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The Chess Revolution – Peter Doggers (Little, Brown Book Group | Robinson)
Chess play entails narrative intrigue. Undertaking a chess game trips a sense of adventure, of venturing into surprises and unanticipated situations.
Robert Desjarlais – Counterplay: An Anthropologist at the Chessboard (quoted in The Chess Revolution)
I spotted a copy of The Chess Revolution at the book stall during the London Chess Classic. It’s a hefty tome, running to over 400 pages, elegantly bound in a black and white cover. The byline fairly represents the aim as ‘Understanding the Power of an Ancient Game in the Digital Age.’ From the history of chess, through to its representation in popular culture, and thoughts on the game’s stars, this is an extensive work. The narrative sweep also explores cheating, AI, and the online era we now live in.
As Doggers observes, ‘It seems that, like no other game, chess has always been an activity with a certain magic, something to enjoy, but also something that inspires esteem or awe, and should be treated with respect.’ The high quality of the writing, Doggers own strength as a player, and his obvious love of chess - all shine through.
Yet there is one challenge that we should note at the outset of this review, namely whom the book is for. Doggers has aimed to write something ‘… serving the contingent of new chess fans who’ve encountered the game as Netflix watchers or YouTube subscribers, and are in desperate need of a good introduction to this sport and the world beyond it.’ He notes that ‘Insiders of the chess world might recognise many of the stories and anecdotes, but there’s plenty for them to discover, too.’ It’s a fair observation. There are sections of this book where I felt that I already knew what was coming, but there is much that is fresh, and I wanted to focus on some of the ground that was newer to me in the rest of this column.
The sheer ubiquity of chess in popular culture, from Friends, through to Seinfeld, The Big Bang Theory, Frasier, The Simpsons, and elsewhere, is noted as something that we perhaps take for granted. Mike Klein is quoted as having attempted to document all the chess references he could find, a futile exercise which led him to conclude that ‘I gave up after about four weeks. Even when not seeking out the game, it found me far too often, and the many references inundated me.’
As to why it’s chess rather than some other game that has become such a cultural touchstone, Matthew James Seidel observes that ‘The most obvious explanation why fiction is so replete with chess players is that, at their core, chess and stories are about the same thing – conflict. And that is a particular kind of conflict that is utterly devoid of chance. Whether a king is playing against a beggar, or a nuclear physicist against a kindergartner, all that matters are the choices you make.’ It does seem that there is something about the game’s paradoxes, its simplicity and complexity, the hidden depths and easy to understand narratives, that no other game can match.
Scott Frank, the screenwriter for The Queen’s Gambit, is quoted as observing that the secret behind the success of the hit series was that in some ways that it is not about chess at all – which again goes to show how much imagining can be layered on top of the sixty four squares. In this context, ‘It’s about a child growing up, interrupted by this brilliant talent that she has. It’s very difficult to have a normal life if you have an extra-normal ability in almost any area, so this story is much more about her demons than it is about her obsession with chess. In fact, there’s nothing you need to know about chess.’ I could not help but think that there was a broader chess metaphor in here somewhere. We are clearly not all prodigies. Yet the drama that plays out in all our games is about us trying to make the most of ourselves, and battling our own limitations and inner struggles. What could be more compelling than that?
I found the section on Kasparov visiting Fischer’s grave perhaps the most moving chapter of the book. ‘Snow is falling, and the road is slippery. Garry Kasparov, however, is determined to continue the drive.’ After a respectful pause on arrival, Kasparov stands at the graveside. ‘It is a historic moment for chess. The two giants of the game had never met, yet never were they so close.’ It is hard not to rue the lost games the pair would have played, had Fischer’s mental health allowed - two champions whose eras should have overlapped, but did not.
Kasparov has written elsewhere that it fell to him to be the world chess champion during the decade when chess computers and the world’s best players were of roughly similar strength. In 1985 Kasparov had been able to win a simultaneous against computers by 32 – 0. Yet by 1997 the playing technology had changed out of all recognition, as IBM’s $20 million investment in Deep Blue saw their ‘market capitalisation increase by billions overnight’ when it edged Kasparov in controversial circumstances.
Perhaps there is not much in the retelling that readers will not already know, but Doggers does write it well, and draws out Kasparov’s most endearing quality – that he is all too human. How would you fancy telling the world champion that he had inadvertently resigned in a drawn position in the second game? One of his seconds had to break this to him, the following day. ‘Garry clutched his head and froze in the middle of Fifth Avenue. There were no expletives, no cursing, just stunned silence.’
It is equally difficult not to feel Garry’s pain at the press conference after his defeat in the final game. ‘He stared into the middle distance over everyone’s head, avoiding eye contact and scarcely blinking, looking like he might spontaneously combust.’ I tend to be in the camp that believes that Kasparov was technically a stronger player than Deep Blue, but it’s hard for any thinking or feeling entity to play against a device that has no fear. As Bill Letterman somewhat unfairly put it on his show, ‘Deep Blue defeated Garry Kasparov. In a related story earlier today the New York Mets were defeated by a microwave oven.’
The section on the rise of AI from the pioneering work of Charles Babbage in the 19th century, through to AlphaZero in the 21st, is well told. One new facet for me was the thoughts of the programmer Tord Romstad on the conventional wisdom that the programme had taught itself to play in a mere four hours. He observed that ‘This four-hour claim is kind of true, but at the same time also kind of ridiculous, because they were using an immense amount of hardware, like thousands of machines training in parallel. If you wanted to do this at home, it would take about 40 years.’
The sections on the rise of internet chess and chess streaming are fascinating. The story of how the ICC squandered its massive lead over chess.com is interesting, and serves as a warning to any organisation that thinks it has secured dominance in any particular field. As ICC’s Chief Operating Officer Ruy Mora put it, ‘We were a ship without a clear captain. It was like a soap opera, like Dallas or Dynasty. I think we had at least four or five people who were CEO for a year.’
The way in which sometime chess.com programmer Thibault Duplessis left the organisation to form Lichess is also highlighted. As Chess.Com co-founder Jay Severson put it, ‘I would say we are on non-speaking terms.’ Perhaps though Doggers’ relationship with Chess.com (where he is Director of News) means that he does not fully explore the relative merits of Chess.com and Lichess. I personally much prefer playing on Lichess, and it will be interesting to see what the future holds for both platforms.
Perhaps the best way to look at this book is as you would an old friend. Much of what they say does not come as a surprise after all this time, but they still make for congenial company. Moreover, when they do take the conversation in new directions, it’s highly engaging. All in all, The Chess Revolution is that companion. I have no doubt that most players would enjoy a few happy hours with this work.