Pairs well with: Wine – the romance drink.
Traitor rating: 4/10. You can certainly ruin someone’s turn, but a turn isn’t too much work in the first place. And it’s not so much a game that encourages dickery as it is a game where you don’t get a choice.
Lizzy was explaining the rules of Loveletter to someone recently, and found herself stumbling a bit. Usually one to set the scene and really get into the plot of a game, she wasn’t entirely sure what to say.
“Right! So the aim of the game is to win over the Princess. And you have to do this by… er… playing some cards. Hrm. There’s a love letter involved somehow, probably, and… er… some… cards. Hm.”
To be honest, we had no damned clue how the mechanics of the game actually relate to anything that looked like a story or plot, even though we’ve played it as a staple short-game, pub-game, picnic-game or between-games-game for a very long time. It certainly isn’t obvious from the rules alone.
Instead of just explaining the rules and getting on with things, Lizzy did the right thing and spent five to ten minutes promptly ignoring her guests and poring through the rulebook to find out what the hell the plot actually is*.
Remarkably, it turned out to actually have one! The day was saved.
Our scene opens in fair Verona, where we lay our tale. Actually that part’s not clear. We just assume it’s somewhere historic and fancy, where medieval aristocracy hang out. You want to win over the Princess, and you’ve written her a love letter. Hard part over already? Not quite! The game, it turns out, is about just getting that love letter delivered to her. Everyone, it turns out, wants a bit of The Princess. The Queen, her mother, has actually been arrested recently and the poor thing needs a distraction. You would love to be that distraction. And in order to stand a chance, you need to navigate a bunch of nosy guards and sneaky opponents trying to get in your way. It’s great to see a game with a backstory, and Loveletter’s is worth a quick read. Points for amusement.
Now if any readers are at all like us, their spidey senses feminist senses might be tingling a little. A princess as a prize? Isn’t that a bit of an overdone objectification trope? But actually Loveletter manages to not be a dick about it, and we like that. Plus the guard characters are all sensibly-dressed ladies, and that is cause for celebration these days. Bam. Good work everyone.
Loveletter has become a pretty popular game to have in a collection, because it does a really good job of playing the small-game role. In a stunning display of non-arseholery, the makers realised that the whole game could fit in a convenient and small bag, and… they actually sold it in the tiny and convenient bag, shelf-space be damned! It’s fancy and everything; all red and velvety. Shame about the rather weak drawstring though, as without some deft knotting you are likely to end up with a backpack full of scattered cards.
Loveletter wins a place in our hearts not just a short game, but as a pub with your family game, a picnic with friends game. It’s good to carry in your pocket and try to lure people into playing it at irregular times. Particularly handy for those of us who believe that any time not playing games is wasted time.
What’s that? You expect a board games review blog to actually mention how well the game plays? Geez, you people.
The bag comes with a bunch of red cubes (red for wuv, obviously), some character cards (guards, priests, The Princess etc) and … yep, that’s pretty much it. Everyone has a card in their hand and they draw an extra card on their turn. They then discard a card from their hand of two and perform its action. Sometimes the action is something which aims to get another player out of the round, sometimes the action is something like “you lose”. You probably don’t want to play the latter card.
The object of the game is to either get all of your opponents out (such as by catching them with your guard-card) or by getting to the end of the round (when the pile of spare cards is exhausted) while having the highest-numbered card in your hand. The higher the card number, the closer the card is to The Princess (the highest number being The Princess herself). Whosever card you end up with is the person who currently has your love letter, so the one closest to The Princess is going to be best able to deliver it for you.
The rounds are far too quick to make up a whole game, so instead for winning a round you get one of the aforementioned little red cubes. Four cubes is enough to woo The Princess to victory!
We did once trick someone into thinking the game was about building a tower out of the red cubes, but the actual game is far more fun.
Of course, it’s a very small and quick game and it’s partially based on luck. As such, it’s got some limits on how much love we have to give to it. It’s also not so great for two players, even though officially it’s for 2-4. There’s definitely a lot more shuffling and a lot less actual playing the game with two, and if you’re anything like us then you’re kind of in it for the latter. Getting a single person out of the round can (and regularly does) take no more than one turn. As soon as someone plays a baron card the round is over whatever happens, for example.
Besides, playing with four people is a great way to change up your tactics, or to look your rival suitors in the eye as you collect your cuboid love. You can even pretend that this is what dating programmes actually looked like in medieval times even though you are a sensible and rational human being.
Aside from the difficulty of two-player games its neat little bag and ease of play still make it a worthwhile investment. It was a staple of the evenings we spent in the pub during Essen Spiel 2015 after our poor, feeble minds had melted after playing long and complex games all day***. And our poor, feeble feet and backs couldn’t handle dragging around a rucksack of large games to the pub as well.
Really, the real winner is always going to be The Princess. And games.
*A favourite activity for the DM’s of the world.
** He’s The King.
*** It turns out that a continuous flow of German wheat beer (automatically filled up by waiting staff) and Loveletter really is a great way to have some fun passing the time. Another classic is ‘A Fake Artist Goes to New York’, a small simple game based on producing a collective drawing.
Bananagrams is probably a game a lot of people have seen while Christmas shopping as it’s sold in a lot of stores that don’t even specialise in games. Usually when we see a game like this we instantly assume it’s terrible – Monopoly and Trivial Pursuit notoriously belong to this same category and have hurt us in the past. Rather amazingly Bananagrams is actually fun. It’s a game very similar to Scrabble where players are given a set number of tiles (usually 21 but depending on number of players) and must make connecting words with them. Unlike Scrabble there is no point scoring system, and instead to win the game you must get rid of all of the tiles in the central pool first. You do this by using all of your hand tiles and then shouting ‘PEEL!’**** Each player will then take an extra tile from the pool and continue trying to form words. For the player who shouted this means that you now have only one letter to get rid of, and fortunately the game allows breaking up and reforming words. The game pitches your intellectual Scrabble ability against that of time pressure and the abilities of the other players. This can be a bit distressing when you think you’re doing really well but it turns out you’ve only been laying two and three letter words, whereas your friend opposite has practically written a novel*****.
Misery Farming 