Reading: Chess Story

Jake Weatherill from Lewisham Branch

 

You know one of my favourite things? Re-reading a book you like for the first time. Seriously. It's a wonderful experience. You have the memories of all the big bits, but can't necessarily remember everything. A bit like walking back to an old house or job.
You have a grasp of the route, a rough outline, the key landmarks, but the details of the smaller shops and roads are still a bit hazy. Having had the last two weeks off with some semblance of normality back I went for a walk along the river for the first time in months, however getting to the river involves public transport. In my attempt to stay in my own little world when I am traveling I usually have my earphones in and my nose buried in a book.

 

 

 

Entry for Loneliness from Oxford Essential Quatations in Oxford Reference Online

 

I had already decided before I went on leave what my next book was going to be so the commute to Greenwich and back home seemed like a perfect time to get reacquainted with the story as I had only read it once previously.
It's called Chess. Now don't be put off by the title. It's not some hefty tome dedicated to the rules and nuisances of the game. I first came across it one Christmas when I had been sent to Deptford branch to cover. I was doing some shelving (which quite frankly is a great excuse to peruse the books for some new reading material).
I had started shelving something in the Z's, which is a bit of a rarity, when this thin little book caught my eye. My first thought was actually that it had been put back in the wrong place. Naturally I wiggled it free and had a look to see where it should be. I flipped the cover over, expecting a generic non-fiction blurb. Except it wasn't. This was a novella. Short. Sweet. You could read it in a day. As a fan of Chess my curiosity was piqued, so I issued it to myself, stuck it in my bag and took it home. I had the Sunday off and had planned a pre-Christmas wander so naturally the commute seemed as good a place as any to read it. I finished it in a day, only putting it away to stop myself stumbling into people while I was engrossed.

 

 

 

 

The first time I read it was enough to persuade me I should get my own copy because I felt I would (eventually) want to re-read it at some point.Chess was written by Stefan Zwieg and published in 1943 under the title The Royal Game. We start off our story on a passenger liner going from New York to Buenos Aires. Our view of the story comes from an unnamed Austrian narrator. 

 

 

 

Article "The World of Flight" 1918 from Illustrated London Online

 

One of his fellow travelers brings his attention to another passenger. Czentovic, the reigning world chess champion. Czentovic comes from an undistinguished background. A seemingly uninspiring man plucked from obscurity, Czentovic only appears to have one skill, his mastery of the art of chess. He has limitations though. His inability to play blindfold (from memory) and his use of his reputation as a cash cow makes him somewhat of a pariah within the games community. Along with a few of his fellow chess enthusiast passengers they concoct a plan to lure the champ to the board for a game. Slowly they manage to reel him in until he agrees to play a group of the passengers singlehandedly. $250 dollars a game, with a ten minute time limit on moves. As you might expect from a bunch of amateurs facing the world champion it doesn't go particularly well.

 

 

 

 

However Czentovic's aloof, arrogant persona infuriates the assembled challengers into another game to avenge their honour. This also rather unsurprisingly nosedives until an anonymous observer with an Austrian accent saves them. Advising them of what to do to counter the champ, anticipating every one of Czentovic's moves with the perfect riposte.
Through the aid of their mysterious benefactor the assembled players gain a draw. Czentovic and they sense the saviours ability goes beyond mere amateur interest. This is clearly a master of the art. The mystery man makes an apology for his interference and disappears, but the challenger collectively bait Czentovic into a game against the unknowing man. Our narrator, due to his Austrian heritage, is dispatched to persuade the saviour to play against the champion.

 

Entry for The Twentieth Century from The Oxford Companion to Local and Family History in Oxford Reference Online

 

 

 

The saviour is revealed as Dr B. A former lawyer who handled the finances of the exiled Von Habsburg royal family. He tries to undersell his abilities, saying he hadn't touched a chess board since he was a school boy, and even then was an undistinguished player. Perplexed, the narrator asks Dr B how he managed to earn them a draw against Czentovic if the good doctors skills are so limited. Feeling a kinship with his fellow Austrian Dr B explains.We're transported to 1930's Austria, a hotbed of unease. The Nazis rule in Germany, and Hitler is dedicated to the unification of the Germanic people, there's a sense of inevitability hanging in the air as they start to take control achieve the Anschluss of Germany and Austria. To give you some historical context here (thank you history degree) anyone who wasn't with the Nazis was considered an enemy. Loyalty to the party was the rule, not an option. Those who like Dr B supported the exiled monarchy were no exception. Like many of Hitler's enemies they were treated cruelly, with no hint of mercy from the regime.Here our tale turns away from Chess to a story of betrayal and isolation. Turned in by their clerk Dr B and his father are taken to a hotel, left alone in separate rooms with no stimulation. Each day Dr B is taken to be questioned. Each day he tries to keep on top of the lies he tells the occupiers, careful not to slip up and betray anyone.

 

 

 

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Chess Story, Lewisham Libraries Copy

 

However the sight of the same four walls, the same window looking on to a wall, the same sink, the same chair day after day starts to break him. The isolation leaves him struggling to focus, to keep his stories straight. Close to breaking Dr B is taken to his interrogators, convinced he will be broken this time. In the waiting area he absorbs all the details of a new room, trying to gain the stimulation denied to him. Doing this he notices a small, rectangular bulge in a coat pocket hanging on the coat stand. In a fit of daring Dr B goes to the coat, discerning there is a book in there.
Boldly, steadily, stealthily he steals the book, not even looking to see what he has. Just the thought of the book, concealed upon his person, and what it may hold within preserves him during another round with the Nazis. It's only when he gets back to his room, and finally looks at the book that he realises what he has. Unlike the novel he had hoped for it is a collection of Chess World Championship Finals. Frustrated at his gain Dr B at first dispairs, confused by the references of movements and unable to visualise what is happening. The doctor is resourceful, making himself a chess board from his chequered bedsheets and pieces from bread crumbs left over from his meals. Slowly he grasps the game, before rapidly learning how to play blindfolded.
However, given these are set games, Dr B finds himself slipping back into his previous stimulation deprived malaise. With all the necessary skills now he decides to do the only thing left. Play against himself in his head, which starts a descent into madness....

 

 

 

 

I will leave Dr B's story of his incarceration there, but back in the present on the ship the narrator manages to persuade the reluctant doctor to play one game Czentovic. The question is how will the doctor cope? An awful lot of things pulled me into this book when I first read it, my love of chess, the fact that interwar Europe is my area of historical expertise having studied it solidly for four years, the writing style. It was only upon my second reading I appreciated Zwieg's genius. Here's the thing, on the surface it appears to be a book about chess. The game features so prominently that it's difficult to argue it isn't. Except it's not about chess. The games are described fairly vaguely, with the odd reference to moves and pieces, but really the title is a clever bit of misdirection from Zweig. He wants you to think this book is about one thing, putting in every effort early on to keep the hoodwinking going. It's only when Dr B and the narrator talk that it's clear how clever the author is, and how easily we the reader have been misled.

 

Entry for Francois-Andre Phildor, a chess player in The Oxford Dictionary of National Biography

 

 

 

Chess is merely the framing device for a story that's about isolation and the descent into insanity. When Dr B talks about his imprisonment you feel the loneliness, the feeling of being alone with you and your thoughts minute after minute, hour after hour, day after day until time itself is meaningless because all that matters is what is going on in your head. Zweig creates a claustrophobic atmosphere, an uncomfortable unease at watching what is playing out, and underlines the horror of it all. The desperation to combat that and the mania it leads to, that's what this story is about.
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