I’ll start out by saying that I love “discovering” great chess books and telling others about them. To me, a really excellent chess book is a wondrous, sometimes magical thing, and negative reviews are always given with a heavy heart. Chess writers work hard on their latest opus, publishing companies try to put out good product, but sometimes things just don’t turn out as hoped. Crushing their hopes and dreams isn’t a pleasure by any stretch of the imagination, but it’s something that has to be done.

I expected a lot from THE ART OF BISGUIER, so my mood swing from excitement (upon getting it in the mail) to depression and disgust (after reading it) pretty much sets the tone of this review. Let’s start out with the book’s production and design – something the author has little control over. A couple of things caught my eye before I even opened the cover: a back-cover blurb by Bob Long is proudly presented – why anyone would boast of the support of a weak player with a background of amateur publications is beyond me. On the front cover we see the author’s name at the very top of the page, something that’s just not done. Amateur night was confirmed when I spied the “technical editor’s” name on the cover. This is another thing a professional company simply wouldn’t do. Also, what exactly is a technical editor? Do they mean copy editor? I just don’t know. In fact, I’m surprised they didn’t put their parents’ names and pictures on the cover as well.

Finally cracking the book open, I saw that the title page was done incorrectly. I moved on, knowing that it was only going to get worse. Not wishing to have my eyes burned out by more horror, I skipped around the book, first noting an endless array of ugly boxes with redundant (and, more importantly, boring) information, and then winced at the sight of their first blank-page-gone-bad due to the addition of a folio (i.e., page number) and a header (you NEVER put either on a blank page!).

Other flaws: by placing numbers and letters around the diagrams, they succeed in crowding the pages. An insanely liberal use of italics gives the book an ugly look. The games, straight from ChessBase to the page with little or no editing, are particularly unattractive. More boxes (which lack any artistic appeal) add to the maddening confusion. Finally, they didn’t know how to size the photos correctly, and this led to many images being comically stretched out (imagine chess players as Coneheads).

I could go on and on (And there are many more howlers waiting to be ravaged!), but why beat a dead horse? Of course, the people at 3rd Millennium Press didn’t mean to make these mistakes. But why didn’t they look at books from top companies so they could emulate standard design practices? Why didn’t they consult someone who knew what they were doing?

As a chess author, I’ve been victimized by amateurish publishers on several occasions. It’s a horrible feeling, so I can well imagine Bisguier’s mood when he finally laid eyes on this abomination. Hopefully they will learn from this first step and make the necessary adjustments.

Next, the content! We’ll begin with Mr. Newton Berry’s biographical text of Bisguier. Boring, and bordering on hagiography, Mr. Berry refuses to take chances, giving us a no-energy milk-toast view of a man who was actually quite a colorful character. When Berry wrote, “For example, hardly anyone knows that Art served for years on the board of directors of his local branch of Planned Parenthood.” I was left thinking, “No, I didn’t know that, but why would I care?”

Bisguier’s writings (he supplies each game with an introduction) and notes are more interesting, but also deeply flawed. At times his game introductions and historical talks are somewhat informative, and at other times banal. Like Mr. Berry, he refused to take chances, not treating us to more than a glimpse of his life away from chess. Even worse, Bisguier’s game notes were done with a minimum of effort. The analysis never tells us that he’s searching for truth, and the game prose offers little in the way of instruction.

I can’t fully blame Mr. Bisguier for these problems. A good editor would have demanded a greater effort – just because an author is famous doesn’t mean you don’t give him a wake up slap for his own good!

Take a look at this paragraph, written by Bisguier: “I represented the US at the Olympiad that year. The USSR finished first. We came in fifth. My roommate in Helsinki was George Koltanowski. We became good friends, and I later took a furlough to travel with him and the Golden Gate Chess Club. We played a series of matches in Paris, Milan, Venice, Genoa and Barcelona.”

Terrible writing! Where in hell was the protective hand of the editor? Why didn’t someone at 3rd Millennium Press get details of Bisguier’s interaction with Kolty? The reader would have loved to know what their journeys together were like. The reader would have been interested to hear tales of what happened when they were not playing chess. Instead, we’re fed minimal factoids that, for the most part, are devoid of personality or energy.

This book could have been very good. Arthur Bisguier has experiences to tell that would fill several tomes. He has played games that deserve a thoughtful and deep analysis. We get none of that. Instead, we’re left with a lazy, vacuous hodgepodge that throws all the book’s promise in the garbage, leaving an unmitigated disaster in its wake.

A second volume is in the works (this first book covered the “early” years from 1945-1960). I can only implore the people at 3rd Millennium Press to get their act together and come out with a follow up that honors Bisguier instead of humiliating him.