Being someone who has laughed in the face of most autobiographical “life and games” collections (lots of chess but too little life), I must also admit that I love “life and games” tomes more than any other kind of chessbook. Therefore, it’s not surprising that I looked forward to this one for several reasons. To me, Grandmaster Svetozar Gligoric is a legend who has successfully crossed swords with the finest players of his day. In this book of 130 DEEPLY annotated games, his victims are a who’s who of greatness: Botvinnik, Smyslov, Petrosian, Tal, Geller, Keres, are some of the Soviet names, while a few of the Western opponents that he smashed were Fischer, Euwe, Larsen, Portisch, Hort, Andersson, Szabo, Salov, Vaganian, Miles, Timman, Ljubojevic.

Another factor that made I PLAY AGAINST PIECES highly desirable was the timeframe when Gligoric was at his peak. Those days – not so far distant – were filled with political strife, Hitler’s rise (early in his career), the cold war, and the rule of some of our game’s true “gods.” I imagined the stories, the insight, an epic read hidden under a chessbook’s cover.

As is always the case, reality wasn’t able to match my imagination. However, he came close! The games are very well annotated, filled with anecdotes and enriched with true insight into various opening, middlegame, and endgame concepts. Rounded out by some excellent photos and a section on his contributions to opening theory, one would think that I have nothing to gripe about. Sadly, this isn’t completely the case.

Here is a man that went through many fascinating times, faced danger, and lived a very rich life. Instead of sharing this with us in full, vibrant color, we get quick sound-bytes like –
Born: “On the 2nd February 1923 in Belgrade, the only child.”
Family: “Poor. My father Dragoje Gligoric (32) died when I was 9, my other, Ljubica, born Rakic (37), when I was 17. I was left on my own some five months before Hitler’s surprise attack on Yugoslavia.”
Beginnings: … (about a third of a page).
My early hobbies: … (one paragraph).
Survival: … (half a page).
In chess – again: … (about three paragraphs).
Journalism: … (less than half a page).
Marriage: … (less than half a page).
My long career: … (covered less than half a page).
At my best: … (half a page).
In high society: … (a paragraph).

The rest of his autobiography is chess facts and stats (“first prizes,” “championships of Yugoslavia, won by me,” “other memorable results,” “best achievements,” “public recognition,” etc.). Much of this information is quite interesting, but the way he presents it, and the lack of detail, fails to give the reader a sense of who Gligoric the man was, though he succeeds wonderfully in showing us Gligoric the chessplayer. For example, under “Family” (i.e., Hitler’s surprise attack) we see a moment of history that is begging to be discussed. Yet we’re left without a clue.

If I read an autobiography about a famous artist, I want more than his impressions about writing/painting, more than tales of him sitting in a coffee shop putting pen to paper/brush to canvas day after day. I want to know the feel of the time period he lived in. I want to experience the ups and downs of the life of the artist and the trials and tribulations that made him what he was.

Why do we accept less from the great chess icons? I DO want to know the details of Steinitz’s (or other players of his stature) life away and at the board. I wish Steinitz had painted a picture that would have helped me feel the incredible highs of his success and the dark demons that plagued him, combining to eventually drive him insane.

Unfortunately, the vast majority of “life and games” autobiographical efforts are boring since they make chessplayers seem every bit as nerdy as the public always thought we were. They present us with chess, chess, and more chess, as if saying that nothing transpired between the journeys from one event to another.

To his credit, Gligoric went far beyond the usual neutered disaster. But he dropped the ball when it came to real living – sexuality, emotion, agony, euphoria (at times hinted at but never made real) were all but forbidden to appear on the page. Of course, there are reasons why such true literature rarely appears in these books. Not everyone can paint such life-intensive pictures with their pen. And not everyone wishes to expose his personal “details” to the eyes of the world.

From a chess point of view, Gligoric’s I PLAY AGAINST PIECES is the best “life and games” autobiography to appear since Tal’s magnificent THE LIFE AND GAMES OF MIKHAIL TAL. In fact, it’s far superior to Nunn’s and Anand’s celebrated games collections. Gligoric’s book could have been better if he was willing to take a few more risks, but I guess I shouldn’t be too critical of a piece of work that dwarfs other books in its class.

HIGHLY Recommended!

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