Mortally Flawed

The last time* I reviewed a book by Fred Waitzkin, I won an Honorable Mention from the Chess Journalists of America for my article, and Fred's book was made into a movie. This time the book in question is Mortal Games: The Turbulent Genius of Garry Kasparov. It begins with Garry in training for his 1990 title defense against Anatoly Karpov and concludes with his second place finish behind Ivanchuk at Linares in 1991, ending a ten-year streak of first place finishes for Kasparov.

The Garry Kasparov portrayed in this book bears little resemblance to his public persona of overconfidence that some people say borders on arrogance. Instead, he is a troubled man riddled by self-doubt. And unlike Bobby Fischer, with whom he is often compared, Kasparov is so preoccupied with matters unrelated to chess that he seems to have little time to study the game seriously.

As readers of Atlantic Chess News already know, I covered the New York half of the 1990 world championship match between the two K's. So it was with special interest that I read Fred's behind-the-scenes account of the match. The way Fred tells it, there was no pre-arranged fixing of games, as both Fischer and Spassky have insinuated. Instead, Garry's horrible blunder in game seven was the result of his lack of preparedness. This mistake so traumatized Kasparov that it wasn't until weeks later in Lyon that he regained his form.

Anatoly Karpov takes a pounding in this book, even though Fred tries to maintain a certain level of journalistic balance by describing a dinner with Anatoly at which Karpov comes across as a likeable human being. Then Fred immediately spoils the effect by relating some negative observations regarding Karpov made by ex-Soviet grandmasters now living in America. It is no secret that many of the writers and photographers at the match rooted for Karpov, not necessarily as Fred would have it because of politics but in large part because we encountered the same likeable human being that Fred met over dinner. No movie director would ever typecast Karpov as a "creature of darkness", which is how Kasparov describes him.

Although Fred tries to cast Kasparov in a sympathetic light by describing his harrowing last days in Baku before fleeing for his life, the reader is intellectually aware of Garry's suffering but can not relate to him on an emotional level, just as Garry is incapable of enjoying cartoons and Disneyland except on an analytical basis. Ironically, one feels more sympathy for the father of Newsday reporter Manny Topol in his flight from his native land than for Kasparov. Maybe the simple explanation for this is that it is easier to identify with a man who flees on foot and by bicycle than with one who does so by chartering an airplane.

What I am trying to say is that it is hard to believe in the Garry Kasparov that Fred portrays in this book. This is intended less as a criticism of Fred, who writes well throughout, than of his subject matter. It reminds me of how in Searching for Bobby Fischer the best part was the Bimini chapter, perhaps because for a few pages Fred left behind the dreariness of Washington Square Park and the dog-eat-dog competitiveness of the National Scholastics. So too, in Mortal Games, the true-to-life story of Manny Topol's father is far more moving an account than any seemingly contrived story regarding Kasparov.

*{This book review originally appeared in Atlantic Chess News in 1994}