In his third full-length memoir about one of the world’s greatest ever chess players Genna Sosonko portrays a warm picture of the seventh world champion Vasily Smyslov, with whom he spent considerable time over the board, during tournaments and while meeting at each other’s homes. Smyslov the man was far more balanced and spiritual than most of his contemporaries, capable of a relaxed and yet principled approach to life. Unlike most top players he was able to reach a very high standard in his chosen hobby – in his case, classical singing – even while playing chess at the very top. His natural inclination to see the best in people was, however, challenged as the world around him underwent fundamental changes late in his life. The new freedoms of the post-Soviet era also engendered one of the most extraordinary polemics in chess history – David Bronstein’s article ‘Thrown’ Games in Zurich (2001) – bringing accusations against Smyslov that forced him to defend himself at the age of eighty, by which time many witnesses to the events in Zurich were already deceased. In this book, Genna focuses in particular on that polemic, places it in the wider context of the so-called Soviet Chess School, and asks whether Bronstein’s hurt and accusations were justified.
I had been going to give this book four stars, but saw that the current average was over four. Quite simply, I was unwilling to be the reviewer who lowered the average. Genna Sosonko is a treasure.
The reason I had been going to give the book four stars is that four is a rating that I will often give to very good books of which it must be fairly said 'those who like this sort of thing will find it to be the sort of thing that they like'.
This is a memoir consisting chiefly of the author's personal remembrances of the seventh world chess champion, Vasily Smyslov. It is entirely accessible, though, to those who do not play the game. It is true that Smyslov and the author (and others) sometimes speak in the lingo of chess as you would expect them to do given the original context in which they knew each other, but it's no barrier to understanding the very human story recorded in this book. Chess players take note, this is a memoir, not a games collection.
Another reviewer referred to Sosonko's 'bullet point' style. Having read the book, I know exactly what he means, but I would not choose to use that label. Rather, the short vignettes of which the book is largely composed function as a mosaic, or, better, the bits of colored glass in a kaleidoscope that do not form a single image, but transform a view.
The book is in three parts. In the first, Sosonko's remembrances go back and forth in time and traverse the globe, but share the single objective of showing Smyslov's character and personality. In the second, the author delves into the allegations that came out in 2001 that the Soviet players were involved (or forced by their government handlers to be involved) in match fixing in the 1953 candidates match in Zurich. Smyslov's reactions to these allegations at the age of 80 are a jumping off point for Sosonko to share his broader memories of cold war era chess in the Soviet Union in general. This is part of what makes Sosonko a treasure. He's Russian enough to understand as only a Soviet era Russian could, old enough to have been there, and removed enough to write freely. The remembrances in the third part come from Smyslov's final years and evoked in me the kind of melancholy that can be said to be beautiful.
If that is the sort of thing that you like, you will find Smyslov on the Couch to be to your liking.
A nice memoir by Sosonko, though I find his bullet point style a bit impersonal at times. It's obvious that Sosonko has real feeling for the Smyslov's and not just the respect given to a World Champion. It is good that the author expresses both good and bad points, because none of us are one sided, but the general feeling is that Smyslov was a great World Champion, and generally a really nice guy.