Garry Kasparov on Chess, the Cold War, and the West’s Shameful Appeasement of Putin

Nick Gillespie & Joshua Swain

“I think we’ve forgotten many important lessons of the Cold war,” says human-rights activist and former World Chess Champion Garry Kasparov. Especially when it comes to dealing with Russian leader Vladimir Putin: “You cannot project weakness….Putin’s game is [not chess but] poker. And he knows how to bluff.”

As the leader of United Civil Front and chairman of the Human Rights Foundation, Kasparov also worries that business and political leaders in what used to be called “the Free World” are no longer interested in backing large, transformative projects similar to landing a man on the Moon and the creation of the Internet. “It is very important that we have these projects to energize society,” he says. “And also that we don’t eliminate risk. Because it seems to me that now we teach kids from school that failure is nothing but failure. If you fail, you are a failure. No, no, I believe that failure is a logical move on the way to success.”

After becoming the youngest World Chess Champion in 1985, Kasparov went on to a career that is among the greatest in the sport. Originally supportive of Gorbachev’s reform, when the Soviet Union collapsed, Kasparov became increasingly outspoken against the failures of Russian leadership, especially under Putin.

Reason’s Nick Gillespie interviewed Kasparov in New York in November at a dinner co-hosted by the Atlas Network, a nonprofit that promotes free-market think tanks in the developing world.

About 30 minutes.

Camera by Meredith Bragg and Jim Epstein. Edited by Joshua Swain.

Free Minds, Free Markets, and Free Kasparov aren’t free! Support Reason’s annual Webathon with a tax-deductible donation and help change the world in a libertarian direction. For details on giving levels and swag, go here now.

Here is a rush transcript of the interview (check all quotes against video for accuracy):

Reason TV: This is not just the anniversary of the Berlin’s Wall’s Collapse, it is also the anniversary of your world championship.

Garry Kasparov: I celebrated this date four years before the collapse of Berlin Wall. November 9, 1985, I won my world championship title in Moscow.

Reason TV: We’d like to think that the two events are not unlinked. Talk a little bit about what the enduring lessons of the fight against communism, that we are in 25 years it seems a couple of worlds ago. What are the lessons that we’re in the danger in losing from long after the twilight of the cold war.

Kasparov: I think we’ve forgotten many important lessons of the Cold war. I have to say that when I entered this field in the mid 80’s as the newly born world champion, it was not as dangers. So Gorbachev badly needed to reconcile with the west. The soviet economy was in terrible shape. Oil prices were sharply falling thanks to the cooperation between Reagan’s administration and the Saudis. And it was absolutely clear even for the soviet politburo that the arms race in the competition against the United States on the global scale was no longer a plausible option.

So Gorbachev tried hard and he made several attempts to convince Ronald Reagan to accept some sort of peace accord. Thanks to Reagan’s intuition and despite the advice of all his advisors, his administration, the state department, the pentagon, he said no in Reykjavik. And I think by saying no in Reykjavik, Reagan made Perestroika and the eventual collapse of the Soviet Union inevitable in such a short period of time.

Reason TV: And of course Reykjavik…

Kasparov: A symbolic place. 1972, Bobby Fisher beat Boris Spassky. That was another episode of the big victory of the free world in the cold war.

Reason TV: And thereby condemning all of us in grammar school in the 70’s to joining chess clubs. What was it like to grow up in the Soviet system? You were in the relatively privileged position.

Kasparov: I was relatively privileged, because of my chess.

Reason TV: What was it like and what was the psychological effect on yourself on people around you?

Kasparov: I think certain things are very hard to describe. Because to understand them, you have to live with them. I was always amazed to hear comparison in America or Western Europe about Soviet Union and certain wrong doings of the governments in the free world without recognizing that in the Soviet Union, just was a dictatorship.

I grew up in the later 60’s, 70’s, early 80’s. Of course I haven’t experienced horrors of Stalin’s time. But it was still the country that was not free and thanks to my ability to place chess and the fact that I was a chess prodigy, I could travel abroad. SO my first trip to France was when I was 13. And it was a very shocking experience.

Reason TV: What was shocking about it?

Kasparov: I don’t think that in my family and I’m not just talking about very few people, but extended family, cousins and among my friends, there was no single person that had visited a capitalist country. So at age 13, I carried a sacred knowledge of how people lived on the other side of the Iron Curtain. So people knew that there was another world. They could of course read some literature that was officially banned but you could buy and listen to radio liberty or voice of America and BBC.

You could not find hard believers in a Communist regime, so it was all dying down. My grandfather, my mother’s father was a diehard communist. He died in 1981. I was 18, and we were talking about Afghanistan. And he was shocked after spending 15 years in the Communist party, he had to line up to buy butter and bread. It was mind boggling. So something went wrong. So that’s why the collapse of the Communist system was somehow imminent. I think’s Gorbachev’s plan was not to remove communism and replace it with something more plausible but without giving up the role of the communist party.

Reason TV: Do you think that in the end, that there’s no way to do that. It’s kind alike being a little but pregnant. If you give people a little bit of freedom, the whole thing’s going to collapse. Don’t follow that illusion all the way.

Kasparov: I don’t think that you can divide people genetically by saying these nations are not ready to embrace democracy and I hear this argument about Russia or China. You have two Koreas. If you look at the north, you can come up with the conclusion that Koreans are born to be slaves and they live in gulags. Unless you are aware that there is a South Korea, one of the most flourishing economies in Asia. And again it’s a democracy and market economy. And in China, you have China on the one side but you have Taiwan. It’s a rocky island with the same people. And I’m not even mentioning two Germanies.

I think people have the same aspirations. They want to be successful. They want their kids to have good education. They want to spend some money to have a vacation in a decent place. The moment they are given this opportunity, I don’t think you can force them back to the Communist stable.

Reason TV: You’ve been very forward and very courageous in speaking out against Putin and other forms of dictatorships, creepy fascism, and corporatism. You’re very critical of the West’s engagement with Putin, with China. You’ve written that we’re willing to trade with them, but we don’t draw a line when they obviate civil liberties. When they continue to act repressively. How should we be engaging them, those of us in the free world?

Kasparov: We have to go back to the 1989, 1990, 1991, it was a great moment in history. Everyone was…

Reason TV: A lot younger.

Kasparov: Don’t mention that. We believe that it was all over. If in August 1991, anyone would say in Moscow or outside of Soviet Union, “in nine years, a KGB lieutenant would be the President of Russia,” people would be laughing. It was really impossible to believe that after all these changes, we can go back.

In 1992, one of the best sellers was the End of History, by Francis Fukuyama. The end of history, liberal democracy has won, that’s it. I think this book ignored the fact that every generation has to fight it own Berlin Wall. As Ronald Reagan said, “Freedom is only one Generation away from Extinction.”

So there’s no physical Berlin Wall, but there are walls. And the problem of the Soviet Union specifically, that unlike Germany, Nazi Germany, or Imperial Japan, there was no cleansing process. The society couldn’t feel responsibility for the Communist crimes. For ordinary Russians, “okay, that’s over.” Same as in 1918, in Germany, we lost the war, but maybe somebody betrayed us. While we had some good moments under Yeltsin, you could feel in the 90’s, trying to build a system similar to the free world with parliament, with presidential power, with checks and balances, with independent court system, they failed. Because Russian people believe that all we needed was to have the voting procedure and if we implemented, it would immediately lead to the dramatic improvement in living standards.

The irony is that nobody could see an improvement in the ’90s. The majority couldn’t see it. When Putin took over, thanks to the high oil prices, suddenly, life improved. It’s a very odd connection. But in the minds of many ordinary people, “Wow! That’s a democracy.”

Reason TV: They feel loyalty to Putin rather than to democratic Institutions.

Reason TV: How much of the problem of with Russia is specifically a problem with Putin? You’ve written that distinct from their Soviet Union, it is about him. He’s building a cult of personality, where the state revolves around. You write about the Sochi Olympics. That’s it was a glorification of him similar to the way the Berlin Olympics were (for Hitler). So if Putin is gone, does the trouble go away from within Russia or what needs to happen within the country?

Kasparov: If dictator goes away, it doesn’t happen through the normal election process. So that’s why you can expect turmoil. Most likely uprising in Moscow, in the capital. It won’t end up with a very peaceful resolution. Because political opposition has been destroyed and I don’t think you can have anything worse than Putin. All these threats that Putin is the last line of defense, and if not Putin. Putin is the main problem. Putin is a paranoid, aging dictator who believes he is Russia. The same way Hitler believed he was Germany. And it’s not surprising that Kremlin propaganda has been repeating the classical “Hitler is Germany, Germany is Hitler” now “Putin is Russia, Russia is Putin.” It is extremely dangerous because for him, his own collapse means the collapse of his country. And unlike Hitler, he has his finger on the nuclear button.

He is by far more dangerous to threat to world peace because Russia today is not as old Soviet Union or modern China. It is not an ideological dictatorship with politburo central committee of the Communist Party. It’s one0man dictatorship. It means that this man, if he believes he is the country, he can do whatever.

Reason TV: So how should the West, the free world, the OECD countries, NATO, the US, what should they be doing differently in dealing with Putin. Because you’re not talking about military engagement but you have written a lot about economic engagement and other types of trade policy. What are good way to bring Putin to heel?

Kasparov: We have been facing this problem for quite a while. And so many mistakes have been made. These mistakes created an impression for Putin and his cronies and also his clients like Assad and others in the world. Iranian Ayatollahs. The West is weak. The west is not willing to get engaged. So the west will give them anything they want. Before we talk about the right strategy, what the leaders of the free world must do, let’s talk about what they must not do. You cannot project weakness. Yes, I know that America will never consider seriously boots on the ground in Ukraine. Why are you talking about it. Why do you say publicly that you will not do that?

I could give you many examples where they violate the simplest rules of negotiation. The secret letter from Obama to the Ayatollahs, without mentioning the fact that it’s an insult for Sunni allies. It’s the first time that the United States and the free world had a great chance of creating a Sunni coalition to stop Sunni terror. Then stabbing them in the back by writing a letter to the Ayatollahs. By the way, they never responded. And now, at the time when the nuclear deal is about to be reached or not. He’s asking them to help with ISIS. ISIS will probably be destroyed. You need more planes, maybe some soldiers, material resources. ISIS is not a global threat, it’s very local. For the sake of Iranian cooperation, this relatively small issue to put at stake the global cooperation of Sunnis and also the non-proliferation policies, that’s exactly what you’re not supposed to do.

Reason TV: You’ve written about how starting under Clinton, as well as under George W. Bush, and under Barack Obama, you talked about Bush being reckless, Obama being aimless. Who are these Western leaders you think that are heads of states who have actually articulated a post-cold war framework for spreading democracy and market liberalism?

Kasparov: I don’t think that any Western leader even thought about doing that because again, the mood was “we won.” Many talk about Clinton’s presidency as a great success. I wouldn’t doubt certain achievements in economy. But geopolitically, it was the greatest disaster among all because it’s not about the final position. The game is still on. In 1992, America was all powerful. It could design the world map the way it wanted. In 2000, al Qaeda was ready to strike. So what happened in these eight years?

Eight years of complacency, of doing nothing. Nobody formulated policies for Russia for Soviet Union, for Islamic terrorism. It requires a global vision. The same way as Winston Churchill, Harry Truman had these policies designed in 1946, in 1947. The Marshall plan. There were plans. Plans they learned from World War II and they knew that to oppose Stalin and to oppose Communism, they needed to come up with a grand strategy and also leadership.

When I hear about potential dangers of confronting Putin today, my first question is, “Is he more dangerous than Joseph Stalin in 1948?” For 11 months, American and British planes had been supplying West Berlin besieged by Stalin’s troops. And Joseph Stalin didn’t shoot a single American plane. Why? Because Harry Truman already used nuclear weapons. And Stalin, as every good dictator, had an animal instinct. He knew where he could be repulsed. So he knew that Harry Truman could not play a game. It happened in 1962, when Khrushchev recognized that he pushed JFK to the ropes. And Ronald Reagan. And don’t tell me that the Soviet Union in 1981, 82, 83, was less powerful than Putin’s Russia today.

Reason TV: You have written recently about how America is hugely important to the world and that America needs a strong economy and that economic force will help spread democracy and freedom, markets throughout the world. You’ve talked about how people in America don’t seem to have the kind of bold sense of vision, of innovation, of change. Can you talk a little bit about that? What happened to that? The idea that we were going to reinvent the world.

Kasparov: I wish I knew. You can just look at the literature that says in the 1950’s, 60, science fiction was the most popular genre. It has disappeared. Now, you either talk about elves, or magic, or it’s dystopia. It’s all you talk about is machines attacking us. There’s no more positive vision, of machines cooperating.

Reason TV: Let me push back on that though, because you talk about 40 years ago…

Kasparov: 50 years ago.

Reason TV: But since then we’ve had things like the Internet; we’ve had things like fracking, which has totally undermined Russia’s ability to dictate oil prices. Does anybody here think that the world is less good than it was 50 years ago?

Kasparov: Let’s be very specific. You mentioned the Internet, it is a result of the space race. The foundation for the Internet was created, designed, and eventually developed by the scientist from DARPA—Defence Advanced Research Projects Agency— 1962, and 1963. So from packet switching, to the full description of every element, including Skype. And in 1969 the first signal came, via ARPANET, from UCLA to Stanford. So what you are talking about today, www, the world-wide-web, is commercial application of technology that has been developed 20 years before.

Reason TV: Which also is the thing that makes it transformative, though.

Kasparov: Yes I know, but we are talking about break-through technology.

Reason TV: So do we need another Cold War? Is that what we need, a kind of regimented goal that society is moving towards?

Kasparov: It’s 2012, 50 years after the JFK speech in the Rice University, about the Moon project. America had no more rockets, no more means to send it’s astronauts into space, they had to use Russian ones, which were also built in the 60s and 70s. So I think it constitutes a disaster, a scientific disaster, because space projects are important, not just for the sake of landing on the Moon or on Mars, but because of the side effects. As we had GPS, we had Internet, and many other things that have been developed alongside the space project. For instance, the expedition to Mars, which has probably a 50-50 chance of safely returning the crew, will force us to do more work on diet, and on medicine. And while today—people here, I am sure, know much better than I do—what are the chances of introducing a new drug? If you have one out of 1000, the rate of failure, out of production? Now, if you produce new drugs or new food, for the expedition, with 50-50 chance of return, then one out of three is already good. So it is very important that we have these projects to energise society, and also not to eliminate risk. Because it seems to me that risk, now—we teach kids from school that failure is nothing but failure. If you fail, you are a failure. No no, I believe that failure is a logical move on the way to success.

Reason TV: Well as somebody who fails more often than I succeed, I feel much better, in this conversation.

We were talking earlier in the evening, and you said there is a huge amount of complacency, in what used to be called “The Free World”. Is this kind of a Marxist analysis of capitalism, that we get fat and lazy because things comes easily after a certain point, and we fall into an inability to actually take the kinds of risks or create the kind of innovations that will actually push us forward?

Kasparov: Again, the Free World needs challenges. Definitely wars, and the Cold War, were challenges. We don’t want to see these challenges again, but it is natural, and we have to recognize that the real innovation is not the IPhone 6, it’s Apollo 6. There is a fundamental difference. And it seems to me that we have multinational corporations that are now sitting on hundreds of billions of dollars of cash, without investing them in new ideas. I understand that paying shareholders in important, but creating new value is probably more important.

Reason TV: Alright. And at that point we are going to turn it over to some questions. And also, by the way, if any of you are sitting on billions of dollars of cash, I do want to point out that both Atlas and Reason 501(c3)s.

So let’s go to questions, please.

Questioner: I asked you earlier, privately, Sir, why you played the Sicilian Defence to win your first World Chess Championship, and you declined to answer. So I just want to ask that question publically, and then I want to ask you how you would apply that to the global scene today.

Reason TV: And for those of us who only play checkers, what is the Sicilian Defense?

Kasparov: It doesn’t matter. It was a game that I was leading, 12 to 11. Karpov had to win the game—he played with white, so he started the game—to retain the title. So I could be happy with a draw. Now the question is why I played a very sharp opening, instead of trying to play very defensive. Now, the answer is very simple: when you reach the climax of any battle, you better be in the situation that feeds your nature. So I was much more comfortable in a sharp position. It doesn’t matter, we play a game—I could win, I could lose, it could be a draw—but I am comfortable. And my calculation was right, because at the crucial moment of the game Karpov had to push, had to make a sacrifice, but it was against his nature. He tried to improve his position, he wasted time, and eventually I could make a powerful counter attack. It is the same in politics; you have to play the game that feeds your strengths. So again, there are so many arguments, there are so many trump cards in the hands of the Free World, and you have to start using them.

From the crowd: So what game do you play?

Kasparov: I play the game of Chess.

Unfortunately the parallels between the game of Chess and modern geopolitics is very questionable, because Putin’s game is more of a Poker, and he knows how to bluff. Normally he has a very weak hand, I would say a pair of nines, but he bluffs, and he knows that his opposition always tries to fold out the cards. So once I said that Putin has this pair of whatever—eight, nine, or ten—and he acts as if he has a Royal Flush; and Obama has a Full House, and he flushed it down the toilet.

Reason TV: Do you believe that Putin would be expansionary beyond the confines of the former Soviet Union? And then what is the challenge that is posed by a country like China, is it similar in kind to the Russian challenge, or is it something very different?

Kasparov: I think that the nature of Putin’s challenge, today, is very much domestic. He has a fundamental problem of finding the rationale for staying in power. He has been in power for 15 years. And every dictator, who is not relying on democratic institutions, must come up with a story, a myth, an idea about why the hell they are there. For many young Russians this is a question. The economy doesn’t offer any more excuses, to the contrary, it all goes down. So the Russian middle class that used to see gradual improvements in their living standards—in money, in perks, in their ability to travel around, in their communications—suddenly they just recognized that it all could disappear. So now Putin’s only rationale is to present himself as a big hero, “Vladimir the Great”; “The collector of Russian lands”; “Putin, the man who is restoring the Russian empire”. Again, for him, the main audience for him is inside the country. The propaganda—and I can still hear it by just listening to Russian television, or just reading the press—it’s worse than Dr Goebbels, it’s Orwell, it’s “War is peace, slavery is freedom”. Twenty-four-seven, it’s anti-American. And they keep talking about horrible things, including even using nuclear weapons. Even Putin himself, in his latest speech, praised Nikita Khrushchev for making these threats. It’s almost quote-unquote, when he said that Khrushchev acted like a crazy man, banging with his shoe at the United Nations, but everybody respected him because they knew he was crazy and they were afraid that he would throw nuclear missiles at them—that is literally quote-unquote. Now, combine it with his clear statement that all the borders of the former Soviet Union are in question—that is why he believes that Russia was in it’s rights to challenge Ukrainian borders, and others as well. Now the question is whether he could attack Estonia and Latvia, they are members of NATO—with article five. My answer is: he might do that, because he doesn’t have to start a whole invasion. He could provoke violence in the Russian enclaves, in Estonia or in Latvia, and then you could see some volunteers crossing the border. At the end of the day it is not about “Invading” Latvia or Estonia, it’s all about undermining NATO. Obama had a big speech in Tallinn, claiming that the United States was behind Estonia—nice. The next day, Russian intelligence kidnapped an Estonian officer from Estonian territory, dragged him into Russia, and he is now in a Russian jail awaiting trial for espionage. The next day! Why? Just to show that there was no protection. So it is all about undermining western institutions, and NATO, and demonstrating that the United States is a paper tiger, is an empty shell.

http://reason.com/archives/2014/12/08/chess-champion-garry-kasparov-slams-puti/

The Prince’s Gambit

A chess star emerges for the post-computer age.

By

In many ways, tournament chess is still played very much as it was a century ago. Players land their pieces with the delicate thump of baize on wood, then jot their moves on scoresheets and tap the clock forcefully, or gently, depending on the mood they wish to communicate to their opponents. Flanking attendants, called arbiters, make sure that nobody cheats. It’s still quiet enough at a tournament that, among the spectators, you can hear your neighbors’ breathing. But the game has changed in at least one fundamental respect: it is now monitored, and even shaped, by computers. Chess pieces are embedded with magnetic sensors that transmit their location on the board to a computer, which relays this information to the Internet. Online, chess programs provide running commentary, evaluating which player is ahead and whether the move he or she is making is brilliant or a blunder. In a modern tournament, just about the only people who don’t know precisely how well they are doing are the players.

But by the sixth round of the London Chess Classic, in December, Magnus Carlsen, the Norwegian phenom, knew that he was behind. If he lost the game, having already been defeated in two earlier ones, he would probably lose the tournament. He was No. 2 in the world rankings, and a victory would give him a good shot at recovering the top spot; he had played inconsistently in recent months, falling from No. 1. There was talk that he was distracted, underprepared, and overexposed. Chess players trying to get out of trouble act a lot like students taking an exam that they haven’t studied for. Carlsen, who had turned twenty just two weeks earlier, often gives off a vibe of someone who is too cool to do his homework, but now he looked a bit panicked. He cupped his head in his hands, rocked his body, and stared at the board, trying to reboot his brain. At one point, it took him twenty-seven minutes to move a piece.

Carlsen’s problems had begun on his second move. Playing black, he had sent out his queen-side knight beyond his pawns—an unusual decision, given that his opponent, the thirty-five-year-old Russian champion Vladimir Kramnik, had already placed two white pawns in the center of the board. So Kramnik had a nice line of pawns where they would do the most good, and Carlsen had a poorly placed piece that threatened to block any attack he might want to mount. A database of nearly five million games indicated that, when these moves were made, white was twice as likely to win as black; Carlsen was already at a significant disadvantage.

Kramnik, one of the last players trained by the old Soviet chess machine, was eerily steady before the board—at times nearly motionless. Carlsen’s eyelids fluttered in a trance of concentration. He looked boyish in a crisp white shirt and a pair of slim-fit pants that had been given to him by G-Star RAW, the Dutch fashion company, with which he has an endorsement deal.

On the eleventh move, Kramnik traded a knight for one of Carlsen’s bishops—an exchange that Kramnik loves. Kramnik’s game is formidable, and his confidence in the endgame is particularly admired. Carlsen, who is largely self-taught, can play various styles; most often, he works toward gaining over-all control of the board, instead of trying to capture prized pieces. The Russian champion Garry Kasparov describes Carlsen’s style as “strangling pressure, not direct hits.”

Kramnik and Carlsen traded queens, then a pair of rooks. With many of the high-value pieces off the board, the real contest began: the march of the pawns. While Carlsen had been experimenting with his knight, Kramnik had been able to wipe out Carlsen’s center pawns and push his own forward. When a pawn reaches the opposite end of the board, it becomes any piece the player wants, usually a queen. Computer programs now gave Kramnik a commanding advantage. Carlsen had to forfeit his knight to stave off Kramnik’s pawns.

Meanwhile, west of London, Kasparov, who had flown from Moscow to sign autographs at the competition, landed at Heathrow. He turned on his smartphone, examined the game’s positions on the screen, and pronounced Carlsen’s situation “impossible.” Kasparov trained Carlsen for most of last year; Carlsen found him too intense, and ended the arrangement. Kasparov still seems to look out for Carlsen, though, as if worried about a careless nephew.

Chess is played on the board and in the head. As the game continued, Carlsen skirted disaster again and again, and Kramnik’s confidence appeared to fray. After taking Carlsen’s knight, Kramnik could have reasonably expected a quick win, and now it was clear that he’d have to settle for a slow one. Kramnik is said to resent the attention that Carlsen gets, and to take special pleasure in beating him. It must particularly rankle Kramnik when Carlsen adopts a blasé pose—declaring, for example, that losing at Monopoly upsets him more than losing at chess. Carlsen’s dislike of Kramnik might be even stronger. He blames his former tutor Kasparov, whom Kramnik dethroned in 2000: “Kasparov really hates Kramnik. And so by listening to Kasparov . . . it’s really hard not to get some of these thoughts myself.”

Kramnik kept advancing, and Carlsen stayed one step ahead of him. Kramnik drank his tea; Carlsen sipped orange juice. Carlsen managed to move a pawn down the board, forcing Kramnik to send his bishop to block it. On the sixty-second move, more than six hours after the game started, Kramnik erred. He likes to clean up the board before finishing off his opponent, and so he initiated an exchange of knights and rooks when he ought to have dealt with Carlsen’s pawn.

The two players were now down to only eight pieces: their kings, five pawns, and Kramnik’s stuck bishop. The computer programs still favored Kramnik, but they do not take into account momentum and fatigue; complex endgames confuse them. (Kasparov, who had just arrived at the tournament, looked at the game on a large screen in the V.I.P. lounge and said, “The computer is useless.”)

Eight moves later, Kramnik had a chance to make a move that would soon lead to checkmate—the computer programs saw it and Carlsen saw it.

Kramnik did not. He moved his king to the side. Carlsen immediately boxed it in with his own. Kramnik tested the boundaries of the prison, but he could not get out. The new reality dawned on him; the computer programs now called the game even. The two players jockeyed. Kramnik assayed with his bishop, and Carlsen countered with his king. They did this three times, resulting in an automatic draw.

Customarily, the players go from the auditorium to a nearby “analysis room,” where they discuss their game with the tournament’s commentators. When Carlsen ambled in, people put down their phones and laptops and applauded. His recovery had been more dramatic than many of his victories. Kasparov was amazed. “It happens,” he said, happily. Carlsen, with a lopsided grin, sat down to discuss the game. Kramnik never showed up. I saw his pretty wife rushing toward an exit, as if the building were on fire. Later that night, Carlsen sent out a tweet: “Good thing I didn’t resign.”

“At the time I started to play chess, I was a pretty much normal kid,” Carlsen recalled. We were sitting in an outlet of Costa, a British coffee chain, off the lobby of the Hilton hotel in Kensington. It was two days after his match with Kramnik. (Carlsen had won the next day’s match and therefore the tournament, regaining his No. 1 ranking.) He had arrived in London on December 5th and was scheduled to leave on the 20th. He has essentially been a full-time chess player since he was fifteen, and spends more than a hundred and sixty days on the road each year. When he is not travelling, he lives with his family in a house in Baerum, an affluent suburb of Oslo. He rents the basement from his parents. For this trip, some friends from the chess club at his high school had come with him to play in the open part of the tournament. Carlsen, who left school two years ago without formally graduating, had gone out with his old friends for pizza and bowling, but at most tournaments he is either alone or with his father, Henrik, who helps manage his career and, to an extent, his life. If Carlsen plays in a tournament in less than clean clothes, chances are that Henrik did not come with him. Carlsen spends evenings in his hotel room, streaming TV shows on his laptop—“The A-Team” and “Curb Your Enthusiasm” are favorites—and going on Skype and Facebook. Sometimes, he works out at the gym to relieve the tension of a match. When he is at home, he plays Wii Sports Resort and Mario Kart, and with his family he plays SingStar, a karaoke game; he also likes to tease his three sisters. I asked Carlsen if he wanted to go to college. “I have no interest,” he said.

The first time I met Carlsen, last May in New York, he had seemed even more introverted than you’d expect a chess pro to be. Henrik sat by his side, and Carlsen let his father do nearly all the talking. Carlsen barely made eye contact with me. By that time, Kasparov, among others, had called him the most promising player of his generation, but Carlsen’s reputation was limited to the chess world. In the months since, he had become a minor celebrity, thanks mostly to advertisements that he had made for G-Star. Carlsen has a baby face that is quickly solidifying into that of a young man, and he has the same loose sandy locks as Justin Bieber. Carlsen now makes more than a million dollars a year in endorsements and fees.

We met up again four months later, at the Cooper Square Hotel, in the East Village. It was Fashion Week, and Carlsen’s face—turned tough through strenuous furrowing of his eyebrows—glowered from billboards and magazines. An event called Magnus Carlsen Against the World had been put together by G-Star. He played against a team of three grandmasters. Each member of the trio suggested a move, and an online audience chose which one to play against Carlsen. Not surprisingly, Carlsen won. Many people in the chess world considered the contest vulgar. Simen Agdestein, who trained Carlsen as a boy in Oslo, and who remains an admirer of his playing, said, “The only point of that was to make Magnus more famous.” At the trophy presentation, the actress Liv Tyler, another G-Star endorser, gave Carlsen, who wore a G-Star cardigan and jeans, a silver plaque, and TV interviewers lobbed softball questions at him.

“There are lots of pretty girls in New York,” an interviewer said. “Any you’d want to meet?”

“I’m sure there’ll be some at the G-Star show,” he said, awkwardly.

Fresh from his comeback against Kramnik, Carlsen was a lot more relaxed. Well built, he was wearing a checked shirt over a T-shirt—both his own purchases—and he looked like a European college kid on holiday. Indeed, his next stop was a Manchester United soccer game. Most grandmasters start chess extremely young—the great Cuban José Raúl Capablanca, with whom Carlsen is sometimes compared, was four years old when he first played—and I assumed that Carlsen had begun at a very early age, too. He hadn’t. As a little boy, however, he had shown unusual mathematical aptitude, which is often found in chess talents. “He would be thinking ten to the second, ten to the third power, and he would go on and on,” his grandfather Kurt Carlsen, a retired chemist, recalled. Before Magnus was two, he could complete a fifty-piece jigsaw puzzle. By four, he had memorized the names and populations of most of Norway’s four hundred and thirty municipalities. He built elaborate models with Lego bricks. “My parents tell me I used to weigh them,” he recalled.

When Carlsen was about five, his father, who was then working as a supply manager for Exxon, brought out the chessboard. Henrik had played the game well as a young man. He wanted to teach his oldest child, Ellen, and Magnus, who is a year younger. But neither paid much attention, and Henrik grew frustrated and gave up. “I said to myself, ‘Maybe chess is not for them. It doesn’t matter—they can do something else.’ ” During these years, Magnus was more engaged by soccer and skiing, and the family already played hearts, bridge, and Monopoly; in those contests, Ellen and Ingrid, who is three years younger than Magnus, ganged up on him.

When Magnus was almost eight, Henrik made another attempt to interest the kids in chess. Magnus liked games, and this time, he recalled, he found it “just a richer and more complicated game than any other.” He soon beat Ellen, who quit playing. Magnus began consulting his father’s small collection of chess books. He read “Find the Plan,” by Bent Larsen, a standard introductory text, and more advanced books, like “The Complete Dragon.” (The title refers to a form of defense in which the pattern of pawns resembles a dragon’s tail.) He was the sort of child who studied what interested him and ignored what didn’t. School, which bored him, was quickly supplanted by chess. “During the whole third grade, I think it’s fair to say, I didn’t do my homework once,” he recalled. At breakfast, he sat down at his own table and tested chess moves on a board. He recalled, “I found it natural—I didn’t really have the need to socialize with my family over meals. Dinner I, of course, ate with them.”

After playing for a year, Magnus beat Henrik for the first time, in a game of “blitz chess,” in which each player has five minutes to make all his moves. Magnus began to play in local junior competitions. Henrik picked him up after ski-jump practice and ferried him to the chess tournaments. Carlsen’s family was not unlike those American families in which the parents are careful not to tell their children that they have to excel but the children sense it anyway. Håkon Åmdal, a friend of Carlsen’s from school, says, “My impression is that Magnus chose to play chess by himself, but he has this feeling that he satisfies his dad by it.”

In March, 2000, Henrik arranged for Magnus, now nine, to spend a few hours every week with a chess teacher, Torbjørn Ringdal Hansen, a former Norwegian junior champion. Carlsen liked Hansen’s casual style; the classes were more like spirited bull sessions. The teacher, in turn, was struck by his pupil’s gifts. “Everything I said he understood so easily,” Hansen told me at the Sjakkhuset, or Chess House, in Oslo, where a biography of Carlsen—the second one—was for sale. “It didn’t take long before it got more and more difficult for me to win.” Hansen was particularly impressed with Carlsen’s prodigious memory for board positions and moves. Last year, when Hansen and Carlsen played together in the Siberian Olympiad, Carlsen pointed to a game that they were both watching and said to Hansen, “That’s a variation you showed me.”

Soon after Carlsen began instruction with Hansen, other kids stopped playing chess with him on the board in the school library. “It very quickly became pointless,” he said. He was so good that it was easy to forget that he’d been at it for only a few years. After he finished poorly in one competition, Hansen had to explain to him that it was permissible to get up and go to the bathroom. Carlsen was small and cute, with candid eyes and uncombed hair. He brought along HobNobs and comic books. The combination of his cherubic face, dangling legs, and Donald Duck lulled his opponents. It felt like competing against the boy in “The Red Balloon.” Henrik recalls that, at a 2002 championship, one player exclaimed in disgust, “I lost to that little prick?”

Chess is no sexier in Norway than in America. Carlsen would rather have become a sports star than a chess champion. In London, he told me that, during his most recent visit to New York, he had gone to Washington Square Park and, unrecognized, played against the chess hustlers, beating them all. The story reminded me of the movie “Searching for Bobby Fischer,” and Carlsen said that he had seen it once on TV but had not paid much attention: “The Olympics in Salt Lake were also on, and that was more interesting to me.”

Åmdal, his school friend, said of Carlsen, “It was easy to mock him for playing chess—it was easy to call him a nerd.” But Carlsen enjoyed being extraordinary at something. Once, when the boys were in their early teens, they went online and joined a beginners’ chess group; Carlsen handily beat everyone, playing so well that his opponents accused him of using a computer program to choose his moves. In fact, he was less interested in computers than most players his age. He liked to go online to find human opponents, but he resisted playing against the programs themselves. Computer chess struck him as mechanical—the machine always won, and he did not like being told that there was one “best” move. “It’s like playing someone who is extremely stupid but who beats you anyway,” he said.

Carlsen’s early style was enormously aggressive; he liked to press the attack as hard as he could. He had a remarkable instinct for where to place his pieces, and his study of strategy books gave him an unusually varied repertoire of moves. “He was playing every opening that ever existed,” Hansen said.

In 2001, Carlsen began studying with Simen Agdestein, a top Norwegian grandmaster. Agdestein told me that Carlsen was “the best natural player I had ever seen. He would play with almost perfect form. You would just say, ‘Whoa!’ ” Going online to play others certainly honed the boy’s skills: Agdestein estimates that, during the four or so years that he was Carlsen’s tutor, Carlsen played more than seven thousand games online. Agdestein emphasizes that he taught Carlsen only sporadically, while the boy continued with school, soccer, and other ordinary pursuits. “The main job he’s done himself,” Agdestein said. The training ended when Carlsen was thirteen. (Agdestein was once on the Norwegian national soccer team, so they also kicked the ball around. Carlsen, Agdestein recalled, “has a nice left foot.”)

In 2003, Henrik took a break from his work, and he and his wife removed their children from school for a year to tour Europe, much of the time in a minivan. “We went on a ten-thousand-kilometre route through chess tournaments and cultural places and nice vacation spots along the seaside,” Henrik said. The object was to broaden the children’s horizons and to get Magnus to the sorts of high-level games that you could not consistently find in Norway. The children did their homework in the back of the minivan or in hotel rooms at night. Carlsen was playing constantly—about a hundred and fifty major tournament games a year—and he did well. He was hard to intimidate, and his interest in the game was prodigious. After a chess match, he went to his computer and played more chess online, especially if he had just lost. He still does this, now under pseudonyms. “I do it to blow off some steam,” Carlsen says. “It might have the positive effect just to show myself that I can actually win a game of chess.”

At a 2004 tournament in Reykjavik, Carlsen beat Anatoly Karpov, the former champion, in a game of blitz chess. The next day, he played Garry Kasparov in two games of “rapid chess,” in which each side is given twenty-five minutes; he played the first to a draw and quickly lost the second. “I played like a child,” he said afterward, in disgust. Kasparov, though, remembers knowing immediately that Carlsen “was an outstanding player.” A month later, Carlsen became a grandmaster—the second youngest in history. These two events made international news, but his parents remained uncertain whether to think of their son as a future professional chess player or as someone who happened to be very good at chess. One night, Henrik Carlsen recalled, the family was gathered at dinner when “60 Minutes” called to discuss the possibility of an interview; he told them to call back when the family was finished eating. They never did.

Carlsen had now risen to the level of players who have full-time coaches or employ “seconds” who help them work with databases so that they can test openings against future opponents. But he continued working mostly on his own. Carlsen wasn’t thinking about being the best, he recalled: “I was just enjoying the game, really. I don’t think I’ve ever really been much into setting myself these goals. It hasn’t been necessary. I mean, just playing the game has been enough for me. I’ve always really been positively surprised by how well I did.” Henrik Carlsen told me, “For years and years, people have told us, ‘Magnus is very promising, but how does he work on his chess?’ And we tell them, ‘He does what he likes.’ . . . It’s curiosity as opposed to discipline.” Carlsen himself is unsure of the roots of his talent. “Maybe I’ll be able to say in twenty years,” he said. “Right now I just cannot pinpoint it.”

Because Carlsen has spent less time than most of his cohort training with computers, he is less prone to play the way they do. He relies more on his own judgment. This makes him tricky for opponents who have relied on software and databases for counsel. Most of all, Carlsen keeps trying out fresh stratagems. He can look at an opening once and remember it. These are some of the reasons that, at an age when many prodigies peak, Carlsen kept getting better, winning tournaments and beating the game’s élite. He went from No. 700 in the world in 2004, when he played Karpov, to No. 6 in 2008. “The trainer of the Russian juniors is a former top player—I think he was third in the world at some stage,” Henrik Carlsen said. “And he said at some point, ‘Of course, we are doing our best in Russia, but we don’t have talent like Magnus’s.’ ”

In 2009, Carlsen hired Kasparov to train him. Kasparov had long had his eye on Carlsen and was eager to take on the job. The Web site Chessvibes declared that it was a “dream team.” Kasparov was an expensive coach—his annual fee was set at several hundred thousand dollars—but Carlsen and his family thought that the tutelage was worth it. With Kasparov suggesting openings and helping him prepare for his opponents, Carlsen went on a tear through the major competitions, playing his best chess ever. One year after the collaboration began, on January 1, 2010, Carlsen reached the No. 1 spot. “It was not, like, a great struggle,” he recalled. Two months later, his Elo rating—the chess world’s official measure of a player’s skills, based on his tournament results—was the second highest in history, behind that of Kasparov.

Around this time, the collaboration came to an abrupt end. Carlsen was playing in a tournament in Wijk aan Zee, in Holland. Kasparov, who was in Moscow, was communicating with him via Skype, and he proposed a substitute opening less than an hour before a game against Kramnik. Carlsen went to the board and sat immobilized, trying to wrap his mind around the new moves. He lost the game (though he won the tournament). Carlsen decided that he and Kasparov were just too different. “I felt like every day I just had to build up my energy to be able to face him,” he told me. Kasparov hugely admires Carlsen’s talent, but thinks that he threw away an opportunity out of a fear of hard work. Carlsen, he thinks, could have surpassed Kasparov’s own Elo rating, one of the most storied records in chess. He told me, “I was not in the position to make him change his personality.”

Chess was brought to the West from India by way of Persia, sometime between the eighth and tenth centuries. European aristocrats adopted it and adapted it. Chess fit into their idea of a world with clear distinctions between the privileged and the poor. The game emphasized that society was bound by rules that even royalty had to obey: the Magna Carta made pastime.

The Russian Revolution changed how chess was played. Lenin, an enthusiastic player, made the game a priority for the new nation. In 1920, Alexander Ilyin-Zhenevsky, a commissar of Soviet chess, wrote that chess, “in some ways even more than sport, develops in a man boldness, presence of mind, composure, a strong will, and, most important, a sense of strategy.” The Soviets set about mass-producing chess excellence. In 1991, the year the Soviet Union broke up, the top nine players in the world were from the U.S.S.R. By then, Soviet-trained players had held the world championship for all but three of the past forty-three years.

The Soviet program emphasized focus, logic, and, above all, preparation. The board was an informational battleground, and work put in before the game allowed you to see chances that your opponent might miss. The Soviets’ foremost chess practitioner, the world champion Mikhail Botvinnik, was also an electrical engineer. “Some experts say my principal strength is my zest, my aggressiveness,” he once said. “I think it’s my scientific training, the logic of a scientist’s search for truth.” The directors of the Soviet chess program accumulated vast archives of opening moves, as well as records of the play of foreign opponents. The data gave them a significant advantage, but decades of Soviet dominance also led to complacency and a reliance on received wisdom.

The Soviets considered idiosyncratic players like America’s Bobby Fischer—the only player to interrupt more than four decades of dominance—the biggest threat to their system. In fact, their reign was ended by unlikely kindred spirits: Western computer programmers. Mastery of chess wasn’t an end in itself for either group. The Soviets thought that training a generation of chess players would compensate for historic flaws in the Russian character; Western coders chose chess as a vehicle for exploring artificial intelligence. Alan Turing, the brilliant code breaker who first proposed a chess-playing computer in the forties, wrote that the goal of such a project was not just to teach a computer to play chess but to teach it to play chess like a human.

But how does a grandmaster play? The early computer programmers struggled to solve this puzzle. They took note of the chess adept’s highly developed memory, his understanding of the value of having pieces on certain squares on the board, and his ability to have his moves informed by previous games that he had played or read about. Replicating the thinking of a human chess player was extremely difficult, though. Well into the nineteen-nineties, top grandmasters were still beating computers. But computers eventually got so fast that they no longer needed to be particularly smart to beat humans at games—they could just play out every scenario for the subsequent ten to fifteen moves and choose the best one. Brute force replaced finesse as the favored approach in computer chess. In 1997, Kasparov famously lost a six-game match against the I.B.M. mainframe Deep Blue. In the final game, he was crushed in just over an hour.

In 2007, a computer “solved” checkers—that is, went through every possible move to determine the optimal game. The number of possible moves in a chess game is dizzying, more than the number of atoms in the universe; no current computer can “solve” chess. But processors are now so powerful that no human stands a chance of winning a match. I asked Carlsen if he would be interested in a Deep Blue-type contest, and he said no—it would discourage him. Among the chess élite, the idea of challenging a computer has fallen into the realm of farce and retort. At the London Chess Classic, one commentator quoted the Dutch grandmaster Jan Hein Donner, who, when asked what strategy he would use against a computer, joked, “I would bring a hammer.”

Computers have no skills and they have nothing approaching intuition. Carlsen finds their games inelegant, and complains about “weird computer moves I can’t understand,” whereas in talking about his own game he speaks of achieving “harmony” among the pieces on the chessboard, and even of “poetry.” He told me about watching two advanced computers play one another in a recent match in Norway: “My conclusions were, one, the best computers are stronger than the best players, and, two, the games are not interesting at all.”

Computers don’t need to play interesting chess, however, to have affected the way humans play chess. You can now become a pretty good chess player without ever playing a live opponent. Chess software programs are always ready for a game. For seventy dollars, you can buy a comprehensive database that documents every move your opponents have ever made in tournaments. A beginner can easily have access to more information than a Soviet grandmaster once held.

Viswanathan Anand, an Indian grandmaster and the current world chess champion, said, “Every decision we make, you can feel the computer’s influence in the background.” Among grandmasters, there has been an over-all rise in the level of play; it’s as if all the Olympic athletes in the world were able to train together, year round, with the best coaches and equipment. Mig Greengard, a commentator who blogs at the Web site ChessNinja, says, “You’ve got two hundred guys walking the planet who, with a little tailwind, are playing strongly enough to beat the world champion.” But, in the view of many commentators, the improvement in play has coincided with an impoverishment of style. Speaking of the new generation, Kasparov said, “Everyone looks at the position now from the computer lens.” Carlsen noted that, before computer chess became dominant, an exposed pawn was often avoided by opponents, as it was seen as a possible trap. Today’s players, having analyzed countless games with computers, are confident of being able to distinguish a ruse from an opportunity; they take the pawn. Many top players are so used to running openings by computers that they shy away from the ones that computers rate poorly. Kasparov believes that, as a result, intuition has been undermined. “When we played, it was very clear you couldn’t see everything,” he says. “Now it’s not about the pattern. It’s more number crunching.”

Carlsen is often identified with, as he puts it, the “new Information Age.” Certainly before the age of online play it would have been nearly impossible for someone from Norway—which the British grandmaster Nigel Short has called “a small, poxy chess nation with almost no history of success”—to rise to No. 1 by the age of nineteen. But Carlsen’s casual attitude, Kasparov says, makes him “somehow immune” from the homogenization of modern chess. Carlsen has described himself to Der Spiegel as “chaotic” and said that he had a tendency to be “lazy.” In the lead-up to tournaments, when other players are testing out strategies on their computers, Carlsen is often staying up late playing video games or online poker. Before tournament days, he likes to get plenty of sleep—optimally, ten or eleven hours—waking up an hour or two before the start. “It’s no secret that the best players’ opening preparation is much deeper than mine,” Carlsen told me. In London, he went into some games with only the first move chosen; most players typically map out their first dozen or so moves. He believes that things even out because, as he put it, “I’m younger and have more energy, and it’s easier to adapt.”

Frederic Friedel, a co-owner of the popular software company ChessBase, has invited Carlsen to come to his Hamburg offices to receive instruction on how to get the most out of his programs. Carlsen has declined the offer repeatedly, even though many of his rivals have accepted. Friedel said that he is willing to wait for Carlsen: “I think Magnus is storing this as a backup plan—plan B, if he starts to slip. It’s like a tennis player playing with a wooden racquet: he can always get the graphite one.”

Computers are aggressive, directed chess players. This is a by-product of their programming: their software is designed to improve their chances of winning in ways that can be quantified. (A computer never makes a mistake in a game with six or fewer pieces on the board.) Friedel says that a human player trying to deflect a computer’s attack should “do nothing and do it well.” In other words, he should play a counter-game so subtle that the computer’s relentless attempt to “solve” the game is thwarted. As Carlsen likes to put it, computers “are really good tactically and they can’t play chess.” The kind of chess they don’t play easily is called “positional”—a style that focusses less on driving toward checkmate and more on having an over-all sense of the board. Carlsen, as he has matured, has increasingly adopted this approach. In the computer age, the only way to win may be to have no evident plan. As Anand sees it, Carlsen’s main strength is that he is “capable of being many different players. He can be tactical. He can be positional. He can be many things.”

In the Hilton coffee shop, I complimented Carlsen on a set of moves that, in 2004, made his name in the world of chess. He was thirteen at the time, working toward becoming a grandmaster. At Wijk aan Zee, a prestigious tournament on the Dutch coast, he had been in the weakest group of players. In the penultimate round, Carlsen played white against Sipke Ernst, a capable opponent more than ten years his senior. They played evenly for a while, going through moves that top players had used many times before. Then, before his seventeenth move, Carlsen paused and thought for about half an hour. On his eighteenth move, he placed a knight where one of Ernst’s pawns could take it. Three moves later, Carlsen sacrificed a bishop in a similar way. On the next move, he gave up a rook. Seven moves later, however, Ernst found himself checkmated, his king nailed by Carlsen’s queen as Ernst’s two rooks stood uselessly on either side. (The technical term is “epaulette mate.”) The grace with which Carlsen had detonated a bomb in a routine game left the audience amazed. Lubomir Kavalek, writing in the Washington Post, dubbed Carlsen the Mozart of chess.

Carlsen isn’t so impressed with his younger self’s play. “It was spectacular, and it is spectacular, but at the same time anyone could have done it,” he said. “Well, not anyone, but a lot of people. It amazes me that when people talk about my best games these are still the games they talk about.” Such games now strike him as merely clever—and, not incidentally, as the sort of thing that you can get away with mainly as an obscure player. In our era of total information, even a player’s boldest moves soon become absorbed into the realm of shared knowledge. “In former times, you could play a novelty,” Frederic Friedel, the chess-program publisher, says. “Now, as soon as the knight moves to g3, everyone who is interested in this line finds out.”

Carlsen said that, for him, great chess playing is less the “scientific search for the best approaches” than “psychological warfare with some little tricks.” He took me through a few of his best-loved games. The first match that he mentioned was against Vasilios Kotronias, a Greek grandmaster, in the fall of 2004, just a few months after his victory over Ernst. He had not won it—he only came to a draw—but this did not seem to bother him. He was pleased with the way that he had sacrificed a knight, and then a rook, in order to gain a position. “I just thought I’d never seen this combination before, this theme,” he says. “There’s no better feeling than discovering something new.”

He had a similar epiphany, he said, during a match that he had played against Anand this past fall, in Nanjing, China. Carlsen loves playing Anand, who brings out his highest game, whereas Kramnik brings out his street side. In the Nanjing match, Carlsen recalled, play had begun ordinarily, with both competitors moving pawns to the center of the board and sending their knights and bishops out, searching for weakness and advantage. But Carlsen methodically pushed Anand back. “He was putting up really tough resistance, and I was breaking it down,” Carlsen said, enjoying the memory of the “really subtle positional chess” that he was playing. His pieces almost imperceptibly took control of the more important squares on the board; the computer programs didn’t give him any real advantage. But after move 38 Carlsen was clearly ahead, his queen and rook bearing down on Anand’s king. Anand’s pieces were gathered in a huddle, as if preparing for a wolf attack. Soon afterward, the computer programs saw a quick route to checkmate; Carlsen did not, however, and Anand recovered. The game ended in a draw. Nevertheless, Carlsen felt that he had got “the upper hand from a relatively innocuous-looking position.” He had “created something special,” a small legacy of intuition and feeling that no computer or trainer had forecast for him.

In February, I saw Carlsen again at the Cooper Square Hotel; he was in town for another Fashion Week. Liv Tyler was not there, but Carlsen again walked the red carpet for G-Star, and this time he was paired at the event with Gemma Arterton, a former Bond girl. A fashion magazine had asked Carlsen to let his hair grow longer, and at noon, just out of bed, it was still moussed into ringlets from a photo shoot the previous day.

After winning the London tournament in December, Carlsen had gone home. He now shared the basement with his sister Ingrid. The Carlsens still gathered upstairs to have dinner, and afterward they played SingStar. They went to the family ski cabin, in Engerdal. All the same, being at home when other kids your age are in college, or working, was a mixed experience. “At times, I’m just sitting there, wondering what to do,” Carlsen said. In January, he was glad to be back in action, at the 2011 tournament in Wijk aan Zee. Some good things happened there. Playing black, he beat Kramnik in another long game; it ended with his forcing Kramnik into a Zugzwang, a bind in which any move a player makes worsens his position. While Kramnik’s bishop was frozen out, Carlsen’s king jauntily moved in to finish off his opponent’s pawns. After the eightieth move, Kramnik resigned. “I don’t often feel the need to pump my fist in the air after a game,” Carlsen told me. “But, well, it was Kramnik.”

That was the high point. The low point was a game on Day Three, when Carlsen played white against Anish Giri, a sixteen-year-old Dutch player. Giri is not yet a full-time professional, though his play has attracted many admirers. Frederic Friedel had joked to me about Giri, “I told Magnus he’s my backup.” In London, Carlsen had said that, as good as Giri was, he doubted he would “ever be stronger than me.” But in Wijk, Giri beat Carlsen in just twenty-two moves—a humiliation. Carlsen let one of Giri’s pawns travel most of the way down the board and lost a knight trying to stop it. On the next move, he resigned. Blogs called the game one of the worst of Carlsen’s career. Carlsen, who had never before lost to such a young player in a major tournament, described his play to me as “just pathetic.”

He had then bounced back, winning three games and playing to a draw in three others, calling up memories of his London come-from-behind victory. Friedel wrote to me, “I have a new theory. Magnus is so strong that he is simply bored. (I know from personal experience that he bores easily.) So he has come up with a new strategy to make things more interesting for himself: play like an idiot in the first few games, move to the bottom of the table, and then try to win the tournament anyway.”

Carlsen might have pulled off such a feat, except that in Round 10 he played Ian Nepomniachtchi, a Russian who is the same age. Carlsen had the opportunity for a draw early in the game, but went for the win instead, trying to catch up to the tournament leaders, and wound up losing. The turnabout hurt all the more because Nepomniachtchi, an uneven player, had just been drubbed in a game and, after beating Carlsen, went on to lose another two just as badly. The tournament prize went to the American Hikaru Nakamura, one of the three grandmasters who had participated in G-Star’s Magnus Carlsen Against the World event.

After the Wijk tournament, Carlsen dropped to No. 2 in the world rankings, behind Anand. Carlsen told me that he felt chastened: “It’s really getting competitive at the top. I realized against Nepomniachtchi, for example, that there were some areas of the game where he could outplay me.” He told me that something odd had happened to him at Wijk, when he was getting ready to play Anand, in Round 7. He was bouncing back from the Giri debacle and had just won twice when he mysteriously lost his confidence. He was checking his preparations, he remembered, “when, suddenly, I started to get these doubts. All of a sudden, my fighting spirit was almost gone.” He began the game with an unusually timid opening and played to a draw.

Carlsen was already thinking ahead to the Amber chess tournament, which is being played this month, in Monaco. The games there do not affect anyone’s official ranking, since the participants play either rapid or blindfold chess; all the same, he said, “I really, really want to win and restore the power balance.” He added, “I just have to improve so much myself now.” He was even willing to let someone help him, if that’s what it took. In the days after Fashion Week, he had contacted Wesley So, a rising seventeen-year-old Philippine grandmaster, and offered to pay his way to Europe if he would train with him. In London, Carlsen had described So to me as his stylistic opposite. “I think his entire training has been with a computer,” he had noted with amazement. When I last spoke to Carlsen, he was in Majorca with So, and they had been working together. Carlsen once told me that if chess ever stopped being fun for him he’d “have to do something else.” He added, “If you have that feeling all the time, what’s the point of playing?” But, for now, he was appreciating the new training: “We’ll see if something good comes of it.” If he wound up playing more like other modern players, so be it. As Carlsen had put it, “I absolutely hate losing.” It was nice to create something special, but it was even nicer to win. ♦

http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2011/03/21/the-princes-gambit

Journalist and broadcaster Dominic Lawson talks Alan Turing and chess computers

Geeks are not generally thought of as heroes, either in real life or in movies. But The Imitation Game, with Benedict Cumberbatch playing the part of the mathematician Alan Turing, might change all that.

In 1936, at the age of just 24, Turing published a paper, On Computable Numbers, that introduced the algorithm – the concept at the heart of all computer programs. The Imitation Game concentrates on how, during World War Two, Turing directed his remarkable mind to cracking the Nazis’ apparently unbreakable military codes at the secret Bletchley Park centre. What is less well-known is that he was accompanied in this task by all of Britain’s top chess-players of the time, notably Hugh Alexander, his boss at Bletchley and later head of crypto-analysis at GCHQ.

Turing was not a good chess player, but he regarded it as an ideal test for what became known as “artificial intelligence”. To that end, he developed the first chess program, which he called “Turochamp”. It took Turing half an hour to execute the instructions for each move and it was hopelessly weak – but the system worked.

That was back in 1952… and 45 years later, the human world chess champion, Gary Kasparov – to his evident astonishment – was defeated in a six-game match by Turochamp’s distant descendant, “Deep Blue”. I recently encountered the Canadian who designed the algorithms for that IBM program, Dr Murray Campbell, when he was one of my interviewees for the second series of Across the Board, in which the talk takes place over a chess game. Another of my opponents was Demis Hassabis, a London-born chess prodigy who went into the world of computer programming and who last year sold his artificial intelligence company DeepMind to Google for £400million.

I complained to both these brilliant men that in some ways chess – the game Goethe described as “the touchstone of the intellect” – had been ruined by the triumph of the algorithm. Now, when I see a game played by Grandmasters, I don’t rack my brains trying to work out why they played in a certain way: I input the moves into my chess computer program, which instantly spews out all the variations.

No effort, no mystery – and little thought on my part. It’s rather like schoolchildren using pocket calculators for what we used to call long division. It saves time and effort, but at what cost in genuine understanding and mental agility?

Naturally, both Campbell and Hassabis disagreed with me, the latter pointing out forcefully that the combination of the problem-solving abilities of carbon-based life forms and silicon could provide solutions to humanity’s greatest challenges – for example in the field of disease. I suppose the truth is that just as the greatest chess players will use programs as an aid to their own creative processes, rather than as a substitute, so there has been no obvious decline in the intellectual abilities of the best of our youth – those who are not so lazy that they become slaves to the computer, rather than its master.

And for those who do have chess-mad children, computer software provides something never available when I was young: a constantly switched-on opponent, available to play at any time of the day or night and which (suitably programmed) will explain why the moves you played were inferior and what you should have done instead. It is no wonder children are now attaining levels of ability at ages that would have seemed unimaginably young when Alan Turing designed the first chess program.

So if your son or daughter seems obsessed with chess, don’t worry – there are vital applications for the skills they are acquiring, and which may benefit (or even save) the nation. But there is no complete substitute for human-to-human education: so interested parents should contact the Chess in Schools and Communities charity, which operates in an increasing number of state schools. Geeks can go far. They can even become heroes.

Journalist and broadcaster Dominic Lawson is President of the English Chess Federation.

Across the Board is on Radio 4, Monday to Friday at 12.04pm

Chess Interview: Kramnik on the World Champions

Kramnik – I did not have the opportunity to study chess classics when I was a child. I was born in the Russian provincial town of Tuapse where chess literature was difficult to obtain; only books on modern players, such as Karpov, Petrosian, etc. were available. Of course, later I filled the gap in my education. However, it is much easier for me to talk about those who I met over the board, i.e. Karpov, Kasparov.

Interviewer – As you see it, should young chess players study the classics?

Kramnik – In my view, if you want to reach the heights, you should study the entire history of chess. I can’t give any clear logical explanation for it, but I think it is absolutely essential to soak up the whole of chess history.

Interviewer – Starting from Gioachino Greco?

Kramnik – I don’t think it is important to start with those ancient times because that is just the ABC of chess. However, Philidor’s games should be gone through, not to mention Anderssen and Morphy, whose games should be studied without fail. This knowledge will be a real help in self-improvement.

Wilhelm_SteinitzSteinitz

Kramnik – Steinitz was the first to realise that chess, despite being a complicated game, obeys some common principles. Up to his time chess players understood only individual themes. For instance, Philidor put forward and upheld the following opinion: ‘Pawns are the soul of chess’.

I have got patchy impressions of Steinitz and the other chess players of the 19th century. That’s why I would like to share my thoughts about their games. I carefully studied the matches played by Steinitz against Chigorin and Lasker …

Steinitz took a comprehensive approach to chess and started to form a common basis for individual conclusions. However, sometimes he made decisions that did not quite conform to his own rules. Steinitz was the first to discover certain ideas but was still far from getting down to the bedrock.

He did not seem to understand dynamics very well; dynamics was his weak spot. In his matches against Chigorin he regularly got into difficult positions with Black. For instance, he would capture the pawn in the Evans Gambit and then transfer all his pieces to the 8th rank ..

Although most players would feel like resigning in such a position, Steinitz defended it in his match two times, namely in games 15 and 17, and scored 1½ points. One game he even won. But the diagram position is absolutely hopeless for Black.

Steinitz was strong in practice. He had deep thoughts and imaginative ideas. For instance, he stated that the king was a strong piece, able to defend itself. This idea is really imaginative and even true in some cases but it is not a part of the classical basis of the game.

Up to his time people had just been playing chess, Steinitz began to study it. But as often happens the first time is just a try. With due respect to the first World Champion, I can’t say he was the founder of a chess theory. He was an experimenter and pointed out that chess obeys laws that should be considered.

200px-LaskerLasker

Kramnik – In my view, Lasker was a pioneer of modern chess. When you look through Steinitz’s games you understand they were played in the century before last whereas Lasker had a lot of games that modern chess players could have had. Lasker is the first link in the chain of “global” chess where various fighting elements are taken into account. Steinitz mainly concentrated on individual positional elements. For instance, if he had a better pawn structure along with a promising attack on the enemy’s king, he thought his advantage was almost decisive. But Lasker understood that different positional components could offset each other. He realized that different types of advantage could be interchangeable: tactical edge could be converted into strategic advantage and vice versa.

I think that Lasker had a more extensive knowledge of chess than Steinitz. By the way, it is significant that the World Chess Championship in 1894 (not to mention the return) was a total mismatch.

My impression is that two completely different players in terms of insight met over the board. In present day Elo, we would say that a player with a rating of 2700 played against another rated 2400. That’s why Lasker’s victory was very convincing; he almost tore his opponent apart. I knew that Steinitz was a great player but in that match he was badly beaten, which came as a cultural shock to me. I have never seen such an enormous gap between the participants of a World Championship, as if it was more like a simultaneous exhibition than a match for the title. At that time Steinitz must have already been over the hill. But I could not have imagined he was that weak because he kept on getting decent results in tournaments.

Lasker was an impressive person. He managed to understand a lot in chess. I was looking through his games again some time ago and was astonished: his knowledge was incredibly extensive for his time! He was the first to understand the importance of psychological factors and started to pay attention to them. He began to adapt his strategy and, to a certain extent, his style to different opponents. Whereas Steinitz kept to one concept because he thought: this is correct and that is not.

Lasker comprehended an idea that was pretty difficult for a time when people saw chess only in black and white. Chess is a very complicated game and it can be absolutely unclear what is right or wrong. It is possible to act in different ways. Lasker was very flexible and undogmatic. He was the first undogmatic player in the history of chess. He did not think in terms of “this is good and this is bad”. For example, if you manage to occupy the centre, that’s good, if not, that’s bad”. That was a great step forward for chess development.

In my opinion, when Lasker was stripping Steinitz of his title, he was head and shoulders above all the others. Since that time chess history has not seen such a yawning gap. Lasker had surpassed everyone until a new generation grew up and his opponents, namely Tarrasch, got stronger.

Interviewer – We can hardly say that Tarrasch represented the new generation because he was six years older than Lasker …

Kramnik – I think that Tarrasch started playing stronger later. At the time Lasker was fighting for the title, Tarrasch’s play was not impressive.

Interviewer – Tarrasch regarded Lasker as an “upstart” because when Tarrasch was already “the Teacher of Germany”, Lasker was nobody. Steinitz challenged Tarrasch for a match, but the latter evaded it.

Kramnik – I was not impressed with Tarrasch’s play. He had imaginative ideas but like all players of that time he was prone to rigidity. And Lasker was not, that’s why he stood out.

Interviewer – Lasker became World Champion in 1894 while Pillsbury won the famous Hastings Tournament of 1895 where Chigorin was second and Lasker took only the third place. He did have worthy opponents …

Kramnik – I won’t argue. This is my personal view and I think that in the early 1890s Lasker was head and shoulders above the others in understanding, capacity and strength of play. That period did not last for long, two to three years, then the others started to catch up, having learned from him.

At the same time Lasker is to some extent an underrated figure. Legend has it that Steinitz was a super strategical player while Lasker was mainly a psychologist … I would like to dispel this myth.

Interviewer – By the way, not everyone knows that Lasker denied exerting “psychological influence” on his opponents by saying: “My success is primarily based on the understanding of the pieces’ strength, not on the opponent’s nature”.

Kramnik – I think that due to his flexibility he was able to have a deeper understanding of chess. He broke with dogmas and everyone thought he did it with regard to his opponent’s character. But Lasker started to call dogmas into question. Let’s remember his famous move f4-f5 against Capablanca.

Lasker realised that the e5-square could be weakened because it was difficult to exploit. And then they started talking about his psychological approach! It had nothing to do with psychology. Lasker grasped a deep concept, which is being automatically employed now: he gave up the e5-square and “fenced in” the c8-bishop. That’s why it was not a matter of psychology; Lasker had a very deep positional understanding.

Of course, he had worthy opponents. We should not forget Rubinstein, an incredibly talented and fantastic chess player. It is a pity that with his extensive knowledge of chess, he was not a World Champion. Sometimes he created true masterpieces and was way ahead of his time. To understand this, you should just go through the collection of his best games. Why didn’t he become a World Champion? That’s a mystery to me. His nerves might have played a role or he might not have been very good in practice. Anyway, he was a man of great talent.

Lasker had been holding the title for 27 years. He really was a great chess player. However, at that time not all worthy challengers had an opportunity to play for the title and those who participated in the World Championship were not always the strongest players.

capablancaCapablanca

Interviewer – But Capablanca did deserve to play the match!

Kramnik – Capablanca was a genius. He was an exception that did not obey any rule. I would not say he developed anything in chess … Such a person could be born at any time, just like Morphy: in the middle of the 20th or even 19th century. Capablanca had a conscious feel for harmonious play. When I was a child I very much liked his book Capablanca Teaches Chess because he explained certain principles in a very simple and accurate way, which was easy to understand. (Now, however, I don’t consider some of his statements to be correct).

He had a natural talent, which, regrettably, did not go hand in hand with hard work. Hypothetically, we could say that if Capablanca had spent as much time working on chess as Alekhine and Lasker did, he would have made better progress. However, in my view, these things were mutually exclusive: hard work did not accompany his talent. He did not need to work hard. We can compare Capablanca with Mozart, whose charming music appeared to have been a smooth flow. I get the impression that Capablanca did not even know why he preferred this or that move, he just moved the pieces with his hand. If he had worked a lot on chess, he might have played worse because he would have started to try to comprehend things. But Capablanca did not have to comprehend anything, he just had to move the pieces!

He is said to have lost to Alekhine due to his incomplete preparation. I don’t agree. He did what was right for him; otherwise, he would have undermined his unique talent. He stood out from everyone.

In 1921 Capablanca defeated Lasker. By the way, Lasker was not playing badly in that match; he retained great practical strength. In my opinion, this was the first match for the World Championship title where both opponents were very strong. Capablanca was younger, more active and a bit stronger. In the last game Lasker made a terrible blunder. However, the previous games saw an even and fascinating fight.

In the other matches where Lasker played we see either a good beating or a lot of flaws, as happened in his encounter against Schlechter. As for the Capablanca-Lasker match, there were few mistakes and the games were a real fight. Lasker was an impressive chess player, whereas Capablanca was a natural-born genius. Quite frankly it is incredible how Alekhine managed to defeat him.

effb34d8Alekhine

Interviewer – Alekhine’s diligence was thought to have been a real help.

Kramnik – As well as his nature and strong will … Certainly, Alekhine also was a gifted player and had great talent. However, it is difficult to understand why he won against Capablanca. It just happened and that’s it. I agree with Kasparov that Capablanca failed to withstand the tension of the fight. In his match against Lasker, Capablanca was applying pressure while his opponent defended. Lasker was “answering back” from time to time but mainly defended. Alekhine managed to cope with that pressure and was even trying to increase the tension himself. Capablanca might not have been able to cope with that wild stress. He was used to taking tournaments easy, making draws and winning some games thanks to his talent, taking first or second place and then relaxing, sipping wine | he enjoyed life! … But there he had to face acute tension. The match was long; the games were serious and combative. Alekhine set difficult tasks for the World Champion in every game.

Interviewer – Was Alekhine really the first chess player to undertake a modern analysis of the opening?

Kramnik – Alekhine definitely was a workaholic. He had a strategic talent and was the first player who had a conscious feel for dynamics. Lasker began to realise that dynamics played an important role but it did not form the basis of his games, he just kept it in mind and sometimes used it. But Alekhine placed a bet on dynamics and truly discovered that area of chess. He proved that it was possible to take advantage of dynamics by following main positional principles: to start weaving a kind of net from the very first moves, threatening and attacking at every step without looking for a long-term advantage.

Interviewer – In the late 1920s and early 1930s Alekhine gave his rivals the slip. Or was he no match for Lasker’s dominance in his time?

Kramnik – I think it happened because of some sort of “troubled days”. Capablanca did not play much. Capablanca and Lasker did not participate in those tournaments where Alekhine triumphed. Botvinnik and Keres had not developed their strength yet, the older players were over the hill. Alekhine was definitely an outstanding World Champion, but the gap between him and the others can be explained rather by these reasons. I would not say he demonstrated anything different in those tournaments from his play before and during the match against Capablanca. He was playing at the same level. Of course, Alekhine enriched his play, became more experienced, but I would not say he was an innovator. Why did this gap not exist before the match and appear only after it? Quite frankly, I don’t think it had anything to do with chess. His match against Euwe proved this to some extent.

Max EuweEuwe

Interviewer – The Dutchman Max Euwe was the fifth World Champion. Some say he did not deserve to win the title, and that it was down to pure chance.

Kramnik – Euwe was a very good chess player. Botvinnik is said to have formed the basis of a comprehensive system of preparation but I think the credit belongs to Euwe. He realised how important the opening was and prepared it brilliantly. Moreover, he had a subtle feel for aspects of opening preparation. Despite working hard Alekhine often tried it on by employing obviously dubious openings. He was doing it even in very important games, which came as a surprise to me. It means that he either did not feel that the opening was dubious or hoped that it would work. Euwe prepared an opening fundamentally and rationally. Openings were always his strong point. He was always very good at openings.

Interviewer – Apart from this, he was the first to enlist the help of leading grandmasters. For instance, Flohr …

Kramnik – Euwe took a professional approach to chess. He was a versatile chess player that’s why he is difficult to describe and is underestimated. He was some sort of an “indefinable” player and his style is difficult to review. I have not grasped it to its full extent. It might have consisted of a combination of different elements plus nerves of steel, plus a healthy approach to life. He was a very sedate and well-balanced person. Those were the keys to his success and he fully deserved his World Championship title by defeating Alekhine.

Yes, Alekhine was a bit off form. But it is not true that he was in bad shape during the whole match. He was fighting fiercely, in the beginning he displayed brilliant play. So, we can’t say he was in bad shape when he started the match. At some point Euwe began to outplay Alekhine who then took to the bottle … Some other reasons prevailed: these might have been either psychological factors or something else. It was not a question of bad form. Euwe maintained the tension rather than “catching” his opponent in the openings. Capablanca primarily repelled Alekhine’s attacks in the openings. Alekhine was known as an encyclopaedic chess player whereas Euwe often succeeded in gaining an edge in the opening battles, both conceptually and in specific lines. For instance, it so happened that each of them engaged in the Slav Defence with both colours. Euwe won the battle.

I looked through the book written about their return match of 1937 and again saw an even encounter. Alekhine is considered to have easily regained the title. The rumour was that he lost the title because of his drinking habit, then gave up the booze and won, which actually has nothing to do with reality. First of all, Euwe had a positive score (3-1 in decisive games) against Alekhine in the period between their match and return-match. This means that although Alekhine broke his drinking habit almost immediately after the match, Euwe kept on beating him. The return also saw an even contest. In the first match it was Alekhine who collapsed while in the return the same thing happened to Euwe who lost several games in a row. Why did it happen? Euwe might not have wanted to remain World Champion, the title might have been a heavy psychological burden for him. Anyway, I think that it did not happen by pure chance. The return was not a piece of cake for Alekhine; this myth should be dispelled.

Mikhail_Botvinnik_1962Botvinnik

Interviewer – And now we have reached Botvinnik, the first World Champion you have actually met.

Kramnik – Botvinnik definitely represented a new era in chess. I would call him the first true professional. He was the first to realise that chess performance was not only dependent on chess skills. He developed comprehensive preparation for competitions which consisted of opening studies along with healthy sleep, daily routine and physical exercises. He was a pioneer in this field.

It is a bit funny for a modern chess player to read about the Alekhine-Euwe match: the games were being adjourned, one player had a drink, the other had a business meeting straight before the start of the game … Such things could not happen to Botvinnik.

Strange as it may seem, I think he was a pretty inconsistent chess player. His best games are of a very high level. However, sometimes he had failures. I don’t know what the reason was. I have the impression that he gave everything he had got in every game and was playing with all his strength. He seemed to have failed from time to time due to the colossal stress. Despite the fact that he was called an “iron-willed” man …

Interviewer – Did such failures also happen to Botvinnik in his youth or only in his mature age after long breaks in play?

Kramnik – I think such failures happened at any age. I am not referring to tournament breakdowns (however, they also took place) but to failures in individual games. And even when you look at his matches for the World Championship you see that in one-two, sometimes in three games, he collapsed. I have noticed it but have not found any explanation for it. I just wanted to draw your attention to this fact, which was somehow unnoticed by journalists. In any case, it is not that important in comparison with a huge number of outstanding games he played. Botvinnik grasped a lot of conceptual ideas in chess.

Interviewer – Did you ever hear the view that Botvinnik won games due to his character and strong will, although some of his opponents had greater chess talent?

Kramnik – I agree with this statement to some extent. On the other hand, talent can’t exist separately, without other elements. Talent is something barely perceptible. Some players don’t achieve outstanding results but they are considered to be talented. But I think that in chess like in any other activity, talent is just one of the components. It must not be more important than character. That’s why popular statements like “He is a gifted man but is not a success because of his sensitive nature” don’t work. I would agree that Capablanca had a greater purely chess talent than Botvinnik, while the latter managed to reach the heights in other elements, i.e. character, preparation, which is not so easy. He had genius in these areas. So, the above statements do not belittle Botvinnik’s merits and importance as a chess player because potential is one thing while its realization is quite another. In fact, Botvinnik’s chess career was the way of a genius, although he was not a genius, to my mind.

Interviewer – Did Botvinnik make a step forward in chess development compared to his predecessors?

Kramnik – He grasped a number of conceptual things. Criminal as it may sound, I don’t think he advanced chess, contributed anything absolutely new to the game. However, he made a great contribution to preparation. Again tastes differ: some people think preparation is a part of the game, others consider it a separate element. In my view, preparation is an integral part of the game. If we compare Botvinnik with Capablanca, Capablanca was a more gifted person, a magnificent chess player, whereas Botvinnik made a much greater contribution to chess.

Interviewer – What impression did personal meetings with Patriarch make on the young Vladimir Kramnik?

Kramnik – Very favourable. I understand that he was a controversial figure and his colleagues had a bone to pick with him. I have heard different opinions and don’t want to comment on them. I am not trying to avoid the subject but I did not live in his time and did not see these things with my own eyes. So, I can’t jump to any “profound” conclusions. I knew Botvinnik in his last years and he made a favourable impression on me.

I would like to mention one thing that seemed strange to me. I mean a certain discrepancy between his beliefs and his character. Botvinnik sincerely believed in Communist ideas. Moreover, it was clear that he spent much time thinking them over and believed in them. At the same time he was a very wise and intelligent person with the manners of a St. Petersburg Professor who had nothing to do with post-revolutionary Russia. It is a mystery to me how he managed to combine his Communist convictions with the nature of a true intellectual. This discrepancy impressed me. As a rule, such were the rules of the game that Soviet intellectuals took an opportunistic approach in paying tribute to the Communist ideas.

Of course, Botvinnik was very rigid. That was his strength. I think he must have been categorical by nature. But this quality must have been a disadvantage in his collaboration with other people, that’s why he often took issues with them.

SmyslovSmyslov

Interviewer – How would you describe the seventh World Champion, Vasily Smyslov?

Kramnik – How can I express it in the right way? … He is truth in chess! Smyslov plays correctly, truthfully and has a natural style. By the way, why do you think he lacks that aura of mystique like Tal or Capablanca? Because Smyslov is not an actor in chess, his play is neither artistic nor fascinating. But I am fond of his style. I would recommend a study of Smyslov’s games to children who want to know how to play chess because he plays the game how it should be played: his style is the closest to some sort of ‘virtual truth’ in chess. He always tried to make the strongest move in each position. He has surpassed many other of the World Champions in the number of strongest moves made. As a professional, this skill impresses me. I know that spectators are more interested in flaws … ups and downs. But from the professional standpoint, Smyslov has been underestimated.

He mastered all elements of play. Smyslov was a brilliant endgame specialist, all in all his play resembled a smooth flow, like a song. When you look at his games, you have that light feeling as if his hand is making the moves all by itself while the man is making no effort at all – just like he was drinking coffee or reading a newspaper! This has the feel of Mozart’s light touch! No stress, no effort, everything is simple yet brilliant. I like this feature of Smyslov and I am fond of his games.

Interviewer – Smyslov and Botvinnik played almost a hundred games against each other, including three World Championships. Did they produce high quality games in terms of modern standards?

Kramnik – They did, there was real quality about their games. Of course, they made mistakes since the matches were very long but the average level of their games was very high. Sometimes they blundered but I would not say this had a strong impact on the general assessment of the play. At the same time the average strength of each move was very high.

Interviewer – Diamond cut diamond – they were worthy opponents, weren’t they?

Kramnik – Yes, they were. Although they differed in their approach to chess, on the whole there it was an even contest. I feel a bit sorry that Smyslov did not hold the title for a longer period because, in my view, he really is an outstanding chessplayer. He played in the Challengers Final when he was 63! This indicates the highest class. Chess players who adopt an intensive approach normally can’t maintain their position at the highest level at that age. Smyslov could, and it was not because of his energy, drive or character – he had a deep understanding of chess. Botvinnik was a great player but in his late 50s he started to play worse, although he did hang on in for a long time. However the Smyslov phenomenon is second to none. He might not have held the title for a long time because he did not have a burning desire to do so. I think it was not that important to him. Under certain circumstances Smyslov could have held on to the title for about 15 years.

Interviewer – Did Smyslov play chess like his predecessors?

Kramnik – No, he played differently, he had his own brand of chess. He was a master of positional play and surpassed his predecessors in this area. He was also good at opening preparation and tactics but no more than that. Smyslov did not have incredible conceptual ideas but he was very accurate and carried out his ideas ‘millimetre by millimetre’. Probably, he was the first chess player to reach the highest level of accuracy. To a certain extent, Smyslov was the pioneer of this style, which was later brilliantly developed by Karpov, i.e. the gradual mounting of positional pressure based on the most accurate calculation of short lines.

tal_1960Tal

Kramnik – I hardly knew Tal but I was lucky to play a couple of games against him. In 1990 he took part in a strong open tournament in Moscow. I felt sorry for him because he looked awful. We did not meet over the board in the main tournament, but the organizers arranged for a blitz and 15-minute tournament on the day off.

Interviewer – And how did you get on?

Kramnik – We made a draw in the blitz. As for the 15-minute game I managed to win. Tal sacrificed a piece, then another one without any compensation; he enjoyed the game, played for fun and took it easy, that’s why the result did not have any significance. When he made an effort, Tal could still maintain a high level of play. Incidentally, he put in a good performance at blitz, we shared 2nd-3rd place. I was 15 at the time and not that strong but I had a quick mind. The blitz tournament had a pretty impressive pool: there were 12 players, including 10 grandmasters, one international master and myself – a FIDE master.

At one point in my game against Tal, my heart sank. In a difficult and approximately equal position we had about half a minute each. I made a move and realized that my opponent had a hidden tactical blow at his disposal. The flags were hanging and it was just our hands that were making the moves! And Tal immediately found that blow after which my position was hopeless. I can’t say I was impressed – I was aware that it was Tal, but a Tal who was suffering from a serious illness… Any other player would not have found this tactical blow even in a classical game. However, with the flags about to fall, the game ended in a draw by perpetual check.

Tal was a star, a real chess genius. As far as I am concerned he was not ambitious at all, he played primarily for fun and enjoyed the game. This attitude is totally unprofessional. But he was an incredibly gifted player and even with such an amateur approach, Tal managed to become a World Champion.

When I was a child I did not study a lot of his games. As I have already mentioned there were few chess books in the provincial town where I lived. When I grew up, I went through Tal’s games. I can say that he was a strong positional player. However, many people consider him just as a tactician. In fact, though he had an excellent tactical mind, at the same time he was a versatile chess player just like any professional of his strength. In the late 1970s – early 1980s he rode his second wave of success, playing in a disciplined and positional way, and won a lot of brilliant positional games.

Interviewer – That is considered to have been a result of his cooperation with Karpov.

Kramnik – I don’t think so. Of course, his cooperation with Karpov was helpful because it diverted his attention from all those other pleasures which he liked to indulge in besides chess. Instead, he was working on chess. But I don’t think his cooperation with Karpov was that crucial. Tal was quite simply an outstanding versatile chess player. Of course, his attitude to chess had an effect. If only he had had Botvinnik’s character, he would have been impossible to deal with…

Interviewer – However, a person can’t have it all – it’s one quality or another.

Kramnik – Yes, that’s right. There is one more point I would like to discuss: every chess player has his weak spots. A strong point somehow gives rise to a weak one. It is impossible to combine Botvinnik’s strongest points with Tal’s ones because they are mutually exclusive (in the chess sense). Tal’s talent, his approach to play, relaxed attitude and huge creative energy gave him a substantial advantage but also had its drawbacks. I think that such an attitude will not allow a person to hold the title for, let’s say, 15 years. It’s like a spectacular flash, a rising and falling star – such people may be incapable of living any another way. This kind of star is so brilliant that it is incapable of retaining its energy for a long time and will burn out.

It is difficult to talk about Tal because he was an unusual person as well as being a very fascinating player. Like a natural phenomenon. I am absolutely sure he would have been a success in any other field of endeavour. He had a quick and brilliant mind. If he had been an academic, he would have won a Nobel prize. He was an unworldly man. By the way, many people who knew him quite well said that he bore no relation to homo sapiens. He was like a man from another planet! That’s why he played “unidentifiable” chess. Analyzing his chess games is tantamount to discussing what God looks like.

220px-Tigran_Petrosian_World_Chess_ChampionPetrosian

Interviewer – Was the next World Champion a more down-to-earth man?

Kramnik – Yes, he was a down-to-earth person. Careful study of Petrosian’s games is required to form a clear impression of him. He was, so to speak, a very “secretive” player. We can call Petrosian the first defender with a capital D. He was the first person to demonstrate that it is possible to defend virtually every position. Petrosian contributed a defensive element to chess – an element that is being developed more and more today. He showed that chess contains an enormous number of resources, including defensive ones.

Petrosian was a very intensive chess player who was hard to understand. I don’t think he has been presented to the public in the correct way. He is one of the few chess players of whom I have failed to form a clear opinion after going through his games collection. There is something mysterious about Petrosian. He was a brilliant tactician and an excellent strategic player, although his positional understanding was not as good as Smyslov’s. However, many people consider him to have been a master of positional play. He was definitely a player who could cope with every kind of situation, but I don’t think that positional play was his cup of tea. Defence and a magnificent tactical vision were his strongest points – that’s why he was so good at defence. Only a brilliant tactician can succeed in defence, and he had perfect sight of all the tactical opportunities and nuances for his opponent. I would even say that attack, rather than defence, is a positional skill. You can attack mostly on the basis of general ideas, whereas in defence you have to be specific. Calculations of lines and verification of specific positional features are more important for defence than for attack.

Of course, I should mention Petrosian’s subtle sense of danger. To a certain extent, this skill goes hand in hand with proficiency at defence. Petrosian could feel danger. I also think he could be very unpredictable.

Interviewer – It looks like he didn’t made fast progress and reached his height when he was over 30.

Kramnik – As far as I understand he was a ‘smooth’ guy: steady, calm, well-balanced with a strong nervous system, a very sound disposition. And he progressed in that way: he achieved his goal without failures and without rushing.

borisspasskySpassky

Interviewer – And how would you describe Boris Spassky?

Kramnik – I would agree with the “official version”: he was the first really versatile player. I like his extensive and comprehensive play very much. I think he is a broad minded fellow who does not pay much attention to sundry odds and ends. Spassky’s play reminds me of Keres. But Spassky has more fantasy and imagination than Keres who, in my view, had some problems with fantasy.

Spassky is also a correct player, in this ‘classical’ aspect he is like Smyslov. But whereas Smyslov is a sedate player, Spassky has an attacking style. He combines the qualities of different chess players. Like Alekhine he values time. He is a very good strategic player. He might not have polished up his tactical proficiency and sometimes he miscalculated a bit but I think that Spassky spent a great deal of energy on every game and chess was a reflection of his character. His games are pleasant to watch: he uses the whole board. He manages to deal with everything, grabs space, turns on the pressure here and there… I have carefully studied the Fischer-Spassky match and can say that Spassky’s play was almost as good as Fischer’s.

Interviewer – What were his weak points then?

Kramnik – He made incredible one-move blunders in virtually every other lost game. I don’t understand what happened to him. It must have been Fischer’s energy and extreme pressure that was able to carry everything before it, even Spassky. But if we leave out those blunders the match would have been an even contest. Though it was considered almost a total mismatch it was in fact one of the few matches for the title where the score did not reflect the real situation. In the second half of the match Spassky was turning up the pressure while Fischer was running away in every game. In that match Spassky might have suffered from his negligence of those sundry odds and ends: he failed to calculate something, blundered somewhere, erred in a winning position or decided it was good enough anyway and gave up further calculations… And his strong point turned into a weak spot. Probably his laziness let him down. For instance, I have heard that Spassky did not spent much time on chess. He did not have too much professionalism.

Spassky was neither sufficiently disciplined nor ambitious. As far as he was concerned, I think there was not much difference between the World Championship and the Leningrad Championship. He took a similar approach to preparation. And he didn’t have much luck either because he found himself in the same era as Fischer, a man few World Champions could deal with!

Interviewer – What was your impression of Spassky when you met?

Kramnik – We talked a lot and even played for the same club. Once I stayed with him. He is a very decent, candid, wise and ingenuous man. I appreciate these traits very much. And his highest level of chess is obvious. When we meet we sometimes analyse different positions a little: he is very quick at understanding and always makes sensible proposals. Strange as it may seem I can’t say the same about Botvinnik. Such was my impression when I attended his school. Of course, Botvinnik’s suggestions were always very interesting but sometimes he offered something ‘dubious’. That certainly did not happen very often but it did happen. Spassky is something else, he is always to the point. Sometimes he does not calculate fully but he will grasp the correct direction of play in 15 seconds! Here is another remarkable episode. Three years ago we played in a tournament celebrating Korchnoi’s jubilee where Spassky, who was already over 60, defeated Short in a perfect game. Moreover, they had reached the kind of position that was Short’s forte and yet he was completely out of it!

Spassky might not have reached his full potential for a number of reasons. But, anyway, the games he played in his best years are of great importance.

Interviewer – So, Spassky was unlucky to be born in Fischer’s era!

Kramnik – Other players have suffered greater misfortune: they would have become World Champions if it were not for some genius who lived in their lifetime.

FischerFischer

Kramnik – What can I say about Fischer? I feel this man had to be the World Champion and nothing would stop him. It was a foregone conclusion. His career took a rather roundabout course but everything was already mapped out! I think that five years before he became World Champion, everyone was aware that the inevitable would happen. He was a real driving force! And Spassky got run over by that ‘machine’. I think that any other player would have lost to Fischer too. They were not much weaker, it was the will of fate – Fischer would have broken through any cordon.

Interviewer – Did Fischer dominate because of his energy and understanding?

Kramnik – At a certain moment he had everything: energy, drive, preparation, strong play, etc. as if all the rays were gathered together at one point! He had no weak spots at all – how can you handle such a person?! This happens to every outstanding player when everything clicks. As I see it, Fischer reached his height during the Candidates cycle and his match against Spassky.

Interviewer – Kasparov is said to have stated that Fischer was a pioneer of modern chess.

Kramnik – I don’t think so. Spassky also played up-to-date chess. Fischer discovered modern preparation in the opening. Unlike Botvinnik who realised the importance of preparation, Fischer gave it a modern slant: he set tasks for his opponent at every move with either colour and in every opening. Fischer kept his opponent busy from the very beginning, he started setting problems from the very first move! Later Kasparov improved this ‘high-tension’ style; and followed Fischer to some extent. Fischer was the first chess player to mount tension from the first till the last move without giving his opponent even the slightest break. He had a similar precept for both positional and tactical games: he tried to set as many tasks for his opponent as he could. He played very ‘vigorous’ chess.

Interviewer – And what happened to him? Did he burn himself out?

Kramnik – I don’t know. It is a pity Fischer gave up playing chess, his match against Karpov would have been very interesting. There is a point I would like to make. With the development of chess and higher level of play, chess players lose their individual handwriting and there are fewer players with a clear style. We are moving to a versatile style. I can’t say that Fischer had clear handwriting – he was a versatile player. In fact I would rather call it a cumulative style. In his better days he combined Smyslov’s accuracy with Spassky’s universalism and Alekhine’s energy… His rationalism was his only weak spot, he was not that good at irrational and unsound positions. Here Spassky prevailed. Fischer had a clear blueprint for his play. Spassky’s victory over him in the 11th game of the match was remarkable. He virtually tore Fischer apart in the Poisoned Pawn variation. It was not a matter of opening preparation, this kind of chess was simply difficult for Fischer. Of course, these are nuances, an attempt to find a weak link and demonstrate what kind of person he was. But Fischer admitted this weak spot himself and was trying to avoid those positions.

Crystal clear ideas were his strength. Fischer was perfect at the Ruy Lopez. It is difficult to create chaos on the board in this opening.

Anatoly_Karpov_1977Karpov

Interviewer – We can have a long argument about the possible outcome of the Fischer-Karpov match. What do you think, did Karpov have a chance?

Kramnik – He did. I think that Fischer had the better chances but Karpov had his trump card too. I am referring to Karpov’s preparation because Fischer was a ‘lone sailor’. He did not have any serious assistants and played risky openings. Karpov had his chances by setting opening problems for Fischer. I would like to mention that Geller had a positive score against Fischer. Geller was proficient at openings and adopted an intensive approach to theory, which was not easy for Fischer. As for level of play Fischer would have been superior to Karpov. However, if Karpov could have gained a real edge in the opening, the match would have seen an even contest.

Interviewer – Has Karpov followed the versatile pattern?

Kramnik – Of course he has. Additionally, there is something mysterious about his play, no one else could cope with things like he did. It is easier for me to talk about Karpov because his collection of games was my first chess book. I studied his work when I was a child, later I played quite a few games against him. He is a versatile chess player, a good tactician who brilliantly calculates lines and positionally very strong. He also has a distinctive feature. Funnily enough, he has effectively denied Steinitz’s pronouncement: if you have an advantage you must attack, otherwise, you will lose it. When having an edge, Karpov often marked time and still gained the advantage! I don’t know anyone else who could do that, it’s incredible. I was always impressed and delighted by this skill. When it looked like it was high time to start a decisive attack, Karpov played a3, h3, and his opponent’s position collapsed.

Karpov defeated me in Linares-94 where he scored 11 out of 13. I got into an inferior endgame. However, it did not seem awful. Then I made some appropriate moves and could not understand how I had managed to get into a losing position. Although I was already in the world top ten, I failed to understand it even after the game. This was one of the few games after which I felt like a complete idiot with a total lack of chess understanding! Such things happen very rarely to top level players. Usually you realise why you have lost. This moment defies description – there is something almost imperceptible about it and so characteristic of Karpov.

As regards other things, Karpov is a very strong universal player who is not so very different from the rest. But the above ‘know-how’ distinguishes him from the other highly rated chess players.

Interviewer – Does he have strong playing skills?

Kramnik – Yes, he is definitely a great player. His fighting skills are second to none. When I started playing in super tournaments, I was impressed with his ability to adapt to changed circumstances in a split second. For instance, you watch Karpov playing a game, he is under pressure and has been defending for six hours by strengthening his position. Owing to his brilliant calculations he defends tenaciously and is very difficult to break through. He appears to be making a draw. His opponent takes it a bit easy and Karpov equals the position. Any other player would agree to a draw here and would be happy that the torture was over. While Karpov starts to play for a win! It was easy for him to forget what had happened on the board up to the present, he did not think about the recent past. Karpov did not suffer from mood swings, he made an impression of a person who had just started playing. If he sees a slight chance, he tries to take an advantage of it.

Let’s remember Karpov’s victory over Korchnoi in their last game of the match in Bagio. Korchnoi started to ouplay Karpov at the end of the match. I don’t know why that happened, Karpov must have got tired. When Korchnoi seized an advantage, Karpov demonstrated a brilliant play! As if nothing had happened and the score 5:2 had not turned into 5:5, and there were no hard play after adjournment where he lost in a bit worse rook ending, Karpov played as if it were the first game of the match! Despite wild pressure, when his future was dependant on the outcome of the match, he was playing as if he were training in his kitchen in a relaxed way. Of course, he was an incredible fighter!

Interviewer – To add some “human qualities”, what were Karpov’s weak points?

Kramnik – I think he did not pay attention to strategy. As I have already told, he easily forgot about the things that had happened on the board. Probably, he did not have a sufficiently deep strategic thread of the play. Karpov is a chess player of a great number of short, two to three move combinations: he transferred his knight, seized the space, weakened a pawn . In my view, he was not a strategic player by nature. And like Fischer he could get confused when he saw chaos on the board. However, all this weak spots are largely symbolic.

Sometimes he must have been too self-confident. He was so sure that he would find a way out, if necessary, that he took a good much liberty. Karpov must have understood that his position was getting worse but was likely to think: “I will outplay him anyway”. He had a feeling that he would always get away with it. When he met Kasparov he let down. In their first match he got away with dubious situations while with every following match it was more and more difficult for him to deal with them. Possibly, he lacked strict approach. It could explain his dominance before Kasparov’s appearance. At first he did not need strictness, later it was difficult to re-train.

Interviewer – But Karpov must have also improved in his matches vs Kasparov?

Kramnik – Of course, Karpov also made a progress like any outstanding chess player he enriched his play. But Kasparov was improving at fantastic speed. Kasparov in 1984 and in 1985 was like two different players, the latter could have given a pawn and take back to the former. Kasparov’s capability of study was always his strong point. Karpov must also possess this quality but Kasparov surpassed him.

garry_kasparovKasparov

Interviewer – Can we say that Kasparov is a phenomenon in chess?

Kramnik – Yes, sure. It is always difficult to talk about Kasparov. First of all, we are in the same era, I have played a lot of games against him. Secondly, he is a chess player who does not seem to have weak spots. At least, I don’t know which weak point he had in his better days. Many books can be written about him.

He is an incredible workaholic; he works even harder than Fischer. Kasparov is a combination of lucky circumstances: a good coach in his childhood, convenient conditions for studies, an incredibly strong will.

As for his strong will, Kasparov could be compared to Botvinnik but he surpasses his teacher because he is much more flexible. As I have already said, Botvinnik’s rigidity was his strong point. At the same time it had its drawbacks. Though rigid, Kasparov is open to any changes. He is able to change his outlook on chess in six months. Kasparov absorbs things like a sponge; he soaks up all changes, everything he sees he processes quickly and makes it part of his arsenal. I think this is the main quality that makes Kasparov different from the other chess players.

Objectively, Karpov taught him a lot. Before the match Kasparov could not have understood all of Karpov’s merits. You are able to fully appreciate them only when you start playing against him. Karpov taught Kasparov a lot in their match of 1984. As we see from his following encounters, Kasparov has improved those aspects of play which were traditionally Karpov’s strong points.

Kasparov definitely has a great talent. There is nothing in chess he has been unable to deal with. The other world champions had something ‘missing’. I can’t say the same about Kasparov: he can do everything. If he wishes to play some type of positions brilliantly, he will do it. Nothing is impossible for him in chess.

However, it is also impossible to be perfect at everything in the same period of time. Kasparov has had weak points at every step of his career because one cannot concentrate on everything. But he is able to cover his vulnerable spots in two to three months. After that another weak point comes to light but you don’t know which one. It is very important to take advantage of his ‘quickly disappearing’ weak spots because you won’t find them later.

It is clear that in 1984 Kasparov had some problems with defence, he was a bit too impulsive or proactive. But in 1985 he demonstrated a quite different style of play. Kasparov realises what is going wrong at a certain moment and is able to put right his weak points. His capacity for study is second to none!

Interviewer – In 1995 when you helped Kasparov to prepare for his match against Anand, who was teaching whom?

Kramnik – Both. I hope I also have some capacity for study. It might not be as good as Kasparov’s, but I do have it. In principle, we were just working. Kasparov wanted to win the match and I helped him without any second thoughts. I did not try to learn anything from him. I think both of us gained something from that cooperation.