The counting problem — where it appears
Named by 13 essays across 2 fields — each of them below, with the objects they name alongside it.
Four questions about one sheet
Deciding, counting, listing and optimising are not four difficulties of one problem. They are four problems, and folding is the subject that proves it: a ruled map is trivial to decide and unsolved to count, while a general crease pattern is the other way round.
The answer is bigger than the question
A twelve-square strip of stamps is twelve numbers of input and 146,376 objects of output. No algorithm writes that faster than it can be written, so 'efficient' has to be measured against the answer rather than against the question — and in folding that is the normal case.
The map that is not a rectangle
Take one square out of a three-by-three map and the number of ways it folds does not go down by an eighth. It goes up — to 848 if the square came from a corner, and to 8,016 if it came from the middle. Two maps of eight squares in the same box, differing by nearly a factor of ten, and no function of the box tells them apart.
The count counts labels
One, two, six, sixteen, fifty, a hundred and forty-four: the oldest sequence in the subject counts foldings of a strip of numbered stamps. A folded strip of blank paper has no first stamp and no top side, and neither of those operations ever leaves a folding alone — so the count of objects is 1, 2, 5, 14, 38, 120, and it is not the count over four.
The test that never fires on a map
The cheapest refusal of a folded state reads a crease list once and reports that no arrangement of the layers exists. Enumerate every labelling of every map from two panels to nine and it fires on four of the four hundred and fifty-four — all four on the largest map, none at all below it. On the oldest open problem in the subject, the cheap test has essentially nothing to say.
A map with no edges
Counting the ways a rectangular map folds is the oldest open problem in the subject, and every version of it assumes the map has an edge. Join the map's opposite edges and the question changes shape: half the sizes have no folded state at all, and the ones that do have no bottom layer to count from.
Which cranes can stay joined
The 1797 book slits a square into a grid and leaves the cranes attached at the interior lattice points, each of which holds four of them at once. Of the sixteen ways to choose which of a three-by-three's four points to leave joined, exactly one leaves the piece in a single object — and it is the one that uses all four. The cutting is very nearly forced rather than chosen.
Nearly every cutting fails at one crane
Six by six connected cranes have twenty-five joins and thirty-three million ways to keep some of them, and an exhaustion over all of them takes a fifth of a second. Of the 33,412,811 that fail, 99.64 per cent fail at a single crane — one left holding none of the joins at its corners — which a maker can check by looking at each crane in turn. The arrangements that pass that check hold together less often as the grid grows: all of them at three by three, 54 per cent at six by six.
The border is where the cranes come apart
Counted one join at a time rather than one subset at a time, the slit grid of connected cranes runs to twelve by twelve, where there are 2¹²¹ ways to keep some of the joins. Among the cuttings that hold every crane by something, the share that also hold together keeps falling — 54.3 per cent at six by six, 35.1 at twelve — and from eight by eight on it falls by the same factor at every size. A constant factor is the signature of the border: at six by six, 99.5 per cent of the sound cuttings that come apart do so through a stray piece touching the outermost ring of joins.
The prediction held at eight and broke at ten
A join in a slit grid of cranes merges at most four pieces, so n² cranes need at least ⌈(n² − 1)⁄3⌉ joins, and exhaustion found four and six by six meeting that floor in exactly one way. The guess was that eight by eight would too, with twenty-one joins. Counted a join at a time, it does — twenty-one, one way. Ten by ten does not: it needs thirty-four against a floor of thirty-three, and has 7,076 ways to spend them. The grids that meet the floor with no merge to spare are four and eight by eight among every size to fourteen, and sixteen by sixteen by construction, because a perfect tree of joins on a grid twice as wide is four perfect trees and one join in the middle. The even grids were never the pattern; the doublings are.
No odd grid holds a perfect tree
A perfect tree of joins holds a slit grid of cranes with every join merging four pieces that were separate. Two joins side by side share two cranes and close a loop, so a perfect tree never has two — and so all its joins lie on one colour of the checkerboard the lattice points make. The four corner cranes each touch one lattice point, which must be a join; on a grid with an odd side those four points are two colours. So no odd grid holds a perfect tree, and seventeen by seventeen, the size the count was pointing at, is settled without counting. On one colour the search is small enough to finish: sixteen by sixteen has exactly one perfect tree, the doubled one, and twenty by twenty has none.
A perfect tree is the joins it leaves out
On the colour a perfect tree lives on, the lattice points and the cranes they share form a graph full of loops, and a perfect tree is that graph with some points cut out. Euler's count fixes how many: every cut removes three loops' worth, and the loops always number exactly three times the cuts a perfect tree needs — so a set of that many cuts, no two sharing a crane, leaves a perfect tree exactly when what remains is one piece. Searched that way, ten by ten fails in seven cases that fit on one page, fourteen in 761, and sixteen's one tree is four copies of eight's diamond of cuts with a cross of cuts along the middle.
A map refuses in small pieces
The one-pass refusal — a circle in the arcs a map's letters force — fires on four of a three-by-three map's 256 letterings and on none below it, and the question was how it grows. It grows by windows. Every lettering it refuses on a four-by-three or five-by-three map contains one of those four refused three-by-three patterns somewhere inside it, so the share refused is almost exactly one minus 63⁄64 to the power of the map's three-by-three windows. Four by four is the first map with a refusal no window explains, 64 of its 2,112. The rise is smooth, not sharp: a quarter at six by six, near half at eight, seven tenths at ten.
Named alongside it
The objects these essays reach for when they reach for this one.
Map foldingEnumerationSenbazuruConnectivityHiden senbazuru orikataStamp foldingLattice identityLayer orderNecessary conditionParityCombinatorial explosionLocality