Continuing his discussion of past champions, Garry Kasparov provides many insightful thoughts and compelling moments while covering the life and times of Max Euwe, Mikhail Botvinnik, Vasily Smyslov, and Mikhail Tal. In many respects, the coverage here is more engrossing than the first volume, which was devoted to early champions Steinitz, Lasker, Capablanca, and Alekhine. The material benefits from Kasparov’s knowledge of Soviet chess, as three of the four (with the exception of Euwe) were more or less contemporaries of the author. While some criticized the historical accuracy of the first volume, this one seems to be on firm footing.

There is much food for thought among the book’s 480 pages – indeed, its sheer size, by itself, is notable. The author, in the introduction, introduces the theory of his second, Yuri Dokhoian, that “with the years each world champion begins to ‘calcify’ – in other words, to become inflexible and be transformed into a living monument. That is, he gradually ceases to add something new to chess and to grasp the dominating tendency of its development. And sooner or later the inevitable retribution sets in, since the young challenger, on the contrary, usually makes a step forward.” Over four fascinating pages, Kasparov provides his evidence in support of this theory, looking at each world champion in succession.

This is a fascinating discussion that helped me better understand the nature of change in chess thinking, both in terms of the opening and the approach taken to issues relating to development, material, and deployment. It sets the stage for later content, as Kasparov explains that this is not only a compilation of the best games of the world champions, but is also meant to analyze what he calls the ‘sore points’ of chess history – the critical turning points of matches for the world championship.

Besides the four champions, Kasparov goes out of his way to discuss three chess legends of this era that did not obtain the world championship title – Paul Keres, David Bronstein, and Effim Geller. Each of these played a prominent role in the world championship preliminaries, and each was a fascinating (and strong) player that left their mark on the game, both in its history and development. In many respects, the discussion of these three is critical to the fabric of chess history the author weaves, and it was a wise choice to include this material.

Kasparov treats all of the book’s seven primary subjects with respect but also provides plenty of frank assessment. For example, while he praises Euwe’s professional preparation for world championship matches and scientific opening repertoire, he also makes it clear that he considered Alekhine (“the Russian chess genius”) to have superior chess ability. While this is an easy example (one would guess most chess writers would share this opinion), there are others. In particular, Botvinnik is not spared from this sort of critique.

In fact, the chapter on Botvinnik is the book’s longest and best. This is not surprising, given his long reign and the many controversies surrounding it. The discussion of the difficult relationship between Botvinnik and Keres is particularly revealing. Kasparov treats this set of circumstances in an even-handed manner. In short, he accepts the fact that Keres was held in check by the Soviet chess and political establishment and that Botvinnik greatly benefited from the same. On the other hand, in discussing the play and results of both players, Kasparov comes down on the side of Botvinnik, finding that Keres lacked something in his character to allow him to ascend to the world championship throne. While Kasparov admits that this could be because of the circumstances surrounding the second world war and his post-war “relationship” with Soviet authorities, he quotes without affirming Spassky’s opinion that “there certainly was a period when [Keres] was No.1 in the world – both by rating and by his chess strength.”

As mentioned above, Kasparov is quick to provide examples of ways in which Botvinnik benefited from his status as the “chosen one” of the Soviet establishment. This status was maintained for a long time, but it would be wrong to dismiss Botvinnik as a player or a figure in chess history, and Kasparov’s writing reflects that fact. For one, he views Botvinnik, along with Steinitz and Fischer, as the world champions who truly revolutionized opening play. He also recognized the iron logic in Botvinnik’s method, including his systematic study and rigorous analysis, which became a hallmark of the Soviet Chess School.

Perhaps the sheer strength of Botvinnik’s play is summarized by Kasparov’s quotes from others profiled here, when he writes that “Tigran [Petrosian] recalled the he found playing Botvinnik even more difficult than player Fischer: ‘There was a very unpleasant feeling of inevitability. Once in a conversation with Keres I mentioned this and even compared Botvinnik with a bulldozer, which sweeps away everything in its path. Keres smiled and said: “But can you imagine what it was like to play him when he was young?” It is curious that Bronstein also spoke about the Botvinnik of the late 1940s in the same vein: ‘He played like a bulldozer: he advanced in the center and his opponents were unable to withstand the strength of his mental intensity, his energy. Nor could they withstand the accuracy of his play – it was as thought he did not move a piece, but drove a nail into the board!’”

Kasparov also delves into his own relationship with Botvinnik, which ran the gamut from student to teacher and mentor to partner (as world champions and chess school collaborators) and ultimately to their falling out over politics, both in chess and the Soviet Union. One gets the feeling that this is a painful subject for Kasparov, but it is very interesting reading. In the end, I was struck with sadness by Kasparov’s discussion of Botvinnik’s attitude to many of his fellow players. As Kasparov writes, “For him chess was not only an ‘inexact problem,’ but also an endless war.”

Of the seven highlighted players, Kasparov shows great admiration for the play of David Bronstein. While some only know him for his drawn match with Botvinnik (which garners plenty of discussion here), Kasparov spends a lot of time on his dynamic approach, particularly his treatment of the black side of the King’s Indian. It’s generally conceded that the ideas of Bronstein and Boleslavsky (referred to here as the “Kiev School”) made this a world-class defense in the 1950s, and Kasparov praises their work via several games. From Kasparov’s perspective, this was one of those key developments in the march of chess ideas, which was first mentioned in the book’s introduction. Later games, including Bronstein’s famous win with a whole rook sacrifice over Ljubojevic in the 1973 Interzonal Tournament in Petropolis, only solidify Bronstein’s place as a dynamic force.

There is a ton of interesting chess material, and this review can’t do justice to it all. With many revealing stories and anecdotes, just one will illustrate the book’s utility as a guide to great players and good chess: “Botvinnik told me once, back in the late 1960s, he was asked to take a look at a talented youth ‘Ljubo’ Ljubojevic. They met, and the latter began showing him something. ‘Do you analyze your games?’ Botvinnik asked severely. ‘What for?’ Ljubo answered in genuine surprise. ‘Here I realized that nothing worthwhile would come of him,’ recalled [Botvinnik].”

Besides all the written content, the book contains 149 games (or game fragments), which are, in the vast majority of cases, extensively annotated. While most of the annotations are the product of others, Kasparov (and, admittedly, his computers) have sought to revise this earlier analysis when warranted. There was a fair amount of criticism directed at the first book, in terms of unattributed analysis. While I am no chess historian and do not have the time (or inclination) to check the book’s analysis against a variety of other sources, it does seem to me that there was greater concern in this volume for attributing analysis to others where appropriate.

While there are plenty of lesser-known efforts, it is not surprising that the games are dominated by world championship contests or other notable and well-known contests. For example, in the chapter on Euwe, about a third of the games are from his world championship matches. The chapter on Botvinnik (which also includes Bronstein and Keres) also contains about a third of games from world championship matches or tournaments. The expected classics from outside the world championship matches are also included, such as Botvinnik-Capablanca and Botvinnik-Alekhine from AVRO 1938; Botvinnik-Fischer from the 1962 Olympiad at Varna; Geller-Euwe and Euwe-Najdorf, from the 1953 Zurich Candidates Tournament; Tal-Keres and Fischer-Tal from the 1959 Candidates Tournament; and Fischer-Geller, Skopje 1967.

As with the first volume, this is a wonderfully produced book. The hard cover, binding, paper, print, and diagrams are all first-rate. The book opens flat throughout, and there are few typos to be found. There is also an index of players and openings. I doubt you will find a book with a higher value on a price per page calculation.

Of course, few books are perfect, and I did detect a few things that detracted slightly from my enjoyment of it. First, as a multi-volume set, there are instances where subjects that are explored in the first volume are referenced here, especially when dealing with Euwe’s contests with Alekhine. The reader who does not purchase that first volume will be lacking in these cases. Second, the decision to focus chapters on a particular player creates some schizophrenic moments, as matches get discussed from opposite sites in differing chapters. Thus, the Euwe-Alekhine matches stretch across volumes, and matches involving Botvinnik stretch across chapters. There are also matches involving Botvinnik and Euwe that are discussed in separate chapters, and it is sometimes difficult to maintain the context of what was happening with this split coverage.

While the book’s sheer size is a plus, on occasion the discussions can become ponderous. Kasparov (and Dmitry Plisetsky, who has provided much of the historical content) go to great lengths to provide various views on the players and events, but at times the discussion drags. A bit more editing could have made the book more user friendly. Of course, the same might have been said about “War and Peace.”

In conclusion, Garry Kasparov has written an insightful and revealing book about some of the great champions in chess history. While this will no doubt be of interest to chess historians, all players will benefit from its study. While sometimes laborious in its discussion, this ultimately is a celebration of great chess personalities, concepts, and experience. It deserves its place as one of the better books of the year 2003.