DIAGRAMLESS — Alex Eaton-Salners has cornered the market on diagramless crosswords in The Times, having constructed nine of the 10 that we’ve run over the last five years. He combines creative, whimsical visual presentations with the most brutal, confounding cluing you can imagine. The result is an addictive solving experience, if you’re observant and patient. They’re a treat for the jaded puzzle-doer, but anyone who can work through a Sunday grid can take on a diagramless.
We are faced with a daunting 17×17 grid — no black boxes or numerical indications of first letters — along with an ordinary set of Across and Down clues. (Note: Traditionally, the previous week’s print puzzle page will have a hint for getting started.) We are also told the symmetry of the finished puzzle; unlike with a standard crossword, part of solving a diagramless is uncovering an artistic pattern in the finished entries. In this case, the symmetry is vertical, so the left and right sides of the grid match. Knowing this, and applying a bit of logic to the numbering of the clues, is a big help.
Since a diagramless follows the rules of crossword puzzles, we know that every word is made up of three letters or more and that each letter appears in both an Across and a Down entry. Since the first two Across clues are numbered 1 and 4, we can deduce that 1-Across is three letters long (otherwise we couldn’t have a 4-Across). The third Across entry is 6-Across, and that gives us critical information: Since we can’t have a two-letter entry, 4-Across can’t be next to 1-Across in the top row (or even the first entry in the second row). Either of those configurations would mean that each letter in 4-Across would be the first letter of a Down entry and that the next Across entry would have to be number 7 since three letters would be the minimum for both 1-Across and 4-Across.
Knowing this, I took the plunge and centered 1-Across, “Unit in a swimming pool,” which I knew was three letters: LAP. 4-Across, “French greeting,” didn’t come to me. I wanted “bonjour,” but the numbers didn’t line up; “allo” didn’t work either. But 6-Across was easy: “One of 100 in Washington” is SENATOR. 6-Down, “Bits of rosemary or parsley,” had to be SPRIGS, then, and thank goodness for specific clues, of which there was a smattering. Without them and the disclosed symmetry, I don’t know how I’d have solved a puzzle like this.
Some of the more difficult entries include that “French greeting,” SALUT, which I always thought of as a toast (incorrectly); 31-Across, “Desert in southern Africa,” which is KALAHARI and not Sahara (which is in northern Africa, but the shared run of letters, A-H-A-R, confused me); and 33-Across, “Common prop in slapstick,” which is CREAMPIE and not banana. 18-Down, “Like some lotions and fish,” solves to NONOILY, which my text-crazed brain somehow translated as “no no i love you”; “Toronto landmark that is North America’s tallest free-standing structure” is the CN TOWER. Then there’s 10-Down, “Ado,” which solves to a magnificent word: HULLABALOO, apparently a rhyming reduplication of “hollo.”
You may have perceived the shape this grid takes as you were solving it. At first, I thought it might be a fish, but there are three starred clues that pertain to the puzzle’s design. 8-Across, “*Attire for an astronaut,” is SPACESUIT. 13-Down, “*Star of 2003’s ‘School of Rock,’” is JACK BLACK. And 15-Down, “*Noted handbag designer,” is KATE SPADE. SPACESUIT, JACK BLACK, KATE SPADE? This minitheme makes the final image clear — we’ve won this hand with an ace of spades.
What did you think?