BOBBY FISCHER: THE WANDERING KING

Authors: Hans Bohm and Kees Jongkind

160 pages

Price: $19.95

B.T. Batsford Ltd. (2004)

Reviewed by John Watson

Here we go – another Fischer book, this one written for the popular market and generally presenting his life in dramatic form. The publicity sheet for BOBBY FISCHER: THE WANDERING KING says that “The authors [Hans Böhm and Kees Jongkindby] have dug through the archives, including recently opened FBI files, in order to place the more negative aspects of the man into context – his tough upbringing [? – jw], his exceptional talent, his anti-social behavior, his fight against the chess authorities and his growing eccentricity.” Already I’m mistrustful: I hope that this isn’t another piece of writing that excuses Fischer’s faults on grounds that wouldn’t apply to others? You can “put into context” anyone’s life or behavior on any general grounds, e.g., what of the above doesn’t apply to Hitler? Come to think of it, Bobby might like that comparison. But seriously, the reader should watch out for a style of presentation that trivializes the reality of a person by picking events and explanations to serve ones bias. Let’s see if that's the case as we move along.

The first good news is the breadth of the book’s content: it is not a single author’s account but consists of sixteen interviews and two articles along with essays by the authors. This exposes one to a variety of personalities and makes for easy and pleasant reading. I won’t describe these interviews in detail; unfortunately, many of them consist of the same old stories and comments that experienced players and fans have heard for years on end. Presumably the book will therefore most appeal to, and is recommended for, a popular audience including those who don’t play chess (note too that there is only one game included). Much of what the interviewees give us is unsupported speculation or simplistic psychological conjecture. The book even cites a handwriting expert who makes sweeping assertions about the workings of Fischer’s total mentality. Fortunately the authors don’t think that there’s anything to his assertions, but they’re still included. That doesn’t mean the book isn’t at times fun to read; just that there isn’t enough of biographical or historical substance. Those interviewed include Korchnoi, Karpov, Short, Timman, and Seirawan; with a couple of exceptions the rest are prominent and highly respected figures in the chess world who are in and of themselves interesting. So in one sense you can't go wrong and I don't want to dissuade all potential readers. At the very least, inveterate Fischer watchers and/or those who are addicted to news about the man will not ignore Böhm and Jongkindby's work. Nor will most of Fischer’s ardent defenders.

The Introduction, written by Böhm himself, begins innocently enough. He first refers to the documentary put together for the Dutch TV series from which this book developed. In the next section these remarks will be expanded upon by co-author Jongkind in a detailed 10-page article entitled “The Making of the Wandering King” (which incidentally includes a nasty characterization of Kasparov). Böhm describes each interview from that documentary in a few sentences. Then he passes on to general remarks about Fischer. I’d like to devote some time to this because I feel that his opinions partially reflect how a large number of people view the former world champion. Recently, for example, the standard line by players and columnists consists of a brief disclaimer that they are appalled by Fischer’s recent awful remarks, but that they are sympathetic with the sadly tormented Fischer, condemn the awful behavior of the U.S. and Japanese governments towards him, root for him to get to and stay in Iceland, forgive him because of his gift to the chess world, wish him the best, etc. Böhm, for example, turns the eccentric into a saint: “Fischer also managed to raise the payments and conditions of professional chess players in general significantly, by sacrificing his own material – and immaterial, interests.”

A heroic description. But what is he talking about? Fischer certainly was the cause of the increase in prize funds in tournaments and matches and his demands also improved the conditions for professional chessplayers (in the West, at least). It’s also a fact that he gave up huge sums of money by refusing to make advertisements or play in further matches. But did he do the former (improve conditions) by means of the latter (material sacrifice)? I don’t see any connection, in fact, quite the opposite. Fischer himself profited by holding out for larger prize funds; this helped chess, but was hardly a material sacrifice. And he almost certainly hurt professional chess funding by refusing to advertise (which I nevertheless think was an admirable stance). The same applies to not playing again: had he continued to compete it obviously would have brought more money and attention to chess. Those decisions worked against his material interests, but also hurt chess professionals’ “payments and conditions”. As far as anyone can tell, his reasons for foregoing profit were his own. Of course no one knows about Fischer’s “immaterial interests” [whatever Böhm means by that], but his subsequent religious, philosophic, and political direction has hardly helped chess professionals materially or otherwise, nor the game’s image, which is closely related.

Böhm’s continues: “The horror relates to the changes Fischer’s character underwent since he became the best player on earth in 1972 – which is to say from the moment the sobering effects of reality stopped being applicable. Those character changes are comparable to the manner in which a committed revolutionary sometimes degenerates when he becomes absolute ruler.” [Note the fact that the edition in question is a translation, as indicated by “The horror relates to”; perhaps that accounts for some of the poor writing in this book].

Such pop psychology perpetuates the myth that Fischer “suddenly changed” (Böhm: “from the moment”), and became deranged soon after 1972 as a result of winning the match. As usual in Fischer speculation, there is almost no input from players who were actively involved in the American chess scene in the late 1960s up to 1971. In fact, only one of the twenty people interviewed or involved in the book qualifies in that regard – Pal Benko. For that matter, there are only three Americans consulted altogether, and no one is asked about Fischer’s psychological problems or behavior from pre-match times. It is easy to theorize and pontificate from such a distance. In the United States, stories about Fischer’s paranoia and prejudices were commonplace at that time. It also seemed that every time we heard that “Grandmaster/Master X” was working with Fischer the news followed quickly that Fischer had dismissed him. Even then it seems that people were always betraying him. You could argue that at some point several years after the Championship match something fundamental suddenly snapped, but even that lacks substantiation. The only pre-1972 personal contact with Fischer that I saw in this book involved Hans Ree, who met him in Netanya, Israel in 1968, four years before the match. He spent some time with Fischer and reports: “It was already said then that he had made anti-Semitic remarks. I asked him. He said that it was indeed true, but that he had realized that this had been stupid. ‘Moreover’, he said, ‘I am half-Jewish.’ So at that moment he was, but later he was at it again.” Make of that what you will, it’s at least direct testimony.

Böhm goes on to describe Fischer’s current complaints and says, “Fischer may magnify reality in his line of reasoning to absurd proportions, creating fire-spitting monsters with nine heads and a hollow laugh. His life story, however, shows the real events behind the birth of these little monsters. Fischer was shadowed by the FBI, the KGB did have a Fischer file, the Russians did conspire against Fischer, Fischer did not get all the royalties to which he was entitled, and the auction of his storage space was wrongful.” [Emphases his].

Again, the charged language (“shadowed”), and exculpatory implications. At the time the FBI had a file on and kept an eye on practically everyone who visited Russia, as they did on a significant portion of the politically active American public. Was Fischer personally affected by this? And did Fischer know at the time or would he have been surprised that the KGB had a file on him? It’s strongly implied that these factors had something to do with Fischer’s strange behavior and beliefs. How? Böhm doesn’t even try to connect the little monsters to the man himself.

Then there’s Curacao: When people from the same country agree to draw in advance, that hardly amounts to a conspiracy against another player. Obviously, as many have pointed out, Fischer’s chances of winning the tournament were considerably enhanced by this deal. As far as I can see, nothing in his record showed that this energetic youth tended to become “exhausted” at tournaments, and even if there were this would be a very strange thing for the alleged conspirators to count on! At least a 3-0 record by one of the Russians would be an advantage for him; 1.5-1.5 was a disadvantage in terms of taking first place from anyone else who was playing truly well. You may rightfully question the ethics of agreed draws (which are still common among countrymen), but Karpov’s interview (as well as that by Benko, who was there) makes the same point: “Petrosian, Keres and Geller agreed [to produce] three draws in the first three rounds. With draws you cannot win the tournament [laughs], but this was a fact. Fischer played in Curacao, and then he explained his bad play was because of this agreement. But Fischer took fourth place and had no chance to win the main place to meet the champion. But he had found an excuse for his bad performance.” Benko agrees. In the face of such logic, Böhm asserts with a tone of certainty: “the Russians did conspire against Fischer” – what evidence does he have for this? As for the mystery of the Great Storage Space Affair, I don’t know who to believe, but it’s odd to connect Fischer’s views on the Jewish Conspiracy and other subjects to frustration over a single incident that occurred so late after his positions were known.

Böhm finishes the Introduction with a flourish: “But whether Fischer now plays chess or not, everything newsworthy about him is reported in the media. That is what happens to living legends. The May 2002 issue of New in Chess says about the following about Karl Rove, George W Bush’s top strategist:

“And what do these journalists invariably call him? What wondrous epithet is bestowed time and again on this loyal and generally admired patriot? That’s right, you will find it hard to find an article in which Karl Rove is not called ‘the Bobby Fischer of American politics’!”

The examples are legion and in all languages, and they will continue to appear. “Bobby Fischer still stands for an intelligent, clear strategy and an extreme determination to win, even if he has not played chess for almost thirty years.”

My first problem with this is that I don’t know what it means, i.e., I have no idea what New In Chess said “about the following about Karl Rove”, because we aren’t told either where New in Chess got the quote from, or what they said about that quote. Or is this a misstatement and the quote is in fact from someone at New in Chess itself? Since the translator has difficulty with English at various points, that seems just as likely but not certain. A proofreader would have helped throughout this book.

The next problem is that I have read many, many articles on Karl Rove and don’t recall ever hearing him referred to as “the Bobby Fischer of American politics”, much less invariably so. I’m sure that has happened somewhere but would be surprised if it has occurred in more than 1% of such articles. I suppose the part about “loyal and generally admired patriot” is sarcastic. Apart from the fact that Rove isn’t usually characterized as “patriot”, I strongly doubt that any of Fischer’s defenders would like him to be admired for being a dirty tricks operative! The difference is that some of both Rove’s supporters and even opponents ruefully admire his ability to cast aside pretensions of fair play in order to achieve victory at any cost, whereas even Fischer’s worst critics cannot help but acknowledge his commitment to absolute fairness in his determined pursuit of victory over the chessboard.

Interviews are sometimes a poor medium in which to search for genuine information, but one can usually glean the better parts. Harry Sneider is presented as “a special friend of Bobby Fischer”. He turns out to be a weight lifter who trained Fischer and is still in touch with him. Among other things Sneider informs us that Fischer “has read 100,000 books”. One has to wonder where this figure comes from; remember that we are continually told that Fischer always tells the truth, whether about being tortured in a jailhouse or beaten up by the Japanese. Anyway, Sneider tells us further that, “Fischer has an enormous memory capacity. In world history there are people like Mozart and Einstein, but Fischer is in his way also unique. Someone like that is born once every 100 years. He is really a treasure for humanity. I hope he comes back and starts playing chess again, so we can enjoy the talent that God gave him.” Thanks to the interviewer, Sneider also supplies some informative details about Fischer’s post-championship life in Southern California and his relationship to the Church of God.

Jan Timman has a too-brief interview. To my taste, the best part is his description of meeting Fischer in 1990. Timman’s respect for Fischer survives the latter’s usual inanities about Kasparov and Karpov fixing their match, an accusation Fischer also leveled at Korchnoi. Amusingly, Fischer still calls Kasparov “Weinstein”. Well, not so amusingly, because Timman adds: “If he doesn’t like somebody then he is automatically a Jew.” Still, Timman says about him, “It’s a real pity. Fischer is a sympathetic person by nature. He is always honest. He never minces words.” There’s something very odd about this: Why would an angry person full of hatred for so many individuals that he has met, and on top of that directing a venomous revulsion towards a whole “race” of people (and/or their faith), be described as sympathetic? Perhaps for the same reason that so many famous people with negative political, ethical, or personal histories have been considered affable and friendly by those that met them. There’s surprise that the wicked one seemed so “human”. But should we really care? To me, worrying about whether someone is “sympathetic” has little value under such circumstances. Getting him help, perhaps, but that’s another matter.

Incidentally, how is it that Timman and others know that Fischer is “always honest”? By all accounts Fischer is a recluse who has had only limited interaction with the public world or 30+ years, and apparently only brief contact with Timman. If we’re just going by feeling or intuition, his descriptions of various run-ins with authority do not strike me as particularly honest; those are just my intuitions, however, and that’s the point. Again, his mythical portrayal is based upon a romantic mindset and not on evidence or experience.

Most readers will probably want to hear what ex-World Champion Karpov has to say. I was surprised to hear that he had first met Fischer in 1972, and disappointed that Karpov doesn’t say what passed between them. Here are some of his comments upon their unplayed matches:

“Fischer had his personal problems, I believe. He was not ready. And I don’t want to claim that he was afraid of me: most probably he was afraid of himself. So he became World Champion, he gave some interviews, and he believed that the World Champion has no right to make mistakes. And then with such a position and with such an outlook, you cannot play chess at all, because you cannot avoid mistakes. There are big mistakes and there are small mistakes. Big mistakes of course are not for a World Champion, but small mistakes you always make. It can be one, it can be two or it can be more. But to avoid mistakes altogether you must simply stop playing chess.

“He made such an extreme task for himself that he couldn’t start a game. As a champion he couldn’t even start one game. So this was his personal problem, and I regret that such a thing happened to him. The chess world missed another great match.”

[Interviewer:] “You met him in 1975?”

“No, in 1976 and 1977 we had several meetings, but at the end of these meetings I just left with the conclusion that Fischer would not play. In 1976, I was hoping that he was coming back, but the last meeting in 1977 was strange. We almost agreed on everything, and it was an open question: what should we call this match? ...Chess was always [considered] part of sport in the USSR, and so I knew that the name Fischer had in mind – ‘World Professional Championship’ – [would be a problem to Soviet Authorities, with whom Karpov does not sound so pleased]. I said we must exclude the word ‘professional’; the whole world will understand what we mean anyway. I explained [my reasoning] straightforwardly. In the beginning he was beginning to understand, but then when we had a written agreement ready, and the pens in our hands, Fischer started to sign and then he said ‘No, No, we shall sign for everything, including the title, or we sign nothing’. Then I said to him: ‘I had many problems the first time, in 1976 in Japan, I was accused of being a traitor.’ Some people said that I wanted to sell the title – that I wanted to get a lot of money to play Fischer and give him the title back. Some stupid things they made up. But it worked. Then in 1977 I said we could change the title. But then Fischer didn’t want to use any other title. Then I realized he just didn’t want to play. He was in the same position as in 1975: he was looking for excuses to get out.

[Interviewer:] “He was a coward?”

“I wouldn’t use that word. He was not afraid. He was afraid to start the competition, he was afraid of his form, I don’t want to say he was afraid of me or anybody else.”

[Interviewer:]  “Would you like to play him?”

“He is still interesting. People are wondering what condition he’s in. He’s 60, which is quite an age for a chess player.”

There are some nuggets in BOBBY FISCHER: THE WANDERING KING. Unfortunately, as I’ve indicated, quite a lot of this book’s content is old hat or predictable. But if you’re interested in Fischer and modern chess history as a whole, you should consider getting a copy.

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