If you are a chessplayer, like me, you simply have to read this book. No one else has even come close to describing chess obsession from the inside. The style is, needless to say, impeccable.

Primer novela que leo de Nabokov y lamentablemente no puedo decir que la haya disfrutado. Me costo mucho llegar a conectar con la historia, la lectura se me hizo bastante densa, Nabokov escribe con oraciones extensas y eso tampoco ayudó.
El libro cuenta la historia de un niño de San Petersburgo que acuciado por el bullying escolar encuentra en el ajedrez su único refugio, y ya de adulto termina convirtiéndose en una obsesión de la que no va a poder salir. Esta obsesión es principalmente sobre lo que gira la novela, aunque también juega un papel importante el contexto político de aquella época, con los emigrados de Rusia y el choque entre quienes defendían el comunismo imperante en Rusia y quienes no.
El personaje principal, Luzhin, es interesante pero nada convincente, es un adulto actuando como niño, buscando una redención que no aparece, con una esposa (vaya casamiento que no termino de entender) que lo trata a lo largo de toda la novela como a un infante a quien debe cuidar.
En cuanto a los aficionados al ajedrez, no esperen encontrar referencias directas al juego, salvo vaguedades como “Luzhin inicio un ataque..” o cosas parecidas, pero sin nombrar siquiera el tipo de apertura jugada, mas atractivas son “Novela de ajedrez” o “La tabla de Flandes” si hablamos del juego en sí.
No es un libro malo, no esta mal escrito claramente, la idea es buena, pero no me gusto y no lo recomendaría.
2,5

I am awestruck at the depth of Nabokov's ability to take pretty much any subject and on fleshing-out a general concept be able to turn it into a masterpiece. This is a brilliantly portrayed story of a man suffering from autism, where all the definitions of what we know today (that may not have been thoroughly known then) are detailed with grace and without judgement as they may have been back a century ago. Lots of fine little details touched with gentle brush strokes have painted this beautiful portrait.

Meesterlijk verhaal van Nabokov, één van zijn romans die hij trouwens oorspronkelijk in het Russisch schreef. De hele tijd interessant met een einde dat zich ontplooit in een waanzinnig crescendo.

Review tonight probably...

Једно од многих генијалних дела Владимира Набокова које сам стицајем случајних околности читао упоредо са гледањем серије Дамин гамбит, популарне и занимљиве хладноратовске пропаганде са бајковито срећним крајем. Две приче о шаху, обе о деци која рано и случајно сазнају да табла са шаховским фигурама није само игра већ представља један паралелни свет у који нису сви позвани. Лужин је дечак који се у стварном свету не сналази баш најбоље. Његова комуникација са другим људима, породицом и вршњацима сведена је на најниже могуће гране, често делује и као дечак са посебним потребама. Али тако је само док се Лужин не сусретне са шаховским фигурама поређаним на шаховксој табли. Чудо од детета, шаховски геније, које својом зрелошћу и промишљеним потезима добија партије и осваја турнире, чудо чији свет стоји на тој маленој табли или та табла стоји као свет који окружује Лужина. Малени Лужин више није дете, свет се више не изненађује његовом генијалношћу, његове партије више не привлаче пажњу и он представља сталног учесника шаховских турнира, као и незгодни италијански играч који практикује незгодна отварања. Свет из главе излази у стварност, шаховске фигуре добијају форму свакодневних уличних објеката, јер шах то је живот, а фигуре могу бити свуда око нас. Једно дрво, или неки човек, можда и улична светиљка могу бити све оно што представљају и шаховске фигуре на шаховској табли и њима се може играти, њима се мора играти. Ко је краљица у стварном животу која вуче конце животних фигура и може ли Лужин спремити савршену одбрану која ће му донети коначну победу, отворити врата успеха и обезбедити бекство из тог вируелног света у који је набасао док је вукао фигуре по шаховској табли? Фантастична психолошка књига о коренима лудила и линијама живота којима корачају они који жонглирају генијалношћу, опседнутост сопственим страховима и магија људских мисли, тако чаробних, тако недокучивих, испреплетаних и пуних замки, у покушају да се изврши рокада, да се преокрене ситуација, да се поврати власт на својим животом и да се на шаховској табли зада мат.

„Након сваке сеансе турнира он је све теже пузао из света шаховских појмова, тако да је чак и дању почела да се појављује непријатна расцепљеност. Нако једне трочасовне партије глава га је чудно болела, не цела већ делови, црни квадрати бола, и неко време није модао да нађе врата, заклоњена тамном мрљом, нити је могао да се сети адресе вољене куће...“

http://www.mytwostotinki.com/?p=1475

"What struck him most was the fact that from Monday on he would be Luzhin."

These words mark a beginning and an end - the beginning of Vladimir Nabokov's novel The Luzhin Defense and the end of the probably happiest period in the life of the protagonist when he was the pampered only child of a wealthy St. Petersburg family in pre-revolutionary Russia, living the protected existence of children of this class, when life seemed to be a long holiday. But time is not standing still, finally the boy has to attend school in the city where everybody will address him by his family name only. A rather traumatic experience as it turns out, although the child seems to accept the fact quietly.

It is an interesting decision of Nabokov to present this rather strange boy and later even more strange grown-up with his family name only (even his parents and his wife address him half-jokingly only with this name and not with his first name and patronym as would be usual). It is not until the very end when the readers learn the full name of the hero of the book.

And indeed, there seems to be an aura that creates a distance between Luzhin and the rest of the people. He is not communicative, likes to stay on his own, resolving mathematical problems or puzzles, and he seems to be unable to make friends or be even close with his parents who make all kind of efforts to shower Luzhin with their affection and love to which he reacts by withdrawing even more. His parents seem sometimes to be at a loss what to make of this strange bird that grows up in their nest and that shows no sign of serious interest in anything - until the day he discovers a chess set and learns how to play.

Luzhin develops into a chess wunderkind, with an all-absorbing passion for the game that is reluctantly supported by the father (who seems to be too happy that his son will not be a complete failure and be successful even when it is an activity that society doesn't consider as something worthy of an educated person with his background). A chess impresario, Dr. Valentinov, takes the child prodigee under his wings and Luzhin becomes one of the most serious contenders for the title of a World Chess Champion.

The second part of the novel centers around a game of Luzhin with his main rival Turati, followed by a mental breakdown of Luzhin that forces him to give up on his chess career.

But Luzhin is lucky: he finds a young Russian woman from a wealthy emigrant family in Berlin that falls in love with him; despite strong reservations from the mother-in-law, the couple marries and finally Luzhin seems to embark for the first time in his life on a normal life. Everything would be fine, if he would not see everywhere these chess patterns, and to make things worse, one day his childhood nemesis Valentinov turns up again.

It is difficult not to quote excessively from this book - although written and published originally in Russian the English translation reads very smoothly and elegant, no surprise since Nabokov who co-authored the translation grew up bilingual - because there are simply too many parts which show the great mastery of Nabokov even at this comparatively early stage of his career. I will refrain myself and will give only two examples:

Dr. Valentinov, the chess impresario, is described as a cold, cunning, profit-oriented and extremely unsympathetic person (I was wondering: thinking of Silvio Danailov, a famous present day chess impresario, I suppose these character traits are part of the job description. Well, the real-life Danailov seems to be even more unlikable than the novel character Valentinov!).

When young Luzhin loses his wunderkind appeal and becomes just a strong chess grandmaster, Valentinov is walking away without saying much - but with a full bank account (while Luzhin remains quite poor and receives only a few "crumbs" from his income). While Valentinov becomes a film producer - there was much more money to make in the booming film industry of the 1920s - he comes up with a project idea for which he needs Luzhin and some other chessmasters as "staffage". The few lines that describe their meeting after many years not being in touch are masterful and give in a nutshell a description of the character of both men:

"At this moment the door opened with a rush and a coatless, curly-haired gentleman shouted in German, with an anxious plea in his voice: "Oh, please, Dr. Valentinov, just one minute!" "Excuse me, dear boy," said Valentinov and went to the door, but before reaching it he turned sharply around, rummaged in his billfold and threw a slip of paper on the table before Luzhin. "Recently composed it," he said. "You can solve it while you are waiting. I'll be back in ten minutes." -

He disappeared. Luzhin cautiously raised his eyelids. Mechanically he took the slip. A cutting from a chess magazine, the diagram of a problem. Mate in three moves. Composed by Dr. Valentinov. The problem was cold and cunning, and knowing Valentinov, Luzhin instantly found the key. In this subtle problem he saw clearly all the perfidity of his author. From the dark words just spoken by Valentinov in such abundance, he understood one thing: there was no movie, the movie was just a pretext...a trap, a trap...he would be inveigled into playing chess and then the next move was clear. But this move would not be made."

There are also many scenes where I had to laugh, especially the dialogues between the grubby, unworldly Luzhin and his future mother-in-law, a rich and very sophisticated woman - actually these are more monologues of the eccentric lady who doesn't have exactly the highest opinion of the future husband of her only daughter. Or the attempts to find Luzhin a new occupation after the end of his chess career - rather sad, but also highly comical attempts at times that reach its climax when Luzhin acquires a typewriter:

"It was proposed to him that one of the office employees come and explain how to use it, but he refused, replying that he would learn on his own. And so it was: he fairly quickly made out its construction, learned to put in the ribbon and roll in the sheet of paper, and made friends with all the little levers. It proved to be more difficult to remember the distribution of the letters, the typing went very slowly; there was none of Tot-tot's rapid chatter and for some reason - from the very first day - the exclamation mark dogged him - it leapt out in the most unexpected places.

At first he copied out half a column from a German newspaper, and then composed a thing or two himself. A brief little note took shape with the following contents: "You are wanted on a charge of murder. Today is November 27th. Murder and arson. Good day, dear Madam. Now when you are needed, dear, exclamation mark, where are you? The body has been found. Dear Madam! Today the police will come!!" Luzhin read this over several times, reinserted the sheet and, groping for the right letters, typed out, somewhat jumpily, the signature: "Abbe Busoni."

At this point he grew bored, the thing was going too slowly. And somehow he had to find a use for the letter he had written. Burrowing in the telephone directory he found a Frau Louisa Altman, wrote out the address by hand and sent her his composition."

I would have liked to see Frau Louisa Altman's face when she read the letter.

Nabokov knew about what he was writing in this novel. He came from exactly the same milieu as the Luzhin in the book (even his father was like Luzhin's father, an author). He knew the Berlin milieu of the Russian emigrants of the 1920s from his own life there. And he was a strong chess player that even composed and published chess problems - chess was his other life-long interest beside butterlies. It is very probable that he knew Alexander Alekhine (or Aljechin), the later World Chess Champion with whom Luzhin has many similarities personally - the Nabokov's and the Alekhine's were neighbors in St. Petersburg and both fathers were deputies in the Duma.

The chess part of the book is so much better and superior in every respect to Stefan Zweig's Chess! (I don't want to denigrate Stefan Zweig's writing, but for me it is obvious that he had only a quite shallow knowledge of the game.) Needless to say that also the other chess masters mentioned in the book are inspired by real chess masters (Turati/Reti, Moser/Lasker); and even the end of the novel is based on the fate of a real chess master, Curt von Bardeleben, who was Nabokov's neighbor in Berlin if I am not mistaken.

The Luzhin Defense is a fascinating book about an obsessive character and in my opinion the best chess novel ever published. It is also an excellent starting point to discover one of the greatest novelists of all times. Maybe his most mature English works are even better - but I can't imagine any better starting point to discover the continent Nabokov than The Luzhin Defense.

Do you really need more reasons to read this book?

The copy I was reading contained Nabokov's very sarcastic foreword to the English edition "with a few words of encouragement to the Viennese delegation" (i.e. the psychoanalysts for whom N. had so much mockery and contempt) and an instructive afterword by John Updike.

شاید بتوانم بگویم اثرِ قدرنادیده‌ی نابوکوف است این کتاب. روایتی از آن‌چه به سرِ غیرمعمولی‌ها می‌آید یا روایتی که نابوکوف در نامه به مادرش از آن با این مضمون که "عجب چیز پیچیده‌ی پیچیده‌ای بود" یاد می‌کند.
به نظر من این اثر می‌توانست به یکی از شاخص‌های ادبی و نقطه‌‌های ارجاع تبدیل شود.

اعتراف: آنقدر که در چندباره خواندن مسحور گیراییِ پلات و طنز و تلخیِ کتابم که جز تعریف کاری ازم برنمی‌آید.
ناباکف را تا قبل این کتاب در مقام یک نابغه نمی‌شناختم. شناخت ادبیات روس کفایت می‌کرد که بدانم با کسی طرفم که «خواندن» ادبیات بلد است، و از او یاد گرفتم، در دیدن داستان منظورم است، مثل راجر فاولر یا دیوید لاج یا تریلینگ یا وین‌بوث یا حتی بعضی اشارات رولان بارت در دیدن صحنه‌ی تکنیکیِ رمانها. ولی با این کتاب و ترجمه‌ی درجه‌یک رضا رضایی (که باید گفت قدری هم حاصل کار کارگاه ویرایش نشر کارنامه است) ناباکف استاد مسلم شد برایم. می‌دانستم شطرنج بلد است و طراح مسائل شطرنج است، می‌دانستم پروانه‌دوست و شکارچی و کلکسیونر پروانه است و شاید باید گفت «پروانه‌شناس»، می‌دانستم زبان انگلیسی را می‌آموزد و چنان چیزی می‌نویسد که «ناباکوفی» قلم می‌دهند چنان که بعدتر مثلاً همن یا آسیمان را «ناباکف جدید» می‌خوانند به همین اعتبار که انگلیسی زبان مادری‌شان نیست و در آن چنان سحری می‌انگیزند که ستایش انگلیسی‌زبانان را به همراه دارد؛ اینها همه بود ولی با این کتاب فهمیدم هوشمندی در طراحی شخصیت و صحنه و دیالوگ و مافی‌الضمیر شخصیت‌ها و نمایاندن زوایای تاریک روح چقدر می‌تواند پیش برود. باز هم می‌نویسم برای من مقامی دارد که شاید بورخس وسلینجر و کالوینو دارند در قرن بیستمی‌ها (جویس و پروست خب توفیر اساسی دارند) و همینگوی و فالکنر و ولف قدری دورتر. با آپدایک شاید آنچنان آشنا نباشم.

مقدمه‌ی نویسنده بر کتاب بخصوص پایان‌بندی خیلی معرکه است. حرف ندارد. همیشه می‌گویند ناباکف با بعضی سر ناسازگاری دارد. مثلاً از فرویدبازی خوشش نمی‌آید، با غاصبان وطنش سر عناد داشت و غیره وغیره. ولی نوشتن آن جملات آخر مقدمه هوش غریب می‌خواهد. مثل راوی‌ای که می‌سازد و آدم را مطمئن نمی‌کند قضیه‌ی قصه از چه قرار است مقدمه هم بی‌قرارت می‌کند که نکند قدری هم جدی باشد و همه‌اش رندی نباشد.

همین که خیالش نیست و گاهی تمام اطلاعات را در یک جمله جا می‌گذارد ستودنی‌ست. خواننده‌ی ناباکف نمی‌تواند توی کافه و قبل خواب و برای رفع بطالت قصه را توی چنگ بیاورد. اگر چشمت همینجور رد بشود چشم‌انداز را از دست خواهی داد. در یک جمله یک جایی از رمان از کیفی و رنگش و دیالوگهای سر میز می‌نویسد و رد می‌شود. در یک صحنه در حد یک جمله تردید می‌اندازد به قصه که نکند آینه‌های سالن معنی‌ای دارند. در یک جمله صداها را خفه می‌کند و می‌گذارد وضع بشری پیش چشم بیاید.

تدوین. نمی‌دانم چه بنویسم. هنر طراحیِ پلات. آخر پلات را می‌شود به انجا مختلف نوشت. یک پلات الزاماً جای دوربین و صحنه‌پردازی و قطع و وصل سکانس‌ها نیست. شاید برای من نیست و باشد. صحنه‌ی کشف شطرنج و حس اروتیسم مرد زمزمه‌کننده، صحنه‌ی شطرنج با زنی خوش‌منظروحضور و کشف امیال پدری، کشف دوباره‌ی زن وعشق آزاد و لذت شطرنج در صحنه‌ی سوم، و ناتمام ماندن همه اینها و بی‌سرانجام ماندن بازی و عشق در کنار هم... وحشتناک است. بعد صحنه‌های توی جنگل. صحنه‌ی دقت در حشرات. بعد صحنه‌ی گم شدن. بعد صحنه‌ی گم شدن در آخر.

نسبت بازی و رمان و خواندن. (کشف این نکته و لذت را مدیون جناب آقای آبتین گلکار هستم که هم شطرنج می‌داند و هم ناباکف و با دو سه اشاره مطلب را به من شطرنج‌نابلد و ناباکف‌نشناس روشن کرد) بازی و نشت بازی به زندگی در حالت صفحات شطرنچی، مهمترین بازی عمر لوژین در میانه‌ی رمان، قلب رمان یک بازی و عناصر حول آن است ودفاعی که او باید بکند، و عنصری علیحده که «مسائل شطرنج» است و لوژین نوجوان در خرت‌وپرت‌های بازمانده از پدربزرگ در مجلاتی قدیمی کشف می‌کند و الگویی می‌شود برای ناباکف باهوش که فرایند خواندن خواننده را با حل مسئله‌ی شطرنج شباهت بدهد.

تنهایان. باز هم باید بنویسم ناباکف آدمهای تنها را می‌شناسد و می‌نویسد. از تنهایی حرف نمی‌زند. از تاریکی‌های روح می‌نویسد و این تشعشع‌های تاریک را تنهایان عالم می‌دانند.

One of the things I like most about Nabokov’s novels is the structure, and this one has a particularly interesting structure.

At the beginning of chapter nine which is roughly half way through the book, two new characters appear out of nowhere, two young Berliners who are trying to return home after a hard night on the town. Both of them continued farther along the deserted night street, which alternately rose up smoothly to the stars and then sloped down again.

That deserted night street could represent the novel itself; it also rises up soberly towards the mid point and then lurches unsteadily towards the end. And it's quite a drunken lurching, weaving this way and that, holding onto anything it can grab, especially any props still lying about from the first half of the book: the woodprint of a child prodigy in a nightgown, the wheezy governess in the wheezy elevator, the father’s typewriter, the mother’s cousin, the forgotten friend from school, the family doctor, the beloved treasure buried under a tree.

With the help of all the props, the struggling novel finishes up in the end exactly where it left off in chapter eight just before the night street began to lurch: flatter and flatter like the flattened cardboard pieces of a pocket cardboard chess set.
I liked that twisted symmetry.

Anything else I might have been tempted to comment on, such as the plot, or the themes, or the characters, or the embedded chess game, or the autobiographical elements, were off limits because the author has commented on it all himself in the preface. Nabokov tells us in very certain terms that he wants to spare the time and effort of hack reviewers. So I’ve taken him at his word and skipped all such sleuthing. He didn’t mention the parallels between the end of chapter eight and the end of the book however - which fortunately left me something to say in this tenth and final Nabokov review.
Thank you, Mr Nabokov, and goodnight.

nabokov posiada dar do tworzenia męskich postaci którymi gardzę jak i osadzania akcji w takich okolicznościach, że ja widzę tylko jedno wyjście i jest nim by wszyscy bohaterowie się zabili bo ich egzystowanie na tej planecie nie ma sensu. żadna z postaci nie wzbudza sympatii. niestety w przeciwieństwie do lolity, tu jak dla mnie nic nie ratuje tej pozycji. wątek szachów wydaje mi się potraktowany od niechcenia, równie dobrze łużyn mógłby pasjonować się grą w bierki. nikodem nigdy więcej nie kupuj mi książek.

Un Nabokov da altissimi livelli

Rimuginavo da qualche giorno cosa mi ricordasse (non dico nella trama, ma nelle atmosfere cerebrali) Visioni, che ho appena finito di leggere. Ecco, finalmente si è accesa la lampadina! L'ossessione per la perfezione estetica (non è forse una forma d'arte il gioco degli scacchi?), la sublimazione della mente fuori dalla corporeità, l'inadeguatezza della genialità al mondo della materia; e anche il finale ha lo stesso tono apocalittico, il suo stesso anelito per la ricerca mette in scacco il protagonista e, letteralmente, lo uccide. Grandissimo Nabokov (anche se, per come la vedo io, meglio il Nabokov "Russo" che il "Mericano"...)