King's Gambit

A Son, A Father, and the World's Most Dangerous Game

At the highest levels chess is a brutal punishing sport, a black-hole that can swallow up lives. It's truth, it's beauty, it's the universe in 64 squares. Hence the billions of chess books about how to improve your game, though King's Gambit is not one of them. It focuses on the human side of chess -- the odd personalities, the strange behaviour, the game's narcotic fascination.

The author lunches with Garry Kasparov, visits Nigel Short at home, sits in on lessons given by Bruce Pandolfini, and travels to Libya for a tournament with his friend, the Canadian champion Pascal Charbonneau.

The book also exposes the sordid underbelly of chess, the scams and swindles, the shabby tricks and dirty politics. Nigel Short is quoted as saying, "Those who were brought up under [the Soviet] system all have the same warped outlook: 'You fuck with my wife--I kill you. I fuck with your wife--you keep quiet if you know what's good for you.'"

Running counterpoint to the author's explorations in the world of chess is the story of his own life, in particular his relationship with his father, a prodigiously talented person who taught literature at New York's New School, was once hired to write the entire issue of a leading women's magazine, and hustled at billiards and ping pong. Yes, ping pong! Unfortunately he was also a pathological liar.

The dust jacket quotes praise from Jared Diamond, Oliver Sachs, and Simon Winchester. When I read books this good, I wonder why I bother with fiction.

Author's Website

My Cousin, My Gastroenterologist

Imagine Mark Leyner's brain as a blender into which he tosses a few basic ingredients -- science, entertain-

ment, consumer products -- then pauses at the array of buttons on the console.

Chop? Puree? Emulsify? Aw hell, he presses all of them. When the whirring stops, he tastes the resulting psychedelic smoothie:

a scented nuclear warhead manufactured by mcdonnell douglas in collaboration with estee lauder passes overhead, leaving in its wake a light, floral fragrance with a touch of citrus and spice...

Hmm, not bad, he thinks. His finger dips again:

tonight at madison square garden the new york rangers disembowelled the boston bruins' goalie, brought a hibachi onto the ice, roasted his intestines and served them on toast points to the howling hometown fans

Excellent, says Leyner, and pours the contents of his brain into containers of various sizes. Now for some titles. Let's see...

fugitive from a centrifuge
colonoscope nite
saliva of the fittest
i was an infinitely hot and dense dot
lines composed after inhaling paint thinner
yoo hoo! buzz called out. y'all got any creme de cacao?
in the kingdom of boredom i wear the royal sweatpants

Humming to himself, he packages them up and sends them off to various magazines. Some time later they appear in Esquire, Harper's, Fiction International...

Usiku

The path wound over the burnt earth, the black cotton soil, through random fields of yam and cassava, past mud huts sheltered by manyara hedges.

Suddenly Daudi stopped. "What's wrong?" asked the young woman beside him.

"There are two men ahead," he replied, stooping to the ground for a rock. Hussein followed suit, and together they advanced with their arms in the air. An immense granite boulder materialized out of the darkness.

"Usiku," cried Daudi. When there was no answer, he yelled the warning again, and this time a faint sound slithered down from the top of the boulder. Daudi and Hussein drew back their arms threateningly.

"Mchana," replied a grudging voice above their heads.

Daudi and Hussein dropped their rocks and guided her safely forward.

"I don't understand," she said. "What just happened?"

"Usiku means night," explained Daudi. "If you meet someone whom you suspect of wrong doing, you say that to him. If he means no harm, he will answer mchana, which means afternoon. If he means evil, he will say usiku, or nothing at all."

The young woman was incredulous. "But what's to prevent him from saying mchana and then knocking you over the head when you're not looking."

Daudi sounded puzzled. "I have never heard of such a thing happening."