The most recommended chess books

Genna Sosonko – a strong grandmaster in the 1970s and 1980s – knew the top players of his generation intimately and has written many brilliant portraits of these demon-riddled geniuses.

Sosonko’s portrayal of the last years of the 7th World Champion Smyslov – nicknamed “The Hand” for the peerless intuition that automatically placed pieces on the right squares – is a moving account of old age that brought tears to my eyes.

Smyslov’s later years were spent alone with his wife in a vast, rich house that, just like its occupants, inexorably decayed as – blinded by the fear that they might be cheated by housekeepers – they eschewed all help.

At the same time accusations surfaced of cheating during one of Smyslov’s greatest triumphs 50 years earlier. 

The stories that appear in this book were first published in Lilliput in the 1940s, a British monthly magazine. They relate the perilous, often diabolical activities of the Surrealist Sportsman’s Club, a society devoted to playing games that no one else would dream of attempting. Engelbrecht is a diminutive boxer who fights clocks, zombies, witches, and other assorted horrors and marvels, and he generally wins because of pluck combined with luck. Richardson’s prose style here is a blend of gothic horror, period science fiction, and the wisecracking of Damon Runyan, and the reader can expect no respite from the tumult of ideas, images, situations, jokes, and subversion of clichés.

I loved this book because it depicts one of Balzac’s most fascinating characters, who poses as a Spanish priest named Herrera, but is known by other names — Vautrin, Jacque Collin, and Dodgedeath — and who straddles the worlds of high society and the depths of the criminal underground. 

The story follows the relationship between Herrera and the ambitious young poet Lucien. The plot is Byzantine and Machiavellian, as one intrigue leads to another.

Herrera uses Lucien to his own advantage, plotting to raise Lucien to a position in the aristocracy, marry him off to a wealthy family, and get him appointed to a position in the government. As circumstances change and develop, Herrera adjusts his tactics to take advantage of every twist and turn, even when his original plans go awry. Herrera is playing 3-D chess, involving layer upon layer of scheming, deceit, and manipulation, not to mention various… show more.

Along with vivid characters, this book gives great house–a gorgeous and notorious Italian villa, which was the site of an infamous murder in the 1970s.

One friend, now hyper-successful, invites her old buddy to join her in the villa. The invitee becomes obsessed with solving the long-unsolved murder, and is increasingly sketched out by her old friend’s motives for asking her to come.

The story jumps back and forth from the swinging ‘70s to the present day, with tensions building in both past and present. The ending jump-scared me.

Grigory Levenfish was arguably the strongest Soviet player of the late 1930s, winning the Soviet Championship in 1934 and 1937.

However, establishment favourite and future World Champion Mikhail Botvinnik - with whom he drew a long, tense match in 1937 – secured the official support and scarce international opportunities, leading a disillusioned Levenfish to gradually withdraw from competitive chess.

Levenfish’s memoirs are a reminder that the difference between fame and obscurity lies often not only in ability, and that the winner’s narrative is not the only valid one. His personal account of the appalling suffering he faced during terrible winter of 1941 in the war-ravaged Soviet Union is particularly moving.

You can learn way faster than you think you can. Focus and immersion are key. I really enjoyed all the great examples in the book and the detailed process for how to increase your learning speed and capability. When you see what real people are able to do, it changes the limits you put for yourself. Very inspiring and educational.

Julian Simpole is an experienced teacher who worked in a Brighton school which blended talented individual pupils with some who seemed psychopathic contenders for mass murder.

The bigoted and tyrannical  Headmaster himself seems hardly more civilised than his more psychotic pupils, and the novice practitioner of the pedagogic arts is buffeted from all sides as he falls in love with a girl he is convinced is a pre-ordained legacy from a previous existence.

Is this book an exposé of early 1980s Stakhanovite teaching, or a nostalgic reminder of comparatively idyllic school life before the current metropolitan street plague of knife-wielding child killers?

When I read the novel, I was amazed because it was difficult for me to get my head around the idea that the tale was virtually perfect and that it was created by a mere human being.

The story follows David Fairchild, a young antiquary studying ancient manuscripts at Cambridge. Central to the novel is the obscure Cambridge library, where the mysterious Westchurch manuscripts are preserved and sequestered away from the world at large.

I found this book both wildly entertaining and wildly thought-provoking about the mechanics of the universe, the persistence of spirits, and the drama inherent in cosmic astronomy. Thereafter, I recommended the book for 40 years. This epigraph describes the book perfectly: There was logic and coherence enough in the whole affair to persuade me that what I'd stumbled onto—of all the preposterous perils of scholarship!—was a haunted manuscript.

I love chess, and even though I’m not brilliant at it, I really enjoy books where the characters play chess. The Royal Game by Stefan Zweig is probably the most famous, but I really enjoyed this murder mystery with a game of chess at its heart, which beautifully mirrors the plot as it unfolds.

The game is featured mid-game in a Flemish fifteenth-century painting. The modern protagonists analyze it forward and backward to understand the past and future. I loved the fact that the book includes illustrations of the game as it proceeds for the reader to analyze. There are also some interesting allusions to Douglas Hofstadter’s idea of strange loops, which is another one of my obsessions. 

What is creativity, and what makes it possible? If a new idea came from nothing, would it be magic? If a new idea were generated by recombining old ones, would it really be “creative”? In this book, Margaret Boden, a distinguished philosopher of science, thinks through what creativity really is, whether it takes the form of a world-altering advance in science or a novel jazz improvisation. To help understand human creativity, the book compares it to the workings of computer programs—ones capable of generating art or music that at least appears creative. Readers who have followed more recent developments in artificial intelligence will be able to consider for themselves whether machine creativity is, or could be, a reality. The book helped me think about what it means to create an “authentic” poem.