The Moves That Matter

September 2, 2019
Chess grandmaster Rowson (The Seven Deadly Chess Sins) draws on an incredibly deep well of knowledge in history, philosophy, and the humanities to posit chess as a “meta-metaphor” for life in this insightful work. Believing chess to be “the best kind of freedom” because it involves “choosing your constraints wisely and claiming them as your own,” Rowson ably translates many complex concepts into easily understood principles. Organized according to the chessboard’s 64-square layout, his persuasive analysis is broken into eight chapters of eight vignettes, such as “Thinking and Feeling,” “Winning and Losing,” “Learning and Unlearning,” and “Cyborgs and Civilians.” Each chapter begins with an illustrative memory; for instance, in “Power and Love,” Rowson recalls how comparing himself to his profiler, journalist Hugo Rifkind, caused him to reflect on his own insignificance with happy acceptance: “Success, after all, is not what one has achieved in life, but what one has overcome to achieve it.” For Rowson, having combativeness to what he considers the universal “status anxiety” provides the deep satisfaction of “successful underachievement.” Mining the “meaningful insignificance” and “insignificant meaningfulness” of chess, Rowson’s charming work will provide a pleasing structure for any reader looking for self-help advice, and will particularly appeal to chess players.

September 15, 2019
A former British Chess Champion (2004-2006) considers the connections between chess and life--and finds many. Rowson (Chess for Zebras, 2005, etc.), who now plays only occasionally, delivers a narrative sometimes thickened with quotations and allusions, both from literary and intellectual figures (Aldous Huxley, Joseph Campbell, Emerson, Dylan Thomas) and from popular culture (The Velveteen Rabbit, The Wire, Groundhog Day). His text is a somewhat motley mix of memoir and self-help. We learn about his boyhood beginnings with chess and various games (good, bad, and ugly), his marriage and son, and his decision to return to school to get his doctorate. Rowson divides his chapters (more than 60) into subheadings that bear such titles as "Ceasing Hostilities," "How to Give Praise," "The Politics of Puppets and Muppets," and "Race Is Not Black and White." His advice ranges from trenchant to amusing--e.g., a wonderful section about applying chess strategy to changing an infant's diapers. The author also offers bons mots ("chess players are like sniffer dogs"), some of which could appear in just about any self-help text ("We are more like glass tables than we typically imagine. Mostly we are solid, but we can and do crack up"). Along the way, Rowson deals with politics, religion, mistakes, artificial intelligence, and the traits that champions possess, among many other weighty matters. Perhaps the most affecting--and modest--moments are when he writes about accepting your status and about decline and death. "I am probably Scotland's strongest-ever player, but with all due respect to fellow Scots, in chess terms that is a bit like being the highest mountain in Kansas," he writes of his career. "I never threatened to be the very best British player, and I was never world class." Accounts of significant chess experiences lightly salted with self-regard and sometimes peppered with platitude.

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