Game Preview: Genji

By W. Eric Martin
October 21, 2008

Publisher: Z-Man Games
Designer: Dylan Kirk
Players: 2-6
Ages: 10+
Playing Time: 45-60 minutes
Release Date: October 2008
Price: $20
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Dylan Kirk’s Genji has had a long road to completion, having been delayed a number of times due to difficulties with printers, but given that the game is based on source material that’s one thousand years old – namely The Tale of Genji by Murasaki Shikibu, which focuses on the title character’s romantic life – better not to rush in order to create something comparable that aims to last beyond the turning of four seasons.

In addition to being inspired by The Tale of Genji, Kirk says that he has “a general love for the Heian period itself. I studied Japanese military history as the main component of my Military and Strategic Studies background. While I’m happy I went that academic direction, the romantic in me always wanted to study classics, poetry, and art. Being a Japanophile and a historian, the Heian is the natural fit for those leanings. In between the tanks and battleships I found a bit of time to read about the Heian.”

He continues, “The leap from story to game actually came at a time when I was trying to put together a game for the Gioco Inedito contest being run by Lucca Comics & Games. I was heading home from seeing the in-laws in Japan, and I had a lot of time to myself on the long flight back. After seeing the Ise Shrine, Takayama, and the countryside of Gifu prefecture, I was really ready to make something Japanese. The first game I thought of was a train game in which there is a circle of cards and passengers keep leaving their shoes on the platform. The duty was for the players to match the shoes to the correct passengers. This idea also came from a historical text I read some time ago about the first Japanese railway. The very first passengers – accustomed to taking their shoes off when they took a step up into a structure – watched in horror as the long, narrow room they stepped into pulled slowly but inexorably away from their shoes.”

While that setting would have been fun, Kirk started to focus on the passengers themselves and why they would be riding on the train. “Several ideas involved men or women trying to meet their lovers at one station, and then returning to their spouses at subsequent train stations. This immediately conjured up ideas about a game more focused on courtship in general. The best Japanese model I could think of for all things romantic was Genji, and the game was re-themed and hashed out before I touched tarmac at Bandaranaike.”

Courting the Court

Players in Genji try to learn from the historical figure of Genji and woo the ladies of the Imperial Court with their poetry. Twelve ladies, each bearing a symbol of one of the four seasons as well as one of three fashions – melancholy, nature, romance – are laid out in a circle, with a fashion card chosen at random to show players what type of poetry is in style.

In each of the four seasons, each player will travel from his “home” – a lady chosen at the start of the game that bears his marker – around the circle in either direction. A player moves 1-3 spaces each turn, then either studies new material (discards poetry cards and draws new ones) or woos the lady he is currently visiting. If he has no rivals who have previously presented her with poems, he can present her with a poem on one or two cards. “Each poem card has the top or the bottom of a classic Tanka poem (5 lines, 5,7,5,7,7 syllables each, respectively),” says Kirk. “A poem can be considered either a top, a bottom, or a match of the two cards.”

If another player has already presented a poem, then he can either complete the poem (assuming only a single card was played) or challenge it (by playing a poem card that increases the beauty of the poem, thus revealing the other player for the poser he is). In the latter case, you discard your contribution and the matching half, then add the remaining half poem to your hand to be used later.

“As a historical aside,” says Kirk, “the use of either a top or bottom of a classic poem in order to infer the other part of that same poem was commonplace in the court of the Heian. It’s kind of like us saying ‘what’s good for the goose’ instead of saying ‘what’s good for the goose is good for the gander.’ We all know the saying and therefore don’t have to complete it. Knowledge of a very many classic poems was assumed by the nobles of the Heian, and many took to memorizing anthologies so they could hang out with the truly hip crowd of the age.”

Poems are given a beauty score based on how they match the season, how they match the fashion at court, and how they match the tastes of the princess that player is attempting to woo. “Without getting too deep into Daoist philosophy,” says Kirk, “the three scoring factors for poems are based on the three divisions prevalent in a lot of ancient Chinese mysticism: All situations are a combination of Heavenly, Earthly, and Human factors. In this case, opportunities to make a better poem are based on Heaven (the current season, which is predictable and regular), Earth (the lay of the land, so to speak, at court – something that can not be predicted or changed), and Woman (the tastes of the princess you are trying to woo). In essence, one you can predict, one you can pick, and one may throw you for a loop.”

Kirk also notes that courtly poetry in the real world is organized into six seasons: early and late Spring, Summer, early and late Fall, and Winter, each of which have their own poems based on the flowers, birds, and other seasonal imagery in them. Plum blossoms, for example, were synonymous with early Spring, and the game includes flower cards that are worth more when played within the proper season.

Standing Out in a Crowd

The round ends once a player returns home and makes a final study or woo action. Players then score points if they have the most poems on the board for that season, have presented the most beautiful poem of the season, or pitched woo at the home of another player. Yes, being a scoundrel can pay off.

Says Kirk, “Since these objectives may overlap, a major part of the strategy is to be able to identify your best scoring chances and execute them by planning your moves. You have to know when to pass up on tactical gains in order to chase your strategic goals.

In terms of strategy, Kirk adds, “My typical opening moves are based on where and when I think I can lay my strongest poem. I like to drop it as close to the end of the season as possible to minimize potential challengers and maximize the chances of it scoring top poem. I also decide whether it’s better for me to score on opponents’ houses or through just laying as many poems as possible. Once I’ve made those decisions, I can set my starting move direction and pace. Since some poem cards are persistent from season to season, I may plot my route to take advantage of challenges where I can steal good material to take advantage of scoring chances. Each turn I have to re-evaluate the board to make certain I can still stick to my strategy. Finally, I always have to think of whether or not I should race to get home first (ending the season), or concentrate on making hay while the sun shines.”

As with many games that boast a player range from 2 to 6, Kirk says that the game changes character drastically based on the number of potential wooers. “The more players there are, the tighter the board feels. Thankfully, more players means more homes, so the point-scoring opportunities scale with the number of players. With more players, you’ll find the decision to race to end the season has to be timed very well, and you may be left in the dust if you choose to change your route and make an opportunistic tactical play. With two and three players the game is a little more leisurely, and players have more opportunity to think about developing a real approach to each season. With five and six you have to learn to take your lumps, adapt if necessary, and know when to pass up on those tactical opportunities. Four, for me, is a perfect balance of both worlds.”

The game ends after four seasons, or after a player has rid himself of tokens, whether through scores in earlier rounds or the placement of many poems in the current round. In the latter case, this player wins the game immediately; in the former, the player with the highest score wins.

“Some players like it because of the theme; some like it because you can play cutthroat if you want,” says Kirk. “I like calculating the permutations and combinations of scoring opportunities, and being forced by the ebb and flow of the game to change my approach. I realize it’s my game and I am tooting my own horn here, but I’m proud of Genji‘s strategic depth. I was trained as a military strategist after all! I wouldn’t be satisfied if it didn’t make me think – and not let me stop thinking until the very last moves of the game.”

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