Big Picture Mode

Nathan Brown on building Labo, flat-pack furniture and a family

So, it has happened: the Edge brood has further swelled. Labour began when I was about halfway through last issue’s cover feature; while it certainly led to a marked uptick in writing speed, it is neither something I would recommend nor intend to repeat. But still, Child Two is here, and as I expected, having a second kid is very much the New Game Plus of parenthood: you’ve seen this all before, and it’s technically harder, yet feels easier because you’re stronger and have seen it all before. It’s the sort of thing that I could probably spin out to full wordcount, if I was prepared to really stretch the analogy to breaking point. But that would be disrespectful to readers, I suppose, and if I’m honest I’m far too tired to see it through.

I didn’t expect the new arrival to be the complicated one, to be honest. At that age they don’t do an awful lot and have a fairly basic set of needs. The problem, I knew from talking to friends, was far more likely to be his older brother – someone who has only ever known a world in which he is the centre of everything, and whose need to burn through a seemingly infinite supply of energy would prevent us from just sitting around, exhausted from the long nights, sleeping whenever we’re able to.

I need to keep him entertained, in other words, and so I’d like to extend my heartiest thanks to the executive team at Nintendo for deciding to launch Labo a fortnight after my second child was born. A couple of months back, Steven Poole compared Nintendo’s bonkers cardboard creation to two things with which I have plenty of recent experience. As father to a four-year-old, I am the designated foreman on any Lego project, while in the period of frantic nesting in the run-up to the new arrival’s, er, arrival... well, let’s just say I could build you a Billy bookcase with my eyes closed.

My eldest – heavens, I feel old saying that – likes to be involved whenever there’s building going on. He struggles to parse Lego instructions, so needs me as interpreter, to ferret out hard-to-find pieces, and for the fiddlier parts of the build. On Ikea jobs he is a willing assistant, typically in charge of the bag of bits, always on hand with the next screw, dowel or grommet. Yet whether we’re building a tiny helicopter or an eight-foot cupboard, there is always a moment where our paths diverge. Finish a Lego kit, and he doesn’t need me anymore, running off to play with it. Complete an Ikea build, and he totters off, leaving me to the boring job of putting things on shelves. (He will, in time, come to realise that is the very best bit.)

What makes Labo such a revelation is that it features all the best elements of Lego and flat-pack furniture while improving on both of them and, crucially, keeping you together afterwards. You are not merely building something together; you are building towards something, the journey and destination both exciting in different ways. There are always parts of a Lego or Ikea build that are particularly satisfying – the moment a clump of bricks starts to resemble something real, say, or the way an eight-foot side panel slides kindly into place on a bed of dowel. Labo does that every couple of minutes, components fitting together with an elegance you’d never have thought cardboard capable of, designed with the same sort of craft you expect from a Mario game. And then, at the end, you both play with it.

Every new Nintendo idea brings out the naysayers, and Labo’s unveiling sparked the usual forum posts and op-eds quick to decry it as poor value for money – overpriced tat powered by games you’d be bored of within minutes. Yet after one weekend with Labo, and only one big project completed, I already feel like I’ve got my money’s worth from it. It may be made of cardboard, but it feels premium, the template sheets so weirdly attractive it’s almost a shame to break them apart. And perhaps the software is disposable, but we had an excellent half-hour passing the fishing rod around the family, and we’ll definitely be back for more.

It’s a triumph, all told, and it’s come along at the perfect time, helping bring together a family that really needs a common focal point beyond the nappy changes, sotto voce lullaby singalongs and disturbed nights. Okay, I have to live with the lingering fear that, once he’s big enough, Child Two is going to get his hands on a fishing rod or piano and absolutely destroy it. But that’s what high shelves are for. Labo’s brilliant, sure, but thank heavens for Ikea, too. Nathan Brown is Edge’s editor, and now an expert on just how many pieces of flat-pack furniture will fit in a Volvo

Labo’s components fit together with an elegance you’d never have thought cardboard was capable of