A newspaper's puzzle editor has begun a weekly habit of opening the hood on the Saturday crossword, and the first look under it reveals a small, playful machine built by two people who never shared a room. The theme turns ordinary words into jokes about Canadian government, reminding readers that a pun is a kind of civic conversation carried on in the language of everyday life. For the newcomer, the column offers a patient guide to how a grid is made to surprise, and for the veteran, a reminder that the pleasure of a puzzle lies as much in its making as in its solving.
Parliamentary Puns and Cryptic Wordplay: The Globe's Weekender Crossword Breakdown
In the crossworld, theme means something closer to gimmick.
Why start a column like this? Crosswords already come with an answer key.
An answer key tells you what, not why. Jess is explaining how a clue like [Source of inflation?] becomes AIR PUMP, and she's aiming it at new solvers.
The theme here is puns on Canadian government terms. How does that work?
Seven common phrases get reread as politics. WIRELESS SPEAKER is a House of Commons leader who isn't wearing a wire. RIDING HABITS is toothbrushing and exercise that vary by electoral district, and that's Jess's favourite.
Seven theme entries, but the column only walks through five in detail. Two sit at 93A and 113A, and the column just says "and so on." So we know their positions and not their answers.
Fair. What we do know is that the question marks flag wordplay.
And the two constructors worked from opposite ends of the country?
Jeffrey Martinovic is a recent Western University engineering graduate, and Mark MacLachlan is UBC's dean of science. They filled the grid together and planned clues over Zoom.
"Laughter-filled" is their own description, so treat it as colour rather than something we can check.
Agreed. The Canadian touches are checkable, though: the BAT FLIP at 1A, and DAVE Cooks a Turkey at 107A.
Then the cryptic, SYNDICATED.
Yes. "New" signals an anagram of "diet candy's," and the rest is the definition.
One caveat: Jess says she's bad at anagramming in her head and used crossing letters. The method is clean, but it's not always a one-step solve.
Le Pouls
- A crossword built across the country by two collaborators is being unpacked for readers who want to know why the grid feels so clever.
- Seven theme puns turn words like wire, crown and motion into jokes about Parliament, and some clues hide their trick only until the crossings fall into place.
- Puzzles editor Jess warns readers not to peek before finishing the Saturday grid, since the explanations spoil the fun.
- A new weekly column, Puzzle Pieces, is set to keep unravelling each Weekender and its cryptic clue as the series continues.
A newspaper's puzzle editor has begun a weekly habit of opening the hood on the Saturday crossword, and the first look under it reveals a small, playful machine built by two people who never shared a room. The theme turns ordinary words into jokes about Canadian government, reminding readers that a pun is a kind of civic conversation carried on in the language of everyday life. For the newcomer, the column offers a patient guide to how a grid is made to surprise, and for the veteran, a reminder that the pleasure of a puzzle lies as much in its making as in its solving.
The Globe and Mail has started a new weekly column about its puzzles, and the first installment takes apart the Saturday Weekender crossword. Written by Jess, the paper's puzzles and games editor, Puzzle Pieces will walk through each Weekender, pass along a note from the constructors, and name a favourite clue from Fraser Simpson's cryptic. She warns that spoilers lie ahead and hopes to help new solvers appreciate the craft.
This week's puzzle, Governing Principles, was built at long distance by Jeffrey Martinovic, a recent engineering graduate, and Mark MacLachlan, dean of science at the University of British Columbia. Its Canadian touches include BAT FLIP for José Bautista and a nod to the Vinyl Cafe. Jess's favourite entries include AIR PUMP, BUTT DIAL and LICE, each a small misdirection.
A crossword theme, Jess explains, is less a party decoration than a gimmick that can hide in plain sight. Here, seven common terms are reimagined as Canadian government ideas, with question marks signalling the wordplay. RIDING HABITS, about toothbrushing and electoral districts, is her favourite. The constructors describe a brainstorm that became a laughter-filled Zoom session.
The column closes with Fraser Simpson's cryptic, where Jess's pick is 30A. Its anagram indicator, "new," rearranges the letters of "diet candy's" into SYNDICATED. Next Saturday brings another Weekender and another breakdown.
The Globe and Mail has started a new weekly column about its puzzles, and the first installment takes apart the Saturday Weekender crossword. The column is called Puzzle Pieces, and it is written by Jess, the paper's puzzles and games editor. Each week she plans to walk through the Weekender, pass along a note from the constructors, and name her favourite clue from Fraser Simpson's Weekender Cryptic. She warns that the column contains spoilers and should be read only after the Saturday puzzles are solved. She also says she hopes to help brand new solvers appreciate the craft, even if seasoned solvers find some of the explanations obvious.
This week's crossword is titled Governing Principles. It was built at long distance by two people: Jeffrey Martinovic, a recent engineering graduate of Western University, and Mark MacLachlan, the dean of science at the University of British Columbia. Jess's favourite moments include 84D, where [Source of inflation?] turns out to be an AIR PUMP rather than a financial measure, and 88D, where [Call from down under?] is a BUTT DIAL, not a call from an Australian friend. She also likes 82A, [Cause of some head-scratching], which is LICE. The clue carries no question mark, and she adds that she knows the answer from experience.
The constructors also worked in Canadian references. At 1A is José Bautista's iconic BAT FLIP. At 25A, a Reach for the Top contestant is SMART. At 107A is DAVE Cooks a Turkey, a nod to fans of the Vinyl Cafe.
Jess then explains what a theme means in a crossword. It is not like a theme party, with topical content scattered everywhere. In crossword circles, she says, it is closer to a gimmick. A simple theme can go unnoticed while you solve the whole grid, and a trickier one can make the puzzle hard to finish until you work it out. Theme entries usually sit in the longest Across slots. A 21x21 grid, the size of the Weekender, might have seven to 10 of them. They tend to be placed symmetrically, one above for each one below, and their clues often stand out through asterisks, italics, or slightly wacky wording. Some puzzles also circle or shade letters in the grid.
Here the theme is puns. Martinovic and MacLachlan reimagined seven common terms as if they belonged to the Canadian government, and the question marks on the theme clues signal wordplay. At 23A, [House of Commons leader who isn't secretly recording conversations?] gives WIRELESS SPEAKER, since someone secretly recording might be wearing a wire. At 39A, [Government-sanctioned Jell-O making?] is CROWN MOULDING. At 47A, [One who suspects a senator is about to propose?] is MOTION SENSOR, with a second pun on proposing. At 64A, a [Fundamental document legislating hair and eye colour?] is a GENETIC CONSTITUTION. At 85A, [Toothbrushing and exercise practices that vary by electoral district?] is RIDING HABITS, which is Jess's favourite. The remaining theme entries are at 93A and 113A.
The constructors' note describes how it came together. Martinovic approached MacLachlan with the idea of puns on Canadian government terms. They brainstormed possible theme entries, then built and filled the grid together. They were pleased with extra fill such as BUTT DIAL, AIR PUMP, FREE WIFI, YEAH RIGHT, ACNE CREAM and SOLAR CAR. They settled on clues over a Zoom meeting they describe as laughter-filled.
The column closes with the cryptic. The Globe has an exclusive weekly cryptic by Toronto's Fraser Simpson, and Jess points newcomers to his primer on solving. Her pick is 30A: [New diet candy's sold to many at the same time (10)]. The (10) says the answer has ten letters. Half of a cryptic clue is a definition and half is wordplay, but the solver must find the split. Eventually "new" reads as an anagram indicator, an instruction to rearrange letters. "Diet candy's" has ten letters, so it is the material to rearrange, which leaves "sold to many at the same time" as the definition. With a few crossing letters, the letters become SYNDICATED. Next Saturday brings another Weekender and another breakdown.
Citations marquantes
We hope you had as much fun solving this puzzle as we did making it.— Jeffrey Martinovic and Mark MacLachlan, constructors