Martin Amis: Clear-Thinking Artist and Craftsman

Martin Amis, one of the most famous and successful writers of the late 20th century, passed away on Friday May 19 at the age of 73. He is perhaps best known for his novel Money, which Robert McCrum of "The Guardian" ranked as one of the best 100 novels written in English. Amis' agent, Andrew Wylie, described to "The Guardian" what distinguished Amis from other writers: "The level of attention Martin brought to each sentence was unique and special. He played on a field that few writers visited."

Amis' personality and work inspired strong opinions; if you liked Amis then you considered him to be a first rate literary figure whose influence will endure, and if you did not like Amis then you considered him to be a second rate talent who will be soon forgotten (and the sooner the better, according to his harshest critics). Talent evokes jealousy, and talented people who are financially successful and famous attract jealousy like a black hole attracts matter--and, much like a black hole destroys the matter that it absorbs, jealous people dream of destroying the people whose talent and success infuriate them.

In 1980, Amis accused Jacob Epstein--son of one of the founders of "The New York Review of Books"--of plagiarizing Amis' novel The Rachel Papers. Epstein admitted that he plagiarized Amis' work. For nearly 30 years after Epstein's offense, "The New York Review of Books" did not publish reviews of Amis' books; a profession that punishes the victim of a transgression instead of punishing the transgressor is very strange.

Amis' father Kingsley won the Booker Prize for his 1986 novel The Old Devils. Martin Amis' critics sometimes disparaged him by asserting that he was not nearly as good of a writer as his father was, which is as irrelevant as it is cruel: Martin Amis' task was to maximize his own talents, regardless of whether or not doing so enabled him to surpass what his father accomplished. 

In my essay "Cloud Atlas Explores Our Interconnected Lives and Destinies," I quoted from the Afterword of Amis' 1991 novel Time's Arrow: "[The Holocaust] was unique, not in its cruelty, nor in its cowardice, but in its style--in its combination of the atavistic and the modern. It was, at once, reptilian and 'logistical.' And although the offence was not definingly German, its style was. The National Socialists found the core of the reptile brain, and built an autobahn that went there." That passage typifies Amis' insight and his pithy yet vivid way of expressing that insight. I have yet to see a better, more succinct summary of the dichotomy between Germany's mastery of science/technology and the poverty of Germany's moral conscience; the perverse marriage of technological prowess with moral depravity opened the path for the ascent of the Nazi Party, which plunged the world into destruction and devastation on an unprecedented scale.

After some critics blasted his 2003 novel Yellow Dog, Amis commented, "No one wants to read a difficult literary novel or deal with a prose style which reminds them how thick they are. There's a push towards egalitarianism, making writing more chummy and interactive, instead of a higher voice, and that's what I go to literature for." Bluntly dismissing your critics by explaining that your writing reminds them of how stupid they are is no way to make friends--but producing great writing is not about making friends: permanent greatness is more significant than, and will outlast, transitory, fickle human relationships.

In addition to writing novels, Amis produced high quality non-fiction, some of which is collected in the anthology Visiting Mrs. Nabokov and Other Excursions.

Martin Amis' political beliefs skewed to the Left, which was a source of contention with his father Kingsley. Many people who identify as progressives or liberals harbor antisemitic and anti-Zionist attitudes as core tenets of their belief systems, but Martin Amis was not in that unfortunate group of misguided souls; he rebelled not only against his father's political views, but also against the antisemitism that is all too common--regardless of political affiliation--in Amis' native Great Britain and which was evident during Great Britain's administration of the Palestine Mandate. The British restricted Jewish immigration to Palestine (contravening the stated purpose of the Palestine Mandate to facilitate the creation of a Jewish State in the Jewish people's ancient homeland), and the British obsequiously curried favor with many of the region's despotic Arab and Islamic leaders (which, as often happens with policies based on realpolitik considerations, did not have a positive outcome for the British). Martin Amis once observed, "Israel can't afford to be a sweetie," which is an accurate summary of Israel's precarious position as a small nation surrounded by larger, hostile nations.

Martin Amis idolized Saul Bellow and Vladimir Nabokov. Like his heroes, Amis secured a place for himself as a writer whose work will be remembered and read long after his passing.

Garry Kasparov on Risk Taking, Being a Champion, and the Differences Between Capitalism and Socialism

Last week, in Garry Kasparov Laments the American Left's Embrace of Socialism, I cited some of the former World Chess Champion's brilliant thoughts and observations about socialism's flaws. I found another Kasparov interview that is also brilliant and timely. Kasparov did a wide-ranging interview with Patrick Bet-David in which he spoke about risk taking, what it takes to become a champion (a subject that has always intrigued me), and the differences between capitalism and socialism. 

The Kasparov/Bet-David video lasts 72 minutes, but the investment of that time to watch the video is well worth it. Time is our most precious commodity, and time well spent yields lasting dividends. Put another way, the saying "You are what you eat" is true on many levels. The food that you put in your body is the fuel that determines how efficiently and effectively your body works; it is also true in a broader sense that you are what you consume: if you put nonsense ideas in your head then you will have a confused mind. 

We are dealing with an epidemic of confused minds that have consumed nonsense. 

When I read Garry Kasparov's words or hear him speak, I know that I am consuming material that strengthens the mind and spirit.

Asked how he maintained dominance over the chess world for 15 years, Kasparov replied, "If you challenge your own excellence, you will never run short of opponents." Kasparov explained that there is no such thing as playing a perfect game. The loser made the last mistake, but the winner also made mistakes, and the smart winners--the champions--learn from those mistakes. In Habit, Attitude and Promises to Yourself, I cited words of wisdom from John W. Scott's book Step-by-Step Basketball Fundamentals (Prentice Hall, 1989), including this gem by Sydney J. Harris: "A loser is afraid to acknowledge his defects; a winner is aware that his defects are part of the same central system as his assets, and while he tries to minimize their effect, he never denies their influence."

Kasparov mentions that working hard is a talent, and the combination of that talent with other talents produces a champion. That reminds me of a quote from Naismith Memorial Basketball Hall of Famer Harry Gallatin; he was asked how he became a great rebounder, and he replied that he was blessed with the talent to work hard. I was struck by that notion of working hard being a talent, and I never forgot it.

Many people talk about risk, and they try to figure out how to eliminate risk. Kasparov has a different perspective: "Taking risks is risky. Not taking risks is riskier." Kasparov understands that it is not possible--or desirable--to live a risk-free life, and there are benefits to taking risks. Of course, risks must be calculated accurately, and balanced with potential benefits, but the notion that it is possible to eliminate all risk--for example, to live in a COVID-19 free world, which some politicians appear to believe to be a realistic goal--is foolish. 

It is disappointing--and concerning--that within living memory of the collapse of the U.S.S.R. there are so many people who are trying to implement socialism in America. Kasparov quotes Winston Churchill: "The inherent vice of capitalism is the unequal sharing of blessings. The inherent virtue of socialism is the equal sharing of miseries."

Comparing the free world countries to the countries dominated by totalitarianism, Kasparov declares, "We had an experiment: China gave us a virus; America gave us a vaccine." Kasparov has emphasized in previous interviews that he is not saying that China intentionally created COVID-19, but rather that COVID-19 emerged from a dictatorship that is unwilling or unable to create an effective vaccine, while in contrast America--a country so reviled by the self-proclaimed "progressives" in our midst--produced a life-saving vaccine in record time.

Asked to expound upon the difference between America and the Soviet Union, Kasparov begins by stating, "The problem with Americans is you take things for granted. You keep forgetting the wise words of Ronald Reagan...that freedom is a fragile thing that is never more than one generation away from extinction." Kasparov adds that when he lived under Soviet tyranny, "We knew America had problems. Again, there is no perfection in this world! Compare this country to any other place on the planet and you will not find a place that offers more opportunities for people of all races, genders. That is why people like me are getting so concerned when self-criticism turns into self-flagellation." He rightly calls it "nonsense" to assert that America was built on evil, and he adds, "I know that a lot of people may feel uncomfortable with what I am saying, but I speak on behalf of millions and millions and millions of people from Iran, Afghanistan, Russia, other places who look at America and they are confused and scared and don't understand why this great power is in retreat." 

America is not evil, and it is not courageous or "speaking one's truth" (what a vacuous phrase that is!) to call America evil. America is not perfect, but America is--in the timeless words of Abraham Lincoln--"The last, best hope of Earth." It is courageous to speak that truth in a time and place where speaking truth can get you canceled. I applaud Garry Kasparov, and I hope that his message plays a role in helping to reverse the deplorable trend of American self-flagellation that has become a badge of pride to some but is in fact a badge of ignorance and shame.

Kasparov concludes by noting that the free world is at war with tyrannical forces and regimes, whether or not we understand and accept that challenge--and it is a fight to the death. He wisely notes that America did not end the war in Afghanistan and we certainly did not win the war; we retreated. We must be eternally vigilant to build a better world not only for ourselves but for our children.

Jerzy Kosinski on Chess

After surviving the Holocaust and escaping from behind the Iron Curtain to freedom in the United States, Jerzy Kosinski wrote two non-fiction books under the pseudonym Joseph Novak before embarking on a very successful career as a novelist. Kosinski is best known for his novels The Painted Bird and Steps, which won the 1969 National Book Award.

In a 1988 lecture at the Smithsonian Institution, Kosinski touched on a variety of subjects, including chess. Chess was a big part of the Jewish-Polish culture in which Kosinski grew up in the 1930s and 1940s. Kosinski lamented the rise of television as an opiate for the masses and dreamed of a future in which widespread participation in chess would benefit society as a whole:

Imagine a time when chess really is a sport not just for masters but for the masses--a time when boxers or wrestlers are no longer considered fun to watch and when chess is a Las Vegas-style event. Kids would notice. They would learn how to play it from television or the Internet. They could play with other people on video games or by themselves on computers. Playing against a computer could even help to raise their game. Perhaps the game that my father used to call a great Jewish game could become a national game. And the result would be a new generation of people who would know how to concentrate.

Concentration means focusing. It means making good choices. It means spirituality. It means knowing who you are, looking at yourself as if you were a chessboard, and assessing the options you have in life. Do you move to the left? Do you go to the right? The game of chess could open up other worlds--of creativity, of big business, of politics, of Wall Street--all of which require a similar level of concentration. 

That brings me to the end of my private fantasy: that one day kids everywhere will be masters of concentration, not slaves to a television set.

Kosinski's vision is quite prescient. When he wrote those words, the internet was in its infancy and the use of chess computers as a serious training tool had only just begun. Now, the ubiquity of internet chess and the extraordinary strength of chess computers have given rise to a record-setting group of young chess phenoms. One of those phenoms, World Chess Champion Magnus Carlsen, has the right combination of skills, charisma and youth to lift chess to unprecedented heights. Carlsen is a magnificent player who is more balanced emotionally than Bobby Fischer, who created a short-lived chess boom in the 1970s that quickly went bust after he relinquished his World Championship title and went into a two decades-long seclusion.

Kosinski is right that chess can and should play a role in elevating our culture. Perhaps Carlsen as an active World Chess Champion and former World Chess Champion Garry Kasparov--who is doing great work to promote chess in the schools worldwide--will fulfill the vision that Kosinski so eloquently described more than a quarter century ago.

"What Else Exists in the World Besides Chess?"

Caissa is a beautiful, wonderful, mysterious and horrible mistress; she tempts and torments you, bringing great joy followed by tremendous agony: it is almost impossible to break her addictive spells, because no matter how much you lose you always think that your next move will bring redemptive victory.

In his novel The Luzhin Defense, Vladimir Nabokov described chess' seductive vice grip on the mind/soul:

Suddenly, something occurred outside his being, a scorching pain--and he let out a loud cry, shaking his hand stung by the flame of a match, which he had lit and forgotten to apply to his cigarette. The pain immediately passed, but in the fiery gap he had seen something unbearably awesome, the full horror of the abysmal depths of chess. He glanced at the chessboard and his brain wilted from hitherto unprecedented weariness. But the chessmen were pitiless, they held and absorbed him. There was horror in this, but in this also was the sole harmony, for what else exists in the world besides chess?

Chess is intoxicating, invigorating, illuminating--it challenges your mind, it buffets your emotions, it stretches your physical capabilities to the breaking point. Chess may seem like a quiet and passive activity to the uninitiated but chess is loud and aggressive--moves played and unplayed scream inside your head and the violence that you do (or that is done unto you) creates wounds and scars.

It is not an accident that the name of Nabokov's tormented chess hero echoes the word "illusion"; in chess, as in life, it is essential to determine what is real and what is illusory. If you lose the thread then the story will unravel, as surely as a tug on a loose string can pull apart the most intricately sewn garment.

Only Thoughts and Actions Can be Controlled, Not Outcomes

"For the uncontrolled there is no wisdom, nor for the uncontrolled is there the power of concentration; and for him without concentration there is no peace. And for the unpeaceful, how can there be happiness?"--passage from the Bhagavad Gita, as quoted in Jerzy Kosinski's Steps

"The man who is secure within himself has no need to prove anything with force, so he can walk away from a fight with dignity and pride. He is the true martial artist--a man so strong inside that he has no need to demonstrate his power."--Ed Parker

I have always had a strong feeling about the importance of doing things the right way and I have always been greatly bothered by any situation in which things are not done the right way (or what I perceive to be the right way) but there can be a negative result from being so focused on trying to fix every perceived injustice: "Too much [yetzer hatov] leads to premature saintliness. If one is overly righteous, one is likely to become suicidal."

Almost every person in my life has disappointed me to some extent but I am the person who has disappointed myself the most--and after some deep reflection about various situations I now realize the reason for all of this disappointment is very clear: heightened, unrealistic expectations about life and a desire for perfection inevitably lead to self-inflicted suffering.

In his monograph Life Was Never Meant to Be a Struggle, Stuart Wilde wrote:

Are you struggling to fix the world? If so, why? It's a bit of an ego trip when people think they can fix things. If you can see the world as an evolution--the way God would see it--you would know it's more or less perfect and does not need fixing. It's only when we view the world within the finite context of our emotions and ego that it looks less than perfect.

You can instantly become happy and free by deciding to leave the world alone and concentrate instead on yourself. By strengthening yourself, you serve all humanity. Each of us is linked to one another.

I do not agree with Wilde that the world is "more or less perfect"--in fact, I vigorously disagree with that notion--but I agree with him about the importance of self-improvement. I have no power to change the things that people say and do that make no sense to me but I have the power to control my reactions to the world's irrationality; I can choose to focus on enjoying my life and being as productive as I am capable of being, as opposed to dwelling on the world's problems and imperfections. When I first read the above quote from the Bhagavad Gita, I understood it to refer to self-control as a precursor to being able to control events and outcomes but now I understand self-control to be a worthy end in and of itself.

During the fateful lightsaber duel between Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn and Darth Maul in Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, a force field temporarily separated the two combatants; Darth Maul paced back and forth like a predator poised to kill its prey, while Qui-Gon Jinn knelt down, closed his eyes and meditated: Qui-Gon Jinn knew that his whole life and his entire training had culminated at this moment and that he needed to control his emotions, embrace concentration and focus his energies. The way that Qui-Gon Jinn maintained such equanimity and poise while facing a devil-horned opponent brandishing a double-sided lightsaber is a great example of how one should face all of life's challenges, great and small: trust your training and your instincts, do your best and accept the outcome. That particular outcome was not good for Qui-Gon Jinn--Darth Maul killed him--but Qui-Gon Jinn's apprentice Obi-Wan Kenobi immediately killed Darth Maul and Kenobi's apprentice Luke Skywalker eventually brought down the evil Galactic Empire. Qui-Gon Jinn's influence resonated long after his death because of the way that he lived his life.

In a recent chess tournament, I won a game because my opponent responded to my blunder ...Nxe5 with the blunder Nxf7 instead of playing Nb5, which would have given him a winning position. Winning chess games used to make me feel very happy, while losing chess games used to make me feel very upset but those reactions are too extreme. A better, more balanced path is to prepare properly before the event, concentrate fully during the event, enjoy the entire process and not overreact to the result. All that a person can control is his own actions; outcomes and results are influenced by factors that a person cannot control: the results of other games affect who I get paired against--which means that I could face someone whose style is a good matchup or someone whose style is a difficult matchup--and my opponent's training, discipline and outlook affect the quality of his moves, so unless I play perfect moves 100% of the time I cannot control the outcome of the game. Of course, the better that I play the more influence I can exert over that outcome and that is one of the most seductive qualities of chess: the illusion that with only a little more knowledge and discipline a person can completely control his destiny (echoes of that illusion can be heard in the famous concluding words of F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby). The difference between winning a game and losing a game and the difference between winning a tournament and finishing in the middle of the pack is sometimes just one move, one flickering of a neuron in someone's mind. 

If I had been more well-rested and/or if I had studied more before the tournament then perhaps I would have played a different move but I have many interests and I enjoy the time/energy that I devote to those interests; I am not making excuses about that blunder or any other chess blunder, just stating the truth. At that moment under those conditions, ...Nxe5 was the best move I could find; I did not play impatiently and I thought that I had considered all of the relevant tactics. A minute or two after I played ...Nxe5, I saw the Nb5 idea; while I waited to see which move my opponent would play, I pondered the folly of basing one's emotional state on what happened next: I knew that the outcome of the game would likely be determined by his move and that if I was not careful then I could permit that outcome to affect my mood for the next several days. I vowed that, whatever happened, I would not overreact. I tried my best and ...Nxe5 is the move that I played, so there is nothing to be elated about and nothing to be upset about; winning the game after my opponent blundered did not "prove" anything about me (or about my opponent).

My opponent also did not rush and I assume that he did the best that he could under his individual circumstances. I have deliberately not given the complete move list or provided a diagram of the game position, because this particular game and these particular moves are just vibrations of a much larger cosmic string. If my opponent or I had vibrated the string a bit differently then we would have played a different melody but--regardless of the melody we created--there is nothing to cry about here. I should celebrate that I have been playing tournament chess for more than 25 years and that I am capable of playing chess at a higher level than 97% of all rated players; my young opponent should celebrate that he is already a strong player and that if he stays on his current path then he likely will become a chess master. No, it is even simpler than that: regardless of years spent or rating points obtained, the enjoyment of playing the game in the moment is the height of ecstasy; the game result is logically determined by the combined mental and psychological states of both players and there is no reason to become emotional about that logically determined outcome: if you have a succession of outcomes that you deem to be unsatisfactory then it is necessary to adjust your life pattern (sleep habits, study habits, etc.) to maximize the chance that you will enjoy better outcomes in the future.

Easy to say, hard to do but very necessary. My opponent looked distraught when he realized that he had blundered and I understand that feeling all too well. Chess is a very violent game; it may not be possible to completely eradicate the suffering one feels after a loss but I think that determined, focused concentration can result in a modified perspective.

In his aforementioned book, Stuart Wilde declared, "Conflict is always just a divergence of opinions. Are you struggling to convince others that your opinion is right? And if you are right, so what? To win a moral victory at the expense of your sanity is dumb." This article represents my attempt to explain my mental, emotional and psychological evolution as I understand and perceive this ongoing process; it contains insights that have helped me achieve greater tranquility and balance and I believe that those insights could help other open-minded people as well: I welcome the opportunity to interact with introspective people who are thinking about these issues but, following Wilde's sage advice, I have no interest in trying to convince anyone that anything that I have written is true, important or even relevant.

Why I Don't Enter Writing Contests

I have entered a few writing contests--with mixed results--but a while ago I vowed to never enter another one. I could offer a lengthy and elaborate explanation but I think that a few representative quotes taken from the 2011 Chess Journalists of America Awards Committee Final Report vividly illustrate some of the problems associated with such contests; here are the stylings of Ramon A. Hernandez, Awards Committee Chairman and Chief Judge of the CJA Annual Journalism Awards:

Once again the competition bought in several new members and return a few others who had been out the membership for a while. The entire membership should not expect the awards competition to serve as the principal method for recruiting new members nor as the sole means of revenue. To believe so on any case is setting the organization as a whole for complete financial failure.

*****

I ended last year stating, I can with comfort note this year's competition was at minimum well done and a reward of a testament of having conducted it. My core goal of being and keeping the awards competition impartial, ethical and transparent were met and at times excelled. I, I can sleep well, to my fellow awards judges a giant thank you to each and to our president thank you for your communication and outstanding leadership.

*****

I know with a shadow of doubt that the committee and I have done an excellent job and I continue to sleep well. Any negative comment anyone can concoct is in the minority when compared to the enormous amount of praise this committee has received.

What exactly do such awards signify if the Committee Chairman struggles to write coherently? Hernandez' prose is littered with grammatical errors, poor word choices and awkward sentence construction; I am not interested in having my work judged by someone who desperately needs some instruction regarding the most basic writing techniques.