The Bibliography page here at the Alexandrian — listing the more than two hundred books, articles, and reviews I’ve had published — has been updated and integrated into the WordPress site!
(That only took about four years longer than it should have…)
The layout of the new page is not as pretty as the old bibliography, but it’s far more accessible now and the buy links actually work properly. You can check it out here, or below the fold.
Read more »
RoboRally is 20 years old this year. It remains one of my favorite boardgames of all time: The combination of clever puzzle-solving, long-term strategic thinking, and half-crazed chaos is brilliantly balanced. I wrote a detailed review of the original edition of the game back in 1998.
One of the things I always wanted to do back in the day was pick up the three expansions that were released in the ’90s: Armed & Dangerous, Radioactive, Crash & Burn, and Grand Prix. Unfortunately, I was a poor high school / college student back then and I couldn’t afford to snap them up when they were released. Then, with the release of the second edition of the game, the expansions were taken out of print and immediately skyrocketed in price.
Last year, however, I decided to bite the bullet and track down all of the expansions for the game.
I also picked up a copy of the 3rd Edition published under the Avalon Hill brand in 2005: This edition replaced the metal miniatures with plastic ones and used much cheaper stock for the map boards, but significantly upgraded many of the other components. (I’m particularly enamored of the plastic flags.)
Once I had this mass of material, however, it took a little extra effort to figure out how to combine all of it together for the RoboRally: Utimate Collection. So I’d like to take a moment to share that effort with all of you. (And some of what I’ve done I think you’ll find useful even if you aren’t interested in owning an Ultimate Collection of your own.)
ASSEMBLING THE ULTIMATE COLLECTION
In order to assemble the RoboRally Ultimate Collection, you’ll need to buy:
RoboRally (1st Edition)You will then collect from these editions:
ROBOTS: You’ll be able to use the robots from all three editions of the game (giving you a total of 24 different robots). Some of the robot models from the 1st Edition are replicated in 2nd Edition (and Twonky appears in all three editions, albeit with different sculpts). Simply paint the duplicates different colors. You’ll also want to take the Archive markers from all three editions.
GAME BOARDS: Take the game boards from the 1st Edition and 3rd Edition of the game. Then take all of the game boards from the expansions (Armed and Dangerous, Radioactive, Crash & Burn, and Grand Prix).
PROGRAM CARDS: I personally prefer the program cards from 3rd Edition.
OPTION CARDS / TOKENS: You’ll want to use the Option cards from the 1st Edition of the game and combine them with the Option cards from Armed and Dangerous. Take the option tokens from Armed and Dangerous.
FLAGS: 1st Edition used red flag chits. 2nd Edition used green flag chits. 3rd Edition uses plastic flags that stand up from the game board. The plastic flags from 3rd Edition are clearly superior, but you can actually pull the flags from all three editions if you want to run some truly insane rallies. (For example, you could run through the plastic flags, then the red flags, and then the green flags for an insane course featuring 24 rally points. Put them all on a single game board for sheer insanity.)
MISC. COMPONENTS: Take the damage tokens, Power Down tokens, and life tokens from the 3rd Edition of the game. (You’ll want to use the 3rd edition components to match the program sheets.) Also take the thirty-second timer from the 3rd Edition.
And that’s it! The tricky part these days is actually finding all of the original 1st Edition expansion sets.
ULTIMATE COLLECTION RULEBOOK
In order to wed the disparate components from across multiple editions together, I’ve also prepared the RoboRally Ultimate Collection Rulebook and the RoboRally Ultimate Collection Factory Guide. The latter pulls together the information from all of the different board element guides into a handy reference guide that you can print on a single sheet of paper. The former provides the most authoritative version of the complete RoboRally rules ever produced.
In fact, whether you can (or want) to assemble a full Ultimate Collection, I think you’ll still want to check out the Ultimate Collection Rulebook: It reorganizes and streamlines the rules while simultaneously clarifying them in order to resolve a number of vague corner-cases that none of the official rulebooks can handle properly.
Ultimate Collection Rulebook
(PDF)
1. Species that simply prefer living underground (either because they fear the sun like the drow or because they love the dark like the dwarves).
2. Magical construction techniques that make huge, underground constructions more plausible.
3. Magical creatures that either have an instinctual need to create underground complexes or which create them as an unintentional byproduct. (Where did all these twisting tunnels come from? Well, they started as purple worm trails. Then the goblins moved in.)
4. Catastrophes on the surface world that prompt people to flee underground are also a great explanation for underground complexes. (See Earthdawn. Or just an Age of Dragons.) Mix-and-match with the techniques above to explain how the huge cataclysm refuges were built. Then simply remove the danger and/or (better yet) introduce some new danger that came up from below and drove all the vault dwellers back onto the surface.
It’s also useful to establish a method for underground species to generate food. In my campaign world there’s fey moss, which serves as the basis for fungal gardens. Huge, artificial suns left behind in underdark chasms by the vault builders or the under-dwarves also work.
I don’t find it valuable to do full-scale urban planning or figure out exactly how many toilets the goblins need, but I do find that at least some degree verisimilitude makes for better games: If the goblins get their food from fungal gardens, then their food supply can be jeopardized by destroying those gardens. And that’s either the basis for an interesting scenario hook or it’s a strategic master-stroke from the players or it’s some other surprise that I hadn’t even thought of before the campaign started.
Fey moss itself is useless. It’s a black, scummy substance. If left unchecked it will cover almost any surface with a thick, tar-like substance.
Sunlight almost instantly destroys fey moss, causing it to burst into flame. Unadulterated fey moss is also extremely flammable.
But, like the plankton of the ocean, fey moss is the bedrock of the underdark’s ecosystem. Ecosystems on the surface all ultimately draw their energy from the powerful rays of the sun – plants capture that energy; herbivores eat the plants; and carnivores eat the herbivores. But in the underdark the ecosystem ultimately derives its energy from fey moss (which, in turn, draws it directly from the magical ley lines).
Animals in the underdark either eat the fey moss directly or they eat the wide variety of fungal species which have adapted themselves to parasitically grow upon the fey moss. Civilized species establish vast fungal gardens to feed their populace.
Is it by Shakespeare?
It’s the question that dominates any discussion of Richard II: Thomas of Woodstock. And it’s not merely a matter of the personal aggrandizement or exceptional excitement which would result from identifying a previously unknown work by Shakespeare: If Richard II: Thomas of Woodstock and Richard II are both cut from a single cloth (like Shakespeare’s 1 Henry IV and 2 Henry IV), then it holds profound significance for the interpretation of both plays as one can be used to inform the other.
But the play’s lost cover sheet has taken with it both title and author. Nor is there a reliable, contemporary reference to the play’s performance. Instead, the script seems to emerge almost spontaneously out of the haze of history, serving only to remind us of the slender slips and vast gaps out of which our knowledge of the Elizabethan theater is built.
In the complete absence of hard evidence, therefore, the question of Richard II: Thomas of Woodstock‘s authorship must be resolved entirely on the basis of internal evidence. Such evidence is, of course, inherently implicit rather than explicit, and the inferences drawn from it can never been considered fully conclusive.
With that being said, the deep connections between Richard II: Thomas of Woodstock and Shakespeare’s Richard II have been obvious to even casual readers of the players for the better part of at least two centuries. The similarities to history, of course, are expected. But what’s particularly relevant are the similarities between the narratives which contradict the history.
For example, in Act 2, Scene 1 of Richard II, when John of Gaunt describes the dead Thomas of Woodstock as “my brother Gloucester, plain well-meaning soul” he’s describing “plain Thomas” of Richard II: Thomas of Woodstock, not the proud, power-seeking Gloucester of history. And, in similar fashion, the characterizations of Richard’s other uncles seem to share a greater continuity with Richard II: Thomas of Woodstock than the historical record.
The plays also seem to share a rich verbal landscape with each other. Generations of scholars have produced hundreds of examples, but for the purposes of example let’s consider one of the most compelling: According to Macd. P. Jackson, the phrase “pelting farm” appears only twice in the entirety of English dramatic literature – Shakespeare’s Richard II and Richard II: Thomas of Woodstock. This is not a phrase drawn from the historical sources, and yet it nevertheless appears in nearly identical circumstances in each play.
From Richard II:
This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land,
Dear for her reputation through the world,
Is now leased out, I die pronouncing it,
Like to a tenement or pelting farm:
And from Richard II: Thomas of Woodstock:
And we his son to ease our wanton youth
Become a landlord to this warlike realm,
Rent out our kingdom, like a pelting farm,
That erst was held as fair as Babylon,
The maiden conqueress of all the world.
All of these are merely examples drawn from the rich scholarship carried out by Frijlicnk (1929), Rossiter (1946), Jackson (2001), Corbin and Sedge (2002), and Egan (2005) – each of whom draws different conclusions regarding the authorship of Richard II: Thomas of Woodstock, while nevertheless uniformly confirming its deep connection to Shakespeare’s Richard II.
Such examples begin to weave the two plays together into a common tapestry. But Richard II: Thomas of Woodstock has also been shown to have deep and almost self-evident connections to many other works by Shakespeare as well: In Nimble we see a rough sketch of Dogberry. In Tresilian there are the outlines of Falstaff. Woodstock’s murder echs that of Clarence in Richard III. We could easily pluck the name of “Osric” from Hamlet and give it to the fop courtier who summons Woodstock to court. Woodstock’s conversation with that same courtier’s horse is drawn from the same comedic vein as Launce and his dog.
The examples are almost endless. And, as with Richard II, these large areas of common ground with Shakespeare’s other plays are also matched by countless textual parallels. Michael Egan cites more than a thousand of them in A Newly Authenticated Play by William Shakespeare, and while many of his selections may be dismissed as common poetics, he is not the first to connect the dots.
But if a connection cannot be denied, an important question remains: Which came first?
If Richard II: Thomas of Woodstock came first, then it served as the model for Shakespeare’s plays. And given the breadth and multitude of similarities, we must either suppose that Shakespeare is the author or conclude that Shakespeare spent his entire career plagiarizing this anonymous playwright.
On the other hand, if Richard II: Thomas of Woodstock came second, then the common ground can be easily explained by its author drawing inspiration from Shakespeare.
If we had a firm date for the composition or playing of Richard II: Thomas of Woodstock, of course, this question could be trivially resolved. But we don’t. And, unfortunately, this is not a problem which internal evidence seems capable of resolving: While we can demonstrate that one play seems indebted to the other, how could we determine which is the lender and which the debtor?
Peter Ure, in the Arden edition of Richard II, claims that the relationship can be deduced from analyzing the pattern of word usage. Specifically, he postulates that it’s more likely that multiple uses of a term in one work will conflate to a single, borrowed use in another work than that a single use of a term will be borrowed multiple times for another work.
In the case of the two Richard II plays, for example, Ure focuses on the description of King Richard as a “landlord”. This occurs once in Shakespeare’s Richard II (Act 2, Scene 1):
Landlord of England art thou now, not king.
They state of law is bondslave to the law.
Ure cites an example of the same from Richard II: Thomas of Woodstock, and goes on to say:
In four other places in Woodstock Richard is described as a landlord, twice by himself, once by Greene, and once by the Ghost of Edward III. There is no parallel in Holinshed or elsewhere to this five-times-repeated reproach. It is of course more likely that Shakespeare remembered the word because it is repeated so often than that the author of Woodstock expanded the single reference in Richard II into so abundant a treatment in his own work.
It certainly sounds like a plausible theory. But is it?
Consider the modern example of Robert E. Howard’s stories starring Conan the Barbarian. These proved so popular that dozens of authors have been hired to write new stories starring the same character. The result? Phrases, descriptors, and verbal tics unique in Howard’s body of work were repeated dozens of times, frequently multiple times within a single work, in endless variation.
It’s not too difficult to draw a hypothetical parallel to an anonymous Jacobean playwright seeking to capture the “authentic” feel of Shakespeare’s Richard; nor to imagine how a particularly memorable snatch of text could become lodged in the mind of an imitator.
Unfortunately, this moves us no nearer to answering our question: Just because Ure isn’t necessarily right dsn’t mean that he’s necessarily wrong: If a single evocative image can be regurgitated, I find it no less believable to suppose that a pervasive theme can be accidentally or deliberately recalled.
Perhaps the unique phrase “pelting farm” could give us some guidance? In the manuscript for Richard II: Thomas of Woodstock, the passage containing the phrase has actually been struck out, most likely by the original scribe. This means that it would never have been spoke on the stage, making it highly unlikely that Shakespeare could have encountered the phrase and re-used it in Richard II.
Unfortunately, this dsn’t actually provide any clarity. The manuscript for Richard II: Thomas of Woodstock is a scribal copy which may have been prepared for a revival many years after the play was originally written, leaving open (and perhaps even making likely) the possibility that the words “pelting farm” may have been said onstage during an earlier production of the play. Furthermore, if Shakespeare were the author of both plays, he would hardly need to hear the words spoken on stage to know what he had originally written.
In the end, we are left suspended between two possibilities by a subtle enigma which, as Tresilian says, “Janus-like may with a double face salute them both”.
Originally posted September 13th, 2010.
