Stick to baseball, 10/31/26.

Nothing new from me at The Athletic this week as I was writing up my annual rankings of the best free agents, which will run on Monday. This year’s list is just 40 deep because the class is so bad. I’ll shoot to get a newsletter out that afternoon or evening, too.

I did post videos on Instagram and TikTok after each World Series game this week, and will try to find more topics for commentary (without resorting to hot takes, I promise) as we enter the dark night of the soul. I’m also still most active on Bluesky and occasionally trolling anti-vaxxers on Threads.

And now, the links…

  • Citation Oil & Gas is one of the country’s largest privately owned oil companies. Despite racking up over 1000 pollution and other environmental violations, it has never been punished by Oklahoma regulators. This is a great example of why red states are cheaper to live in than blue states: To some degree, residents get what they pay for.
  • The Atlantic looks at Cuba’s economic collapse, with the U.S. blockade causing substantial misery for its already impoverished people.
  • NPR music journalist Ann Powers writes about why music feels so fake right now and the history of the quest for ‘authenticity’ in popular music, with a quick detour into the hack Stella Lefty’s success and nods to the truly novel acts breaking out this year like Westside Cowboy, Twisted Teens, and Angine de Poitrine.
  • Also in the Times, Amish families in New York have been fighting the state’s mandatory vaccination laws, even as measles sweeps through their community. The courts’ answer should be simple: Educate your kids elsewhere. You do not have the right to put other children at risk.
  • The spam text messages and mailers sent to Texas voters claiming to offer resources for trans youth actually came from a Republican-backed PAC, supported by the Republican Women’s Caucus Fund, which denied involvement, and a Washington state senator running for Congress named John Braun. The trans panic is disgusting on many levels, but one is how inaccurate it all is.
  • Scientific American was first published in 1845 and until fairly recently was the gold standard for science journalism. A recent sale and the corporate owners’ bending the knee to Trump has left the magazine’s future in doubt.
  • You may have seen the clip of a man being interviewed on Fox News at a Trump rally, where he says he always wanted to see what a cult was like but was too young for Jonestown. Marisa Kabas found the guy, Tom Hoyle, and interviewed him about his comments and that awesome Death shirt.
  • Republicans’ favorite streamer Hasan Piker is suing CNN talking head Scott Jennings for $72 million for Jennings’ use of a highly edited video to make it appear that Piker called for Black Americans to be lynched.
  • The Cleveland Plain Dealer broke with its policy of avoiding endorsing candidates in major races to endorse Amy Acton in the wake of Republican Vivek Ramaswamy’s disgusting ad that used Acton’s stepfather sexually assaulting her to attack her credibility.
  • Federal immigration judge Chadwick Dotson, who has a track record of rulings against asylum seekers, also writes about the Reds for Cincinnati Magazine. I haven’t seen any comment from the publication about their relationship with him.
  • The excellent social deduction game Deception: Murder in Hong Kong is getting a new version, Deception: Heist in Hong Kong, that’s up on Kickstarter right now.

Feather Lane.

It’s a beautiful day in the Feather Lane neighborhood, with tree-lined streets and brightly-colored houses, along with birds who are definitely not drones to spy on you. Can you build the nicest trio of streets with the right combinations of houses, birds, and trees to earn the most points?

Feather Lane is the newest title from Last Night Games, owned by designers Nathan and Jake Jenne, whose biggest hit is the dice-drafter Panda Royale and who also made the cute flip-and-write game Horticulture. This title is also pretty light, and very easy to learn, with enough strategy and variety in the cards to give it high replay value. You can pre-order it now on Miniature Market.

Players in Feather Lane will draft 24 cards over 12 turns to build three streets in front of them, with the goal of scoring the most points from the four public objective cards and from having the longest top, middle, or bottom streets. Each card has three segments on it, with each segment showing a house, a tree, or a birdbath. When you add a card to a street, you must overlap cards – the new one can go over or under an existing one, and you can cover as many segments as you like, but you must cover at least one segment on a new or current card. Each pair of cards you draft also gets you a bird token that you’ll place on a house of the same color at the end of that round.

There’s a central market of cards that allows the active player to select from sets of two cards and a bird. After each selection, the market is refilled so that the pairs change – the left column’s cards shift down into the open space, the right column’s cards shift up, and then new cards go to the top-left and bottom-right spaces. (The birds don’t move. They do what they please.) The round ends once every player has made four selections, getting eight cards and four effin’ birds, after which players place their four birds anywhere on their streets as long as the birds’ colors match their buildings. If a player can’t place a bird, or doesn’t want to, they can return it to the bag and take one mouse instead; a mouse on a building is worth one point at game-end.

There are four decks of objective cards in Feather Lane, each covering a different type of criteria, and you’ll choose one card randomly per deck at the start of each game. One deck is specific to birds, one to trees, and two to different buildings. There are four colors of buildings and of birds, and buildings come in large or small, while there are also different colors of trees. Bird baths are worth a flat two points each and I don’t believe they count for any objectives (but it’s possible I haven’t seen one of those yet). The points for these objectives vary based on how difficult they are to achieve, and you can rack up a lot of points if you hit some of them repeatedly.

Feather Lane suggests a play time of 30 minutes, but I’d say that’s the low end of the range; it plays up to six people, which I haven’t tried, but there is no chance six people play this in a half hour unless everyone plays like Chandler Simpson runs. If it weren’t for the complexity of some of the objective cards, you could play this with an 8-year-old, and you could probably select specific objective cards if you wanted to get some younger kids to the table.

I can’t help but compare this game to Tenby, another street-building game that came out this year, but a more complex and challenging one that tickled my brain more – but also isn’t a great game for new or younger players, which Feather Lane would be. I could teach anyone Feather Lane in five minutes; Tenby almost requires a few rounds to fully teach someone the selection and scoring mechanics involved. Tenby is the better game, but I would recommend Feather Lane first for family play. It’s a grade B for me,

Stick to baseball, 10/24/26.

At the Athletic, I had three posts recapping my week covering the Arizona Fall League, one on the AL prospects of note I saw, one on the NL, and one on the silly rule experiment that requires the corner outfielders to stand somewhere in Siberia.

Here on the dish, I reviewed the Nebula-winning novel A Time of Changes, the mystery Murder in the Crooked House, and the game Wingspan Pocket. I also wrote up the new restaurants I tried in Arizona.

I did send out a new edition of my free email newsletter this week, finally. I also posted two new videos to Instagram and Tiktok, while I’m most frequently on Bluesky.

And now, the links…

  • Longreads first: The best thing I read this week was this New York story about boomers turning into “screenagers” and how my generation has to learn to manage our parents’ algorithms.
  • The Delaware News-Journal has run a four-part series on sex trafficking and the state’s ‘massage parlors.’ Here’s part three, about the buyers who fuel the industry.
  • Billionaire Julio Herrera Velutini was facing felony bribery charges. He gave a $50 million deal to Trump lawyer and DOJ adviser Alina Habba, giving her a job at a fictitious company, and got a pardon a few months later.
  • Definitely the craziest story I read this week: A Florida cop found a dead man during a wellness check, and promptly assumed the man’s identity, stealing his house and even renovating it, getting away with it for three years. When a real estate firm bought the house from the dead man’s heirs, they found the cop, Brian Sguros, living there, and he demanded that they repay him for the cost of the renovations.
  • Business school professor Chris Marquis wrote an op ed in the Times arguing that business schools shouldn’t exist. I agree with his general premise, that what these schools are teaching at a general level is not what society needs or what (many) students want. That also says to me that there’s an opportunity for some of these schools to meet the underserved demand.
  • Writing in Racket, Keith Harris describes his experiences at a MAHA Summit in Minneapolis, and why “it scared the hell” out of him. These people aren’t just anti-vaxxers, but full-on anti-science cultists, mostly spurred by religion.
  • Board game news: Osprey Games has let go of its entire staff a few months after owner Bloomsbury Publishing put the unit up for sale. Osprey’s catalog includes the tremendous deduction game Cryptid and the Undaunted series of military-themed games.
  • Pandasaurus has a Kickstarter up for Echoes of the Apostate Crown, a worker-placement and route-building game with some impressive miniatures and artwork.

Murder in the Crooked House.

Soji Shimada’s Murder in the Crooked House earned a recommendation from the great Anthony Horowitz as a successful, modern locked-room mystery. I could not possibly have been less impressed: The resolution of the mystery is absurd, and the detective character – the only interesting person in the book – doesn’t show up until the novel is almost three-fourths done.

A locked-room mystery involves a murder that takes place in a room that is locked from the inside, so it appears to be an impossible crime; the killer would have to still be in the room, in theory. Edgar Allen Poe’s “The Murders in the Rue Morgue” is the first known example, while there are two Sherlock Holmes locked-room stories, and “Golden Age” author John Dickson Carr wrote several. Horowitz’ reference came up in Close to Death, and the recent film Wake Up Dead Man had a similar mechanic. The resolutions usually involve some clever way to kill the victim(s) that don’t require the killer to actually be in the room.

Shimada’s novel is quite long for a straight mystery, about 350 pages, and that would be fine if the mystery and/or the characters were interesting enough to sustain it. The murders take place in the eccentric mansion of a Japanese industrialist who has invited some subordinates for a holiday party, also attended by his daughter and son-in-law and a few others. The mansion is oddly designed, with slanted floors and weird paths so that you can’t easily get between rooms on the same floors. The chauffeur of one of the guests is the first victim, in a locked room, and no one can figure out how he was killed or see any possible motive, not even the local police officers who arrive and end up staying at the house because of bad weather and, eventually, to try to prevent the killer from striking again.

His detective character is the voluble Kiyoshi Mitarai, who claims to be a psychic or a fortune-teller, and who says ridiculous things so that people will underestimate him and potentially fall into traps he’s set for them. He’s reasonably funny on the page, but more than that, he provides some actual life to the story, keeping things moving, engaging in realistic dialogues that shine compared to the boring-as-hell conversations taking place in the house before his arrival. It’s not quite as bad as the Netflix “you have to explain the plot to people every half hour” before Mitarai shows up, but it’s close, with lots of long-winded explanations of things that don’t matter at all to the story.

Worse than that, however, is the resolution, which comes after a page that taunts the reader by saying that you have all the information you need to solve the case. I won’t spoil the answer beyond saying that it required more of a leap than any mystery I’ve read before, and I’ve read north of 100 of them. It’s not a case of deduction, and you can’t go off motive, because the ultimate motive involves information the reader doesn’t have before the killer confesses.

Horowitz recommended a few books in that passage of Close to Death, including The Honjin Murders, which was a better read but which had a similarly unsatisfying answer, in that case relying on the reader to properly visualize the room as the author wrote it. Both of these novels ultimately used the physical spaces of their settings as key parts of the mystery, rather than using motive, psychology, or ze leetle grey cells to let the reader reason through the suspects and find the solution. There may very well be readers who enjoy this sort of engineering puzzle – Shimada is a best-selling author in Japan – but I’m not among them.

Next up: Dr. Chanda Prescod-Weinstein’s The Edge of Space-Time: Particles, Poetry, and the Cosmic Dream Boogie.

Wingspan Pocket.

Wingspan Pocket is the fourth standalone Wingspan game, following the original, Wyrmspan, and Finspan, each bringing its own level of difficulty and rules tweaks. The Pocket version is the simplest, smallest, and cheapest of the line, as you might expect, and serves as a great introduction to the core concepts of the Wingspan games, especially for teaching people who want to know about “the bird game” but haven’t played any modern board games. (It’s available now for $16 on Miniature Market.)

In Wingspan, players play bird cards to three habitats, represented by rows on their player boards, spending food tokens in five varieties and eggs to do so. On other turns, they invoke the bird cards in one habitat, moving right to left and using the powers printed on some or all of those cards; or spend a turn drawing new bird cards. The game lasts four rounds, with each player getting 26 turns, and by the end of the game most players will have at least ten bird cards on their boards.

The Pocket version streamlines this game in several ways. You’re creating just one line of bird cards, and the game ends when any player plays their sixth. There are different food types, but they aren’t represented by separate tokens; the backs of bird cards show one or two food types, and if you take a ‘draw cards’ action, you take two cards – two birds, two food cards, or one of each, after which you can’t flip them to the other side (so food stays food and birds stay birds). There are only two public objectives in the Pocket game, rather than four, and no private ones.

Other than the size of the game, the biggest difference here is that you activate all of your bird cards on every turn. You can draw cards, or play a card, or lay 3 eggs total on your birds, and whichever you choose, you then run through the powers (printed in brown) on your bird cards, left to right. Drawing cards I described above; playing bird cards requires discarding the correct food cards from your hand, and possibly an egg as well. Placing eggs is straightforward, with one difference from the original: you must place the three eggs on three different birds.

Those ‘brown’ powers will be familiar to players of the original Wingspan. You may get to lay an egg, or ‘tuck’ a card from your hand beneath a bird you’ve played; each of those is worth 1 point at game end. You may also get to draw any card, a bird, a specific food type, or any food card of your choice. Some powers you’ll activate also give some benefit to other players. A majority of bird cards have these brown powers you activate on each turn, while some others have ongoing powers, printed in green, that are always active, such as giving you a permanent discount for birds that require a particular food type, or let you treat one particular food type as wild.

The objective cards give you one point per egg on a matching bird, so you’re looking for birds that meet a card’s criterion and that can hold more eggs. You also have space for up to three eggs on your starter nest card, and many birds require an egg to play them along with their food costs. The position in your row doesn’t matter for the bird’s cost; it only affects when it’s activated.

The end-game scoring is simple. You add up the points shown on each of your played bird cards, take 1 point for every egg and tucked card in your row, and then take 1 point for every egg you have on birds that match the two public objectives.

Wingspan Pocket plays 1-5 players; the solo mode is extremely easy to use, as is true for pretty much all Stonemaier titles. If you like Wingspan, or even Finspan, I don’t think you need Wingspan Pocket, unless you want a simpler version of these games to play with kids or to teach friends who are boardgame-curious. It distills Wingspan into a smaller box and much shorter play time – about a half an hour – and can give new/younger players a sense of the mechanics so that they might be able to play one of the full-length games, and might be more interested in playing them, since I have had plenty of adults and kids say they’ve seen Wingspan but found it intimidating. I wouldn’t choose to play this over any of the Fullspans, though, because I find the simpler game less satisfying now that I know what the whole experience is like. I’m giving it an A- because it is Wingspan, simplified, even though it’s probably not going to see a lot of table time in my house.

A Time of Changes.

The 1960s and early 1970s saw a movement within science fiction to incorporate ideas from psychology, philosophy, and other soft sciences into the genre, which produced some sci-fi classics like Samuel Delany’s Babel-17 (the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis from linguistics and philosophy), Ursula K. Le Guin’s The Left Hand of Darkness (gender as a social construct), and several of Philip K. Dick’s more serious novels. In A Time of Changes, the winner of the 1971 Nebula Award for Best Novel, Robert Silverberg takes another epistemological concept as his launching point for a novel: what would a society look like if it proscribed the use of the first person singular?

Humanity has spread out from Earth in this novel, which probably takes place a few thousand years into the future, and we meet our narrator, Kinnall Darival, who lives in the autocracy of Velada Borthan. As the novel opens, he’s a refugee, living in exile in an isolated forest, although we won’t learn why until well past the midpoint of the novel. His father, the king, dies quite early in the story, after which his brother takes the crown and Kinnall heads abroad to start his own life and avoid any question of rivalry to the throne.

In Velada Borthan, all life is governed by The Covenant, which makes the use of the first person singular an obscenity, while also creating relationships of Bond Brothers and Sisters that prove relevant to Kinnall’s story. He will eventually meet a traveler from Earth named Schweiz who describes his old society, and who will also give Kinnall a consciousness-expanding drug that allows for the communion of minds between people who use it together, a dangerous idea that turns Kinnall into a revolutionary and a wanted man.

The adventure within A Time of Changes and the way it changes Kinnall’s character end up more interesting than the philosophical question Silverberg appears to be asking. The society under the Covenant seems like a garden-variety autocracy, and Silverberg doesn’t give us much evidence that the diktat against individualism has somehow led to negative results for the people within it, or for the society as a whole. There’s a general lack of civil rights, and the monarch seems to be absolute, but those conditions can exist without the anti-individualist statutes.

Instead of asking deeper questions, Silverberg instead gives us Kinnall’s inner monologues, where he feels differently, but doesn’t give any explicit explanation. It’s very namby-pamby, we’re all one, don’t take the brown acid feel-good stuff, and doesn’t play out on the page in a way that materially changes Kinnall’s life or his interactions with others. Only the drugs do that, in that some people buy into the telepathic mind-melds, some find it overwhelming, and some are repulsed. The monarchy, of course, views this as a threat, and that gives the novel its narrative greed, and puts Kinnall on the run towards the conclusion, which is very fun and satisfying. I don’t think the book achieves what Silverberg set out to do with its concept, however, and that left me disappointed at the end even though I enjoyed the read until that point.

One note on the book: The idea of a society that bans the use of “I” wasn’t new – Silverberg discovered later than Ayn Rand used it in Anthem, but he hadn’t read that book, probably because he had some taste and self-respect.

Next up: I’m reading Dr. Kate Bowler’s Everything Happens for a Reason (And Other Lies I’ve Loved), which I mentioned in my latest newsletter.

Arizona eats, fall 2026 edition.

The best new spot I tried was the daytime Latin café Malegria, located on Grand Ave in Phoenix two blocks from Bacanora. The menu incorporates Mexican, Salvadoran, and Guatemalan culinary influences, although the standard food menu seems to be mostly Mexican, with the other countries showing up in specials (like pupusas). The Central sandwich comes with scrambled eggs with peppers and onions, queso fresco, avocado, maduros (fried sweet plantains), and crema verde served on bolsillo bread, with a spicy Guatemalan salsa called chirmol on the side. I wasn’t sure about the maduros on a savory sandwich, but the sweetness was subtle because there was so much else on the sandwich, including the fat from the avocado and cheese, along with plenty of salt and acid. I had considered the Mexi Torta, which is similar but replaces the plantains with chorizo, going with the Central because I eat so little red meat, and I didn’t miss it at all. I’ve been locked into a breakfast rotation on these trips for almost 15 years now, hitting Hillside Spot, Crepe Bar, and Matt’s Big Breakfast, but Malegria is going into the mix.

I think the biggest new restaurant opening this year in Phoenix is Roman God of Fire in Tempe, tucked into a mixed-use development off Rio Salado, with a menu driven by the regional cuisine of Rome and the campagna around the city. I got there early enough to order something from the happy hour menu, getting two of the Italian croquettes called supplì, one with mushrooms and fontina and one with nduja and scamorza, for $4 each. The mushroom one was better, both were good, and despite being fried till deep golden brown, neither was the least bit greasy. The gnudi alla gricia, a gnocchi-like pasta made with ricotta rather than potatoes, with a sauce that is a carbonara without the eggs. It runs the risk of being very heavy between the fat in the cheese and a sauce that is mostly pecorino romano and guanciale (and pasta water), but this wasn’t, particularly the sauce, which was smooth and almost translucent, letting the saltiness of the cheese and the guanciale come through. My only note on the menu would be that it might be tough for vegetarians; every pasta dish but one has some sort of meat or fish in it.

As for the restaurant itself, my god, it is pretentious. The women at the host stand were all wearing dresses that evoked the idea of a toga, although none was wearing an actual toga, fortunately. There’s also a speakeasy called Mea Culpa inside the restaurant that you enter by going into a “confessional” booth and confessing your sins, which I didn’t do because I was going to a game and also I grew up Catholic and am definitely done with confession forever. I would absolutely go back to the restaurant and would like to go some time when I can try one of their cocktails, but I could do with more bread and less circus.

Il Forno Bello is a Neapolitan-ish pizzeria out in east Mesa founded by a chef who worked under Chris Bianco. Il Forno Bello’s dough style is different, somewhere between Naples and New York, without the big puff and airiness of Neapolitan pizza. Their ingredients are outstanding, though, as you’d expect of a Bianco discipline; I got the Finocchio, a fennel sausage and caramelized onion white pizza,

Babo Jumak showed up on Eater’s list of the 38 ‘essential’ restaurants in Phoenix – the word choice is odd, but I do think it’s better than saying ‘best’ because that is an impossible task – for its authentic Korean food in a bright, appealing strip-mall space. The menu was not ideal for me; it’s extremely red meat-centric, with almost no poultry at all and not that much seafood. I went with the bibimbap with spicy pork, figuring bibimbap is mostly rice and vegetables, but Babo Jumak’s version came in a bowl that’s about 10 inches wide and had at least a half a pound of pork in it. (I actually left so much meat that the server asked if it was too spicy for me, which is funny because it was about as spicy as a barbecue potato chip.) It was well-cooked, but everything was a little light in flavor and seasoning. I actually prefer another Korean place, Hodori, which is nearby and a little less fancy but I think has better food, and also has more options that don’t include red meat.

Ponderosa House is a new place in Old Town Scottsdale that pitches its cuisine as “Arizona Born Food,” although I’d call the menu a fusion of American and Mexican (Sonoran, specifically, according to reviews from writers with better knowledge of regional cuisine). It’s a broad menu, with sandwiches, tacos, two pasta dishes, a braised cabbage entrée, and several entrée salads. I ordered the shrimp tacos, which use shrimp from a local family purveyor (Chula Seafood), along with avocado and avocado-lime crema, pickled onions, cabbage, and cotija cheese. It was actually … kind of outstanding? There’s so much acidity in the dish that it gives you the flavor profile of a ceviche, but with the added flavor of the grill. I went back to Tacos Chiwas on the trip, which is still the best taqueria I know in Phoenix, and I love Gallo Blanco and Otro and Taco Chelo, so I wouldn’t say go to Ponderosa just for the tacos, but the fact that their tacos are this good tells me the rest of the food’s probably pretty good too.

I got all of my coffee for the week at Cartel Coffee or Crepe bar, except for the morning I was in Tuscon, where I tried Exo Coffee, which talked up their light roasts and single origins on their site. They don’t do pour-overs, so it’s drip or espresso, and I went with the drip to get to try a single origin option. The drip that day was a Mexican option – I think it’s these beans – and it was a little milder than I like, lacking a lot of body or strong flavor notes, although it also had zero bitterness. I’d probably try a different shop if I end up in Tucson early enough for coffee.

I barely had time to eat between the games in Tucson, and ate at Raising Cane’s for the first time, which … why are people obsessed with this place? It’s a very ordinary chicken tender with bad fries. I didn’t expect anything but fast food, but given how much people seem to love it and how fast they’re expanding, I thought it would be better. There is no scenario where I’d go there over Popeye’s for fast-food chicken.

I also hit a bunch of my usual spots, places I’ve written about before: the aforementioned breakfast rotation, Ollie Vaughn’s, Pane Bianco (the Wednesday special, a reimagined eggplant parmigiana sandwich is outstanding), and Andreoli Italian Grocer. Also, Eric Longenhagen passed along the sad news that two great spots, the Ethiopian place Café Lalibela and the sushi-and-cocktails spot Hai Noon, both closed recently.

Stick to baseball, 10/17/26.

The first of three posts from my trip to the Arizona Fall League is now up, examining and excoriating the ridiculous outfield-positioning experiment happening in games at Salt River Fields. My notes on players I saw will run Sunday and Monday in two posts, split up by league. I’ll also work up a post on the five new restaurants I tried on this trip.

I have a newsletter written but have been holding it until the AFL posts were up, so I’ll probably send it on Monday. In the meantime, you can sign up for the newsletter (it’s free) or follow me on Bluesky, Instagram, TikTok, or Threads.

And now, the links…

  • The Times looks at the upheaval in mathematics after the release of hundreds of new proofs and findings generated by OpenAI, including a proof of the quasi-Riemann hypothesis, which may get mathematicians (or AI) closer to solving maybe the most famous currently unsolved problem in math.
  • Singer/guitarist Geordie Greep, formerly lead singer of black midi, was accused of sexual assault by a woman after a show earlier this month in Vancouver. The accusation was followed by a flyer, not written by the accuser, that claimed he’d raped her, a claim she flatly denies.
  • A 20-year-old woman in Milwaukee called the police to ask for protection from her 39-year-old boyfriend; he killed her hours later.
  • Bestselling author Sally Rooney (Normal People) has supported the group Palestine Action, which the UK has branded as a terrorist organization, meaning under UK law her publisher could not pay her royalties for her books sold in the country. As a result, Faber will no longer supply her books to stores in Britain, a move she supports. We aren’t the only western country rolling back civil rights.

Space Lab.

Johannes Goupy is one of the best and most prolific new game designers to pop up in the last few years, making a name for himself with a number of small-box/big-thinking games like his hit game Faraway (which just got its third expansion), Rauha, and the lighter Pixies, as well as the heavy game From the Moon, the last of which is on my shelf of shame at the moment. Space Lab is in that former category, with a decent amount of tension and strategy in a smaller box, although it is definitely more luck-driven than Faraway and might frustrate players looking for something that gives you more control over card draws.

In Space Lab, players will draw and draft cards to fill out the ten spaces in their personal tableaux, working around three space stations that each have unique scoring objectives, similar to Forest Shuffle’s tableau format but much simpler with only one card going into each slot. At the end of the game, you score for the cards you played, the objectives you completed, and project cards you picked up, mostly through the cards you played above your space stations (three spots).

On your turn, you can draw three cards from the deck, keeping all cards of any single color and placing the rest in the ‘recruitment center.’ You can also take all cards of one color from that recruitment center area. As long as you start your turn with fewer than five cards in your hand, those two actions are available. You can also play any card from your hand, paying its cost (in the upper left corner, from 0 to 3) by discarding that many cards from your hand. Those cards go to the discard pile, not the recruitment center, so they’re out of play until the deck is exhausted and you have to reshuffle.

There are four colors in the game, representing different space agencies, and four roles on the player cards, both of which matter for scoring. Objective cards in your three space stations show three colors, anything from three different ones to three identical, and you score those if you place those colors in the four spots around the station. (You have ten card slots because there are two shared ones, between the left and middle stations and middle and right ones.) The roles matter mostly for end-game scoring, although there are some in-game options on objective cards where you gain something if you play that symbol below the station you gain a project or regular card. Finishing an objective card allows you to take the top point token from the stack for that location, with the points declining and the top left and right tokens giving you a one-time bonus as well.

The project cards are a bit of a lottery ticket, and from what I see on BGG, they’re the part of the game that engenders the most disagreement. When you play a card to one of the three slots above your three stations, you draw project cards equal to the number/cost of the card you played. You then keep just one of the project cards, all of which score more if you collect more of the set. Thus, playing expensive cards to those slots in your tableau means cycling through more of the project deck and increasing your odds of getting the card(s) you need. It is random, mostly, but you have some say in the matter here, enough that, for a medium-light game, I’m good with the balance.

The game progresses until one player fills all ten spots in their tableau or fulfills all three objective cards, at which point, you score. Many cards have variable scoring based on what’s in your entire tableau (e.g., 1-3 points per astronaut card) or just that card’s row, while others have fixed point values from 1-7. There’s a scoring pad here, but it’s not very difficult to score in your head.

I’m definitely higher than the consensus on Space Lab, which is about to get its first U.S. release from Pandasaurus (who sent me a review copy). It’s a fun filler that has a tiny bit of player interaction through the shared card space of the recruitment center, but where mostly you’re trying to cycle through the decks to get stuff you need. I wouldn’t put it over Faraway, but I’d probably take it over Rauha, just among Goupy’s games I’ve played. The solo mode is pretty tight as well, because it keeps all of the game’s rules but ends when the deck is exhausted and has a single automatic step that discards quite a few cards on each turn. It’s a B+ for me, and you can pre-order it from Pandasaurus now.

Whistler.

Ann Patchett might be the greatest living American novelist. Her Bel Canto, which reimagines The Magic Mountain in a setting inspired by the Tupac Amaru takeover of the Japanese embassy in Lima, is one of the best novels of the century, and of all of her novels, only one, Run, failed to hit its mark, with unusually trite characters and a somewhat silly story.

Her last three novels have all been somewhat narrower in scope, focusing on family dynamics, often across several generations, in mostly white, middle-class settings that removed some variables (like money) to allow for greater focus on the interpersonal relationships within. Whistler, her tenth and most recent novel, is even tighter and smaller than the three preceding works, exploring family trauma and second chances, this time almost entirely among older adults, with children relegated mostly to flashbacks and a bit of comic relief.

Our protagonist and guide through Whistler is Daphne Fuller, who is now right about my age (53), married with adult stepchildren – blended families figure heavily into this book – and a husband around 70 who is now retired. While visiting the Metropolitan Museum of Art, they run into a man, Eddie Triplett, who was briefly Daphne’s stepfather over 40 years prior, until a car accident ripped him out of their lives. Daphne had adored Eddie and always felt his loss after he disappeared, the truth of which she only gets now in adulthood, while her slightly younger sister, Leda, has far less memory of him and views his return more clinically – she’s a psychologist – than Daphne does. Eddie’s return leads him and Daphne to pick up almost where they left off, spending time together and confiding in each other now as they couldn’t when he was the adult and she the child, which allows Daphne to learn many truths about her childhood, including that accident, that have long formed lacunae in her life.

Whistler is unusual among Patchett’s novels in many ways, but most strongly in that nothing really bad happens in the present day. One older side character dies, but it’s hardly surprising, and he’s annoying enough that it passes with little emotion from anyone except his widow. Patchett gives us the stories of the past, which include the accident and the death of Daphne’s birth father, with her usual empathy towards everyone involved, but these interstitials take place so long ago, with the remaining characters so much older, that they provide answers without seeming as tragic as they would had she told them as stories in the novel’s present.

That leaves the book feeling less substantial than any Patchett novel since Run, maybe since Taft, which was her least successful novel prior to Bel Canto. Patchett’s prose is so lovely and evocative that all of her works are quick to read; here, there’s so little real action that the novel absolutely flies by, with characters talking about the past in clear and somewhat removed tones that don’t require the reader to slow down and absorb the import of what’s happening.

Patchett may be trying to explore how gaps in our lives and our memories affect us decades later, especially when those things come in childhood and involve adults coming in and out of our lives. Daphne is more than fine, but she missed Eddie more than she realized, and comes to discover that not knowing what happened, as well as the difficulty she had later when her mother remarried and had two more sons with her third husband, has altered the course of her life in subtle ways.

More than that, however, it seems like Whistler is about how most of us never really know our parents, exploring that question by giving Daphne a chance to get to know the stepparent she knew the least, so that by the end of the book, she knows Eddie better than she knows her own biological parents – and he helps her know them better too. Daphne adored Eddie, but she was so young she didn’t see many things that in hindsight become quite obvious, and without that context she couldn’t possibly understand him, his marriage to her mother, or how their divorce affected her mother for decades afterwards.

In the pantheon of Ann Patchett books, Whistler is unusual in its small scope; Patchett seems to be narrowing her focus as she gets older, in almost linear fashion post-Bel Canto. The throughline that connects all of her novels, except perhaps Run, is her ability to craft compelling, realistic characters who have compelling, realistic relationships. The Daphne-Eddie one would be enough for a novel, but here it’s just one among a web of relationships, including Daphne’s husband, her sister, her mother, even her late father, that show that Patchett has lost nothing off her fastball, and that make Whistler feel like a longer, richer novel than it is.

Next up: I’m most of the way through Robert Silverberg’s A Time of Changes.

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