فکر لوژین در هزارتوهای مسحور کننده و مخوف میگشت و لابه لای آنها، اینجا و آنجا با فکر مضطرب توراتی تلاقی میکرد که دنبال همان چیزی بود که او بود. ...لوژین در تدارک حمله لازم بود اول هزارتوی بسته ای از شاخه های متعدد را بگردد که در آن هر قدمش پژواک وهم آلودی داشت، و بخاطر همین تفکری طولانی را آغاز کرد: بنظر میرسید که باید به آخرین تلاشِ اعجاب انگیزش دست بزند و حرکت نهفته ای را که به پیروزی ختم میشود پیدا کند. ناگهان در خارج از وجودش اتفاقی افتاد، و درد سوزانی را احساس کرد- بی اختیار فریاد کشید و به شدت دستش را تکان داد که از شعلۀ کبریتی سوخته بود که روشن کرده بود اما فراموش کرده بود با آن سیگارش را روشن کند. درد بلافاصله تمام شد، اما در این وقفۀ آتشین چیزی دیده بود که بسیار هراس آور بود، و لوژین وحشت کامل اعماق مغاکی شطرنج را احساس کرد.

آنجا تدارک عجولانه ای در جریان بود: انعکاس پنجره ها جمع شد وهم سطح شد، تمامی آن ورطه انگار به مربعهای تیره و روشن تقسیم شد، و لحظه ای که لوژین دستش را رها کرد لحظه ای که هوا یخ زده به دهانش هجوم برد، دقیقاً دید که چه نوع ابدیتی به اجبار و بی رحمانه در برابرش گسترده میشود

جنگل خاموش و نمناک بود. گریه ی سیری کرد و بعد مدتی با یک سوسک بازی کرد که شاخک هایش را با حالتی عصبی تکان می داد، و مدتی هم طول کشید تا آن را با سنگ له کند، چون می خواست همان صدای له شدن اولیه تکرار شود.

Scacco matto

Ricordo di aver letto, nel passato recente o remoto, parecchi romanzi e racconti incentrati sul gioco degli scacchi, alcuni pregevoli e ancora ben presenti nella mia memoria, altri a malapena rammentati, solo nel titolo e pochi particolari.

“La difesa di Luzin” mi è sembrato ripercorrere nella prima parte i tipici passaggi narrativi del genere: il bambino prodigio, l’emarginazione dai coetanei e dai loro passatempi, le difficoltà nell’ambito familiare, la scoperta casuale del “gioco degli dei”, lo stupore degli adulti via via affrontati e spazzati via dalla scacchiera, e poi il mondo dei tornei coi suoi rituali e le sue dinamiche.

Ma a partire da un certo punto, situato direi a un terzo circa del romanzo, la penna del grande narratore prende finalmente il sopravvento e trasporta il lettore in una nuova originale dimensione.

La svolta coincide con la genesi del personaggio Luzin adulto, un individuo che “non riusciva a pensare se non per immagini scacchistiche” fino a percepire che “…la vita vera, la vita degli scacchi, era ordinata, nitida, ricca d’avventura e Luzin rilevava con orgoglio quanto fosse agevole dominarla e come tutto in essa fosse pronto ad obbedire al suo volere e ad inchinarsi ai suoi progetti”. E il pericoloso corollario sottinteso a questo ragionamento, che Nabokov non scrive ma lascia intuire, è “…a differenza della vita sociale, la vita circostante che tutti gli altri considerano essere la vita vera.”

Non mancano pagine decisamente comiche o grottesche, ma l’aspetto che si insinua più sottilmente nel racconto è come la visione a scacchiera si insinua nella mente di Luzin: il motivo di un pavimento, una parete, un riflesso di luci, qualunque alternanza bicolore si trasforma in un piano di gioco sul quale elaborare combinazioni meravigliose, eleganti strategie scacchistiche.

Va da sé che questa alienazione porta il protagonista ad un crollo nervoso da cui si riprenderà solo in apparenza con l’uscita definitiva dall’alveo della famiglia d’origine e il conseguente avvio di nuovi rapporti che peraltro egli sembra subire passivamente più che scegliere, primo fra tutti quello con la futura fidanzata e il suo mondo, affascinante ma incomprensibile, nel quale Luzin si stabilisce da subito come un corpo estraneo.

“Come le mosse di un grande campione sulla scacchiera, quando gioca una partita immortale e sviluppa una variante micidiale il cui valore si scopre solo alla fine, esattamente allo stesso modo il valore di questo libro viene fuori piano piano”… finché lo scacco matto finale diviene inesorabile.

We find in The Luzhin Defense many of Nabokov's playful tropes: madness (monomania, solipsism), resistance to meaning (particular jabs at the "Viennese delegation"), genius outcast from society. It is apparent that his is an early work of the master, though a masterful work still. Luzhin is a remote but somehow lovable obsessive. Our affection for him has true potential, perhaps a potential unusual for the typical Nabokovian protagonist. But that affection is abated by our narrative distance from Luzhin: while the first person brings us closer to the monsters of Humbert and Kinbote, the third person alienates us from the more awkwardly lovable Pnin and Luzhin. This alienation is not unique to the reader, but a feeling felt by all who meet Luzhin: he is remote, inaccessible, too odd and too genius for the world in which he lives.

Ultimately, like all of Nabokov's memorable puppets, Luzhin's sanity is the vicitm of his own illusions: a victimhood manifest even in his characteristic conception, as Nabokov informs us in the Foreward: "The Russian title of this novel is Zashchita Luzhina, which means 'the Luzhin defense' and refers to a chess defense supposedly invented by my creature, Grandmaster Luzhin: the name rhymes with “illusion” if pronounced thickly enough to deepen the 'u' into 'oo.'" Luzhin is at once a man totally blinded by illusion, and also a man of preternaturally clear vision. His acuity and understanding in the realm of chess blinds him to the reality of his larger environment. As in Despair, Nabokov parodies his own focus on detail to comedic effect: focus on detail becomes dangerous myopia. Luzhin feels that attachment to the real world is a source of endless fatigue, even the chessboard is a burden to him. His consciousness, all of his senses, are focused so microscopically that he becomes a solemn object of ridicule:n  

Luzhin was indeed tired. Lately he had been playing too frequently and too unsystematically; he was particularly fatigued by playing blind, a rather well-paid performance that he willingly gave. He found therein deep enjoyment: one did not have to deal with visible, audible, palpable pieces whose quaint shape and wooden materiality always disturbed him and always seemed to him but the crude, mortal shell of exquisite, invisible chess forces.

nChess is perhaps the perfect metaphor for Nabokov's style of art: precise, calculating, pure-play and pure-skill removed from chance. Nabokov's works are ruled by his aptly named (in Lolita) "McFate" - man-made, authored, Fate: fate which is removed from fortune. When interviewed for the Paris Review, he was asked if E.M. Forster's claim that [Forster's] character's had lives of their own, and wrote their fortunes for themselves, resonated with him, Nabokov answered (characteristically): n  

My knowledge of Mr. Forster's works is limited to one novel, which I dislike; and anyway, it was not he who fathered that trite little whimsy about characters getting out of hand; it is as old as the quills, although of course one sympathizes with his people if they try to wriggle out of that trip to India or wherever he takes them. My characters are galley slaves.

nPot-shot at Passage to India aside, the closing seal on his answer is significant to understanding Nabokov's approach to art. "My characters are galley slaves." Slaves, like chess pieces beneath the hands of their master, ever part of a greater artwork: the game. Nabokov's artistry is a game, he is a parodist and a trickster. That stills our emotional reaction, but invokes our appreciate for his aesthetic achievements. Luzhin does not move us, and The Luzhin Defense is as much a chess defense as it is a defense against interpretation, against emotion. The Luzhin Defense is a case in the particular of the Nabokov Defense - a defense against meaning which he artfully employs to distance the heart, while drawing in the mind.

Despite the parallels between Luzhin Defense and Zweig's Chess Story, it would be in poor taste to imagine it a parody of Zweig's post-Nazi novella - however the comparison is unavoidable. There is a notable exchange in values when one moves from Zweig to Nabokov's takes on Chess obsessives. In Zweig we encounter a man literally tortured, and chess being a mental manifestation of both escape and continued imprisonment. Chess Story is a poignant, post-WWII tale, with heavy-laden messages against human cruelty, the double-edged sword of escapism, and the pervasive loss of innocence and beauty following the Nazi rule. In Luzhin Defense we are withheld meaning and given farce. While Nabokov plays with us, manipulates our affections and our perceptions, his art is a cold and distant art. The genius of Zweig's novella is to make chess warm to us, familiar, an obsession-affliction which is at the very border of our admiration and fear. The genius of Nabokov's novel is the inverse: it instills on the sympathetic narrative of a man gone mad by his own monomania with the cold aloofness of a chess match.

رضایی عالی
ناباکف بی نقص
تنها از شطرنج نابلدی خود سخت خشمگینم

3.50 stars

Primarily I decided to read "The Luzhin Defense" as Vladimir Nabokov's sixth novel (after "Collected Stories," "King, Queen, Knave," "Lolita," "Pnin," and "Laughter in the Dark") for two reasons, (1) I'd like to read one of his novels and compare it to his "Lolita," and (2) I liked its reader-friendly fonts which I found more relaxing and easier to read than some of those published by Penguin or other English paperback publishing companies in general. However, a bit disappointed by its plot and something like stream of consciousness, I rated it as a three-star book obviously inferior to that four-star "Lolita" which I was not reluctant and happy to pass such a verdict to that one of the world famous controversial fictions in the 20th century.

For those Nabokov newcomers, I think they may find reading its synopsis inspiringly informative and better understandable by visiting this site: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Def... moreover, if you enjoy playing chess, please visit this one: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Luz..., especially those Grandmasters-to-be.

Eventually, I think we should know something typical of Nabokov so that we would get ready and prepared to read his seemingly endless prose, stream of consciousness-like; therefore, we would find and endure reading many long paragraphs before encountering the real thing, that is, 7.5 pages (pp. 118-125), 5.9 pages (215-220) and 5.5 pages (pp. 91-97) of no paragraphs. Obviously, his flowing of thought of genius could bore us into drowsiness once in a while so I tried finding other things that amused me to keep me awakening, for example, his sense of humor from the following:

When he did not appear for dinner and his table was taken by an ancient couple who had long had their eye on it, she asked in the office if Mr. Luzhin was sick. . . . (p. 101)


She said also that the one over there had a feeling for glass objects, while this one liked lilies and tender faces slightly inflamed by colds caught in heaven, and she directed his attention to two dogs domestically looking for crumbs beneath the narrow, poorly spread table of "The Last Supper." . . . (pp. 190-191)

From a shop of talking and playing machines came the sound of fragile music and someone closed the door so the music would not catch cold. . . . (p. 202)

And so on and so forth.
My query is that why you think/regard each one humorously amusing, your views are welcome.

The combination of Chess and Nabokov seemed to me a match made in heaven, a big fan of both, this was just too tempting to turn down, even though I knew it would take something pretty remarkable to reach the heights of either 'Pale Fire' or 'Lolita', I still felt like reading what is one of his earlier Russian novels (his third written in 1930) before he embarked on his American odyssey.

The Luzhin Defence is a book that does features chess, but doesn't delve too deeply into the actual playing of the game, so anyone clueless on the subject will rarely have to scratch their heads in uncertainty, it's main focus is the life of Luzhin himself, from his childhood in St Petersburg and learning the game with his Aunt, to becoming a shambling grand Grand Master who arrives in the Italian Lakes to play the Italian whizz Turati, and sets in motion events that unexpectedly had him finding the love of his life. The novel opens with a sense of nostalgia, with memory-misted scenes of Luzhin's boy-hood in Russia and his first initiation into the "game of the Gods" for which he is seen to have a prodigious and natural talent. Miserably alone, with little friends, and parents who both feel estranged and unemotional (Luzhin's father is a writer of boy's adventure stories but seems more dead than living) the boy would take to chess and give him that spark that had been missing from his life. The kid pushed around at school, would grow-up to become a maestro.

His passion for chess is almost one of obsession, an awkward figure he becomes, and is completely isolated in his opaque, imaginary world of configurations where he alone is sovereign as kings and queens and pawns are in eternal motion across his private field of vision. You get the impression the outside world and other people are of little significance. Nabokov rushes us from the early days, and the subterfuge he has to undertake to play the game, and we find Luzhin again in a post-revolutionary Europe, a ridiculous figure, his Grand Master status on the wane as other younger players get to grips with his own techniques for winning. During a stay in a health-spa Luzhin meets a Russian woman, herself an émigré from the revolution living in Berlin, and before long want her to be his wife, all to the annoyance of her parents, who want none of it. Their awkward courtship, where Luzhin asks for her hand has the air of a drowning man rather than a suitor.
And his beloved game would start to suffer, leading to big cracks appearing in his sturdy mind.

Reading Nabokov, any Nabokov, there is a 99% chance it's going to be worth it, this splendid novel was a delight, and even though it doesn't go all out in terms of plot or story, there are early signs here that the masterful narrative that showed up in his American novels was starting to emerge.
This had some wonderful sentencing, that was simply breathtaking, a joy to behold!
The Luzhin Defence can also be seen as a simple biography of a dull man, similar in some ways to that of John Williams' 'Stoner', but that conventionality only goes so far with Nabokov of course. In other ways, the life story is an extended metaphor, a game of chess within itself.

Nabokov is quite rightly regarded as one of the greatest writers to have graced this earth, so comparing this to most other books I have read, it would get top marks, but then I have to take into account both 'Pale Fire' and 'Lolita', for me, novels just don't come much better, The Luzhin Defence simply wasn't as good, but then that's no disgrace at all. A solid four stars. Thanks Vlad.

Ο νεαρός Λούζιν στρέφεται στο σκάκι μόνο και μόνο για να αποφύγει να κοιτάξει κατάματα τη Μέδουσα της πραγματικότητας. Στα 64 τετράγωνα διοχετεύει όλη του την ενέργεια. Το ταλέντο που κουβαλάει τον οδηγεί στην κορυφή. Όμως η κορυφή δεν ταιριάζει σε άτομα εκκεντρικά, θλιμμένα, εσωστρεφή και υπερευαίσθητα σαν το Λούζιν.

«Ο πόνος πέρασε αμέσως, αλλά σ’ εκείνο το φλογισμένο κενό χρόνου ο Λούζιν είχε δει κάτι αφόρητα επιβλητικό, είχε δει τον απόλυτο τρόμο των αβυσσαλέων βυθών του σκακιού. Κοίταξε τη σκακιέρα και το μυαλό του έλιωσε από μιαν άνευ προηγουμένου αίσθηση κόπωσης. Αλλά οι πεσσοί ήταν αμείλικτοι, τον κρατούσαν και τον απορροφούσαν. Ήταν ένα είδος γυμνού τρόμου αυτό, αλλά ήταν και η μοναδική αρμονία, γιατί τι άλλο υπήρχε στον κόσμο πέρα από το σκάκι;»

Από τ’αγαπημένα, αν όχι το αγαπημένο, θέματα του Ναμπόκοφ είναι η αφηγηματική διερεύνηση του χάσματος ανάμεσα σε μερικούς εσωστρεφείς, χαρισματικούς χαρακτήρες και στην αδυσώπητη πραγματικότητα. Ενώ όμως σ’άλλα μυθιστορήματα καταλύτης που επιταχύνει το τραγικό αδιέξοδο είναι μία μοιραία γυναίκα, εδώ τον παραπάνω ρόλο αναλαμβάνει μία υπερπροστατευτική σύζυγος.

Ο πατέρας Λούζιν, μετριότατος συγγραφέας, κάνει μεγάλα όνειρα για το γιο του, γοητευμένος από την διάθεσή του για απομόνωση και την έμφυτη μελαγχολία του. Ωστόσο ο γιος Λούζιν αποδεικνύεται παντού ανεπαρκέστατος. Ώσπου ανακαλύπτει το σκάκι και η υπόστασή του αποκτά ένα εκστατικό νόημα. Με μία βαλίτσα στο χέρι και συνοδευόμενος από έναν επιδέξιο «μάνατζερ», τον Βολεντίνοφ, περιφέρεται από ξενοδοχείο σε ξενοδοχείο ανά την Ευρώπη ως παιδί – θαύμα. Εντούτοις ο μάνατζερ του τον εγκαταλείπει καθώς ο Λούζιν δεν έχει την αναμενόμενη σκακιστική εξέλιξη και στην ενήλικη πορεία του. Τότε στη ζωή του απροσάρμοστου σκακιστή εισβάλλει μία νεαρή εξόριστη ρωσίδα για την οποία η αγάπη είναι συνώνυμη του οίκτου. Αισθάνεται για τον Λούζιν ένα δυνατό αίσθημα συμπάθειας και προστασίας που θα μπορούσε να ονομαστεί και μητρικό.

Η καριέρα του Λούζιν παίρνει την ανιούσα. Φτάνει ένα βήμα πριν διεκδικήσει τον παγκόσμιο τίτλο, όταν...

Hands-up: I read some of this at bullet-train speed because I had to return it to the library. Yes, I could have withdrawn it again, but there were only fifty-odd pages left and some new Foster Wallace was in that set my hands a-twitchin’ and my brain a-spinnin’.

So I didn’t let the sumptuous prose slowly unfold, I didn’t delicately caress his sentences with the same narcissistic mania the author bestowed upon his own works. But there wasn’t much sumptuousness here, anyway. His third novel is a more straightforward work, plump with overlong descriptions and meandering scenes between unconvincing characters.

Mrs Luzhin in particular (Emily Watson in the film—delicious) doesn’t seem a convincing spouse, nor does her attraction to the über-tortured chess-whizz Luzhin (John Turturro in the film—delicious) seem particularly well-rationalised, outside his general weird-genius aura. Luzhin stumbles through the novel like Rain Man, driven mad by trying to solve an impossible chess problem and his general uselessness as a human being.

Surprising how people cite Luzhin as a ‘warmer’ Nabokov character: I couldn’t stand his drivelling idiocy, and the intrigue for me fell to the way he was going to crush Mrs Luzhin’s heart. The title also seems to refer to how Mrs L defends Luzhin in the eyes of her parents, how she keeps him in expensive mini-breaks with scenic greenery. Lucky for some.

If you happen to be a chess genius, however, this is probably the greatest book you’ll ever read. (Chess memoirs excluded—that’s cheating).

آغازی عالی ولی از نیمه کندی داستان طاقت فرسا وخسته کننده بود...

Интересно, что имя главного героя (а ведь он всемирно известный шахматист) мы узнаём лишь из последних строк романа. Может, sic transit gloria mundi; может, автор хочет сказать, что в истории он останется не благодаря шахматному гению, а своему поступку в финале; может, Набоков просто прельстился героем без имени (хотя у него есть несколько вполне реальных прототипов).
Последняя глава романа странная и туманная. Конечно, это дешевый трюк — спихивать всё на безумие/нервное расстройство персонажа. Даже возникает вопрос: а так ли глубок роман, как на то намекает автор?

Ah Nabokov, your words are like the warm familiar embrace of an ex-lover who knows just what I like . . . except without all the self-disgust the next day.