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Let’s be honest. Game night can sometimes feel a bit… stale. Another round of Monopoly where someone inevitably quits in a huff, or a drawn-out session of Risk that ends with alliances shattered and friendships tested. If you’re yearning for something fresh, fast-paced, and with just enough backstabbing to make things interesting, I have a recommendation for you. It costs about $10, fits in your pocket, and has a shockingly accurate title: Love Letter.
Now, before you panic and assume I’m advocating for actual friendship destruction, let me clarify. Love Letter won’t send your pals fleeing into the night, vowing never to speak to you again. Instead, it’s the kind of game that elicits groans of mock betrayal, bursts of laughter, and shouts of “I can’t believe you did that!” It’s all in good fun, but the sheer simplicity and strategic depth packed into a mere 16 cards are enough to make you eye your opponents with newfound suspicion.
The premise is charmingly simple: you are a suitor (or suitor-adjacent character) trying to get your love letter into the hands of Princess Annette, while simultaneously trying to intercept the letters of your rivals. You do this by eliminating other players from the round. The player holding the highest-ranked card at the end of the round, or the last player standing, wins the Princess’s affection (and a token of favor). Win enough tokens, and you win the game.
Here’s the kicker: each turn, you only ever have two cards in your hand. You play one, and you resolve its effect. That’s it. Sounds basic, right? This is where the magic (and the friendly backstabbing) happens. Each of the eight unique card types has a different power. The Guard (value 1) lets you guess another player’s hand. Get it right, and they’re out! The Priest (value 2) lets you secretly look at someone’s hand. The Baron (value 3) allows you to compare hands with another player, and the one with the lower card is eliminated. The Handmaid (value 4) grants you temporary immunity. The Prince (value 5) makes any player (including yourself) discard their hand and draw a new one – excellent for messing with a seemingly strong opponent. The King (value 6) lets you swap hands with another player. The Countess (value 7) has a special condition (if you have the King or Prince, you must discard her). And finally, the Princess (value 8) – if you discard her, you’re out of the round immediately.
The brilliance of Love Letter lies in its deductions, bluffs, and calculated risks. With so few cards in play, you’re constantly trying to figure out what everyone else is holding, who’s vulnerable, and when to strike. Did Sarah just play a Priest and then target you? She knows something! Is Mark holding onto a high card, or is he bluffing with a low one? The tension builds with every card played, and the rounds are so quick that even if you’re eliminated early, you’re not waiting long to jump back into the fray.
For about ten bucks, you get a game that’s easy to learn in minutes but offers endless replay-ability and laugh-out-loud moments. It’s perfect for travel, for a quick filler between longer games, or for an entire evening of strategic, friendly rivalry. So go ahead, pick up a copy of Love Letter. Just be prepared for your friends to accuse you of being a ruthless, conniving genius. And maybe, just maybe, for a few playful vows of vengeance. It’ll be the best $10 you ever spent on game night.
I no longer have any game nights, but I once competed in ‘Monopoly Marathons’ with a friend who is now deceased. We would often play for 18 hours straight, and sometimes use real money instead of the monopoly money. (Not in the same amounts) My friend kept a tally of those grudge-matches, and he had beaten me by 102 games to 88 over the course of a few years.
Best wishes, Pete.
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