Chess Story

by Stefan Zweig, Peter Gay (Introduction), Joel Rotenberg (Translator)

Chess Story, also known as The Royal Game, is the Austrian master Stefan Zweig's final achievement, completed in Brazilian exile and sent off to his American publisher only days before his suicide in 1942. It is the only story in which Zweig looks at Nazism, and he does so with characteristic emphasis on the psychological.

Travelers by ship from New York to Buenos Aires find that on board with them is the world champion of chess, an arrogant and unfriendly man. They come together to try their skills against him and are soundly defeated. Then a mysterious passenger steps forward to advise them and their fortunes change. How he came to possess his extraordinary grasp of the game of chess and at what cost lie at the heart of Zweig's story.

This new translation of Chess Story brings out the work's unusual mixture of high suspense and poignant reflection.

Genres: Classics, Fiction, Short Stories, German Literature, Literature, Novella, Novels

104 pages, Paperback

First published September 1, 1942

About the author

Stefan Zweig was one of the world's most famous writers during the 1920s and 1930s, especially in the U.S., South America, and Europe. He produced novels, plays, biographies, and journalist pieces. Among his most famous works are Beware of Pity, Letter from an Unknown Woman, and Mary, Queen of Scotland and the Isles. He and his second wife committed suicide in 1942.
Zweig studied in Austria, France, and Germany before settling in Salzburg in 1913. In 1934, driven into exile by the Nazis, he emigrated to England and then, in 1940, to Brazil by way of New York. Finding only growing loneliness and disillusionment in their new surroundings, he and his second wife committed suicide.
Zweig's interest in psychology and the teachings of Sigmund Freud led to his most characteristic work, the subtle portrayal of character. Zweig's essays include studies of Honoré de Balzac, Charles Dickens, and Fyodor Dostoevsky (Drei Meister, 1920; Three Masters) and of Friedrich Hölderlin, Heinrich von Kleist, and Friedrich Nietzsche (Der Kampf mit dem Dämon, 1925; Master Builders). He achieved popularity with Sternstunden der Menschheit (1928; The Tide of Fortune), five historical portraits in miniature. He wrote full-scale, intuitive rather than objective, biographies of the French statesman Joseph Fouché (1929), Mary Stuart (1935), and others. His stories include those in Verwirrung der Gefühle (1925; Conflicts). He also wrote a psychological novel, Ungeduld des Herzens (1938; Beware of Pity), and translated works of Charles Baudelaire, Paul Verlaine, and Emile Verhaeren.
Most recently, his works provided the inspiration for 2014 film The Grand Budapest Hotel.

Reviews

[Glenn Russell · Rating 5 out of 5]

I detect strong parallels between reading a novel and the game of chess: there is the author sitting on one side, playing white, the reader on the other side, playing black; instead of the chess board and chess pieces there is the novel; the author’s opening chapter is the chess player’s opening, the middle of the novel is, of course, the middle game, and the closing chapter is the end game. If both author and reader expand their literary horizons and deepen their appreciation of life’s mysteries, then both can declare ‘checkmate’.

Stefan Zweig’s Chess Story published by New York Review Books (NYRB) is 84 pages of literary counterpart to a master chess game of Capablanca or Kasparov, a novel where the first-person narrator, an Austrian, just so happens to be on board a passenger steamer with a world chess champion by the name of Czentovic and also, as it turns out, a fellow Austrian referred to as Dr. B, a man who tells the tale of how he came to play chess whilst a prisoner of the Gestapo.

If you tend to find novels by such giants as Proust, Joyce or Mann a bit intimidating but still would like to do a careful cover-to-cover read of a masterpiece, this is your book. A special thanks to Joel Rotenberg for translating from the German to a most accessible and clear English. And keeping in the spirit of a game of chess, below are several quotes from the novel (SZ’s moves as white) paired with my comments (countermoves as black):

Ruminating on what it takes to be a chess master, the narrator notes: “All my life I have been passionately interested in monomaniacs of any kind, people carried away by a single idea. The more one limits oneself, the closer one is to the infinite; these people, as unworldly as they seem, burrow like termites into their own particular material to construct, in miniature, a strange and utterly individual image of the world.”

Zweig’s novel takes place during the time of Nazi Germany and, of course, Hitler is considered one of the modern world’s most notorious monomaniacs, combining gobbledygook notions of biology, race, history and national identity into his version of an unyielding jackboot philosophy of culture, a philosophy carried out in deadly practice by thousands of loyal Nazis, monomania crushing the lives of millions under its ideological hammer. Parallels between Czentovic and the Führer abound.

“They did nothing – other than subjecting us to complete nothingness. For, as is well known, nothing on earth puts more pressure on the human mind than nothing. . . . you were hopelessly alone with yourself, with your body, and with these four or five mute objects, table, bed, window, washbasin; you lived like a diver in a diving bell in the black sea of silence."

Confined to a hotel room by the Gestapo, cut off from the outside world, Dr. B begins to go stir-crazy in a world of silence and solitude, a conundrum touching on a major dilemma in the modern West – the loss of the contemplative/meditative dimension in life. Silence and solitude could provide fertile ground for personal spiritual growth if one has the proper training; but, alas, for most people, similar to Dr.B, silence and solitude is equated with a blank, a total nothingness.

“I had not held a book in my hands, and there was something intoxicating and at the same time stupefying in the mere thought of a book, in which you could see words one after another, lines, paragraphs, pages, a book in which you could read, follow, take into your mind the new, different, diverting thoughts of another person.”

Ah, isolation in silence and solitude heightens Dr. B’s appreciation for what many of us might take for granted – the wonder of all the various levels of splendor in the simple pleasure of reading a book. When we look closely, such simple pleasure contains infinite richness.

“At first I played the games through quite mechanically; yet gradually a pleasurable, aesthetic understanding awoke within me. I grasped the fine points, the perils and rigors of attack and defense, the technique of thinking ahead, planning moves and countermoves, and soon I was able to recognize the personality and style of each of the chess masters as unmistakably as one knows a poet from only a few of his lines."

How about that! Beyond the bare mechanical lies the juice of the aesthetic dimension, that is, an experience of beauty, in this case, the beauty of chess’s underlying structure on multiple levels: each move, creative tactics and overarching strategy, especially the beauty of signature moves, tactics and strategies of individual chess masters.

“My white self had no sooner made a move than my black self feverishly pushed forward."

On the level of chess, the white pieces vs. the black pieces; on the level of psychotherapy, we could consider two different aspects of the subconscious: White Self vs. Black Self. Sidebar: Too bad Dr. B’s chess book didn’t contain chess problems constructed for one player!

“When I was taken to be examined by a physician, in my derangement I had suddenly broken free, thrown myself at the window in the corridor and shattered the glass, cutting my hand – you can still see the deep scar here.”

At one point, Dr. B notes how chess is a game of pure mental calculation, “a game of pure reasoning with no element of chance.” Ironically, through pure chance, Dr. B survives throwing himself at a window, since, in his derangement, he could easily have lost his life when the glass shattered. So, in this sense, life is not a game of chess – chance plays such a major part in everybody’s life.

During the chess game of Czentovic vs. Dr.B, the narrator observes: “Suddenly there was something new between the two of them: a dangerous tension, a passionate hatred. They were no longer opponents testing their ability in a spirit of play, but enemies resolved to annihilate each other. Czentovic delayed for a long time before making the first move. It was clear to me that this was intentional.”

Oh, how a game can so easily and quickly degenerate into a power play of egos bent on complete obliteration of the other; how easily life can be brought down to the mindset of the Nazis.

The narrator continues to watch; he detects a profound change come over the ordinarily serene Dr. B: “All the symptoms of abnormal excitation were clearly apparent; I saw the perspiration appear on his brow while the scar on his hand became redder and stood out more sharply than before.”

Perhaps the author is reminding us that in our countering Nazi mentality we are continually prone to become no less brutal and single-minded then a Nazi.

[Mohammed Ali · Rating 5 out of 5]

كيف تعرف أنّك بصدد قراءة عمل عبقري ؟

بالنسبة لي صراحة هو تلك النوعية من الأعمال التّي تفاجئك، التّي تخبطك، التّي تلطمك، تصفعك، تضربك .. لا أدري كيف أصف حقيقة أو ماهية هذا الشعور، و لكن أظن أنّ أغلبكم قد جرّبه.
تختار قصّة ما أو رواية أو حتّى كتاب وتبدأ في القراءة وكحال البدايات دائما ما يكون هناك نوع طفيف من الملل .. وأحيانا يصاحب هذا الملل نوع من النّدم على هذا الاختيار، وهنا أنا أتحدث عن شعور ضئيل جدا ولكنّه موجود، ثمّ فجأة ومن دون سابق إنذار تجد نفسك تجري بين السّطور متعلّقا ومنغمسا بمعاني الكلمات، متأمّلا في سيرورة الأحداث، تجد نفسك وقد قرأت عدّة صفحات دون شعور .. لأنك تلاحمت وانغمست، بل وسافرت داخل هذه التركيبة من الكلمات .. وهذا هو العمل العبقري الذّي لم و لن يرتبط بعدد الصفحات أبدا . وقصّتنا هذه تنتمي إلى هذا النوع من الإبداع .


سأكتفي بهذا القدر .. و لن أذكر شيئا بخصوص هذه القصّة، و سأكتفي أيضا بترشيحها لعشاق الأعمال العميقة الغريبة والجذابة .

[Federico DN · Rating 4 out of 5]

Check Mate!

Mirko Czentovic is the uncontested worldwide champion of Chess. His story fantastic, as a near brainless savant who stormed the game by surprise, beating every chess grand-master out there, and rising to glory from nowhere. Traveling on a boat to Buenos Aires for his next challenge, he engages in a friendly casual match with Dr. B, a mysterious unranked player from distant lands that hasn't played in decades. In the middle of the seas, just by mere chance, he may have finally met his greatest match.

This was great! Very good, actually makes me want to play chess again. Fabulous concept; a highly engaging plot, two very compelling characters and an almost flawless delivery. By far the best chess story I've ever read hands down, no contest. Then again the only one I've ever read as of today, so comparatively speaking I guess it was an easy win.

As a fairly good casual player of the game back in the day, I think I could enjoy this story at a different level. Yet I don't think you necessarily need to know Chess or even how to play it in order to enjoy it, but I do believe it can be better and more deeply appreciated by those who do. Still, solidly Recommendable, for any audience, player or not.



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PERSONAL NOTE :
[1942] [104p] [Fiction] [Recommendable]
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★★★★★ Letter from an Unknown Woman.
★★★★☆ Chess Story.

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Jaque Mate!

Mirko Czentovic es el indiscutible campeón mundial de ajedrez. Su historia fantástica, como un sabio sin cerebro que tomó el juego por sorpresa, venciendo a todos los grandes maestros de ajedrez, y ascendiendo a la gloria desde la nada. Viajando en un barco hacia Buenos Aires para su próximo desafío, se entabla en un amistoso partido casual con Dr. B, un misterioso jugador sin clasificación de tierras lejanas que no ha jugado en décadas. En medio de los mares, por mera casualidad, puede que finalmente haya encontrado a su mayor rival.

Esto estuvo genial! Muy bueno, de hecho me hace querer jugar ajedrez de nuevo. Fantástico concepto; una trama altamente atrapante, dos personajes muy cautivantes y una entrega casi perfecta. Por lejos la mejor historia de ajedrez que he leído jamás, sin lugar dudas. Aunque bueno, la única que he leído hasta el momento, así que comparativamente hablando supongo que fue una victoria fácil.

Como un decente jugador casual del juego allá en su día, creo que pude disfrutar esta historia en otro nivel. Sin embargo, no creo que sea estrictamente necesario saber ajedrez o incluso cómo jugarlo para poder disfrutarlo, pero sí creo que aquellos que lo conocen podrían llegar a apreciarlo mejor y más profundamente. Aún así, sólidamente recomendable, para cualquier auciencia, jugador o no.



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NOTA PERSONAL :
[1942] [104p] [Ficción] [Recomendable]
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[Adina ( not enough time ) · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is how you write a novella. Well written, gripping, intense, insightful, educational and emotional. All of that in 60 pages, what an achievement.

The novel is set on a vessel travelling from New York to Buenos Aires. One of the ship's guests is the world chess champion of the time. He was an unfriendly individual, lacking any social skills or intelligence besides chess. The narrator never met a chess player before and together with another man they convince the champion to play with them for a fee. At the game, a few interested spectators gather around the chess table and one of them intervenes at a crucial moment and proves to be a match for the champion. The mysterious stranger later confesses to the narrator that he hasn't played chess at a table since childhood. He then proceeds to tell the narrator his life story and how he came about to know chess so well. It is a grueling story about madness, Nazism and survival mechanisms. I do not want to discuss more about the plot because it should be discovered by the reader.

Stefan Zweig was an Austrian writer whose work consisted mostly of novellas and short stories. He went in exile to Brazil where he committed suicide together with his wife in 1942. This novella is the last of his work and it was submitted a few days before his death.

[s.penkevich [hiatus-will return-miss you all] · Rating 4 out of 5]

‘The more one limits oneself, the closer one is to the infinite; these people, as unworldly as they seem, burrow like termites into their own particular material to construct, in miniature, a strange and utterly individual image of the world.’
*EDIT 12/20/21*
Chess, the ‘Royal Game’, ‘regally eschews the tyranny of chance and awards its palms of victory only to the intellect, or rather to a certain type of intellectual gift.’ Stefan Zweig plunges the reader into this cold, calculating world through a simple premise of a chess match between the reigning world champion and a mysterious doctor who reveals an incredible knowledge of the game’s strategy despite his claims that he hasn’t touched a chessboard for over twenty years. In a mere 80 pages, Zweig’s Chess Story, reaches an emotional and psychological depth that leaves the reader shivering with horror through a haunting allegory of Nazi Germany where human lives are mere wooden pieces to be strategically moved and sacrificed by an indifferent hand.

Zweig’s grasp on human nature is chillingly accurate, and the few characters presented come alive through such simple descriptions of their psychology, made easily accessible through having a psychologist serve as the narrator. Czentovic, the reigning world chess champion, quickly develops into a lifelike monomaniac through the brief summary of his life. This apathetic, uneducated youth miraculously develops a keen intellect for chess, being described as ‘Balaam’s ass’ when his talents are revealed, and quickly defeats chess masters across the world which ‘transformed his original lack of self-confidence into a cold pride that for the most part he did not trouble to hide.’ Zweig presents us with a highly unlikeable adversary, a wealthy, self-important man who looks upon all those around him as if they ‘were lifeless wooden pieces’ despite his vulgar manners and ‘boundless ignorance’ towards anything intellectual aside from chess (there is a wonderful aside where the narrators fried remarks ‘isn’t it damn easy to think you’re a great man if you aren’t troubled by the slightest notion that Rembrandt, Beethoven, Dante, or Napoleon even existed?’). We can all put a face to this character, we’ve all encountered someone vain and offensive who, despite our disdain, will always be able to sneer down upon us because we are no match to the one talent they hold most dear. While aboard a steamship, the passengers arrange a chess match with the great Czentovic, him versus all others, in which he crushed them in the first game without hiding his arrogance of being the superior.

Enter our hero, Dr. B, an immediately likeable, shy and nervous man with an immense intellect that bestows a method for forcing a draw with the great chess master. For the majority of the novella, the reader must face the horrors of Dr. B’s pas to understand where his talents grew, somehow blossoming in the cracks of soul-crushing interment in the Gestapo headquarters. Often relaying the story in the second-person, the use of ‘you’ brings the reader into maddening solitude of Dr. B, enduring his pain along with him, and even the most calloused of readers must come away with a residue of unbearable horrors and madness forever coating their consciousness. Zweig, having fled his home in Austria in fear of the Nazis, forces the reader to witness and endure a fate worse than the sickening dehumanization and deathly labor of a concentration camp, but to share in his solitude, emphasized in frightening proportions by Dr. B’s torment that is ‘a force more sophisticated than crude beating of physical torture: the most exquisite isolation imaginable’.

The allegory presented in the novella is sickening enough to rot any heart. We have Germany ruled by an inhumane, obdurate hand, cold and calculating in each move it makes, and we have the artistic mind going mad in solitude. Creativity and art is trampled by the sinister, calculating powers that march forward seeking victory, unshaken by the countless lives that must be sacrificed to achieve it. Chess, however, is a game of two sides, black and white, and Zweig pushes his allegory even further to represent this duality. As in the ‘blind’ games played in Dr. B’s head, Germany undergoes schizophrenia of sorts, declaring war on itself by seeking to exterminate those within, be it for their religious or political views. While chess becomes a solace to Dr. B, it can also be observed as a metaphor of National Socialism – what had roots as something empowering, something to cling to in order to rise up from the depth of depression (ie. his solitude or the state of Germany post-WWI), can become something fierce, violent and destructive as history has revealed and as is seen in the mania that grips our hero in this tale.

Zweig displays a mastery over his writing much as his characters do over chess. While the subject matter is sure to weigh heavy on the mind¹, the writing comes across effortlessly and pleasingly, almost as if it were intended to purvey an uplifting, humorous tale. I had a laugh as Zweig probed my own literary pretentions, casting Czentovic’s vain disinterest and quick removal from the vicinity of a chess match between two ‘third-rate’ players as being ‘as naturally as any of us might toss aside a bad detective novel in a bookstore without even opening it, he walked away from our table and out of the smoking room.’ The language flows and manages to embrace the reader through its simplicity, although it drags along a heavy burden with it. There was one aspect of the narrative that specifically caught my attention, and as I am still just a blind child testing the waters of literature, I would like to present to those of you whom I look up to this query of mine. Zweig often has his narrator connect the dots for the reader, such as when Czentovic states that he allowed the draw to happen, saying ‘I deliberately gave him a chance’, a few lines later the narrator asserts that ‘as we all knew, Czentovic had certainly not magnanimously given our unknown benefactor a chance, and this remark was nothing more than a simple-minded excuse for his own failure.’

In my initial read of the book I had written that I found some elements to seem overly explanatory, though as Traveller so eloquently pointed out (see comments below), Zweig uses a nested-narrative style and the author and characters point of views are separate, with many of the dot-connecting moments being rational details the narrator would add. Something I enjoy about this website is the ability to connect and discuss books with people and gain a new perspective. Another thing I enjoy is being able to revisit my own thoughts and see how they have changed/developed/etc over the years. Thanks to everyone who has ever engaged on book chat here, it makes for a really fulfilling experience.

Chess Story is a tiny powerhouse of depth. The conclusion had me pacing back and forth in the snow smoking a cigarette to calm the ever-increasing beating of my heart. It is horrific, it is harrowing, it is pure brilliance floating from the page. Despite it’s small size, this is not a novella to be taken lightly, as it will leave a dark cloud over your thoughts once the final page has found its way into your heart. Zweig is a master of the human psychology, and a master and condensing such potent messages into a tiny novella. The clash between an uncaring, calculating intellect and the manic but human mind of a hero will grip you until the end, which comes both mercifully soon (this book is easily read in an hour), yet far too soon. The allegory is ripe and shakes you to the core.
4.5/5

¹ The fact that Zweig eliminated his own map shortly after completion of Chess Story will come as no surprise, for the darkness this story wallows in is something that an optimistic mind wouldn’t dare approach. As Nietzsche said: ‘ if you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you’. When I was at the edge of my teenage years, a former English teacher and close friend of mine warned me of wallowing in the darkness of literature and philosophy, telling me ‘the longer you flirt with darkness, the more it seeps into your soul’, which, while being a spin on the Nietzsche quote, has never left the back of my mind. From that I learned to climb out from the depths and appreciate things that satisfy a lighter side of myself, the white side of the chessboard, without spending all my time feeding the darker side. Without such guidance I wouldn't be here to write this today.

‘But is it not already an insult to call chess anything so narrow as a game? Is it not also a science, an art, a unique yoking of opposites, ancient and yet eternally new, mechanically constituted and yet an activity of the imagination alone, limited to a fixed geometric area but unlimited in its permutations, constantly evolving and yet sterile, a cogitation producing nothing, a mathematics calculating nothing, an art without an artwork, an architecture without substance, the only game that belongs to all peoples and all eras, while no one knows what god put it on earth to deaden boredom, sharpen the mind, and fortify the spirit? Where does it begin, where does it end?’

[emma · Rating 4 out of 5]

shameful confession time:

i don't know how to play chess.

but i do know how to read. and that, in this case, has to count for something.

this is incisive and effective in both of its purposes: as a book, and as a goodbye. stefan zweig's finale is a searing condemnation of fascism that uses its few pages so subtly and well it carries the power of a far longer volume.

in these times, it's a useful reminder of why we say never again, and why we mean it for anyone.

bottom line: slim and unforgettable.

[فايز غازي Fayez Ghazi · Rating 4 out of 5]

- هل هي رواية ام تلخيص للحياة؟

- لنبدا من سطح النهر، قصة عن ثلاثة اشخاص، اولهم بطل شطرنج، ثانيهم محب للأشياء الغريبة المثيرة وثالثهم "إله شطرنج" ولكن بالصدفة!!.. يجتمع الثلاثة على متن سفينة تحتاج 12 يوماً لتصل الى وجهتها وتجري القصة واللعبة بينهم مع سرد لطيف لخلفياتهم وكيفية اتقانهم للعبة...

- هيا لنغص قليلاً اكثر، الأبيض والأسود، الشر والخير، التناقضات الماركسية او الديالكتيك، كلها في هذه الرواية..

- لنغص اكثر قليلاً، العقل البشري وقدرته على خلق العوالم، و"الجنون" الذي يصيبه حينما يشغل منطقة جديدة فيه ليصل الى قدرات ما فوق بشرية!!

- لنغص قليلاً بعد، ونسأل عن السفينة؟ اهي الحياة؟ اهي الخلاص؟ ام بالصدفة جرت الرواية على سطحها..
----

- الترجمة جيدة، بعض الأخطاء المطبعية هنا وهناك لكنها لم تؤثر على المعنى

- الخاتمة، لحظة الخلاص من كارثة تراها بعينيك قادمة، ويوقفها القدر وتنجو... لكن ما تاليها؟ هذا ما تركه ستيفان لنا لنتخيله..

[BlackOxford · Rating 5 out of 5]

We Are Never Alone

With astounding concision in a short story about chess, Zweig outlines a profound psychological theory: that a human being’s greatest resource - the ability to reflect upon himself and his actions - is also his greatest vulnerability.

Experience alone, without the capacity to reflect upon it, provides rigid rules for responding to situations which never quite repeat themselves. Reflective ability creates the ability to cope with entirely novel conditions through the power to re-shape the rules, to imagine alternative experiences. By standing, as it were, outside ourselves, we are able to create a context for ourselves, and consequently meaning.

On the other hand this reflective ability implies a “self fragmentation into the white ego and the black ego” and the potential for an “induced schizophrenia” or, more generally, for debilitating mental illness. Pushed to an extreme of sensual deprivation, Zweig suggests, we may be able to save ourselves from insanity through imagination. But this route to salvation is dangerously close to a different kind of insanity. We are tempted to move from an absence of meaning to an obsessive singular meaning which dominates the self that creates it.

The implication of course is that neuroses are purposeful, even heroic responses to difficult circumstances. Having used these neuroses successfully, they threaten to become habitual. And it is at that point we need some sort of friendly helping hand to avoid disaster. Not quite Freudian therefore, but very Viennese.

Postscript: An interesting recent philosophical piece on the same general idea may be found in Sloman and Fernbach’s The Knowledge Illusion: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...

[Emma · Rating 4 out of 5]

4.5

[Vit Babenco · Rating 5 out of 5]

Human mind… Its full abilities still remain unknown…
In his profoundly psychological Chess Story Stefan Zweig explores some capabilities of human mind…

All my life I have been passionately interested in monomaniacs of any kind, people carried away by a single idea. The more one limits oneself, the closer one is to the infinite; these people, as unworldly as they seem, burrow like termites into their own particular material to construct, in miniature, a strange and utterly individual image of the world.

Human mind is capable to solve impossible problems… And human mind may simply go astray.

[Jeffrey Keeten · Rating 5 out of 5]

”My pleasure in playing became a desire to play, a mania, a frenzy, which permeated not only my waking hours but gradually my sleep too. Chess was all I could think about, chess moves, chess problems were the only form my thoughts could take; sometimes I awoke with a sweaty brow and understood that I must have unconsciously gone on playing even while I slept, and if I dreamt of people, all they did was move like the bishop or the rook, or hopscotch like the knight.”



We never are formally introduced to Dr. B. We meet him during a chess match aboard a ship bound for South America when our narrator and some acquaintances of his are taking on a grand champion, Mirko Czentovic. They are being beaten handily until Dr. B. steps forward out of pity or probably more likely being pushed by his own mania for the game.

I’m not a fan of chess or any game for that matter. I’ve played some hands of poker without becoming too jittery, but for the most part, participating in games (I’m told it is an essential part of being social) is not my cup of tea. I will be sitting there, moving domino tiles about, or fiddling with scrabble squares, or waiting to move the Scottie dog (I won’t play at all unless it is understood I’m always the Scottie) to Park Place or Ventnor Avenue, and be wistfully moping for some intersection to come along so I can return to reading my books. Which is a nice segway into what really began this obsession for Dr. B. It was a book.

Incarcerated by the Nazis, battered mentally and physically, with no relief from the boredom and anxiety between bouts of interrogation, he gets an opportunity to steal a book. He takes the book.

”My knees began to shake: a BOOK! For four months I had not held a book in my hands, and there was something intoxicating and at the same time stupefying in the mere thought of a book, in which you could see words one after another, lines, paragraphs, pages, a book in which you could read, follow, take into your mind the new, different, diverting thoughts of another person.”

Of course, he is disappointed it is a chess book. He would give an appendage for a novel by one of the great ones. A book he can escape into and take a mental vacation somewhere far, far away from his present circumstances. Needless to say, chess proves to be equally, if not more, diverting for his feverish brain.

I do understand the concept of playing chess in your sleep. I often catch myself reading in my sleep. I wake up the next morning and realize I’m as mentally fatigued as when I went to bed because I am reading page after page all night long. As far as I know, I don’t retain anything from these hours of reading, but maybe it is locked away in my brain somewhere waiting for a good thump on the head to spill it out into useful memory.


Stefan Zweig and his wife Lotte.

Stefan Zweig was one of the most widely, internationally read authors at his death in 1942. He wrote these long, complex sentences and paragraphs, but with puffs of air beneath them. I just read and kept reading. It was impossible to stop. It was as if I had a stiff headwind behind me that pushed me along. I didn’t intend to read this book in one sitting, but his writing certainly compelled me to continue reading. After all, one can’t stop in the middle of a waxed slippery slide. Zweig was understandably soul sad at what was happening in Germany and across Europe. It was simply too much for him to live with. He and his wife had a suicide pact and died together. He was a monumental loss to literature.

Take it from me, I’m the last person to want to read a book about chess, but the compelling elements of understanding the mind of Dr. B. make the chess merely a backdrop for the real game being played for the sanctity of his sanity.

Simply Brilliant!

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[Guille · Rating 4 out of 5]

“Saludo a todos mis amigos. Que se les permita ver la aurora de esta larga noche. Yo, demasiado impaciente, me voy antes.” (Frase final de la nota de suicidio de Stefan Zweig, un año después de escribir esta novela)

La novela es, entre otras cosas, la historia de una partida de ajedrez, y, como en el juego, Zweig estructura su relato colocando las piezas en el tablero con parsimonia, moviéndolas con rapidez en la apertura y con más detenimiento en el juego medio hasta llegar al vértigo de las jugadas finales, en este caso, de la partida final. Una partida que se hace difícil no identificar con el conflicto bélico de la segunda guerra mundial. Una máquina de mente fría y calculadora, despiadada, asentada en una seguridad inquebrantable, lenta y devastadora, contra la pasión, la libertad, la creatividad, la duda. Y quizás no sea otra cosa esta nueva delicia que nos regaló el autor austriaco en sus postreros años, si además tenemos en cuenta su profundo pesimismo que le llevó a quitarse la vida. Pero, como toda gran novela, no es lo único que atesora.

“…limitado a un espacio rígidamente geométrico y a un tiempo ilimitado en sus combinaciones; en perpetuo desarrollo y sin embargo estéril: un pensamiento que no lleva a nada, una matemática que nada calcula, un arte sin obras, una arquitectura sin sustancia, y aun así más manifiestamente perenne en su esencia y existencia que todos los libros y obras de arte…”

En ese juego medio al que antes aludía salen a relucir otras cosas, además de la intrigante especialización cerebral del zafio e inculto genio del ajedrez, falto de otra habilidad más allá del tablero de 64 escaques, o esa, para mí siempre un poco irritante, posibilidad de los niños prodigios, de esos seres nacidos con predisposiciones desconcertantes, son más que interesante todos los demás aspectos que la novela sugiere acerca de nuestra actividad mental: las obsesiones, como esta del juego del ajedrez, capaz de estrechar toda la potencialidad de una mente brillante al movimiento de 32 figuritas de madera sobre un pequeño tablero, no siendo, efectivamente, más que un juego carente de una utilidad práctica que no sea el de engrandecer el ego de la mente capaz de someter a su contrincante que, dado que el azar no interviene en ninguna de sus formas, ve como todo su ser, implicado absolutamente en el envite, cae derrotado.

Este poder obsesivo proporcionó a un preso del nazismo, uno de los dos contrincantes de la partida final, una especie de escapismo al horror al que fue sometido diariamente por los torturadores nazis gracias a su capacidad de desdoblar su cerebro en dos y enfrentarlos en una partida sin fin, lo que, de paso, le abrió las puertas a una cárcel no menos oscura: la locura.

[Alejandro · Rating 4 out of 5]

e4 e5 2. Nf3 d6

An interesting short story that it's one of the most famous works by the writer Stefan Zweig that even sadly was published after his suicide.

d4 Bg4

When a story is presented in another language, some elements are lost in the translation, and I think that while Chess Story is a pretty good title, its original title was "The Royal Game" that I think it gives to the story an air of refinement, class and elegance.

dxe5 Bxf3

Besides my interest to try this author, I was intrigued about this short story that evidently was about the game of kings, chess. I am not a good player of chess and I remember how an uncle of mine that he was the one who taught me, he always beat me, every single game, and only once I was able to beat him, I was still a little kid but I clearly remember still how I ran around the house celebrating my victory over my "teacher".

Qxf3 dxe5 6. Bc4 Nf6

And interesting enough, I remember (this time not so many long ago) when I was on vacations in a jungle lodge along with my then girlfriend and meanwhile we were waiting for a lodge's boat for a river tour, quite early in the morning, we were on the lodge's game room and there was a chessboard. She asked me if I was interested to play meanwhile the boat would be ready. We play, she lost, and we never play chess anymore in the trip.

Qb3 Qe7

There is an odd effect when we lose on a chess game. I think that anybody thinks that the victor is smarter than the loser. Even, there is the odd custom to think that any chessplayer, and even more a grandmaster must be a really intelligent person. If someone is really good at poker, people can consider him/her like a "wiseguy" and/or a "street smart", but in chess? Oh, they must be intelligent!

Nc3

I remember a trivia about the movies of "X-Men" that the production team had to look for a chess teacher for Sir Patrick Stewart and Sir Ian McKellen, since they needed to do some scenes playing chess,... adn they didn't know how to play chess!!! I couldn't believe it! Two old BRITISH actors whom seemed so wise that didn't know how to play chess. Again, the common preconception of society that intelligent people should know how to play chess. Curiously enough, they didn't need to do any complicated moves and nevertheless they looked for a Chess Grandmaster to teach them!

c6

It was amusing how this short story reminded me about three TV episodes from the Star Trek franchise: "Let that be your Last Battlefield" (The Original Series, 1969), where you have the last two surviving aliens after a terrible war between two races of a planet where ones had "black" on the left side of the body and "white" on the right side, and the others just the opposite positions of the same colors. "Peak Performance" (The Next Generation, 1989), where a Federation strategist master, who is quite arrogant, sure of himself on his tactics' knowledge, puts on test in war games to the Enterprise-D's crew. And finally "Chain of Command" Parts 1 & 2 (The Next Generation, 1992), where Captain Picard is captured and submitted to a cruel interrogation.

Since Chess Story was originally published on 1942, I wouldn't be surprised that the writers of those episodes took inspiration from several elements of this short story to develop their own scripts.

Bg5 b5

It's quite interesting that the narrator of this story, while he is present and even he interacts with the main characters, one doesn't know what is his name and even he is not really pivotal on the evolution of the events.

Nxb5

And commenting about that, it's quite odd to pick "protagonist" and "antagonist" in this story. Sure, you can hasten on calling Czentovic as the "antagonist" and Dr. B as the "protagonist". However, is that simple? Both has complicated issues, both has conflictive personalities depending the situation. Surely, you can sympathize easier with Dr. B's past but... is Czentovic really guilty of how he is now? Or his own past is also kinda exculpatory of his current personality?

cxb5

Maybe Czentovic and Dr. B are playing in "black & white" boards but hardly they can be seen in so pragmatic absolutes, instead they have a lot of shades of gray.

Bxb5+ Nbd7. 0-0-0

Something that impacted me on the reading of this crafty short story is that both main characters, Czentovic and Dr. B, they share an equal sad trait... both lost the joy of playing chess. Sure, both are masters on the royal game, but honestly, neither of them are enjoying to play it anymore.

Rd8. Rxd7 Rxd7

I couldn't dare to know for real what Stefan Zweig wanted to tell to his readers but at least to me, I got an important lesson: You shouldn't never to get so obsessive while doing what you do for love, reaching a level where you don't enjoy anymore of doing it.

Rd1

Everybody has passions but when you get obssesed about it, you lose the joy of doing it. The most important thing is to keep enjoying whatever you do for the fun of doing it.

Qe6

Life is too short. Enjoy whatever you do. And even something that it's considered as a hobby, an activity of relaxation, can be perverted if you don't enjoy anymore while doing it.

Bxd7+ Nxd7

Commenting about something else, I can't avoid to tell how much amusent provoked me when the priest, who took care of Czentovic, exclaimed: "Balaam's ass!" Honestly, I don't what a priest usually says when he is shocked or when he needs to curse, but reading that exclamation was priceless. So funny!

Qb8+

I am truly glad of having read this short story and I hope to read some more material by this author in the future.

Nxb8 17. Rd8#

Checkmate! 'Nuff said!

[فهد الفهد · Rating 5 out of 5]

لاعب الشطرنج

أحببت هذا النمساوي المنكوب منذ قرأت له (حذار من الشفقة)، ثم أكثر عندما قرأت له مذكراته (عالم الأمس)، وها هي روايته القصيرة هذه التي كتبها في أيامه الأخيرة تزيد هذه المحبة عندما تروي لنا هذه القصة الممتعة والمؤلمة، يأتي جانب الإمتاع في شق الرواية الأول، الراوي الذي يحاول اكتشاف وفهم لاعب شطرنج عالمي يرافقه على باخرة تغادر العالم القديم إلى العالم الجديد، هذا اللاعب الغريب والفذ الذي يرفض أن يسمح لأحد بالاقتراب منه، ويلاعب الجميع باستخفاف وغرور مستفز، الشق المؤلم للرواية يبدأ عندما يظهر لاعب شطرنج ثانٍ على السفينة، رجل محمل بقصة طويلة احتجزه فيها النازيون في غرفة لشهور طويلة، كاد يفقد فيها عقله لولا كتاب صغير في قواعد الشطرنج تعلم من خلاله اللعبة وقوانينها وأشهر نقلاتها.

يبدو لي أن اللاعب الأول ببروده وانغلاقه وممارساته الاستفزازية ليس إلا رمز للأنظمة الشرسة التي تنتصر بسحق الآخرين وتحطيمهم، فيما يرمز اللاعب الثاني للإنسان البسيط، محاولاته الإفلات، الفرار من كل الشرور والنجاة بروحه وإن تحطم بدنه.

رواية عظيمة وملهمة.

[Araz Goran · Rating 5 out of 5]

عبقرية زفايغ وغموض النفس البشرية ..


دائماً ما كنت أتساءل عما يمكن أن يفعله الإنسان مع الفراغ القاتل ، مع الفراغ المطلق ، العدم، اللاشيء ، الهدوء اللانهائي ..
لا يمكن أن يتخيل المرء نفسه في تلك الحالة ولا يمكن تخيل ذلك على العقل البشري، لأننا في حالة وجود دائم في وجود اشياء حولنا ، هناك اشياء تتغير واناس يتحدثون وظلال واشجار وسماء ، نحن الغارقون في الوجود وعدم الفراغ ليس بوسعنا ان نتخيل ذلك الجحيم ..
أجل هو جحيم أبدي، جحيم لا يطاق ، يستنزف كل الملكة العقلية للإنسان، يهوي بك في حالة من الشك في وجود ذاتك حتى ..
تخيلت مرات عديدة نفسي في هذا النوع من الفراغ، كأن تكون في غرفة بيضاء مغلقة تماماً ، لا وجود لأي تواصل بشري لا شيء معك في الغرفة لا شيء تماماً، لا أقصد السجون الانفرادية بالتحديد ، إنما كنت أتخيله في عقلي قريباً مما وصفه زفايغ في الرواية ، تعذيب للعقل ، للقدرة على التكيف مع اللاشيء .. مكان من الممكن أن تجن فيه بسهولة وتتخلى عن عقلك بدون تعذيب ولا إكراه ..


في هذه القصة العبقرية يضعنا زفايغ أمام شخصيتين التقى بهما الراوي على ظهر سفينة أثناء الحرب العالمية الثانية
..
الأول هو بطل العالم في لعب الشطرنج الذي يحمل الكثير من التناقض والعبقرية والغرور، فتجد فيه الغباء المطلق والعبقرية اللامحدودة ، فهو الذي لا يكاد أن يعرف الكتابة ، أصبح من أعظم لاعبي الشطرنج في العالم بل ومن دون منافس ، يتميز بالبرود الشديد والبلادة والغرور وعدم اللباقة ، شخص خُلق كي يلعب الشطرنج ويفوز في كل مرة ، لم تسترعي قصته إنتباهي كثيراً ، صحيح أنني وجدت فيه الغموض خاصة بعد أن حاول الرواي كثيراً اللعب معه ومعرفته عن قرب رغم غرابة أطواره وعجرفته ..


الشخص الثاني هو المدعو السيد "ب" الذي أعتقل من قبل النازيين ولم يزج به في معتقلات التعذيب الوحشية كما قد نتصور، بل أحتجز في غرفة ولم يتعرض لأي نوع من التعذيب الجسدي، بل تم فقط عزله ورميه في فوهة الفراغ والعدم، التكرار اللعين ، الهدوء المستفز، التعذيب النفسي في كونك لا تعرف الوقت ولا الزمان، لا شيء يشغلك او يتكفل في إبقاء ذهنك نشطاً، إلى أن جاءته الفرصة ذات مرة بسرقة كتاب عندما اقتيد للتحقيق، ولك أن تشعر بهول المفاجأة وإنتظار نوع الكتاب الذي سرقه السيد "ب" .. كان الكتاب ببساطة هو عن الشطرنج، سجلت فيه أهم المباريات في تاريخ الشطرنج والخطط التي مارسها اللاعبون في المباريات، حيث يحفظ عن ظهر قلب كل المباريات ويمارسها في ظهر الخيال، يلعب ويلعب وينازل نفسه الى أن تنتهي جميع الخطط والمباريات من الكتاب، هنا تبدا حالة الشك والإنفصام الى شخصيتين تلعبان ضد بعضهما طول الوقت، كانه يقفز فوق ظله، أو يطارد شبحه، يتحول الأمر الى هوس لا يطاق وحالة من الأدمان حتى في النوم ، فينقلب الأمر الى جحيم آخر لا يقل عن سابقه ، يتحول كل عالمه الى رقعة شطرنج، الخيال، النوم، الواقع، حتى أنه يرى أناساً في منامه على لاعبي شطرنج!! هذا الهوس اللعين الذي يصيب النفس البشرية، كفكرة ما، أو لعبة ، او هاجس ..
(لقد جربته مراراً ولكن ليس على هذا المحو العنيف) ..
يفرج عنه فيما بعد فيسافر على ظهر السفينة التي يرتادها بطل العالم للشطرنج ..


تنتهي الرواية الى المواجهة عاصفة غير متوقعة بين بطل العالم في الشطرنج والسيد "س" ، لحظة مثيرة ومشوقة ، يظهر فيها الجانب النفسي العنيف لكلا المتباريين وتأثير ذلك الفراغ على السيد "س" في مواجهة حقيقية بعيداً عن لعبة الخيال ..


عن التغلب على الوحدة وقتل الفراغ وعن طبيعة الأنسان المحارب ، يتحدث زفايغ.. ويبقى السؤال هنا : ماهو الإنسان؟ عن هذا الكائن الذي يتكيف مع كل شيء، او كما وصفه دوستويفسكي، " في النهاية ، يتعود على كل شيء " .. كم يدهشني هذا الإنسان لاتزال الحيرة تؤرقني كلما عرفت عنه المزيد ..


رواية في غاية الإمتاع والدهشة والفزع، وملء جيوب الفضول بأسئلة كثيرة وأجوبة عن حالة الوحدة والفراغ لدى الإنسان ، عن تفكيك الذات بأدوات سردية بارعة غاية في الإتقان والسلاسة .. زفايغ الرائع والمخيف والمدهش معاً ..


ما حيرني كثيراً هي أن قصته هذه هي آخر قصة كتبها قبل إنتحاره، هل يا ترى وقع في فخ روايته، هل كان للقصة علاقة بقرار إنتحاره ، ربطت بينها وبين الهاجس، التكرار، الخوف، الهزيمة ربما .. لكن أي يكن فأنها تبقى قصة مؤثرة تضج بالأفكار والهواجس التي تترك أثرها على قارئها بشكل جنوني، فيكف بكاتبها ياترى ؟؟؟




..

[Jim Fonseca · Rating 4 out of 5]

Chess Story by Stefan Zweig

Like most of Zweig’s work, this is a novella. For those uninterested in chess, very little of the story has to do with the details of the actual games played.

The story is set on an ocean liner traveling from New York to Buenos Aires.



Our narrator has only a passing interest and limited ability at chess but he becomes intrigued when he learns that the world chess champion is on the ship headed to a grand master matchup. The world champion is a person who is called an ‘idiot savant’ in the book, or more properly these days, an autistic savant. He has hardly any social skills and will only play if he is paid. The narrator finds that another man is interested in playing the master too; this other man is wealthy and puts up the money for matches.

Meanwhile a fourth main character appears on the scene, out of the crowd who has been watching the on-board games. (Pun intended.) He starts giving them advice and he seems to be some kind of chess master himself. (The savant plays against the group as a whole and lets them jointly discuss their moves.)



As that latest man tells his story to the narrator, he becomes the main focus of the book. I won’t say too much because it’s a short book and I don’t want to give it all away, but the man learned chess as a respite while he was being forced by the Nazis to reveal where wealth was hidden in the Catholic churches in Austria. The man had worked as the financial lawyer for the Church. He played chess against himself as he told half-truths to his tormentors, so his chess playing against himself becomes an extended metaphor for his dealings with the Nazis. (I had not known this, so I read on Wikipedia that Hitler confiscated money and art from the churches and closed many monasteries.)

After this ordeal, the man vowed to never play chess again but the grand master is impressed and wants to challenge him.



A good story with some psychological depth. This book is also published under the title The Royal Game. Zweig (1881-1942), was a prolific author with 25 or so books. He was at one time considered the most translated author in the world.

Here are links to reviews of other books I’ve read by Stefan Zweig:

The Burning Secret

The Post-Office Girl

Beware of Pity

Journey Into the Past

Top picture, postcard of a 1940's ocean liner from etsystatic.com
A 3-person chess set from mastersofgames.com
The author on an Austrian postage stamp from pinterest.co.uk

[Gaurav Sagar · Rating 5 out of 5]

Chess
Stefan Zweig

Before the start of review, let me put across a warning to all probable readers of this novella that this book has two active beings- one is the reader of course but other one is the author himself, he keeps on following you or rather your moves right to end of the book or the game more appropriately. It may sound strange- so it is and Zweig is but only pleasantly, more you will come to know through the course of this review. Chess, the ‘Royal Game’ is not just a book it’s a game of life. The book has written like the game itself wherein it occurs to the reader every move is maneuvered by author after response of the reader. As you progresses through the book your mental faculty expects a few switches as per the developments in the narrative but, it come across as if the author is playing an active role in it and somehow he manages to gauge your expectations, and then changes his moves to tease the reader for further assimilating the new developments and expect some new adaptations however the author manages to win this intriguing tussle. The reader has been thrown across some pleasant tricks throughout the plot however overall it’s an enriching experience altogether. As Chess, the ‘Royal Game’- the game of genius- works upon intellect of human being by walking over chance. The book is not just about ‘the game’ rather is a treatise of human life- as most of the books by Zweig are. It’s a story of survival of human being through different patches of life when circumstances are not friendly to him, he is thrown in space less void where he doesn’t have any distractions to keeps his mental muscles moving and away from madness. Eventually, after winning it through game of life, he got a distraction to evade his space less void but he becomes so beguiled by this distraction that it turns out to be an obsession. Zweig’s grasp on human psychology is immaculately accurate, and the characters are infused with life with bone chilling depiction of their nature without any hesitation, the reader may feel as if he is actually seeing them going through various patches of grief and agony.

Czentovic grows up as a human being who has total apathy towards world, nothing seems to interest him, he does nothing until he is requested to do so, doesn’t enjoy company of other children. He is totally aloof towards his surroundings. However, gradually develops interest towards ‘the royal game’ but his interest was quite uncharacteristic of a human being. Even though he lacks the imaginative power to chalk out different possibilities in the game as grandmasters normally use to do but that couldn’t hamper his stupendous rise in the royal game. He develops into a dogged character who has son sense of ridiculous towards world but his character lacks emotions which is so core to being of a man. Gradually, the curiosity (aroused due to uncharacteristic nature of Czentovic) of the reader transforms into sort of indifference, which is somewhere deep ridden in your consciousness that you realizes it only through the end of book. The mental faculty of Czentovic never helped him to envisage even a single game, every game he just attempts on the board.

As soon as the reader starting to feel somewhat oblivious towards character of world champion, the author makes a masterstroke- he throws an outstandingly intriguing character- Dr.B- across the reader; who gets awestruck by the genius of Dr.B as he helps McConnor to manage to pull off an upset against Czentovic. Now the reader has again taken aback by the stupendous genius of Dr.B who immediately beomes hero of the story. However, inquisitiveness of the reader takes lead off all his/ her emotions, the reader is thrown to deep horror stories of Nazi camps. The space less void which is as good as vacuum, where Dr.b was confined, sends chills across the spine of the reader. The solitary confinement in a complete vacuum, a room hermetically cut off from outside world, as intended to create pressure not from without, through violence and the cold, but from within, and to open lips of people eventually. There the reader meets the horrifying reality of Nazi confinements wherein one was left irredeemably alone with oneself in soundless depths. One may have thoughts with oneself but even thoughts, however insubstantial may be seem, need something as a reference to fix upon, or they begin to rotate and circle aimlessly around themselves; even they fail to tolerate vacuum, so lifeless were those confinements. There the identity of human beings was reduced to be just subjects for Nazi forces; the consciousness of man was made devoid of every sense of existence in those timeless, space less voids wherein you don’t have anyone to explain that how that terrifying void gnaws at you, mocks your existence and destroys you into utter nothingness. And we stare coldly at godless world of Nietzsche and the famous phrase- nihilo ex nihilo- comes to life. Eventually, Dr. B somehow manages to get a reference (a book about chess tournament games) to put his thoughts around it but he goes to the extent that he develops a kind of madness about it.

No sooner had the thought entered my mind than it worked like strong poison; suddenly there was a roaring in my ears and my heart began to hammer, my hands turned cold as ice and wouldn’t obey me.

First all at once I had an occupation- a pointless, aimless one if you like, but an occupation that annihilated the void around me. In those one hundred and fifty tournament matches, I had wonderful weapon against the oppressive monotony of my own space and time.

My delight in playing turned to a lust for playing, my lust for playing into a compulsion to play, a mania, a frenetic fury that filled not only my waking hours but also came to invade my sleep

One stumbles upon two interesting characters somewhat similar in nature- in principal maybe- yet so contrastingly different. On the one hand, you have Czentovic who doesn’t gain priori knowledge towards the game- the life- but attempts the game- the life- as it comes to him. While on the other hand we have, Dr. B who has imagined and worked out all possible outcomes in ‘the game’ of life but in the process he becomes obsessed with this idea to such extent of madness that ‘the game’-the life- itself becomes oblivious to him. But one aspect is common among both characters- lust, madness and obsession. Perhaps, that’s how ‘the game’-the life- is you may plan out all possible (outcomes possible which may seem to you) outcomes but still you might not be able to crack it since ‘the game’ has actually to be played on board and may be unpredictable more often than not. Here, as the reader may have developed a sense of sympathy and emotional connect with the character Dr. B, the author- as he seems to be active throughout the book- makes another marvelous move and ripped off you with all your assumptions but the reader left in a surprising wonder which left him/ her stunned or rather numbed. And suddenly your feelings start to retort towards disgust and apathy, and it’s ‘checkmate’ by the author.

Zweig always flabbergasts me with his amazing control over the prose- he psychological acumen is breath-taking somewhat like that of Kawabata and seems to have put so much depth in characters in so few words, his mastery over his writing here is as much as his characters do over chess. One may feel envious of the ability of Zweig to be able write as if he was not making an endeavor at all. His prose comes across the reader so effortlessly and pleasantly that it doesn’t occur to reader that it a tale of human psychology- treatise on survival- and not a comic tale. It’s just utter brilliance flowing through 80 odd pages. For though the size of the book may be small but the depth it has would certainly stir your mental faculty and would strike straight into your heart.
Highly recommended, esp. for someone who loves to plunge into deep abyss of human psychology!
4.5/5

[Carolyn Marie · Rating 4 out of 5]

4.5…5 stars?!? The more I think about this book the more brilliant I find it.

[بثينة العيسى · Rating 4 out of 5]

زلزال في الرأس.

[Ahmed Ibrahim · Rating 4 out of 5]

رواية عكست ما يختلج بداخل زفايج بصورة بشعة، ونهايتها مؤلمة لأقصى حد.
لو صمد اللاعب المجهول لبعض الوقت لهزم خصمه ومات الملك، لو لم يقع زفايج في هوة اليأس لشهد موت الملك.

ظل اللاعب المجهول يعاني مما لاقاه على يد ظباط الجستابو فلم يستطع أن يتحرر من الحدود الذي حصروه فيها، ظل محصورًا داخل رقعة الشطرنج يحاول الإمساك بزمام نفسه لكن دون جدوى.
أما أشهر وأفضل لاعب شطرنج في العالم كان جاهلًا بكل شيء إلا بالشطرنج.. اكتشفوا موهبته صغيرًا ثم ما لبث أن أصبح أفضل لاعب شطرنج بالعالم.

لو نظرنا للحالة التي كان عليها اللاعب المجهول في ظل الحبس تحت سلطة الجستابو، نجدها نفس الحالة التي كان عليها عند اللعب مع لاعب الشطرنج الشهير، ومحققين الجستابو يُعجبون بطريقته في الهرب من الفخاخ والأسئلة التي يسألونها له، وهكذا لاعب الشطرنج يبدي إعجابًا من طريقته في اللعب.. لكنه ما يلبث أن يُجن دائمًا، أو بمعنى أصح نرى أن العقل وحده لا يكفي للمقاومة.

نحن الآن في وضعنا هذا نلوم لاعب الشطرنج لأننا لم نعش مأساته، نقول ماذا لو فعل كذا، وماذا لو لم يفعل كذا، لكن ما يعتمل في نفسه يصعب إدراكه.. نفس الأمر مع زفايج، في وقته لم توحي الأحداث سوى بمزيد من المآسي، يهوديته كانت عبئًا كبيرًا عليه.. وأتت هذه الرواية بمثابة تعليل لانتحاره.

رواية إنسانية مميزة، بمثابة مرآة على ما دار في داخل زفايج في هذه الآونة.

[Murray · Rating 5 out of 5]

Magnificent obsession

🏺 it is a Greek tragedy 🏺

Though in this case an Austrian-Jewish one.

♟️ A man incarcerated by the Nazis learns to play chess in solitude to such an extraordinary degree he suffers mental collapse.

Recovered, years later, he happens upon a game of chess aboard a passenger ship, involves himself, wins the game against his opponent (actually the world champion though he doesn’t initially know this), then finds a desire flames up in him to play his opponent again and again and again.

The writing is feverish and intense just like the character who approaches each chess game, whether in his mind or at a chessboard against a human opponent, with the utmost intensity and ferocity.

The prose is unrelenting. The story is read in less than an hour, but leaves its mark.

You are in the man’s whirling and brilliant mind. The mind that defeated Gestapo interrogators. And the chessboard.

♟️ And ultimately himself.

[El Librero de Valentina · Rating 5 out of 5]

No sé nada de ajedrez, pero sí sé que el autor es un genio.
El trasfondo de la historia es interesantísimo, la presión psicológica a la que se ve sometido un hombre, en tiempos de guerra.
Un viaje en un crucero en la que dos personajes se enfrentan a una partida de ajedrez determinante. Uno, el campeón mundial, el otro, un enigmático pasajero con un pasado a cuestas que iremos descubriendo a medida que avanza la historia, entre jugadas claves y una construcción psicológica como solo Zweig sabe hacerlo.

[Candi · Rating 4 out of 5]

“He would cast a single, seemingly cursory glance at the board before each move, looking past us as indifferently as if we ourselves were lifeless wooden pieces.”

This novella is my introduction to Austrian writer Stefan Zweig. He’s not entirely unknown to me, however, as I’ve seen numerous reviews of his work and have been interested in reading him myself for quite some time. It’s important to understand a bit of his background before reading this story. Zweig was born in Austria and then fled to England with his wife in 1935, just prior to the Nazi takeover of his homeland. Five years later he retreated from there to Brazil, only to then commit suicide, along with his wife, in 1942. Chess Story is an allegorical work in addition to being semi-autobiographical as well.

We are introduced to Mirko Czentovic, the world chess champion, on board a passenger steamer bound for Buenos Aires. The date is post World War II. Czentovic’s greatest triumph is his mastery over the chess board, but he cannot claim any other intellectual or artistic talents. It would be easy to liken him to his countryman, Adolf Hitler, and it’s not difficult to guess this is exactly what Zweig had in mind.

“For the instant he stood up from the chessboard, where he was without peer, Czentovic became an irredeemably grotesque, almost comic figure; despite his solemn black suit, his splendid cravat with its somewhat showy pearl stickpin, and his painstakingly manicured fingernails, his behavior and manners remained those of the simple country boy who had once swept out the parson’s room in the village… Like all headstrong types, Czentovic had no sense of the ridiculous; ever since his triumph in the world tournament, he considered himself the most important man in the world…”

On board the ship there are a few chess enthusiasts, but certainly not one that is a match for Czentovic. This doesn’t stop them from challenging him to a game, which Czentovic agrees to for a price. Not only that, he will play the lot simultaneously. An uneven match perhaps, but not for a man with Czentovic’s extreme arrogance. Now, I’m not a chess player. I’ve never even watched a single game. It doesn’t matter one bit whether or not you are a fan. The gripping psychological suspense begins when a mysterious stranger steps in to join the game. Simply known as Mr. B, we are in the dark about his background until our narrator learns his story and relays it to the reader. If he’s not a chess champion himself, then how did he become so highly accomplished in the art of the game? Has Czentovic finally met a worthy opponent?

“Peaceable, idle passengers though we were, we had suddenly been seized by a wild, ambitious bellicosity, tantalized and aroused by the thought that the palm might be wrested from the champion right here on this ship in the middle of the ocean, a feat that would then be telegraphed around the globe.”

The tension truly ramps up to a frantic pitch as Mr. B’s story is unraveled. I’ll let the next reader discover the details, but it’s a story charged with extreme isolation, mental anguish, and the will to survive and preserve one’s sanity. Mr. B must serve as a self portrait of Zweig himself and the despair he felt at his growing sense of isolation as he was forced to flee further and further from his place of birth. The chess board serves as the battlefields of Europe, where black was pit against white. Fascism and Nazism versus Liberalism and Democracy. It’s a stroke of genius condensed into a short story under the guise of a mental pursuit. I’m even more inclined than ever to continue my exploration of Stefan Zweig.

“But there’s no way to describe, to gauge, to delineate, not for someone else, not for yourself, how long time lasts in dimensionlessness, in timelessness, and you can’t explain to anyone how it eats at you and destroys you…”

[Andy Marr · Rating 4 out of 5]

A moving and entirely believable story of one man's struggle with madness. I found it to be slightly repetitive in parts, but it's an excellent story by a true master.

[Manny · Rating 3 out of 5]

The chessplayer and the non-chessplayer will read this classic novella in different ways. The non-chessplayer sees it as a tragedy where the noble but unworldly Dr. B is defeated by the oafish but practical Czentovic. Chess is used to symbolize the pure world of the mind, where Dr. B should triumph due to his superior intellectual powers, but discovers that his opponent's ruthlessness and greed are stronger. Czentovic cannot win fairly, but is perfectly happy to cheat.

The chessplayer would like to read the story this way, but can't; unfortunately, he knows that chess is not the way it is depicted in Zweig's fable. In real life, Dr. B would not stand a chance against Czentovic. Chess is a practical skill, which cannot be acquired in the way described here.

This, to the chessplayer, is the real tragedy. Chess should be the noble game of the story, and even appears to be so for the uninitiated. It is only after a great deal of work has been invested trying to master it that its true nature becomes clear.

Tragedy indeed...

[Agir(آگِر) · Rating 4 out of 5]

بعضی وقت ها تک تک خط های کتابی را درک می کنیم
ولی دریغ از فهمیدن خط اصلی کتاب
یعنی آن چیزی که نویسنده را واداشته تا چنین کتابی را بنویسد:
نمی توانستم باور کنم که کسی بتواند تمام وجود و روح و روانش را در دایره ی این بازی محدود کند



اینجاست که باید بری سراغ نویسنده و اوضاع اجتماعی و دنیایی که او در آن زندگی کرده است
مخصوصا چنین کتابی که روز بعد از اتمام آن، استیفن تسوایگ و لوته(همسرش) محلول کشنده ورونال را سر کشیدند



کتاب شطرنج را در کشوی میزِ کارش پیدا کردند و سال بعد در استکهلم به زبان اصلی چاپ و منتشر شد

: آنچه تسوایک در این کتاب می خواهد به ما بگوید

تسوایک مردی بود که بندرت نظراتش را در مورد سیاست و اتفاقات دنیا صریحا بیان می کرد
او با همان شیوه خودش در این کتاب می خواهد تفاوت دو جهان را نشان بدهد: جهانی که خودش و روشنفکران در آن زندگی می کردند با جهانی واقعی
و برای نشان دادن جهانش، شطرنج مصداق خوبی است
تنها شطرنج است که شانس و تصادف و تقلب به هیچ شکل در آن راه ندارد، و پیروزی در این صحنه به هوشمندی یا نوعی هوشمندی، وابسته است

اما این جهان با جهان واقعی خیلی فرق دارد. جهانی که در آن هیتلرها و فاشیست ها کوره های آدم سوزی راه می اندازند و خیلی راحت انسان ها را قتل عام می کنند

تسوایگ در کتاب "جهان دیروز" می‌نویسد: من و دوستان جوانم فکر و ذکری جز ادبیات نداشتیم، هیچ متوجه نبودیم که تحولات سیاسی خطرناکی در پیرامون ما روی می‌ دهد. کتاب‌ها و نقش‌ های زیبا نگاه ما را پر کرده بود، در حالی که زندگی در زشتی و پلیدی فرو می‌رفت

:در این کتاب این اندیشه را چنین بیان می کند
تجسم این قضیه برای من دشوار بود که یک انسان تمام و وجود و هستی اش را در شصت و چهار خانه ی سیاه و سفید صفحه شظرنج خلاصه و محدود کند. یک انسان چگونه می تواند در چنین محدوده ای بماند و فکر و ذکرش این باشد که چگونه مهره های سی و دوگانه را در خانه های سیاه و سفید پس و پیش ببرد و بازی را چگونه و از کجا شروع کند؟

همین باعث می شود در درونش وارد نبردی سهمگین بشود : تسوایگ در برابر تسوایگ

در این بازی من هم سیاه بودم و هم سفید. سیاه که من بودم با سفید می جنگید، که آن هم من بودم و هرکدام از این دو می خواستند پیروز شوند. و هروقت که یکی از این دو حریف پیروز می شد، نمی دانستم چه احساسی باید داشته باشم. چون قسمتی از مغز من بر قسمت دیگری پیروز شده بود
انسان دیگری در من بود که می خواست از حق خود دفاع کند اما نمی توانست، و ناچار به ضدیت با انسان دیگری که در من بود، می پرداخت و مرا دچار شیدایی و بی قراری می کرد

تسوایگ چنان روح ظریفی داشته که طاقت دیدن خشونت های نازی ها را نداشته ابتدا به لندن و سپس به آمریکا می رود
و بعد آنجا را ترک می کند علتش شاید این باشد که این دو کشور هم وارد جنگ می شوند و یا خواهند شد و او می خواهد از چنین دنیای واقعی فرار کند و و به دنیایی که دوستش دارد پناه ببرد و همین است که سر از آمریکای جنوبی و بزریل در می آورد
اما بعد مدتی از آنجا هم خسته می شود چون از کشور و از آرمان های اصلیش دور افتاده
:او در آخرین نامه اش چنین می نویسد

کاری برای انجام دادن نبود، نه برای شنیدن، نه برای دیدن، خلأ همه جا را فرا گرفته بود...خلئی کاملاً بی‌حجم و بی زمان
طی سالهای دراز دربدری و آوارگی خسته شده و دیگر توان ادامه به زندگی ندارم


:حرف آخر

به زندگی تسوایگ و خودکشی اش باید با دقت بیشتری پرداخته شود
اینکه نباید در دنیایی رویایی فرو رفت و قدرت فاشیست ها و نژادپرست ها و افراطی ها را دست کم گرفت
..و گرنه دوباره تاریخ تکرار خواهد شد

رومن رولان می گوید: نویسنده باید با اسلحه قلم خود در برابر زورگویان و جنگ طلبان بایستد
نمونه چنین نویسنده ای «توماس مان» آلمانی بود که با تمام احترامی که برای تسوایگ قائل بود انزجارش از خودکشی او را پنهان نکرد
او هرگز نمی‌بایست این پیروزی را به نازی ها ارزانی می داشت، و اگر نفرت و انزجارش از آن‌ ها بیشتر از این بود، هیچ‌ گاه به چنین عملی دست نمی زد

:خلاصه از کتاب
در این خلاصه علت برداشت هایی که داشته ام را آورده ام و همچنین مقایسه شخصیت ها


در آغاز کتاب با چنتُوویک جوانی بی سواد و کند ذهن و بی ادب آشنا می شویم که استعداد نابی در شطرنج دارد و در آینده قهرمان جهان می شود
این آدم بی شباهت به هیتلر نیست که در سخنرانی ها نبوغ فوق العاده ای داشت و همه را تحت تاثیر قرار می داد

بعد با آقای "ب" آشنا می شویم که مردی اتریشی و زندانی نازی ها بوده است و از لحاظی به خود نویسنده شباهت دارد
او را که مرد باسواد است، شکنجه روحی می دهند تا رازهایی را که می داند اعتراف کند

در اینجا از شکنجه خبری نبود، و کسی با ما کاری نداشت، اما می خواستند فکر و روح ما را زیر فشار بگذارند که تحمل آزارهای فکری و روحی از شکنجه های جسمی دشوارتر است. در اتاق من شکنجه ی تنهایی پایان ناپذیر بود. در اطراف من چیزی نبود جز میز و تختخواب و کاغذ دیواری و غیر از خودم هیچ انسانی نمی دیدم. حتی یک مداد نداشتم که چیزی بنویسم. هیچ بود و هیچ نبود و هیچ. بی تردید یک نابغه بزرگ شیطان صفت، چنین شیوه ای را برای عذاب دادن کشف کرده بود. همه چیز ثابت است و تغییرناپذیر
چهار ماه را با این همه عذاب گذراندم. در یک چهارم ثانیه می گویند: «چهارماه». اما آن چهارماه برای من یک عمر بود

اما او به یک کتاب دست می یابد یا در اصل آن را می دزدد
یک کتاب!.. زانوهایم به لرزه افتادند... یک کتاب!... چهارماه بود که دست من به کتاب نرسیده بود و کتابی رو ورق نزده بودم
و آن کتابی نیست جز کتاب شطرنج
بازی که هیچگاه تازگی اش را از دست نمی دهد و چه بهتر از این برای چنین محبوسی

اصل و ریشه ی شطرنج در تاریکی قرن ها محو شده است، با این وصف شطرنج هرگز تازگی و جاذبه خود را از دست نداده
بازی در یک صفحه بسیار محدود و در یک فضای بسته و محدود هندسی انجام می گیرد اما هربار بازی به شکل تازه ای پیش می رود و شکل دیگری پیدا می کند. مدام ترکیب مهره ها و تناسب آن ها با همدیگر تغییر می یابد و تا پیش از پایان بازی همه ی مهره ها بی آرام و سرگردانند و تکلیف خود را نمی دانند
این بازی به اقوام ملل و به هر قرن و دورانی تعلق دارد. کسی نمی داند کدامیک از خدایان آن را به زمین آورده تا دلتنگی ها و بی حوصلگی ها را بزداید و روح و فکر آدمی را صیقل بدهد


او که از دست نازی ها رهایی می یابد به آرژانتین می رود(همانند تسوایگ که به آمریکای جنوبی می رود) و در کشتی با قهرمان شطرنج جهان چنتوویک مسابقه می دهد
من می خواهم ببینم که آیا تصورات و خیالات من می تواند با واقعیت هماهنگی داشته باشد؟
او قهرمان جهان را شکست می دهد بدین معنا که نازی ها شاید در جنگ برنده می شوند ولی اصول "ناسیونال سوسیالیسم" آنهادر برابر قوانین انسانی و دموکراسی محکوم به شکست است
ولی در بازی بعدی ناگهان بر می خروشد که چرا شاه در جای خودش نیست
شاه باید در خانه "اف 7" باشد، در جای خودش نیست. بی تردید همه اشتباه می کنید!.. این شطرنج همه جایش غلط است..این بازی درست نیست
این همان خشم اوست که چرا شطرنج واقعی نیست چرا شاه حریف که مهره های سفید دارد در خانه سیاه نیست
چون در واقعیت هیتلر و نازی ها سرزمین او را تصرف کرده اند و نه در خانه های خودشان بلکه در خانه های سیاه هستند

پنداری شطرنج اندیشه ای است که ما را به جایی نمی برد. نوعی ریاضیات است که معادله ای را به اثبات نمی رساند. هنری است که اثری به وجود نمی آورد. نوعی معماری و ساخت و ساز است که مواد و مصالحی ندارد، اما از هر کتاب و بنایی پایدارتر است

در آخر آقای ب برای همیشه بازی شطرنج کنار می گذارد
..و تسوایک هم آخرین کتابش را به پایان می برد

[Raya راية · Rating 5 out of 5]

"أو ليس من الهيّن أن رجلاً يحسب نفسه عظيماً إذا كان هذا الإنسان يجهل أن الدنيا قد عرفت رمبرانت وبيتهوفن ودانتي؟"



قد تحتوي المراجعة كشفاً لبعض لأحداث الرواية

كانت معرفتي الأولى بستيفان زفايغ في صفحات كتابه "ماري أنطوانيت"، تلك السيرة التي جعلتني أنبهر بكل التفصيلات التي أوردها وأسلوب السرد المتماسك المدهش والغني، فكانت بحق وجبة دسمة تمنّيت لو لم تنتهِ أبداً. وقد قرأت اسم رواية "لاعب الشطرنج" هنا على هذا الموقع، وكانت اكتشافاً جديداً لزفايغ.

تدور الرواية الصغيرة حول لعبة الشطرنج، التي لم أعرف كيف ألعبها يوماً. حول البطل القروي الذي أبهر العالم منذ صغره بنبوغه في الشطرنج، رغم خلّفيته الاجتماعية المتواضعة، وقد نقول جهله وبلادته في أي عمل آخر، فأصبح العالم لديه عبارة عن رقعة شطرنج وأحجارها، وقد قاده هذا الصعود المتواصل إلى الغرور وعبادة المال.
والشخص الآخر "السيد ب" الغامض، الذي سرد علينا قصّته، وكيف تبدّلت أحواله من محامٍ إلى معتقل في غرفة فندق لا يُكلّم أحداً ولا يسمع صوتاً حتى شارف على الانهيار، وفي لحظة ما، وقع على كتاب عن لعبة الشطرنج، وقضى بقية أيام اعتقاله يلعبها مع نفسه
ويضع الخطط حتى أُصيب بلوثة في دماغه!
وتشاء الأقدار أن يلتق الرجلان في اللعب. وهنا في هذا الجزء من القصة، وكأن إعصاراً أو صداماً يحدث بين عقلين وإرادتين وشخصيتين مخلفتين!

إبدع زفايغ في وصف الشخصيتين وفي تصوير خلٌفيتهما الاجتماعية وتطوّر الشخصيات. خصوصاً بما يتعلّق بعقل كُلّ منهما! وأظن بأن الرواية تُسلّط الضوء على قدرات الدماغ البشري بالدرجة الأولى. والظروف التاريخية التي كُتبت فيها، حيث كانت ألمانيا النازية في أوج قوّتها وصدام بين الديمقراطية والأنظمة الفاشية. وكيف أن السجن الانفرادي خارج الزمان والمكان يقود الإنسان إلى الجنون، وأن الاعتقال والتعذيب والأعمال الشاقة مع مجموعة لهو أفضل من الوحدة المطبقة!

رواية مذهلة، تُشعرك بالشبع والامتلاء، فعلاً وكأنني أتدثّر بالعديد من الأغطية الدافئة! وكأنني بعدها اكتفيت من القراءة!

...

[Kalliope · Rating 5 out of 5]

This book is about the workings of the mind.

But before I go into that, let me start by saying that to me the name of Stefan Zweig evokes a feeling of nostalgia. Of course, this is foremost due to the title of his famous memoirs, and because we know that he belonged to a world that was disappearing. And probably because he realized this he decided to depart from it.

But for me it creates an additional longing. It makes me yearn for a world in which I did not yet exist, a world that followed Zweig’s. In particular the beginning of this novel, which starts out in a ship travelling from New York to Buenos Aires, at a time when these two cities, together with Shanghai, were the most cosmopolitan centers in the world, made me think of a few decades later when my parents were young and left their country and boarded on ships that would take them to New York and to Buenos Aires and other places.

Nostalgia is also part of our fantasy.

Zweig’s novella is a meditation on the nature of the mind: how it creates its own reality, how it lives thanks to sensations and perceptions, but also on how it can get trapped and fall prey to circular thinking.

His story makes you think about the heart of imagination, what is the feeling of anticipation and how an inner mental projection can elicit joy. Zweig presents how curiosity provides a pleasure that the mind needs, but if this curiosity is not tamed it can also enslave the mind. Similarly, surprise is conceived as sudden state that gives fresh air to the mind. For the reader it is easy to identify those mental phenomena, because Zweig focuses on the effects that an object, which is both simple and complex, can provide. Such delicious and nourishing food for the mind is brought about by a book.

Through Zweig’s writing we observe the process of thinking and learning and problem solving, and how these constitute the gymnastics of the brain. The mind needs to explore its limits and exert itself. It needs to surmount obstacles and for this some degree of discipline is required. Understanding, creativity, the power of the brain when it concentrates on a single task, the agility and flexibility that it is capable of-- all of these aspects parade through this tale.

We also see that if the mind’s nature is abstract it, however, also has to be able to project outside itself. It needs to record what is in the world and absorb it, and if its space and universe is limited, its locked up habitat will be disastrous. This is what Zweig calls materielle Exterritorialisierung.

By studying what happens to the mind when it is put in a vacuum, in isolation, when it is on a diet of sensory stimuli, which is its vital source of energy, Zweig creates a situation of despair, a monotony that would only sound like a single tone with no rhythm. He presents us the mental existence of Nothingness, in which one can only enslave himself (Der Sklave des Nichts).

Because related to sensory input and the capability to project onto larger space, for the mind, in spite of its cogito abilities it is essential to be able to deal with one of the most abstract concepts: it needs to measure time. If one is deprived of a system of proportions, time just does not exist: it conflates. And the mind is in the void.

It is then that consciousness can split, because the mind has turned against itself, and dichotomies and paradoxes and impossibilities relish in this new schizophrenic self. The poisonous obsessions possess the psyche. Anxiety and patience confront each other like opposing players in a chess game.

Either Nonsense or a new Self emerges.


And of course, all of the above is developed through a gripping plot.

[Margaret M · Rating 5 out of 5]

“People and events don't disappoint us, our models of reality do. It is my model of reality that determines my happiness or disappointments.”

A Chess Story is a searing portrayal of obsession, the fragility and power of the mind, and the examination of PTSD experienced by many soldiers after the war, particularly those incarcerated and tortured by their ruthless captors. The game is set and the stakes are high!!!!

A cruise liner is the venue, and the story is about an unknown man, Dr B, who plays the talented chess player, Mirko Czentovic, at his own game. As world champion, Mirko challenges his travelling companions and the unsuspecting guests to a game of chess that sees his purse grow and his formidable reputation untarnished. However, the lucrative and winning streak comes to an end when a very private and introverted man decides to assist with the game.

However, this man has a traumatic and tragic history because his talent for chess was a coping mechanism during his imprisonment when he perfected the game of chess in his head. A talent acquired to combat solitude, loneliness, and nothingness, vividly depicted in the quote…

“They did nothing—other than subjecting us to complete nothingness. For, as is well known, nothing on earth puts more pressure on the human mind than nothing.”

A profound story and a disturbing one with its reflection on the power and fragility of the mind when subjected to horrific treatment and suffering. And during those times, the persons survival relies on the most delicate human organ – the mind. The power of this story however, comes with how the ex-soldier deals with the present day as the game he has become embroiled in brings back the most haunting of memories. This is heart-breaking.

A critical but sensitive depiction of the effects of war. A superb short story that captures so much, adequately depicts trauma, and carefully examines the highs and lows of the recovering soldier. How poignant, touching and unfortunately relevant.

And to finish with one of my favourite quotes about the game of chess and life (Although not from this book) ….

“Life is like a game of chess.
To win you have to make a move.
Knowing which move to make comes with insight and knowledge,
and by learning the lessons that are
accumulated along the way.

We become each and every piece within the game called life!”
― Allan Rufus.

These stories are perfect little fillers between books. Powerful and with such purpose and meaning.

[Mohamed Ramadan · Rating 5 out of 5]

-رواية قصيرة ولكنها في حقيقة الأمر ضخمة … جداً

-مشهد المستشفي للدكتور “ب" بعد إعتقاله شهور في عزلة تامة كان تصويره بديعاً من جانب شتيفان تسفايج، فهو ذكرني بمشهد في فيلم Cast Away لـ توم هانكس حين عودته للمدينة بعد شهور من عزلته في جزيرة مهجورة أصبح يقلب الأشياء بين يديه وينظر إليها باستغراب وبإجلال في الوقت نفسه، فهو من كان ينفق ساعات و ربما أيام لإشعال نار ، ها هو الآن يمسك بـ"ولاعة" و يشعل النار بمنتهي السهولة في أقل من ثانية، وهذا بالضبط نفس ما حدث مع دكتور "ب" بعد خروجه من العزلة القاتلة، هل حقاً هناك امرأة تتحدث؟ هل حقاً هناك شخص يبتسم؟ هل حقاً هناك ضوء للنهار؟ هل حقاً مازال هناك اشجار؟

-من لعب الشطرنج سيفهم حالة الهياج العقلي التي اجتاحت الدكتور "ب" في آخر أيامه في المعتقل، وذلك ذكرني بلاعب محترف للشطرنج في وقتنا الحالي يدعي “ويتي الين" وقد اشتهر بتضحيته بالحصان في بداية المبارة التي سميت علي اسمه "الين جامبيت" او "فخ الين" ، فهذا اللاعب تقريباً وصل لنفس حالة صديقنا المذكور أعلاه الدكتور "ب" حتي كان يصل به الأمر للبقاء مستيقظاً لمدة اربع أو خمس أيام على التوالي يلعب المبارة تلو الأخري حتي انهارت قواه و صار هزيلاً لا يأكل ولا يشرب حتي اصبح أقرب للموت منه للحياة، وأجبره الأطباء علي إعتزال اللعب للحفاظ علي ما تبقي من صحته.

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-علي الرغم من قِصر الرواية إلا أنني تفاجأت بكم العلامات والملاحظات التي وضعتها أثناء قراءتي، والآن أشارككم بعض هذه الاقتباسات:

❞وكلما اجتهدت في تقمص شخصية هذه النوعية من البشر، بدا لي استحالة تخيل أن نشاط الدماغ يظل يدور مدى الحياة في مساحة مكونة من أربعة وستين مربعًا باللونين الأبيض
والأسود فقط.❝

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❞وحدها لعبة كل الشعوب وتنتمي إلى كل العصور، لا يعلم أحد أي إله أوجدها في هذه الأرض؛ لتقتل الملل وتشحذ الحواس وتثير الروح، أين بدأ الشطرنج وأين ينتهي؟ يستطيع كل طفل تعلم قواعدها الأولى، ويستطيع كل مبتدئ أن يجرب حظه فيها، ومع ذلك فهي قادرة داخل هذه الرقعة الضيقة غير القابلة للتغيير على خلق أنماط خاصة من الأبطال الذين لا يقارنون بغيرهم، أناس ذوو مواهب فذة بالشطرنج، عباقرة مميزون تعمل بداخلهم الرؤية والصبر والاستراتيجية بتوزيع محكم للغاية وبطبقات وروابط مختلفة❝

-حينما قرأت هذه الفقرة تبادر إلى ذهني فوراً "ماجنس كارلسن" أعظم من لعب الشطرنج بالتاريخ ، ونحن محظوظون جداً أننا نعاصر هذا البطل التاريخي!

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❞في سابق العهد حيث ساد الشغف بعلم الفراسة لو أن الدكتور "جال" قد قرر تشريح أدمغة أبطال الشطرنج هؤلاء؛ لكي يستكشف ما إذا كانت هناك تلافيف مميزة تكمن في المادة الرمادية بأدمغتهم، أم أن بها نوعًا من العضلات الخاصة بالشطرنج، أو نتوء شطرنجي متكونًا عندهم بكثافة أكبر من الجماجم الأخرى❝

-هذا الإقتباس ينطبق أيضاً علي حالة "ماجنس كارلسن❝

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❞وتبينت بقلق وميض الشهوة الخارجة عن السيطرة في عينيه؛ تلك الشهوة التي تأخذ الأشخاص الملتفين حول طاولة الروليت حين لا يظهر اللون الصحيح للمرة السادسة أو السابعة مع مضاعفة الرهان، في تلك اللحظة علمت أن هذا الرجل الطموح المتعصب سيظل يلعب ويلعب❝

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❞لم يتعاملوا معنا مطلقًا، لقد علقنا في عزلة تامة، لأنه
-ومثلما نعرف جيدًا- لا يوجد شيء على الأرض أعتى على النفس البشرية من الفراغ، وكان ذلك من خلال حبس كل منا وحيدًا يصارع الفراغ التام بغرفة محكمة الغلق ومنعزلة تمامًا عن العالم الخارجي، وبدلًا من طرحنا بالخارج للبرد وضرب الهراوات، تقرر أن يصير الضغط نابعًا من الداخل مما يؤدي في النهاية إلى فتح أفواهنا للحديث❝

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❞تسلل إليَّ شعور بأن حياتنا تشبه غواصًا يعيش تحت سطح الماء اللامع وسط محيط مظلم خيم الصمت على أرجائه، ثم يشعر لوهلة بأن الحبل الذي يوصله بالعالم الخارجي قد انقطع وليس بوسعه العودة أو الخروج من الأعماق المُسيجة بالصمت❝

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❞فراغ سرمدي بلا أمل في الخلاص؛ حيث تظل تروح وتجيء في الغرفة محملًا بأفكار تظل هي الأخرى تروح وتغدو مرارًا وتكرارًا، حتى الأفكار نفسها تبدو غير جوهرية إلى حد بعيد، وتحتاج إلى قاعدة أساسية، وإلا تبدأ في الدوران حول نفسها في حلقة مفرغة بلا معنى، فحتى الأفكار نفسها تعجز عن تحمل الفراغ، فنحن نظل ننتظر كل يوم حدوث شيء ما منذ طلوع الشمس حتى غروبها ولا يحدث شيء، نظل ننتظر..وننتظر❝

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❞ففي كل مرة بعد انتهاء التحقيقات مع البوليس السري تتكفل أفكاري الخاصة بعذاب الأسئلة والبحث وعذاب التنكيل بلا هوادة، بالقدر نفسه من الشدة، وربما بشكل أكثر قسوة من التحقيقات؛ لأن مدة التحقيقات لا تتعدى الساعة، وهو ما لا يسري على الأفكار بفضل التعذيب الخبيث الذي تغزله الوحدة❝

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❞واستمرت تلك الحالة التي لا يمكن وصفها حقًّا أربعة أشهر، أربعة أشهر، ما أسهل تدوينها! فقط بضعة أحرف!
وما أيسر نطقها : أربعة أشهر.. إنها فقط أربعة مقاطع! تنفرج الشفاه بكل سرعة في أقل من ربع ثانية لتلفظ ذلك الصوت:
أربعة أشهر! ولكن لا أحد يمكنه أن يصور أو يقدر أو يوضح كم يستغرق الوقت خارج حدود الزمان والمكان، لا أحد يستطيع، ولا أنت نفسك تستطيع، ليس في وسع أي شخص أن يشرح كيف يفترسك الفراغ ويدمرك، ذلك الفراغ والفراغ والفراغ الذي يحيط بك، لا أرى سوى الطاولة نفسها والفراش والحوض وورق الحائط، دائمًا الصمت نفسه❝

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❞أيكون كتابًا! بدأت ركبتاي ترتعشان، كتاب! طيلة أربعة أشهر لم تمس يدي كتابًا، فمجرد تخيل أنني أحمل كتابًا يحوي كلمات متناسقة وسطورًا وصفحاتٍ وأوراقًا.. كتاب أستطيع من خلاله أن أقرأ وأتابع وأستقي أفكارًا جديدة وغريبة ومسلية يلتهمها العقل، كان لذلك التخيل وقع مسكر ومخدر في الوقت نفسه❝

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❞تحولت التسلية باللعبة إلى رغبة في اللعب، ومن ثم انتقلت إلى مرحلة الإجبار على اللعب، إنه جنون، غضب جامح لا يجتاح فقط ساعات يقظتي ولكنه بدأ يغزو نومي بالتدريج، لا أستطيع التفكير بشيء سوى الشطرنج، وحركات الأحجار فوق رقعة الشطرنج، ومآزق الشطرنج التي يستعصى عليَّ حلها، كنت أستيقظ أحيانًا لأجد العرق يندي فوق جبيني وأكتشف أنني ما زلت ألعب لا إراديًا في أثناء نومي، وعندما أحلم بأشخاص أجد أحداث الحلم تدور حول تحركاتهم كالفيلة والقلاع وتقفز إلى الأمام أو الخلف كالفرس❝

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❞وبالطبع أصبح الأمر جليًّا لي اليوم بأي حال بأن حالتي تعد بالفعل شكلًا من أشكال التحفيز العقلي المفرط، حالة استعصى عليَّ إيجاد اسم طبي معروف لها، إنني مصاب بتسمم الشطرنج❝

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-وأخيراً بعد إتمامي لهذا العمل الرائع أتوقع شخصياً أن "شتيفان تسفايج" أصيب من قبل بـ "هوس الشطرنج" لينقل لنا كل هذه المشاعر المرتبطة بهذا الهوس علي لسان الدكتور "ب" الذي أتوقع أنه لن يجلس علي رقعة الشطرنج مرة أخرى!


~ تمت القراءة في مارس 2026~