I am one of the worst chess players in the history of the game. In fact, I think that I hold the record for having been beaten in the fewest number of moves, as I recall about four. Despite my lengthy string of defeats, however, I still enjoy the game, attend movies based on it and followed the recent Kasparov-computer matches with great interest. I even occasionally play computer chess -- I set the computer at its lowest level and still lose -- and I work out on a chessboard the tournament moves that are occasionally listed in the newspaper.

    And now this chess junkie has found a most unusual novel about chess: Carl Haffner's Love of the Draw by Thomas Glavinic (London: The Harvill Press, 1999). Originally written in German, it was translated by John Brownjohn. Chess enthusiasts ought to read this book: in it they will be able to match their own idiosyncrasies against the characteristics of two world class players of the early 20th century. And those who are not chess aficionados or even those who couldn't care less for the game will be entertained by insights into a very strange world and excited by a match that means so much to its participants.

    Glavinic's story follows closely the World Championship match of January 1910 between the then title-holder, Emanuel Lasker, and the Austrian grand master, Karl Schlechter, who is fictionalized in this book as Carl Haffner. The two players could not be more different: Lasker outgoing, confident, comfortable, and Haffner, shy, naive, dirt poor -- his widowed mother a restroom attendant, her co-workers over-the-hill whores. The ten games were played in Vienna and Berlin, the match favoring the current champion because, to unseat him Haffner had to win more games than he lost; in the event the number of wins was even, the title would remain in Lasker's hands.

    This is not a recitation of chessboard moves. (Only the final game is recorded in detail in an appendix to the story.) Rather the story is about the atmosphere of the contest which Glavinic brings into focus through the observations not only of the players but of two observers as well. The first is a sponsor of Haffner, Viennese chess master and syndicated columnist Georg Hummell, the other an attractive reporter named Anna Feiertanz, new to the world of chess.

    Here is a sampling of their observations:

    "The masters Anna interviewed, who hailed from all parts of the world, had little to contribute to any conversation dealing with matters other than openings, middle games, and endgames. While play was in progress they gazed at the board or the man-sized demonstration boards, puffed at their cigars, conveyed the fruits of their deliberations to their neighbours in a whisper, and made only disjointed allusions to their personal welfare and private circumstances. That was understandable, given the prevailing excitement. Even when Lasker and Carl had completed a game, however, it remained impossible to extract a sensible remark from the spectators. They veiled themselves in tobacco smoke and argued over this or that manoeuvre. The situation was no better when Anna encountered one of them hours later. She decided to take the bull by the horns.

    "'Tell me, Master Lipke,' she asked, all innocent, 'how much does a litre of milk cost?'

    "Master Lipke apologized with artless courtesy and advised her to consult one of the organizers. She put the same question to another master. He stared at her as if she had asked him why hydrochloric acid wasn't flowing from the frozen fountain outside the hotel. The third shrugged his shoulders, the fourth offered to stand her a glass of milk, the fifth named an astronomical sum.

    "Anna marvelled anew every day at the ability of these men to regard a chessboard as the sole reality. They were as singleminded as children. Their emotions were dominated by chess, and chess alone....

    "Lasker she excepted. The world champion made a sound and stable impression. He was cultured, sophisticated, witty. His verdicts on European politics were quite as perceptive as those of any expert commentator. He knew as much about physical phenomena as he did about herbal remedies. He had travelled widely, and Anna sensed from all he said that he had kept his eyes open in the process. At the same time, he was never anything but affable and refrained from lecturing his listeners like a headmaster. Conversing with him was a pleasure. Where most of the other masters were concerned, Anna felt as if she were trying to wring secrets from mentally disturbed children."

    Lasker's thoughts on Haffner: "What an odd fellow he was, this Haffner: so nervous on entering the chess club, he could hardly stay on his feet. He had not uttered a word during the opening ceremony. A big crowd had applauded him, and he had looked as if he wanted to creep under the carpet. Finally, he'd let a reporter cheat him out of thinking time. Incredible that such a character should be playing chess for the supreme title. Equally incredible was the way he'd sat there, firm as a rock, since the game began. He radiated an assurance that wasn't in character. The man played chess with his entire self, not just with his brain. But character wasn't a mutable state like mood. Haffner's ambivalence required to be understood. Then he could be defeated.

    "This was their seventh encounter to date. Lasker had won three games, three had been drawn, and the Austrian had decided one duel in his favour at Cambridge Springs in 1904. The mild-mannered man wasn't to be underestimated. nor was he genuinely dangerous, thought Lasker, but it would pay to be careful....

    "Haffner favours a style of play that differs entirely from that of my opponents of the last fifteen years. Steinitz, Marshall. Tatrasehi and Janowski were all inclined to take the initiative, whereas the Austrian champion's predominant concern is safety. Any undertaking must give promise of sure success before Haffner consents to remove his forces from their base. Not even the prospect of a win can induce him to do otherwise. Haffner has introduced a novel and thoroughly topical problem. How is it possible to defeat a player who greets the promise of success and the threat of an attack with the same sang-froid; who is primarily concerned with his own safety and pursues it with great expertise and, if need be, with great flair and perspicacity? The answer to that question is still unknown. In theory, however, the following statement may be made:

    "If, at the right juncture, Haffner's strategy were allied with initiative, the perfect style would have been attained and Haffner would be unbeatable. It is not, however, given to any immortal man to be infallible. A chess player's virtues are only approximations to the ideal. Everyone has a weakness somewhere, notably timidity, excessive audacity, or lack of observation. It will be my task in the eight remaining games of the championship, to undertake the first attempt to solve the Haffner problem."

    But things do not go so well for the world champion: "Accustomed to victory as he was, the world champion found himself facing renewed problems in the second game. Hummel, who was familiar with Haffner's idiosyncrasies at the board, roamed the lobby and announced in a booming voice that he wanted to double his bet. If Haffner could find the time to stroll up and down and chat with the onlookers during play, it meant that he was secretly confident, not only of winning the current game but of mastering his opponent altogether. Lasker, for his part, sat glued to his chair. He bent over the board with tousled hair and an unlit cigar in his right fist.

    "Then something happened. 'Really!' the world champion exclaimed. 'This is no way to play!' He tugged at his tie, tossed it away, and undid his shirt collar. Hummel witnessed this incident. 'Of course, Haffner's got him by the throat!' he told himself...."