A few days ago, I think in the recent Sunday Times Culture section, I discovered author John Banville nominating his favourite book by an underrated author to be The Defense by Vladimir Nabokov. He of Lolita fame (infamy?). It explores the life of a shambling, chaotic chess grandmaster and the parallels between chess and his life. I thought I would read it and, despite my O Level in Russian, to do so in the English translation.
The first interesting thing is that there is five page Foreword written by Nabokov himself (he collaborated in the translation) which amounts to a review of the book. An odd way to begin. Which means I don't have to work too hard to do this. He writes "Rereading this novel today..." as though he'd forgotten it. It was one of his earliest and remained untranslated - for reasons he berates certain American publishers disparagingly - from publication in 1930 until 1964. "I would like to spare the time and effort of hack reviewers...." - Ouch! - "and, generally persons who move their lips when reading and cannot be expected to tackle a dialogueless novel..." I'm determined to disprove his uncharitable assertions.
Obviously my current passion for chess drew me to the book - why else would I read an early novel by an underrated author? - and the Russian title of this novel is apparently The Luzhin Defense. The history of chess is littered with eponymous openings "invented" or inspired by famous players such as the Ruy López (16th century Spanish priest), the Evans Gambit (Captain William Davies Evans) and the Alekhine's Defence (Alexander Alekhine, 4th World Champion). Luzhin is our protagonist. By the way, neither Nabokov nor Michael Scammell the translator is an American so I'm not sure why the title has an American spelling.
A brief description of the novel is that it's a love story of a boy/man rescued from youthful awkwardness by, and later mentally destroyed by, chess. And an unnamed slightly rebellious young woman who sees in this strange, socially inept and self-absorbed man strengths that no-one else (particularly her parents) can. Why does the author not name some of the key characters? I guess because he wants to de-personalise them, their qualities being more important than their names.
Luzhin was a loner as a child, disparaged by his classmates. A chance encounter with a visitor to his father's house leads to his being taught chess by his aunt. At least for a while until she has to move away as a result of becoming rather too close to Luzhin's father. He skips school and gradually develops his skills under the tutelage of a mysterious tutor Valentinov, and becomes a Grandmaster, perambulating through Europe playing (and generally winning) chess tournaments. During one such he meets our heroine who, for reasons which we are encouraged to deduce for ourselves, is attracted to him. There are hints:
"..even in this indifference, in his clumsy words and in the cumbrous stirrings of his soul, that seemed to be drowsily turning over and falling asleep again, she fancied she saw something pathetic, a charm that was difficult to define but one that she had felt in him from the first day of their acquaintance."
"She wanted to make his acquaintance, talk Russian - so attractive did he seem to her with his uncouthness, his gloominess and his low turndown collar which for some reason made him look like a musician - and she was pleased that he did not take any notice of her and seek an excuse to talk to her..."
The peak of Luzhin's chess career looms with a match against Italian Grandmaster Turati, which seems to be a kind of playoff with the winner destined to play for the world championship. Luzhin will be playing with the black pieces and spends days, maybe weeks, preparing a surprise defence against Turati's favourite opening. Come the day Turati has his own surprise and all Luzhin's preparation is for nothing. The game progresses with Luzhin's position getting worse and his mental state worse still. Eventually the game is suspended when Luzhin collapses and is hospitalised in a sanatorium. A doctor advises that chess is a reason for his breakdown and his fiancée sets about removing all reminders from his life.
He recovers, becomes calm and happy and they marry. He has no job, no money and no purpose in life, however and it seems inevitable that his thoughts return to chess. He finds a pocket chess game in his dishevelled old jacket with a hole in the pocket and he begins to think about that suspended Turati game. Nabokov plots life events as though they are chess moves; Luzhin is now totally immersed in the game, something he has to keep from his wife and everyone else. Nothing matters except to finish the game with a win. Sadly, it's all too much and he comes to a tragic end.
Nabokov was apparently a competent chess player but wasn't interested in playing competitively, preferring to create chess problems: the kind where you get given a position in a game and have to solve the question "how does white checkmate in two moves?". So you could argue that this book creates a lifesize chess puzzle universe. I enjoyed it very much; the almost-stream-of-consciousness writing, the chess references of course, the evocation of post-war Central Europe with its Russian émigrés, Luzhin's inner struggles and his character. I don't know whether those who know little or no chess would enjoy it as much but it's definitely more than a chess novel.
Nabokov in the Foreword: "My story was difficult to compose, but I greatly enjoyed taking advantage of this or that image and scene to introduce a fatal pattern into Luzhin's life and to endow the description of a garden, a journey, a sequence of humdrum events, with the semblance of a game of skill and, especially in the final chapters, with that of a regular chess attack demolishing the innermost elements of the poor fellow's sanity." You nailed it, Vladimir!
...the exquisite, moist melancholy peculiar to recollections of love, a thousand games that he had played in the past. He did not know which of them to choose so as to drink, sobbing, his fill of it: everything enticed and caressed his fancy, and he flew from one game to another, instantly running over this or that heart-rending combination. There were combinations, pure and harmonious, where thought ascended marble stairs to victory; there were tender stirrings in one corner of the board, and a passionate explosion, and the fanfare of the Queen going to its sacrificial doom...Everything was wonderful, all the shades of love, all the convolutions and mysterious path it had chosen. And this love was fatal.
The key was found. The aim of the attack was plain. By an implacable repetition of moves it was leading once more to that same passion which would destroy the dream of life. Devastation, horror, madness.
