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Chessville
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The Story of a Chess Player Reviewed by Rick Kennedy
“The Grandmasters, they are different,” said F.
Scott Fitzgerald. The life story of GM Jaan Ehlvest makes for interesting reading, not only for this pedestrian “United Statesian” (as Jerome Bibuld would have it) reviewer – who grew up in New Jersey in the shadows of The Great Apple, as opposed to the Grandmaster, who grew up in Estonia in the shadows of The Evil Empire – but for anyone who would like a peek into the life and thoughts of a gifted chess player, as he makes his way through the various cogs and gears of the often Rube Goldberg-looking world of competitive chess. In his writing Ehlvest is prone more to reflection than rage against the machine – and this adds more to the reading experience, as he is a trained psychologist (although I do not know exactly what that means, beyond his field of study), and a guy with some occasionally rather quirky thoughts.
The book unfolds, chapter-by-chapter, as an on-going series of exchanges between Ehlvest, the interviewer, and Ehlvest, the chess player. This permits the author / biographer / autobiographer to easily control the content and direction of the chapters, while again allowing for self-examination and speculation. That he sometimes seems to dodge his own questions must have amused Ehlvest the fact checker or Ehlvest the editor. It adds scenery to the psychological landscape.
The author does not put on airs, and although he clearly has had a life-long love of chess, he is able to keep his avocation and profession in proper perspective.
Born in 1962, the child of two physicians, Ehlvest grew up on a farm, went to chess school, progressed as a Junior, made it to the Botvinnik Chess School and was soon on his way to becoming an International Master in 1983 and a Grandmaster in 1987. He played in the intoxicating but too-short-lived World Cup tournaments; won the Reggio Emilia supertournament in 1989; peaked at a rating of 2660 and finished in the top 16 in the most recent FIDE World Championship in Delhi.
The Story of a Chessplayer gives you life stories and chess stories, writ large and small. There is the resistance to being under Soviet hegemony, the struggle of being a minority Estonian amongst Russians, and an accompanying ambivalence toward a chess system that provided so much (for some) – and then a vacuum, when it was gone. At the same time Ehlvest struggles with chess success and (relative) failure, demonstrates an appreciation of alcohol, and engages in many a youthful shenanigan. He shows a remarkable lack of venom towards others in his writing, and a modesty that is sometimes disarming – how often when a master is out-played does he simply say that, rather than concoct excuses, put forth rationalizations, or hint at conspiracies? The only rancor I recall is when Ehlvest reports the time that Dvoretsky had said he was no good in the endgame – and even that seemed to be more feelings of hurt than anything.
Of great importance in Ehlvest’s development was the time he spent with his first chess coach, Tõnu Truus. He also learned from Alexander Veingold and Vladimir Yurkov. Although The Story of a Chessplayer is not subtitled An Inside Look at Soviet Training Methods, there are occasional gems like:
More wisdom (and stories) can be found in the forty-plus “commented” games which make up more than a third of the book. These are not bits of popcorn to be gobbled by the fistful – they are tough battles that bear patiently working through. Even a short game, such as Ehlvest - Andersson, Belfort World Cup, 1988, given here without notes, has its story: “Most players, like Jan Timman, Alexander Beliavsky, and my present opponent, Ulf Anderson, wanted badly to beat me. As usual, this turned against them – they tried too hard…” Ehlvest - Andersson, Belfort World Cup, 1988
The photographs placed around the book are pleasant, and add to the developing picture of the author. Each new comment by Elhlest adds a brush-stroke: "You are not married yet. What kind of woman are you looking for?"
I think Ehlvest has written a thought-provoking book, and I commend Arbiter Publishing (“a boutique publishing house specializing in trade and fiction publishing”) for taking The Story of a Chessplayer on.
Do I have reservations about the book? A couple. The chapter titled “My Jaan,” featuring interviews with people who know him, is only six pages long, and contains only reflections of two college friends, his chess coach Truus, and his mother. Given the places he’s gone and the people he’s seen, it’s a shame that the chapter isn’t a good deal longer.
As a professional in the mental health field, I appreciate some of the comments of Ehlvest, the psychologist. For example, I can smile in agreement with him when he notes:
On the other hand, I was annoyed by such things as his flat statement that schizophrenia is not possible to control, and his quoting of one expert that all people who have the disorder kill themselves. Perhaps this is subtly tied up in Ehlvest’s feelings about the troubled life and troubling death of GM Lembit Oll… but I digress. Then, there is the tiresome-but-still-bothersome sort of quote he gives from Arnold Arnold:
Sigh. “Large percentage?” Are we talking here about “large” as in ninety percent? “Large” as in more than fifty percent? Or maybe even “large” as in three percent (since Ehlvest gives the “rate of craziness” as around two percent)? I realize that I’m probably following the path set out by a former President when I say that I guess it all depends on what you mean by “large”— but I ask the reader to sit down and write a list of one hundred past chess masters. Circle the ones who were diagnosed as clinically insane. What number do you come up with?
Still, it’s hard to not like someone who answers questions like “Does it make sense to become a Grandmaster?” and who writes that “Chess stands far above poker for one reason…”
I have to let Ehlvest have the last word, too:
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