Books of the Month from Ben Graff
The best new writing and the greatest classics under one roof
Do you have strong opinions on our game? Howard Burton certainly does, and his book Chessays makes for thought-provoking reading. This is a work that is guaranteed to make you reflect, even if you find yourself (as I did) not necessarily agreeing with all of Burton’s perspectives.
For our classic, we go behind the scenes with Mikhail Tal through the eyes of his childhood friend and sometime coach Valentin Kirillov in Team Tal. I have long enjoyed this book, partly for the way in which it brings to life Tal as the mercurial champion, but more for the insights it sheds on Tal as a person.
These are two quite different offerings that are both very much worth a look.
Chessays by Howard Burton (Open Agenda Publishing)
‘From the sleep-deprived blitz addict to the online cheater, single-mindedly determined to boost his rating at all costs. Fun seems to be in shorter and shorter supply these days, with chess players of all stripes diligently focussed on their ever-narrowing goals with increasing levels of professionalism. To the naked eye, it all looks very much like work.’ - Howard Burton - Chessays
Howard Burton is a filmmaker who has produced a four-part documentary on our game in addition to Chessays, which he describes as ‘… an occasion for me to candidly express my personal views about a wide variety of chess-related issues, both past and present (but mostly present).’
In doing so, he casts an intriguing eye on a host of subjects, including the work of chess historians, the perennial debate as to whether chess is a game or a sport, and the value we should place on chess as a worthwhile activity. FIDE, the role of the world championship, women’s chess, and other applications, or ‘transfers’ as Burton badges them, concerning personal growth, chess in prisons and artificial intelligence are all discussed.
Well written and absorbing, the various essays provoked differing reactions in me. I did not agree with all his thoughts, which is in no way to denigrate them. Indeed, the fact that I felt compelled to challenge in some areas felt like a sign that Burton was in the right space in terms of encouraging chess players to think, and to form opinions of their own.
To start with some positives… While the debate as to whether chess is a game or a sport is not new ground, Burton does a terrific job of charting the different perceptions of Paul Morphy and Bobby Fischer and demonstrating that it is ‘Fischer rather than Morphy who best represents the modern archetype of the American chess player.’ Burton is also very strong on the power of chess as a resilience tool – ‘If you can handle chess failure, you can handle any failure.’
I particularly liked the chapter on whether chess is a waste of time. Burton does an excellent job of looking at the literature from George Bernard Shaw’s ‘Chess is a foolish expedient for making idle people believe they are doing something very clever when they are only wasting their time’, through to Goethe’s more cheering observation that ‘Chess is the touchstone of the intellect.’ In concluding that the answer to this question is ‘It depends…’ Burton gives a nice framework to help any of us evaluate any choice we might make and highlights that we are all empowered to determine the value we place on the things we do.
I found the chapter on chess historians a little weaker. Burton’s thesis is that there are a lot of dubious ‘historians’ out there, whose work cannot be compared to that of the legendary H.J.R. Murray. He rightly highlights ‘… But my problem with most chess historians is more a matter of definition; you really shouldn’t be allowed to call yourself a historian if the only claims about the past that you’re going to bother seriously investigating are those you don’t happen to agree with.’ It is hard to object to this premise, but I think Burton underestimates the number of high-quality historians at work today, and the vital (and objective) work many are doing to bring the past to life.
Burton’s ideas on FIDE and the world chess championship were the most problematic for me, even though I agreed with some of his points. He does a great job of highlighting examples of ineptitude (and worse) that have plagued FIDE over the years. His observation to the effect that ‘I’m beginning to suspect that chess players are somehow exceptionally disastrous to a statistically significant degree when it comes to appreciating matters of governance and social organization; and the better the chess player, on the whole, the more hopeless things are,’ made me laugh out loud. Yet I just didn’t agree with his idea that FIDE should not be involved in professional chess. In my view, if FIDE did not exist we would have to reinvent it in some form, and its past (and perhaps present) failings don’t mean that the idea of a governing body is itself flawed.
The suggestion in Chessays that the ‘…World chess championships are a ridiculous anachronism that has well and truly outlived any possible value it may have possessed,’ is one I would strongly argue against. Burton is quick to defend Carlsen’s decision not to defend his title – ‘In the latter part of 2021 he spent several months of his life rigorously preparing for an 18-day match with Ian Nepomniachtchi, which he ended up winning convincingly. And now you’re telling me that he’s got to do it all over again, some 16 months or so later somewhere? Why should he? I wouldn’t, if I were him.’
He goes on to suggest that a Grand Prix of chess events, akin to ‘Grand Slams’ might be a better way to go, but I profoundly feel that he is wrong. Ultimately chess as we know it has been shaped by the battles for the world championship. These are the contests and the rivalries that most live in the memory, the matches that best enable the rest of us to live vicariously through our heroes. Without such duals, the chess world would be a much poorer place – and most likely one in which claims to be the world champion continued to exist – just lacking the fair and essential framework to properly test them.
This is not to say that a well-defined Grand Prix might not be a worthy addition to the calendar. Equally, Burton is right to highlight that chess could be better at monetising the internet and has scope to further capitalise on the popularity of the game. It’s just that linking any of this to not having a world championship is for me 100% not the right answer.
Burton’s chapters on women’s chess and the scope for the game to add value for all of us beyond the sixty-four squares are all well done. He cites the wonderful example of Tani Adewumi who won ‘…the 2019 New York State chess championship… while living with his refugee family in a Manhattan homeless shelter.’ He presciently quotes Nicholas Kristoff who noted in the New York Times that ‘Tani is a reminder that refugees enrich this nation – and that talent is universal, even if opportunity is not.’
Burton is quick to note in relation to chess in prisons that it provides prisoners ‘…. with a compelling, competitive modern sporting outlet that simultaneously develops their independent learning skills, strategic awareness, and sense of self-reliance.’ While he is more cautious as to the benefits of chess in schools (for example seeing no direct correlation between playing and improving a child’s maths prowess) there is no doubt that he sees chess as a force for good.
I would certainly recommend this book. Burton is an engaging writer. As is clear from this review, I didn’t agree with all of it, but that’s not the point. Chessays has the capacity to help all of us think. That is a very useful thing indeed.
Team Tal – An Inside Story by Valentin Kirillov
(Elk and Ruby)
‘An unfinished cup of coffee, a pack of cigarettes, an overflowing ashtray, a record left on the turntable, books, newspapers, and magazines everywhere – on the table, chairs, windowsill. It’s immediately evident that the guy who lives here is an impulsive, creative person, who hardly spends any time at home.’ - Valentin Kirillov – Team Tal
Few chess players have captured the imagination quite like Mikhail Tal. His brilliant attacking play was in many ways a throw-back to a previous era. When he swept away the much more orthodox Botvinnik in 1960 to become the youngest ever (at that time) world champion, all things seemed possible. Yet a year later, Tal’s reign was over. At just twenty-four, much brilliant chess lay ahead, but never again would he claim the world title.
Team Tal shares Tal’s story from the perspective of his fellow Latvian, Valentin Kirillov. Kirillov knew Tal when both were youngsters and observed that it is ‘strange when one of your buddies becomes famous.’ Later he was Tal’s coach from 1968 through to 1976, at which point the Soviet authorities made Kirillov the scapegoat following Tal’s loss to Portisch in the Varese Interzonal play-off and fired him. A chess player through and through (‘I got married on the very first day of the tournament, at Luna, a hip café’) Kirillov proves to be the perfect guide. This isn’t intended to be a conventional biography or comprehensive history of Tal, but it does provide many valuable insights as to what he was like.
Spassky is quoted as noting ‘Misha was a delightful, good-natured guy off the board, who never showed any signs of jealousy, which is quite remarkable in the chess community.’ Perhaps Tal also shared with Spassky a slight lack of ruthlessness when it came to world championship match arrangements. Just as Spassky was perhaps too accommodating of Fischer’s demands, Kirillov reflects that ‘Misha was sick, inadequately prepared, and a bit too compliant during the pre-match negotiations’ with Botvinnik regarding their rematch. For me, this shows that, much like Spassky, Tal put his desire to play ahead of cold calculation as to whether the circumstances were such that they were likely to prove advantageous to him.
Botvinnik has been quoted elsewhere as noting that Tal was always ill, and Team Tal highlights that Tal’s battles throughout his life were as much with his own health as they were with his opponents. ‘Various ailments plagued him, clipping his wings and bringing him down to earth, but he’d take flight again and again and flutter from city to city, from country to country, and from tournament to tournament – his style always spectacular, clever, and mesmerizing.’
Tal’s lifestyle did not help. Kirillov observes that ‘Tal was forbidden to smoke, drink, and eat spicy foods after his kidney operation in 1969. Yeah, right!’ It is clear that Tal loved life and sought to make the most of it both at and away from the board, which endeared him to so many. Yet while we tend to reflect on Tal’s fragility and the impact his health had on his results, there is also an argument that, all things considered, Tal was actually very resilient. ‘Tigran Petrosian joked grimly that Tal was the healthiest grandmaster around; if I had his health problems, I’d be in my grave my now.’
Always willing to help others, Tal was a ‘true team player,’ and the story Kirillov tells in relation to the 1954 Soviet youth championships is hilarious. When playing Russia, the Latvian Andrey Martinson adjourned in a position with an obvious advantage, ‘but we were struggling to find a clear win.’ The team went to bed, but Kirillov continued to analyse until ‘suddenly a hand landed on my shoulder.’ It was Tal, and between them ‘We polished my idea and found an intricate winning manoeuvre.’ The pair showed Martinson the winning plan and ‘Still drowsy, he reproduced the winning moves on his second try.’ Yet when the game resumed ‘Andrey mixed the move order up on move four, got bogged down in the resulting variations, and reached a dead-end.’ Still, you can but try!
While there is a tendency to see Tal’s style as something that might have belonged in the earlier, romantic era, much as I have done at the start of this piece, Kirillov skilfully highlights that the reality is more complex. Tal believed that there was always more than one way to play a position, and far from there being a ‘correct’ approach ‘A player’s choice depended on his talent level, creative impulses, imagination, intuition and mood. He’d say “I just feel it and want to play that way.”’ Ultimately, as computers got stronger, ‘Tal couldn’t help but admit that the game of chess had changed.’ Yet computers have also shown that there are often many more resources available in a game than previously thought. It is very much the case that ‘Although chess engines have since refuted many of Tal’s most inventive moves, they have endorsed many more.’
Tal was a fierce competitor to the end. While in hospital in Moscow ‘His friends had managed to remove him from his bed and bring him to a blitz tournament, where he came in third, even winning a game off Garry Kasparov.’ Despite still being capable of playing at such a superlative level, he knew his time was close. On the way back to the hospital his friends told him he’d be out in no time, but he replied ‘No, I’m never getting out.’ So, it proved.
Tal died young, at 55. His reign as world champion, all those decades earlier, had been a mere year and five days, six days fewer than the next briefest world champion, Smyslov. While his time at the top had been brief, his legacy as a brilliant attacking player will always endure. Kirillov’s gift in Team Tal is to highlight that Tal the man is as worthy of celebration as Tal the chess player. There can be no higher accolade than this.