticism to help legitimize the art form. I fully admit that not every review needs to look this deeply at a game. Most reviews are about helping consumers choose how to spend their money. But we need this level of critique as well. Higher level critique serves to educate the most engaged consumers and also holds designers and publishers accountable for the cultural impacts of their games. As a designer, I both want and need high quality critique from playtesters, publishers, and reviewers in order to become aware of my blind spots to my own designs. Currently, the games that get this level of critique are games that are complex, expensive, popular, or some combination of the three. There has been a recent push to review smaller, cheaper games this year in as much depth as the heavier games, which I hope continues. I believe that broadening and deepening critique of games will require a shift in how publishers and consumers think of games, not just reviewers. The number one thing I would like to see is designer's notes in every (or most every) game. By putting forward the idea that all hobby games are worthy of considering on a deeper level, publishers would effectively invite reviewers and consumers to consider their games as the art form that they are. 

I list innovation last because the hook of a game should always appear in the conclusion. Innovation covers whatever feels fresh or new about a game. Innovation is always a hook and most hooks feel innovative (whether they historically are or not). This category includes themes, mechanics, components, etc, but also dynamics, story-telling, and overall experience. Perfecting any aspect of a game can be considered innovative, even if you aren't inventing something whole cloth. Put another way, doing something for the first time and doing something well for the first time are both innovative. Let's stop pretending popular games aren't innovative because they didn't invent their mechanics. The first game to make a mechanic fun (or thematic) is just as innovative as the game that debuted the mechanic. Both are difficult design challenges and should be celebrated. 

Game design is art and criticism of art is necessary in order to one day write an accurate history of a particular art form. Good criticism educates consumers and holds designers and publishers accountable for their design choices. Good criticism leads to better games, a healthy hobby, and a future where board games (and other game genres) are accepted as the art they are.