At this point, the first contact we have with a new game is the rulebook included in the box. With the help of texts, illustrations and even summaries, you are told what to make of the contents of the game’s box. Rulebooks can generally be split into three genres of texts. (There are surely more, but these three seemed easiest to identify for this article.)

The code of law

In this case, a game’s rulebook can be compared to a legal code. How individual rules are phrased is understood as the way to resolve any conflicts of interest between players. Accordingly, every word has to withstand utmost scrutiny. The difference between “any player” and “any and all players” can result in very heated discussions. It takes a simple typo that turns “none” into “one”, which may lead a group down the rabbit hole of discerning the supposed intent of the author, in order to find the correct interpretation of a game’s rule.

What I consider most interesting about these types of rulebooks and what I think affects player dynamics the most, are the assumptions that underlie such a text. Because a code of law, much like a contract, is written in case that at least two participants can’t come to a mutually acceptable agreement on their own. Such a rulebook assumes that players aren’t interested in finding a solution to their conflict in a way that is an acceptable compromise to everyone. They require a text that clearly and unambiguously resolves their differing interests. This must assume that players will inevitably be in conflict with each other, otherwise there would be no need to write rules this way. But such a text must also assume that players are to some extent irrational or at least unable to come to an agreement in order to resolve conflicts themselves. It follows then, that there is an unspoken agreement that players will submit to the rules during a game. Introducing a new game at game night then becomes an act of explaining what rights players have during the game. Once that has been done, your participation in the game expresses your acceptance and your commitment to comply with these rules.

This also helps to explain, why rules that were allegedly not mentioned at the beginning of play makes some players feel as if they’re being treated unfairly. They feel deceived, because their agreement and compliance has been gained under false pretenses.

The reference work

The next type of rulebook has some similarities to the above, but is also distinct enough to be talked about on its own. While the exact phrasing of the rules is similarly important, it is so for a different reason. Instead of resolving conflicts these texts are read with the intent (and written under the assumption) of recreating the ideal version of the game at your table. Play vaguely resembles a scientific experiment or pre-packaged construction kit, that you execute with your fellow players. Situations that aren’t covered by the rules or are otherwise unclear, fall under players’ discretion. This is where it most differs from the kind of player dynamic in the previous example. Here players see themselves as participants in a curated play activity. They follow the instructions and explanations of the game’s rules and expect the precise adherence to them to create a fulfilling or at least satisfying experience. Accordingly, a rules mistake or a rule introduced late during play, isn’t seen as a breach of trust. Instead it registers as a distortion of the “actual” game. Should it turn out that the application of a rule differs from the rulebook’s text, the group has to make a decision. Did they play the game “wrong”, or is that difference in application still within the margin of error to qualify as the “correct” experience?

The reference work doesn’t require players to obediently follow rules. It instead assumes that players are mutually invested in how to play the game correctly and without any mistakes.

The tutorial

The last type of rulebook, I must admit, is more likely found while explaining a game at the table than in printed form. At least I am not aware of a good example for this kind of rulebook. (I am open to any suggestion and am happy to amend this article, if necessary.)

The tutorial functions as a didactic tool. This means it tries to convey knowledge about playing the game first. It answers the question “what do we actually do?” first. (While it should be obvious that you have to distinguish between thematic explanation and actual player instructions, it is often overlooked anyway.) But conveying knowledge is only the first step. Because it’s not enough to know about the game’s structure and player limitations. The game itself creates and offers opportunities to apply this newly gained knowledge and skill in practice. That’s what games allow for and are supposed to do. This basic feedback loop contributes a lot to make games fulfilling and motivating as we play them. We realize that our decisions create change and make us an important and crucial part of this shared activity. This also helps to explain why “interactivity” (even if it sometimes only refers to the ability to attack other players) is so valuable and important to players. But it also explains why a lack of impact on the game’s progression – because you’ve been eliminated from the game, have to sit out a turn or can only minimally effect change in comparison to other players, etc. – can feel so uncomfortable and disappointing.

A tutorial aims to enable players to participate in the game as much (or as little) as they choose to. Instead of relying on obedience or precision, a tutorial means to guide players towards a stronger sense of agency. It has served its purpose when players can take the initiative and are intrinsically motivated to pursue the game’s goal.

Rulebooks are, as mentioned before, only the first contact with a game. They are the first step we take to be able to play a new game. But a rulebook that’s written with a clear aim and confident sense of purpose, can pave the way towards a more satisfying experience.