Lately, I have found myself utterly fascinated with the period around the beginning of the 20th century. I have been feeding this fascination with meals of various form – from Mike Duncan’s podcast on the Russian Revolution over Rune Lykkkeberg’s well-written “Vesten mod Vesten” to Stefan Zweig’s classic memoir, “The World of Yesterday”, which is my current audiobook. I am drawn to this period because of the momentous societal change that took place then. I admit to a strong sense of naïve nostalgia for a time with coffeehouse discussions, physical and political newspapers, secret revolutionary societies and frowning reactionaries. It all stands in contrast to something seemingly more materialistic, prosaic and mundane that I currently experience in the supposed capital of Europe, Brussels with its social media and sound bites and 24 hour news cycles (as I’ve blogged about before). It often fills me with emptiness and a longing for something more.
- Title: Chess
- Author: Stefan Zweig
- Published in: 2017 
- Publisher: Penguin Classics
- Pages: 83
- Original language: German
- Reviewed language: English
- ISBN-13: 9780241305164
Luckily, we still have great writers, move makers and other artists to take us away from the concerns over tedious jobs and more or less concrete career paths and into the realm of something more. than rationality and goal-orientedness. The importance of culture and books seems much clearer to me than in my youth when I was more about good grace and fast progress. Those things seem somehow more hollow and unimportant without a greater and more visionary context.
“Chess” – a short story
And today I was happy to stumble upon a tiny novella from 1941 of mere 83 pages that thrilled, chilled and surprised me all while provoking my thoughts and connecting dots from other literary pieces and things I’ve recently learnt about the turn of the previous century.
That novella is Stefan Zweig’s short story “Chess” (or Schachnovelle) in its original German (Ted Mosby would recite it like that of course).
This is the best short story I have read in a long time. It’s absolutely thrilling and captivating in its eloquent – but disturbing – description of psychological torture, mental obsession and both the beauty and dangers of imagination. The notion of “the cost of obsession” made me think of one of my favourite movies, The Prestige (see the bottom of this post). Is it possible to be consumed by something so much, to get so good at it that it eats one up inside and makes one fail in the end?
And yes, the actual game of chess gets a beautiful treatment too – from the perspective of an admiring amateur, which is quite relatable for myself.
At its core, the short story takes place on a liner voyage from Europe to Argentina some (relatively short) time after Hitler’s annexation of Czechoslovakia. On board is none other than the reigning world chess champion, Mirko Czentovic. A groupd of passengers end up challenging him to a game of chess. After a sound beating the first time around, the rematch takes an unexpected twist when a pale man intervenes on behalf of the amateur passengers. The rest of the story flows from there.
It is an entertaining narrative in its own right. But it is so rich in thematic ideas that I will simply let loose my own associations as I read this really well-written and evocative piece.
The beginning of the 20th century and rationality versus meaning
I’m currently listening to Stefan Zweig’s The World of Yesterday (as an audio book) and it is impossible for me not to notice the sharp contrast of the single-minded, cold and rational effectiveness of the chess world champion, Czentovic, and the vivid, emotional and passionate approach of Dr. B. It’s quite a bit like the contrast between the iron rationality of Germany and the laid-back nature of the Viennese coffeehouse as described in the World of Yesterday. It’s the clash of ideas and movements that so shook the world at the turn of the century. Is it the transition of chess from art to science (that is very much ongoing) a clever image of the societal transformation Zweig witnessed in his life? The dual nature of chess as described by the author is really well phrased:
“[…] a unique link between pairs of opposites: ancient yet eternally new; mechanical in structure, yet made effective only by imagination; limited to a geometrically fixed space, yet with unlimited combinations; constantly developing, yet sterile; thought that leads nowhere; mathematics calculating nothing; art without works of art; architecture without substance – but nonetheless more durable in its entity and existence than all books and works of art; the only game that belongs to all nations and all eras […]”
I think that says a lot about the game of chess itself which is very true and very well put. But I sense also allusions to the forces that were shaping western civilization and ultimately threatened to tear it apart around the turn of the previous century. Forces that still remain at large. Science as curer of diseases and bringer of death. Communication technology as tools of empowerment and of oppression. Finding the balance between rational goal-orientedness and a philosophical justification or purpose that can replace the religions of old.
Nazism and psychological torture
Based on hearsay of the book, I had braced myself that the book’s true theme was Nazism. But that is an understatement since the short story contains so many themes in its short format. Yet the chilling treatment of Nazi torture still made a big impression of me exactly because it is portrayed in an unusual way. I won’t spoil. But psychological thrillers have always had more of an impact on me than more traditional horror movies. So imagining what Dr. B went through was actually quite powerful. It does not quite compare to the chills I got from visiting Dachau and Auschwitz but exactly because it is different, it managed to both surprise, shock and thrill me. The story of Dr. B underlines the subtlety of oppression and how it is not always dependent on physical violence. The reader is left wondering if they can stand having their mind tortured while the body is kept in relative comfort. Knowledge-seeking individuals possible shiver even more at the thought.
The fox and the hedgehog
Another random association that sprang to my mind was the idea of broad versus narrow interests and what really is best. The ultimate chess player? Or the renaissance man who is also a formidable (though perhaps not the absolute world champion) chess player? A fox that knows a little about everything or a hedgehog that knows everything about one thing? What is more admirable? Again, this is placed in the spotlight but in a less banal way than I thought at first. I often feel a bit like a fox – with many disparate interests but nothing I truly excel at. So I sometimes long for a more focused mind – a desire to excel at one thing and leave the rest be. But the character of Czentovic makes me wonder if I’d truly be happy with such a state. More to ponder.[hr]
I really can say no more without spoiling some of the twists but I was thrilled, chilled, surprised and had my thoughts provoked well and truly by the end of these 83 small pages. Stefan Zweig know his craft. The language is flowing and beautiful without being overloaded or unnecessarily descriptive. It all serves a purpose. And I will be thinking of this story for a bit more – probably also when I continue my game of chess with my dear colleague, Christopher, at work.[hr]
Speaking of Christopher, I would be remiss if I did not include one of my favourite movie dialogues of all time (from Christopher Nolan’s The Presitge; starts at 1:31 and ends at 2:20).
While the narrator of “Chess” is worried that Dr. B’s obsession gets the better of him, I still find myself wishing for an obsession beyond the daily routine. For something more. But as the old saying goes, perhaps I should be careful of what I wish for…