Jennifer Shahade - Chess Bitch 2005

LO� HfiGflB
Copyright © 2005 by Jennifer Shahade
All rights reserved. No part of this book n1ay be used

or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written
permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations
embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Edition
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Shahade, Jennifer
Chess Bitch : women in the ultimate intellectual sport I
by Jennifer Shahade.-1 st ed.
p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN: l-890085-09-X
1 . Women chess players-Biography. I. Title
GV1438.S43 2005
794.1 '092'2-dc22
[B J
200505 1585
Cover design by Wade Lageose for Lageose Design
Cover photograph by Gabrielle Revlock
Siles Press
3624 Shannon Road
Los Angeles, CA 90027
To myfather, Mike Shahade, for making me a chessplayer,
my mother, Sally Solomon, for making me a writer, and in
memory ef my coach, Victor Frias, for making me a champion.
Contents
Acknowledgements IX
.
1. Playing Like a Girl 1
2 . War-Torn Pioneers: Vera Menchik and Sonja Graf 19
3. Building a Dynasty: The Women of Georgia 43
4. Be Like Judit! 61
5. Bringing Up Grandmasters: The Polgar Sisters 75
6. Women Only! 107
7. Chinese Style 125
8. Juno and Genius 14 7
9. European Divas 159
10. Checkmate Around the World 189
11. Playing for America 215
1 2 . Gender Play: Angela from Texas 257
13. Worst to First 267
Glossary 287
Appendix - Games 29 5
Notes 311
Bibliography 314
Index of Nan1es 317

Acknowledgements
is book would be impossible without the help of friends and

family who advised and supported me at every phase.Two people in
particular, iny n1other and Elizabeth Vicary, exceeded all standards
of generosity in every stage of the process.Without my mother's stylistic
advice, this would be a far inferior book. Many of the ideas discussed in
this book were developed and refined in conversations with Elizabeth.
Many thanks to Jeremy Silman, for sensing at the closing cocktail
party of the 2003 U.S. Championship that I had a book to write and
for convincing Gwen Feldman to take on this project. Thanks to
Gwen for her advice, design work, and taste. I an1 grateful to my editor,
Marjorie Hanlon, for her thorough and thoughtful comments on the
n1anuscr1pt.
The following friends read various chapters and advised me along
the way, saving me from many mistakes, and generally making Chess Bitch
a better book: Dr. Lewis Eisen, Chris Hallman, Paul Hoffinan, Carrie
Jones, Michael Le Grand, Jonathan Rowson, and Greg Shahade.
Thanks to IM John Donaldson of the Mechanics' Institute for
suggesting to research Sonja Graf's life, and Mark Ashland and Henk
Chevret ofThe Hague Collection for sending me rare materials.Thanks
to Stephen Zeitz and Justin Phillips for supplying n1e with crucial
iX
x CH ESS BITCH
materials on my visit to the John G. White Collection in Cleveland,

and to Nina Fried for collecting photographs.
Also, thanks to Aarvind Aaron, Mig Greengard, Dirk Jan Ten
Geuzendam, Jami Anson, Michael Klein, Rebecca Tuhus-Dubrow,
Mike Nolan, Yelena Den1bo, Ella Baron, Michael Negele, Gregory
Braylovsky, Erin Fogg, Diego Garces, Gabrielle Revlock, Laszlo
Nagy, Ron Young, Viktoria Johansson, Paul Truong, J. Duif Calvin,
Eva Okada, The Kasparov Chess Foundation, and The American
Foundation for Chess.
Thanks to Jacob Okada for the love, support, and advice that he
gave to me during the final stage of this process.
And to all the people mentioned in the book, for their candor and
their time.
1
Playing Like A Girl
I am a woman who plays a mans game, so I balance

feminine emotions with masculine logic to become the
strongest player possible.
-Zhu Chen, eighth Women's World Champion
was angry, overwrought, and couldn't control my aggression and

desire to win at any cost. It was the first time I had felt such intense
killer instincts, and when I went to the bathroon1 to splash water on
my face, I looked in the mirror and wondered, Is this what it means to
play like a man?
It was Christmas in Las Vegas. Accompanied by my father,
Michael, a now-inactive chessmaster, I was there playing in a chess
tournament. As we walked through the hotel, the Paris Las Vegas,
with its wide-carpeted boulevards, sky-painted ceilings, and beret
wearing waiters with fake French accents, n1y cheerful father ironi
cally declared in a booming voice, "This is so authentic!" I was less
enthusiastic. I don't like gambling, unlike n1y father (who plays poker
and blackjack) , and I was baffled by the slot machine junkies and
sad-eyed big-money losers. The hectic tournament schedule was set
at two games a day. Each gan1e would likely last between three to six
1
2 CH ESS BITCH
hours. I was already exhausted and running on caffeine, sandwiches

bolted in transit, and the adrenaline rush that accompanies an en
counter as intense as a chess game.
The games were played far from Paris, in a sterile ballroom in
Baily's. I'd had a lukewarm tournament so far, winning two games
against masters I was favored to beat, and losing two to grandmasters
(the highest title in chess, other than that of world champion) . My last
round opponent was a doughy, affable, completely inoffensive master.
I wasn't playing for any prize, so the source of my aggression was not
lust for cash. Maybe it was the sharp attacking position that aroused
my killer instinct. In any case, I was angry and playing like a man-or
playing violently, which-for me-were the same. I was also playing
badly: too many aggressive, but ineffective, moves. I sacrificed a Queen
in a position where I saw that my opponent's best response-rejecting
n1y Queen sacrifice and fortifying his own position-would lead to a
winning game for him.With just one minute on my clock, I was going
to lose! My opponent offered me a draw. Riled up with all that mascu
line fire, I had the nerve to decline. With the next move, I came to my
senses and renewed the draw offer: luckily my opponent, who by now
had a clear advantage on the board, shook my hand in agreement. Did
his lack of ruthless courage mean that he was playing like a girl?
It was time for me to find out what "playing like a n1an" n1eant.
From open-air chess parks to professional tournament halls, "playing
like a girl" has negative connotations, while "playing like a man" is a
standard to be adnured and emulated. It is no surprise that "playing like
a boy" or "playing like a woman" are rarer phrases. Men and girls are on
opposite ends of a continuun1 of strength and power. Boys and women,
in between, are less-apt categories for generalizing skill level.
I decided to start by asking women chessplayers if there were
any feminine qualities that contributed to their chess skill. Former
European women's champion Almira Skripchenko responded af-
PLAYING LIKE A G I R L 3
ter a pause. "I don't know. No one has ever asked me that before,"
admitting that, to her, "The male standard is the highest standard."
Many women named advantages in b eing a chess-world minor
ity: "I receive more invitations and recognition as a woman" or
"Some men play badly against women." Biology is often used
to explain the supposed inferiority of women in chess, but the
won1en I asked only named advantages p eripherally related to
being female.
At the mon1ent of writing, the rate of female chess participation,
especially at the adult level, is astonishingly low. In the United States,
fewer than three percent of competitive adult-rated players are won1-
en, a nun1ber that has remained constant for the past five years. In
the worldwide ranking system of FIDE (Federation International Des
Eches) the situation is slightly nlore balanced. There, about six percent
of active adult players are female.
Interpreting the data in such a n1ale-donunated group is complex,
but a good place to start is with Elo ratings, named after Professor Arpad
Elo. In the 1 960s, Elo developed the rating system now used by FII)E
to estimate the relative strength of chessplayers based on previous results.
After each tournament, ratings are revised to reflect a player's perfor
mance.A master player's rating ranges from 2200 to 2400, and an interna
tional master or a grandmaster is usually rated between 2401 up to 285 1 ,
the highest rating of all time earned by Garry Kasparov in July 1999.
The percentage of top female players is sinlllar to the percentage
of active female chessplayers. For instance, there is one woman, Judit
Polgar, in the top twenty players in the world and about four or five
women in the top one hundred players in America. So there is little
evidence that won1en play worse than men. There are, however, clearly
fewer women who play. It is typical to confuse the low rate of partici
pation with poor performance, so much of the rhetoric on gender and
chess assumes that won1en are weaker players.
4 CH ESS BITC H
Explanations abound as to why won1en are rarely drawn to co1n

petitive chess, including Freudian theories, studies on the importance
of testosterone, and evolutionary theories. Garry Kasparov, who held
the World Champion title from 1 980 till 2000, thinks that the ability
to concentrate is the most important quality in measuring chess talent,
and argues that women are more easily distracted: "A women's train
of thought can be broken more easily by extraneous events, such as a
baby crying upstairs." Kasparov believes that women are more sensi
tive to external stimuli, so that even a childless woman has maternal
impulses that make it harder for her to focus. To test Garry's theory, I
propose that a tournament with one hundred female and one hundred
male participants be held underneath a baby nursery. It would then be
possible to see how men and women react and adapt their play to the
distracting cries of babies.
American Grandmaster Reuben Fine, Freudian psychologist and
World Championship contender, links the desire to play chess with la
tent, unspeakable desires. In his 1 956 treatise Psychoanalytic Observations
on Chess and Chess Masters, Fine writes, "The unconscious niotive ac
tuating the players is not the mere love of pugnacity but the grimmer
one of father-n1urder."Women are less inclined to pick up the game,
argues Fine, since they lack a "subconscious urge to kill their father(s)."
Fine believes that the King attracts boys to the game because the piece
is important (if it is trapped, the game is over), yet impotent (it can only
move one square at a time. ) He argues that adolescent males are in a
similar state, because they are unable to express their budding social
and sexual powers. In his view, the rules of chess mirror for boys the
rules of sex. "Don't touch your piece until you're ready to move it"
encodes to "Don't masturbate."
This outrageous Oedipal model is just one of many possible ways
to decode the symbolism of chess. Fine's theory of chess, admittedly
provocative, is contrived and hard to apply. I prefer to think of chess
in the spirit of Carl Jung, as a syste1n of opposites, from the black and
white colors of the pieces and squares to knowing when it is time to
attack and when to defend.
A good chessplayer also strives to balance overconfidence and fear,
practice and rest, and-in the game itself-tactical and strategic think
ing. Tactics are short operations that force checkmate or a quick win
of material (pieces or pawns) and require proficiency in calculating.
W hen a good player calculates, she considers her possible moves, tak
ing into account her opponent's possible responses, and how she would
play against each, and so on, until she is reasonably satisfied with her
choice. Though many nonplayers and amateurs are fascinated by how
many moves ahead a chessmaster can see, it can sometimes be easy to
see twelve nloves ahead if there are few pieces on the board, but ex
tremely difficult to see three moves ahead if the opponent has a variety
of responses, which lead to a dense web of variations. Strategic think
ing requires long-term planning and maneuvering: when there are no
tactics to watch out for or employ, masters play moves based on their
intuition and experience, waiting for the time when the position will
enable them to find more concrete answers. Even the very best players
have difficulty with the tension, as Russian-An1erican Grandmaster
Gregory Kaidanov said to me: "I can play well tactically, I can play well
strategically, but I have difficulty switching quickly between one nlode
of thinking to the other."
During a tournament game, balancing intense concentration with
relaxation is crucial, to save energy for critical nlon1ents. Many players
get up between moves to pace, eat an energy bar, or glance at friends'
gan1es. It is easy to go too far with this practice, slip into daydrean1s,
and totally lose concentration-and the game. Some men claim that
thinking about sex diverts their focus. A twenty-two-year-old male
an1ateur told nle jokingly, "I would be a grand1naster if only I could
stop thinking about sex during the game for more than fifteen minutes.
6 C H ESS B ITC H
I think it would be easier if I were a woman."According to the 2003

American Champion, Alexander Shabalov, professionals have not over
come that obstacle: he said that most men, regardless of their strength,
are thinking about sex for most of the game. W ith characteristic candor,
the Latvian-born grandmaster tells me, "In most ga1nes, I am thinking
about girls for about fifty to seventy-five percent of the time, another
fifteen percent goes to tin1e management, and with what's left over I
am calculating." W hen I mention that twenty-five percentage points
is a big range, Alexander agrees. "You can tell if it's closer to fifty or
seventy-five percent by the quality of the game. Fifty percent is great
chess, seventy-five percent I can play okay, but where it is really danger
ous is when it slips up to ninety percent."
Learning the rules of chess takes a few hours, but gaining com
petence in its intricacies and developing a personal style takes years
of work. Playing a highly focused board game for four to six hours is
difficult, and neither men nor women are born with the concentration
and n1otivation to excel at it. For that reason, I find the en1phasis on
women's biological inferiority absurd: when it comes to chess, we are
all born inept.
The desire to find gender-based stylistic differences is based on a belief

that if women and men are different, they ought to play chess differ
ently as well. Indeed, women and men do tend to have different chess
careers and get started in the game for different reasons. In n1y usage,
the category of women's chess does not refer to some intrinsically fe
male way of playing chess but rather to being a minority in the chess
world, which can affect the way a woman plays.
The development of my own style was affected by being one of
the few girls in chess. My brother, Greg, and father, Michael, were
both masters by the time I became serious about chess, in high school.
My father has a sedate style. He is an excellent calculator, but his ten-
PLAYI N G LIKE A GIRL 7
Michael, Jennifer, and Greg Shahade. (Photo by Sylvia Plachy.)
dency to choose solid, positional set-ups, such as the English opening

(starting the game with the c-pawn, commonly thought as the safest
first-move option), surprises some people in the chess world. English
Grandmaster Tony Miles, after taking in Michael's iron-man physique,
loud voice, and commanding presence, said, "I thought you would play
more like a thug!" My brother has a balanced style, which favors tactics
but is also flexible. He does employ solid systems against opponents
when he thinks they will be uncomfortable with long strategic bat
tles. Impressed by Greg's psychological awareness, one master told me,
"Greg has the most pragmatic style I've ever seen."
As a teenager, I played the most dynamic openings in the family,
and tended to win by executing ruthless attacks. I improved rapidly
between the ages of fourteen and sixteen. Just before I turned sixteen
in 1 996, I entered the Insanity Tournament, an all-night chess mara
thon that began at nine at night and ended at nine the next morning.
I won the tournament and also gained enough rating points to join
8 CHESS BITC H
my brother and father as national masters. I was euphoric. My father,

who had ridden on the train with me to the tournament and stayed
to watch my games, joked gleefully on the r ide hon1e, "No one could
ever say you play like a girl." At the time, I considered it a compliment.
I didn't see any reason for my violent style except that I liked attacking
chess. However, I was aware of the stereotype that women were more
patient and passive when nlen were supposedly braver, and I wanted
to be a hero too. In retrospect, I see my chess style was loaded with
meaning-to be aggressive was to renounce any stereotype of my play
based on nly gender. I was also emulating the attacking style of the top
woman player in the world, Hungarian Judit Polgar.
For a while, I played recklessly, and at first I lost many games be
cause of my one-dimensional style. Many opponents altered their strat
egies when playing against me, choosing quiet systems-such as the
English opening-in order to derail the tactical nlelees at which I ex
celled. This resulted in my progress pursuing a zigzag course: I dipped
below master, and back up again, and then under again. I realized that I
needed to learn other aspects of the game, so I began to study strategy
manuals and endgan1e theory to improve my standard of play.
I abandoned nly absurd desire to subvert stereotypes by playing
violently. By the ti1ne I was nineteen, I started to mingle in the higher
ranks of international chess, playing in world chan1pionships and the
biennial chess Olympiads. I realized that to play like a girl did not
have the same meaning at the top as it did in parks and scholastic
tournan1ents. It turned out that to play like a girl meant to play too ag
gressively! This was most vividly demonstrated to nle when a Russian
coach looked at son1e of my boldest ga1nes and said derisively, "I see
women's chess hasn't changed. Women have no patience; they always
want to attack in1n1ediately."
Even women players sometimes join the chorus. German youth
champion Elizabeth Paethz told nle: "Women are nlostly of the nlore
aggressive category. They don't want to sit for six hours, so they attack
and try to get the game over with. Probably this is because n1en in the
Stone Age had the more focused goal of hunting, while women had a
variety of tasks."
Grandmaster Susan Polgar also believes that women have difficul
ties in strategic thinking, although her reasoning is based on more re
cent history: "Women are rarely given the freedom to think abstractly.
Men are often afforded the luxury of having their basic tasks, like laun
dry and cooking, taken care of. Women are usually compelled to focus
on the details of life." Susan concludes, "This is the root of why women
are equal to n1en in tactics, but still lag behind men in strategy."
Polgar and Paehtz attempt to explain aggressive female play by ex
amining the nature of women, although Polgar leaves open the ques
tion of whether the division of labor according to gender is natural or
cultural-without reference to the particular conditions of the contem
porary chess world. A feature of the present standard of women's chess
is excessive aggression, a playing trait common for masters rated 2300-
2500 Elo, the range in which professional women fall. Grandmasters
tend to have more balanced styles. To determine whether women are
more aggressive than men, one would have to compare the games of
the top fen1ale players with the gan1es of randomly selected male play
ers rated 2300-2500.
In determining a feminine style, the conclusions are rarely based
on statistical analyses of games. Playing like a girl, whether it is sup
posed to refer to passive or aggressive play, is usually intended as an
insult. This devaluing of the feminine in chess dates back to the 1300s
and the birth of modern chess rules.
The modern Queen is the most powerful piece on the chessboard,

shuttling across ranks and files, checkmating lone Kings, and grabbing
loose pieces on an open board. This was not always so.
10 CH ESS BITCH
In the Persian versions of the game, there was no Queen. The piece
that stood by the King was the Perz, or the adviser. Replacing this male
counselor with the Queen, the female sexual partner of the King, oc
curred after Persian traders transported the game to Europe in approxi
mately A.D. 1000. Chess historian H.J. R. Murray thinks that this change
came about because of "the general symmetry of the arrangen1ent of
the pieces, which pointed to the pairing of the two central pieces."
The Queen began as one of the weakest pieces on the board, only
able to move one square diagonally, and her presence was not revered.
In 1345, when the Queen could only inch along the diagonals, a me
dieval writer described her force: "[Her] move is aslant only because
women are so greedy that they will take nothing except by rapine and
injustice.''1 Diagonal lines were then seen as sinister and sneaky, in con
trast to the honesty of straight lines. The connotation lingers in English
phrases such as "crooks," or "straight-up." In Go, which originated in
China, the pieces do not connect on the diagonals. In chess, blundering
on diagonals has always been more con1n1on than on the straight lines
of the ranks or files.
The old game was slower, since it was hard to deliver checkmate
without the mighty Queen of today. Games were rarely recorded,
and to quicken the pace, players often began the games with tabiyas,
n1idgan1e starting positions.
Around 1500 the r ules of chess underwent a sudden metan1or
phosis, and the Queen was given much greater powers. The Bishop
acquired greater mobility at this ti1ne also. These changes n1ade
the play of chess quicker and set up a balance between strategy
and tactics, or intuition and calculation, which makes the game
tantalizing to this day. The alterations occurred during the time of
Columbus's voyages, Isabella's reign, the spread of tobacco, and the
invention of the printing press. No single individual is given credit
for the changes; probably they were initiated as a result of collec-
PLAYING LI KE A G I R L 1 1
tive experimentation, brought on by dissatisfaction with the old

game. Chess literature spread the new rules, which were rapidly
standardized. Chess with its radical new rules was at first called
"The mad woman's ch ess ganie."
Emory Tate, one of America's niost entertaining and talented se
nior masters, humorously displayed his ambivalence toward powerful
women as embodied by the Queen. Emory has a spectacular style, and
at open tournaments he gives impromptu performances, his muscled
body writhing as he shouts out the moves of his gan1es. Emory reels
off his accomplishments in rapid-fire diction, punctuated with vo
cabulary that is often profane. In one of these so-called post-mortems,
I was among several dozen onlookers when Emory exclainied, "And
now I made a triple-force postal move-Bitch to gS!" The first part of
this is nonsensical rhetorical flourish-there is no such thing as a triple
force postal move. As for calling the Queen a "bitch," Emory knows
she is central to his inspired checkniating attacks. The reception of the
potent, sixteenth-century Queen also showed a negative association
with female aggression. The new Queen was not described in a posi
tive way as the super queen or power queen, but rather pathologized
as the mad, crazy queen.
Women are too docile, claimed English Grandmaster Nigel Short, to
enjoy the highest levels of chess competition. He said, "They just don't
have the killer instinct." Reuben Fine was straightforward in defining
chess as "quite obviously a play-substitute for war." But is chess really
so like war? In chess, both players begin with armies of precisely the
same strength and use only their intellects to express their aggression; in
this way, chess is antithetical to war. Women's World Champion Susan
Polgar said that when she was four years old, she pictured chess as a "fairy
tale" because her father told her dramatic stories involving the King, the
Queen, castles, and romance. If chess is a metaphor for war, it is not war as
hell, but war where fairness, females, and rules matter above all.
12 CH ESS BITCH
The power of the Queen foreshadows the strength of the women

champions in this book, but it also hints at something more sinister.
Medieval historian Marilyn Yalom writes that the queen is an "ultimate
female status, but one which is played out in life as in chess on a pre
dominantly male playing field." Empowered women are often called
bitches, or mocked for their lack of femininity. Nearly every up-and
coming female in the history of women's chess has had her femininity
doubted, con1plin1ented not for being a strong woman but for "playing
like a man." Many great women players have been called Amazons,
which means literally "without one breast." It seems that female chess
n1asters being referred to as Amazons can be taken as praise for their
warrior-like abilities. In reality, emphasizing the manly attributes of
strong women players casts their successes in a deviant light-aln1ost as
if their efforts are a gender-bending circus act.
In February of 2003 I received a call from Susan Polgar, the eldest of the
legendary Polgar trio from Hungary. She wanted to get together. I was
excited, because Susan was one of nly childhood heroines. Susan, along
with her sisters Sofia and Judit, was a child prodigy, trained from infancy
in chess tactics and strategies as most children are taught the alphabet.
Susan is one of a handful of women to hold the overall grandmaster
title and is a forn1er world women's champion. Born in Budapest, Susan
has lived in New York since 1 995, where she moved to be with her
husband. She started a family and took a hiatus from competitive play.
Susan, recently divorced, has renewed her professional an1bitions.
Susan and I met in a bookstore in Manhattan, where I found her
flipping through a cookbook. She greeted me warmly, but nloved
quickly onto business, telling me that she was distraught by the lowly
status of chess in the United States. In Europe, chess is a respected sport.
It occurred to Susan that the top women players in the United States,
with some training, would be strong enough to compete with the best
PLAY I N G LI KE A G I R L 13
The Dream Team: Jennifer Shahade, Irina Krush, Anna Zatonskih,

Elina Kats, and Susan Polgar. (Photo by Paul Truong.)
women's Olympic teams in the world. She hoped that this would pro
mote chess in the United States. Susan would come out of retirement
in order to train the team and play board one (where the strongest
players from each team face off ) during the next Olympic games, set
for Mallorca, Spain, in 2004.
Four months after our meeting, along with three other young
women, I was invited for a one-week training session to be held at the
Susan Polgar Chess Authority, a one-level community chess center and
chess bookshop that Susan founded. The club is in Rego Park, deep in
Queens where English is often a third language. It was to be the first
of eight official training meetings for what team publicist Paul Truong
termed The Dream Team.
Anna Zatonskih was the only non-New Yorker on the squad, so
she stayed with me in my Brooklyn apartment. The twenty-five-year
old W GM (Woman Grandmaster) arrived at my place and shyly pre
sented me with a box of chocolates from Ukraine, where Anna had
been born and raised. Anna has a wide jawbone; silky, dark hair; and
14 CHESS BITCH
legs so long that she seems overwhelmed by her own stature. Anna
was not yet fluent in English, so the first few hours between us were
awkward, until we sat down at the chessboard set up in my living room.
Anna quickly opened up and showed me one of her best games, gig
gling with childlike glee as she replayed the moves: "And now I sacri
ficed another exchange!"
The next n1orning Anna and I took the long subway ride to Rego
Park for our first session. We were excited and nervous about training
with the famous Susan Polgar. Anna and I were early, and we chatted
awkwardly with Susan about her club and our upcoming tournaments
as the other men1bers arrived.
Irina Krush entered the club next, brown hair back in a ponytail,
wearing a jean jacket, eating an apple. Irina became an international
master at sixteen, and was the youngest player to win a U.S. champi
onship as a fourteen-year-old. At the time of this session, Irina was
enrolled as a full-tin1e student at NYU, but her devotion to chess is
constant. "For me every gan1e of chess is a character test-such intense
situations arise so rarely in real life:' Irina approaches life as she does
chess, with a contagious intensity. Though chess is her first and deepest
love, Irina cultivates what she calls "mini-passions," such as ones for the
French language and tennis.
Rusudan Goletiani, an energetic and rail-thin woman in her twen
ties, completed the squad. Rusudan is from the ex-Soviet Republic
of Georgia, where the first great women's chess tradition originated.
In boring moments of endgame lectures, I sometimes stared at Rusa's
snazzy high-top sneakers and imagined her jun1ping over tall build
ings. Rusudan's buoyant presence belies a serious character. In 2000,
Rusudan fled a grin1 econon1ic situation in post-communist Georgia.
Upon her arrival in the United States, she spent most of her time
coaching chess to support herself-this also enabled her to send mon
ey back to friends and family in Georgia. Consequently, her chess
PLAY I N G LI KE A G I R L 15
act1v1ty abated, and she was the lowest-rated person on the team.
However, by common consensus she may be the most talented player,
often reeling off long variations (long strings of projected moves) and
finding surprising ideas in analysis.
The training program was exhausting. Each day began at ten in
the morning and ran until seven at night: grandn1aster guests came,
taught, and left. Conversations and lectures were conducted in a swirl
of English, Russian, and chess. We analyzed con1plex endgan1es, inves
tigated the weaknesses in our play by showing our worst games, and
played training games against each other. This grueling work was re
warding for me as a chessplayer, but as a twenty-two-year-old woman,
I was dismayed by a sexist idea that was forwarded during the session.
Michael Khodarkovsky, a Russian trainer who has worked with
Garry Kasparov, is a sturdy, balding man with piercing blue eyes and
confident diction. Michael began his session with us by saying, "I know
that feminism is popular in the United States, but in Russia we under
stood that women and men play differently."Michael advised us: "With
this in niind, you should never be ashamed to tell your trainers niost
intimate details . . . or when you may not be able to play one hundred
percent." Paul Truong, a fuzzy-haired V ietnamese ball of energy with a
tittering laugh, clarified Michael's statement for the team: "Does every
one know what Michael is talking about? . . . Menstruation!"
I thought I had entered the twilight zone, an impression that was
furthered when Susan Polgar, one of my childhood heroines, joined
forces with Michael: "Now, nienstruation may not require that some
one take a day off, but it might affect, for instance, the choice of open
ing." Michael mentioned a con1puter program that a Soviet friend
of his had developed, which would determine how, at any given day,
the menstrual cycle would affect play. I was too shocked to say much,
though later that afternoon, I could not resist joking-after suggest
ing a poor move in analysis-that "It's that time of month; can't think
16 C H ESS BITCH
straight." The laughter that ensued made nie hopeful that no one took
the issue too seriously.
Periods were happily left undiscussed until a few days later when
the vvhole team took a break from our formal training to visit the IBM
headquarters in New Jersey. IBM, a sponsor of our team, generously
donated computers to us, and allowed us to play against Deep Blue, the
computer developed by IBM in 1 997 that made history by defeating
Kasparov in a niatch. Susan Polgar gave a talk about her career and
lifestory to a group of con1puter programmers, many of whom were
amateur chessplayers and niany who had fenlinist views. Then Susan
grappled with the question: "W hy is only one won1an, n1y sister Judit,
among the top one hundred chessplayers in the world?" Susan argued
that although many of the causes were social, "the 'n1onthly problen1'
gets in the way of the full development of many women chessplayers,
since won1en niay be menstruating during a crucial ga1ne."
Susan is not the only luminary in the chess world to adhere to such
a view. Other strong won1en chessplayers, such as GM Pia Cramling
fron1 Sweden, or fellow team n1ember Irina Krush, also prefer not to
play while menstruating. Even if I could not relate, never having had
problen1s playing when bleeding, how could I contest the testimonies
of my peers? Susan's argun1ent was not that all women suffer during
nienstruation. Indeed, she was quick to point out that "though niany
won1en cite no special problems playing during these times, others are
barely able to get out of bed." She concluded: "Over the wide spec-
trum, won1en suaer.
1T
"
Susan's argument is not without evidence or merit, but it is dan
gerously circular. W hen a strong, powerful won1an such as Susan is
vocal in describing the deficiencies of the female body, she promotes
such discourse as legitimate. Such statements could make female play
ers niore conscious of their periods, who would otherwise not even
consider menstruation as a possible obstacle. In her doctoral dissertation
PLAYING LI KE A G I RL 17
from the California School of Professional Psychology, Los Angeles,

psychologist and an1ateur chessplayer Linda Carol Gilbert details the
sloppy methodology of previous writing on gender and chess. In her
work, Chessplayers: Gender Expectations and the Self-Fulfi1ling Prophecy,
she argues that the way we talk about women in chess influences the
reality of women in chess. "A vicious cycle emerges when world-cali
ber chess celebrities voice their opinions on why won1en 'don't play as
well as men' and cite 'science; perpetuating a disastrous self-fulfilling
cycle that results in fe1nales being unfairly labeled as inferior."
Talking about menstruation as a problem perpetuates n1enstrua
tion as a proble1n. The argun1ent is also a throwback to the days when
women's capabilities in politics and business were doubted: "How
could we elect a female president, what if she were on the rag during
a war?"The cultural depiction of n1enstruation is still oppressive-even
the casual labeling of the natural female cycles as a "problem" is an ex
a1nple of how the fen1ale body is considered substandard. The way that
pads and tampons are advertised-" 'cause you're the only one who
has to know"-associates bleeding with a shameful secret. Teenage-girl
magazines have special sections in which girls write in to tell humiliat
ing stories of bleeding excessively in front of "hotties" or in a pool.The
overall effect is to n1ake girls feel an early shan1e associated with their
natural bodily rhythms.
Susan concluded that the biological "proble1ns" of n1otherhood
and menstruation would explain the uneven ratio of n1en to women at
the top of the chess world: "With equal social conditions between men
and won1en, we could expect about thirty won1en in the top one hun
dred." Susan strives for balance and consistency in both chess and life,
always weighing both sides of an argun1ent. Averaging fen1inisn1 with
sexism is a caricature of this quality. The logical premise that women
are born with equal intellectual potential as men is marginalized by
growing support for the moderate position that women have thir-
18 C H ESS BITCH
ty percent of the world's chess potential. Fenunist writer Ellen Willis

mimics delicate balancing acts such as Susan's: "The feminist bias is that
won1en are equal to men and the male chauvinist bias is that women
are inferior." W illis concludes sarcastically, "The unbiased view is that
the truth lies somewhere in between."
That Susan voices such an idea is ironic, as she is a pioneer in chess,
the first woman ever to compete at the highest level alongside male
professionals. Her life had shown that with the same work ethic, wom
en could be the players that top men could, but now she was doubt
ing that women had equal potential. Such a contradiction between a
woman chessplayer's words and accomplishments is not atypical partly
because, as the top British woman player, Harriet Hunt, notices, "Most
of the best female chessplayers just play, without knowing too much
about feminist theory. Most feminists in chess don't have enough time
to work on the ga1ne:'
I was happy to train with the top female players and coaches in
An1erica, but I was offended by the discussion of menstruation. That
week synibolized my an1bivalence toward the larger chess world, which
is the driving force behind this book. I love the passion, diversity, and
intelligence in the chess world, but am often frustrated by the sexist
views I encounter there.
I confided in a few IBM women that I did not agree with Susan's
arguments, which elicited huge sighs of relief and an indignant com
ment from one worker: "I loved the talk till she brought up periods.
Why? Why did she have to go there?" Focusing on supposed impedi
ments such as menstruation distracts us from the fact that there are many
women for whom chess is a profession and still others for whom it is an
important and essential part of their lives. I reject the negative tone that
wraps itself around women's place in chess. Instead, I will turn my atten
tion to the variety of strong and passionate women who do play chess.
2
War-Torn Pioneers:
Vera Menchik and Sonja Graf
Vera Menchik was the first woman to play chess like a man.
-Grandmaster Salo Flohr
Sonja Gref has written a book! We must be in the presence

ef something singular.
-Roberto Grau, chess writer from Argentina
era Menchik and Sonja Graf played in the first head-to-head

match for the world women's chess title in the summer of 1937,
in Semmering, a winter sports resort in Austria. The contrast in
their chess styles predicted exciting chess: Sonja attacked with ruthless
abandon, while Vera excelled in positional play. Physically, they differed
even more radically. Sonja was an expressive blond with a confident
stride, while Menchik had a sweet round face and was impassive and
modest. A British reporter wrote, "Sonja smokes without end, and dur
ing breaks eats candies. Between moves, she paces and talks with ob
servers. Menchik is heavy-set and sits all game with her hands in front
without even moving a muscle in her face." 1
Vera Menchik defeated Sonja Graf, ending up with 1 1.5 points out
of a possible 15. Vera's overwhelming victory was not surprising. Just
19
20 C H ESS B ITCH
over thirty at the time of her victory over Sonja, Vera had already won
six world titles. It was the last time the two would face off in a match.
World War II altered the trajectory of both their lives, and the history
of women's chess.
In photographs, Vera Menchik is pictured smiling sweetly with nary a

mean bone in her body. But her tournament records and game scores
depict a different Vera-beneath this gentle veneer was a trailblazer who
raised the bar for women's chess.Vera Menchik was the first woman to
compete seriously against top male professionals.
Born in Moscow in 1906 to a Czech father and a British mother,
Vera learned chess from her father when she was nine years old. Early
on she played in a club tournament among boys and finished in third
place, which she later said "gave birth to my sporting spirit. " Despite
this early show of chess talent, Vera's main passions were for literature
and theater, not chess.
Vera came from a comfortable family and shared a six-room apart
ment with her father, mother, and sister, Olga.Vera was eleven years old
at the time of the 1917 Russian Revolution, an event that profoundly
affected everyday life for Vera and her family as they were forced to
share their ample space with neighbors. A friend of Vera's described
what happened: "People from below came up, bringing their goats and
fowls with them. Below was a forbidden land to her sister and herself
and of course extra fascinating on that account . . . people lived in these
basements in great poverty; they had earth floors and the children were
terribly dirty and ill-cared for. "2
Unhappy with these changes in lifestyle, the Menchik family decid
ed to emigrate. The family settled in Hastings, a seaside city in England.
Teenaged Vera, shy by nature and struggling to become fluent in English,
found her interest in chess flourishing as her loneliness deepened. "Chess
is a quiet game;' she pointed out, "a perfect activity for someone who
WAR-TO R N P I O N EERS 21
does not speak the language." Vera

began to play regularly, in spite of the
critics who were concerned that "the
deep silence and smoke is not appro
priate for a young woman."
Hastings was a lucky place for
Vera to settle. The Hastings Chess
Club was one of the most well estab
lished in England, founded in 1882.
International tournaments were held
there each year, attracting some of
the best players on the continent and .
in England. Vera joined the club in
1923 and soon caught the attention
of a Hungarian player, Geza Maroc Vera Menchik. (Photo courtesy
Cleveland Public Library.)
zy (1870-1951). Maroczy began to
train her. It was a good match because Maroczy had a fine understand
ing of the game, and Vera improved rapidly, developing a patient style
similar to Maroczy's.
Unlike Vera, most women players were not systematically trained
at the time; therefore, Vera Menchik soon became dominant among
women. By 1925 she was unquestionably the strongest female player
in England, having defeated the second-best player, Edith Price, in
two matches.
In 1927 she got a chance to test herself on the world stage. The
first-ever Women's World Championship was to be held in London.
Sixteen women from seven countries would participate in the round
robin (everybody plays everybody) event, which was scheduled in
conjunction with the first men's world team competition. Vera swept
through the tournament, C'eaing only one draw. She won the next six
Women's World Championships held in Hamburg, Prague, Folkestone,
22 C H ESS B ITCH
This 1969 issue of

Chess Review celebrates
Vera Menchik, shown
here as she appeared
in 1927 soon after she
won the Women's World
Championship. ( Photo
courtesy USCF.)
Warsaw, Stockholm, and Buenos Aires. Out of the sixty-nine games she
played in these championships, she won sixty-four, drew four, and lost
only one. Vera was miles ahead of the competition in women's chess,
but thirsty for more distinctions: "V ictories over women don't satisfy
me anymore. I want to drink men's blood."
Vera Menchik's first chance to prove herself against men came in
1929 in a tournament in Ramsgate, an English seaside resort. Men
chik represented Czechoslovakia on a team composed entirely of
foreigners, giving her an opportunity to play against the best male
players in England. The Englishmen were trounced, most notably by
Vera, who shared the second highest score with Pole Akiba Rubin
stein ( 1882-1961). The winner by half a point was the Cuban World
Champion Jose Capablanca ( 1888-1942). Vera's own coach, Grand
master Geza Maroczy, also played with the foreign team under the flag
WAR-TO R N PION EERS 23
of Hungary. Training Vera helped

more than coach Geza could have
counted on-his young pupil fin
ished ahead of him. Her result was
described as "outstanding," and her
ability "to come out unscathed"
against such opposition astounded
· the chess world, particularly in view
of Vera's youth.
After Ramsgate, Vera was wel
comed into the elite chess arena
and given opportunities to com
p ete against the top men in the
world in tournaments all over Eu
rope. During the summer of 1929,
Vera was invited to a particularly strong round-robin event in Karls
bad, a small town in Czechoslovakia. An Austrian participant, Albert
B ecker, was so shocked by her inclusion that he devised a humiliat
ing plan. Anyone who lost to her would receive a lifetime member
ship in the Vera Menchik Club. In comic retribution, he was the first
to lose to Menchik, and thus became a charter member of the club.
Aside from that satisfying incident, Menchik's overall p erformance
in the tournament was not good. She came in last, scoring j ust three
points out of a p ossible fifteen.
Also in 1929, Menchik traveled to Paris for her first international
tournament. She didn't fare well there either, scoring only three points
out of twelve. One notable opponent was Marcel Duchamp, the cel
ebrated conceptual artist and painter, who for some time gave up art to
pursue his passion for chess. Born in France, Marcel spent most of his
life in New York City, as well as a year in Buenos Aires when his interest
in chess was most intense. Marcel's position in the chess world was simi-
24 C H ESS B ITCH
lar to Vera's. Both were superstars at their world-class events-Duchamp

because of his fame as an artist, and Vera because of her gender-even
though they were weaker than most of their opponents.
The most famous game played between Duchamp and a woman
remains the one chronicled in a much-celebrated photograph; in it he
is playing against a completely naked Eve Babitz. Babitz had just started
taking birth-control pills, which made her breasts swell to the size of
bowling balls. She was a novice in chess and Duchamp won the first
game in four moves. Against Vera, Marcel found a tactic, netting two
pawns for nothing. With careful play, he should have easily won, but
after a few mistakes by Duchamp, Menchik fought back to earn a draw.
Menchik ended in eleventh place in the tournament, with Duchamp
right behind in twelfth place.
In the next decade Menchik played in tournaments with the
world's top players, sometimes defeating the best in the world. The Vera
Menchik Club grew, adding two particularly distinguished members to
its ranks: future World Champion Max Euwe ( 1 90 1 - 1 98 1 ) and future
U. S. Champion Samuel Reshevsky ( 1 9 1 1 - 1 992) . Vera's willingness to
participate in top-flight events and her occasional competence within
them was admired.
However, the cold numbers of the scorecards revealed that Vera's
percentages against the world elite were generally poor. Some of her re
sults were humiliating. In Moscow in 1 935, she played in a tournament
attended by luminaries such as World Champions Mikhail Botvinnik
and Emanuel Lasker. Some Soviet organizers, who worried that her
standard of play was too weak, had discouraged Menchik's participa
tion. It was finally decided that Vera could play since she might provide
a positive example for rising women players in the USSR. She finished
last with a horrendous score of 1 . 5 out of 1 9 .
Vera was active in British chess politics and journalism. She met
Rufus Stevenson, editor of the British Chess Magazine and later secretary
of the British Chess Federation. Rudolf married Vera in 1 937 and the
couple moved to London. From then on, coverage on women's chess
was expanded in the magazine. Annual updates on the state of women's
chess in addition to frequent coverage of women's events now filled the
previously male-dominated pages. Vera later became the games editor
and opening columnist for another British publication, the monthly
magazine Chess. Vera also gave lessons, and, according to one student,
was a "splendid and pleasant teacher."
People rarely had an ill word against Vera. British player H.M. Golombek
suggested that she was kind to a fault, choosing the word complacent to
describe her-not exactly a compliment for a chessplayer or any intel
lectual for that matter. Golombek, speculating that Vera's kindness and
modesty held back her chess results, proposed that "the defect in her
play was the inevitable reflection of her character."
In my opinion, this conclusion is oversimplified. The styles of many
chessplayers clash with their personalities, such as that of top woman
player Ketevan Arakhamia, a frail, quiet woman with a hyperactive style.
Judging from Vera's approach and erratic results-sometimes she played
decently, other times very poorly-she suffered from mythologizing
stronger players as unbeatable, a judgment that reduced her already
small chances to win. I am often victim to this debilitating lack of confi
dence against certain players also. I considered rated masters and experts
out of my league until I began to participate in all-night-marathon blitz
(chess games played at extremely fast time limits, usually five minutes
per player) sessions after tournaments. I remember playing dozens of
games with two expert-the category just beneath master-players, one
a female blackjack dealer and the other a middle-;tged businessman. At
first I lost every game, but by the third day, I won several games in a
row, and as the night went on I continued to hold my own. It was an
important step on my road to becoming an expert.
26 CH ESS BITCH
Jennifer and
Greg.
But there was one player, no matter how often I played him, who
remained stubbornly in the categofy of the unbeatable: my brother.
In the many blitz games we played, I would, from time to time, get a
winning position, but then my brother would pound the moves down
faster and start to trash-talk. A spectator might find Greg's behavior
confusing as he would act out in inverse proportion to the strength of
his position. If he were up a Knight, he would calmly defeat me, but if
his King were in danger of being checkmated, he would bang down the
moves and chatter about how slow I was.
As a fourteen-year-old, in a tournament at the end of a sum
mer chess clinic in central Pennsylvania, I had a breakthrough tour
nament by beating one of the coaches, veteran Grandmaster Arthll;r
Bisguier, and drawing against another coach. Then I was paired against
my brother. He was white. At the master level, having the white pieces
and playing the first move is a big edge. I responded strongly against
his relatively tame opening choice, and as lots of pieces were quickly
traded off, the position was equal. Greg offered me a draw. Nowadays I
would think little of such a game, but at the time it was key to breaking
a myth-my brother and coaches were somehow fallible, as we all are.

To this day Greg continues to use intimidation tactics when I achieve
better positions against him in blitz. It's a running joke.
Remnants of my childhood chess inferiority complex creep up
even today: I am still sometimes struck in disbelief for some seconds
when gaining a winning position against a grandmaster. These self
doubts are balanced, though, by another force from an even deeper
· source, which I suspect many chessplayers share. When I sit down to
play, there is a visceral level in which I believe I should win because I am
who I am. When this physical confidence comes, and it tends to come in
waves when I'm under pressure, it trumps all.
Like me, Vera also struggled with these issues, never completely
solving them.
"In chess it is far better to err on the side of overconfidence than
underconfidence," as Grandmaster Gregory Kaidanov told me in a train
ing session. The danger in being overconfident is that a player will not
scrutinize her weaknesses closely enough, but underconfidence is even
more perilous because a player risks being paralyzed, playing slowly, and/
or shying away from critical variations. Women who show brazen self
confidence are sometimes criticized for behavior that would be seen as
normal for boys. After a quick victory, talented eighteen-year-old junior
champion from Georgia Nana Dzagnidze glowed with self-assurance.
"She won in twenty moves with black and thinks she is a great player,"
one spectator noted, puffing out his chest with an exaggerated look of
arrogance, "and now she is walking around like a man."
Vera was often too passive against strong opposition. Chess writer
Reuben Fine used a particularly uninspiring showing by Menchik
against World Champion Jose Capablanca to criticize her for not pay
ing attention to the maxim "When playing for a draw, play for a win!"
Vera played against Capablanca nine times, losing each and every game.
In one of these games, held in Hastings in 1 930, Vera seemed particu-
28 C H ESS B ITCH
larly determined to hold Capablanca to a draw (nobody wins, each

player earns half a point) . She traded off all the pieces, hoping that Ca
pablanca would not have enough firepower left to defeat her. However,
he calmly converted his small advantage into a win. Vera's spineless
strategy was ineffective.
Against weaker players,Vera was much more aggressive, often show
ing off a tactical flair. In a match game against Sonja Graf,Vera Menchik
placed a Rook on an empty square. Sonja took it with her Queen, and
Vera sacrificed her own Queen. The game was over. If Sonja accepted
this second sacrifice, she would be mated instantly. The brilliant com
bination is still published in tactic books around the world.
Vera was the first woman to play consistently, and sometimes
defeat, the best players in the world. She may have exceeded the
standards of her time by an even larger margin if she had used against
men the fearless, confident style she exhibited against women.
Vera Menchik's nearest female rival was Sonja Graf. Sonja was born
in December 1 908 in Munich, Germany. (She claimed that her birth
date was 1 9 1 4, and historians repeated this date as gospel. However,
her passport was recently unearthed in Germany and it seems she was
lying about her age!) A copious source for details of Sonja's life is the
hundreds of pages from her two books. Impressions ef a Woman Chess
player deals mainly with Sonja's chess career and concepts of the game.
The second is a memoir, recalling Sonja's life in and outside of chess.
This autobiographical account focuses on a character " Susann," whom
Sonja reveals to be herselfby titling the book IAm Susann. 3 This tactic
allowed for a more self-aggrandizing tone, evident by glancing at the
book cover, in which a muscular woman with clenched fists stands
victoriously on top of the globe.
According to I Am Susann, Sonja had a traumatic childhood. Her
parents were both from wealthy White Russian (Belarusian) families.
I Am Susan book jacket

( 1 946).
Her father was a priest in Russia, but when he fell in love with Sonja's
mother, the two eloped to Munich, Germany, where Sonja's father be
came a painter-moderately successful, but never earning enough to
feed his large family. While Sonja respected her father's artistic talent,
she abhorred his sentimental but selfish character, telling how "an in
jured parrot brought tears to his eyes, but he had no sympathy for his
hungry children." She pitied and disliked her mother, a woman Sonja
saw as confined to the home and blindly devoted to her husband. The
first sentence of Sonja's memoir is, "My mother's destiny was, undoubt
edly, housework," a fate that the young Sonja would avoid at all costs.
In I Am Susann, there are harrowing accounts of parental abuse,
both physical and emotional. In one case, Sonja receives a toy car as a
present from a neighbor. Curious as to the mechanics of the gift, she
takes it apart. Her mother calls her ungrateful for destroying a present
30 C H ESS BITCH
and her father beats her mercilessly in punishment. Another time, her
mother wakes up in the morning and loudly recounts a dream she had
the night before in which God demands that she give up one of her
daughters. Her mother is adamant in her decision to sacrifice Susann,
calling her "ugly and stupid." After describing each such incident, Su
sann repeats, "I don't understand the world."
Sortja directs rare words of praise to her father for teaching her the
rules of chess at a young age. She started by playing casually with her
brothers. When she began to sneak away to a chess cafe at twelve years
old, she fell in love with the "insomnia brought on by the chaos of
variations. [Chess] is happiness, deep emotion, a full and intimate vibra
tion of all our being."
She became a regular at the chess cafes of Munich, where her tal
ent for the game impressed a tournament player, who arranged for
her to meet Grandmaster Seigbert Tarrasch ( 1 862- 1 934) . He had a
gang of admirers who would watch as he analyzed variations for hours.
Sonja was transfixed by Tarrasch, describing him as funny, indefatigable,
and also reflective. And like Sonja he had a way with words. His ode
to chess is often quoted: "Chess, like love, like music, has the power
to make men happy." He was eloquent and funny on lighter subjects,
like his berating of gambiteers (players who favor gambit openings, in
which players give up material, usually pawns, in the hopes of win
ning with a quick attack) , whose ambition he said was "to acquire
a reputation of being a dashing player at the cost of losing a game."
Tarrasch's personality and play appealed to Sonja, who admitted that
,before meeting Tarrasch, "my play was rather primitive."
Sonja vividly recalled the day she decided that she would transfer
her love for the game into a career and become a professional chess
player. She was seventeen and had just become the female champion of
Munich. Pointing out "without false modesty" that she had "strength
in many areas;' she decided to dedicate her life to chess, "glimpsing
through to a future interesting life: a panorama of travels, independence,

magnificent liberty . . . and a means to know well this large, cruel, and
beautiful world."
From Sweden to Poland, Sonja traveled all over Europe with chess.
Sonja's euphoric reaction upon receiving an invitation to Ireland was typi
cal: " . . . to have the joyous opportunity to visit a new country. Fantastic!"
Curious and brave, Sonja records her impressions of people, parties, and
drinks, always on the lookout for an amusing anecdote or character por
trayal. She was wide-eyed and optimistic, even when initially disenchant
ed, as on her first trip to England. At first frustrated with reserved British
manners, Sonja's impression of coldness is reversed on a train trip, when
she pulls out a cigarette, rummages in her bag for a light, then looks up to
see that half the men in the car are offering her a match.
There was another reason Sonja traveled so much. Her hometown,
Munich, had become a headquarters of the Nazis, a regime that Sonja
was strongly opposed to. For a while, she relocated to the more liberal
city of Hamburg, but for the most part, Sonja lived as a "gypsy fated to
roam the world," jumping on and off trains, staying until she ran out of
money (which Sonja once called "a vile metal"), and pursuing one love
affair after another.
Sonja enjoyed her burgeoning fame as one of the few strong fe
males in the chess world. Of one large crowd of admirers she wrote,
"Public applause infiltrated each part of my body like honey." Giving
autographs years later, ''just like a movie star," made her feel "famous
and loved." Sonja's high opinion of herself comes up in her books again
and again. She has a sixth sense, her presence is magical, and her teachers
proclaim her poetry as the work of a genius. She even writes "her kisses
ranked among the best possible." Such boasting is at turns funny and
unsettling. Sometimes it seems to damage the otherwise high quality
of her expression and jeopardize her credibility.Was Graf not self-aware
enough to realize how arrogant she would appear? Another possibility,
32 CH ESS BITCH
which I began to accept as I delved more deeply into her works, is that
for Sonja to live as freely as she did, she needed a shell of confidence
harder than a woman today could imagine.
Sonja loved to shock men who underestimated her. In cafes all over
Europe, Sonja would humiliate unsuspecting coffeehouse players (in
variably men) by winning game after game before revealing that she
was a professional player. Sonja describes her first serious game against
a man memorably: "From this
moment I had played only with
women. How my poor heart beat·
remembering all the things I had
heard about the stronger sex! I
began to feel a bit . . . overwhelmed."
But Sonja soon concluded that in
chess, gender was all in the mind:
"The complications of the fight
dissipated all my fears. And as the
game went on, I began to forget
.
·
�
the difference between the strong
SONlA · GRAF
and weak sex. Here I was obliged
to play like a man, although, to the
(Photo coutesy Chess Magazine.)
majority, I was only a little girl. I
really felt like a man. And in this hard fight, I found strengths that were
hidden inside me, and I won."
Sonja sought after moments of heightened intensity in her per
sonal life as well as her chess career. "To have experiences is to have
lived," Sonja wrote. She wanted "all life's stimuli," rejecting the ideal
that women should abstain from sex until marriage. On special occa
sions, Sonja got really wild. In Barcelona, she went to a costume party
as a man, wearing a suit and donning a fake goatee. Sonja danced with
several of the ladies at the party and chuckled to herself about tricking
them. Then, a male friend of hers recognized her face. He asked her for
a dance. Sonja consented. The guests were outraged, informing her that
"here, two men are not permitted to dance together." Sonja stopped
dancing with him, and, not to horrify the women she had danced with
earlier, "I continued acting as a man for the rest of the night."
Sonj a portrayed in detail the alcoholic delights and nightlife at
each place she visited in Europe. But she grappled with balancing
fun with serious chessplay, pointing out that "alcohol is a great en
emy of chess." Post-match bar-hopping is common among even the
best players in the world. The intensity of tournament play, as well
as the erratic, precarious lifestyle of a professional player, has driven
more than a few grandmasters to alcoholism. Perhaps another fac
tor is that many grandmasters are of Eastern European and Russian
origin, areas with high rates of alcoholism. The capacity of some
grandmasters is so formidable that admiring amateurs j oke that there
should be a publication called Drink Like a Grandmaster. Other top
players have more athletic approaches, avoiding alcohol, or at least
abstaining until after a tournament. Some players can party and play
well, but for most, like Sonja, there is a stark choice between bring
ing her A-game and enj oying herself. As my coach Victor Frias ad
vised me, "You have a choice, Jen: either have fun at a tournament
or play well." In my experience, this advice rings true. I often extend
my stays at tournaments in faraway destinations so that I can have
the time to explore and enj oy the place without the demands of
competition. Sonja did the same, but was still convinced that her zest
for life interfered with reaching her full chess potential. Sonja used
chess to set up a good life, rather than setting up her life to maximize
her chess results.
Sonja had a particular passion for Spain, which she explored at the
beginning of 1 936, just a couple of months before the Spanish Civil
34 C H ES S B ITCH
War would have prevented such an adventure. Sonja was immediately

infatuated with the freewheeling, nocturnal lifestyle she encountered
there. Rhapsodizing about Spanish food, bullfights, and nightlife, Sonja
was convinced that in Spain "the sun shines brighter and more intense
ly than anywhere else in the world." The late hours suited her zest for
nightlife; Sonja described giving simultaneous exhibitions (in which a
strong player is invited to take on many opponents at once) that began
at eleven in the evening and didn't end until dawn.
Frequent travel left Sonja little time to style her hair, so she chopped
most of it off. When walking through the streets in Burgos, a city in
northern Spain, she writes that bystanders were shocked by "my hair
cut very short, my sex appeal, my frankness, the vigorous line of my
features, my strong profile, and my impulsive gestures. Many times I
had to contain myself from making faces when listening to the absurd
expressions and commentaries from people who could not be pointed
out for their intellectual qualities."
Despite her confident prose, presence, and style, Sonja was still in
timidated by the top players in the world. She was invited to play in a
strong round-robin tournament in Prague. She scored only 2 . 5 of 1 1 ,
but her tournament still had some bright spots, including a draw against
the great Estonian Grandmaster Paul Keres.
Sonja's writings give the impression of a brilliant, egotistic woman
who was proud of her intelligence, rather than her looks. Sonja be
lieved that her presence transcended physical beauty. She was intoler
ant of women who obsessed over makeup and clothing. "I have never
felt shame not to be an exceptional beauty, like so many women who
live with this as their only preoccupation, because I consider physical
beauty secondary."
By all accounts Sonja was beautiful in a more conventional sense
than she describes. Photographs of Sonja show a svelte woman with
striking eyes and classic features. Sonja was nonchalant, even defiant,
about her good looks, but fiercely proud of her mental qualities. Sixty
years later, her message is still subversive.
In late July 1 939, the Periapolis set sail from Antwerp, Belgium, for Bue
nos Aires. The World Team Championship and Women's World Cham
pionship was set for the first time ever in the Americas. Several dozen
chessplayers were among the passengers, including Vera Menchik, Paul
Keres, and Mikhail Najdorf. The three-week long voyage was great
fun, with constant game-playing and socialization on board along with
tourist stops in Montevideo and Rio. According to British editor B.H.
Wood, "The masters take their responsibility with a light heart. In fact,
one might assume it is a bridge tournament they are to play!" Upon
docking in Buenos Aires, B.H. Wood noted a mad practice, perhaps a
sinister omen: "We were all assaulted by an official who twisted back
our eyelids in search for Negro blood. The reactions of various mem
bers of our team to this ordeal are entirely unprintable."4
Sonja set sail on the Highland Patriot a few days later, and was the
sole chessplayer on her boat. Sonja was characteristically thrilled to cross
the Atlantic for the first time, dismissing racist comments by Europeans
who warned her of the primitive, savage customs of South Americans.
Sonj a, vocal against the Nazi regime, espoused the virtues of equality
and liberty. Upon arriving in Buenos Aires, she was promptly punished
for her views. Sonja was told that Joseph Goebbels, Nazi minister of
propaganda, had removed her from the list of German participants. She
played anyway, switching allegiance to the international flag of Liberty.
Her new flag was not contested by the organizers or her opponents.
Germany declared war on Poland on the first of September, mid
way though the tournament. Play went on, despite agony and panic
among the participants. The flags of all the nations except Argentina
were taken down in order to ward off disputes. Some players returned
immediately to Europe, including the British men's team. Sonja de-
36 CH ESS B ITCH
scribed how some players from the Axis nations stopped speaking with
Allied players. The top two scoring teams, Germany and Poland, re
fused to play their match, so they agreed to a 2-2 forfeit/ draw. Politics
did not interfere with the completion of the women's games. Sonja
Graf and Vera Menchik played nineteen games each, with no forfeits.
They both strung together victories: Sonja won sixteen games; Vera,
seventeen. But while Vera drew her two remaining games, Sonja suf
fered three losses. In the crucial encounter between the two women,
Sonja played excellently, gaining a position she could have won in vari
ous ways. But she collapsed. She played two terrible moves in a row,
first throwing away the win, and then also the chance to salvage a draw.
Once again,Vera Menchik was champion of the world. Sonja Graf was
second.The two women never met again.World War II interrupted the
organization of Women's World Championships for an entire decade.
Vera Menchik played in one tournament in Montevideo, Uruguay, be

fore returning to Britain. Vera and her husband now lived in London,
where they oversaw the National Chess Center. During the war years
Vera remained active in chess, though international tournaments on
continental Europe were infrequent. She earned money and passed the
time by playing, teaching, and writing. She won a match against Jacques
Mieses-who was later awarded the grandmaster title-by a wide mar
gin (4.5-1.5). It was a prestigious victory, though Mieses, at seventy
five, was admittedly past his prime.
The first in a series of calamities for Vera Menchik came in 1 940,
when the Chess Center was bombed. Luckily, the bombing took place
at night, so the building was empty. A fund was set up to raise money
for what was lost, but money was short and little was raised. The Men
chiks survived the London Blitz (1 940-1941) in the basement of their
large house on Gauden Road. Menchik's husband, Rufus, fell ill in
1 940, and his health was never very good until his death in 1 943. The
Sonja G raf and Max Euwe.
loss almost debilitated Vera. "It was the bravest thing she could do to go
on with her life," said a friend of Vera's.
On June 27, 1 944, a crumbling Nazi regime dropped bombs over
London. Vera, along with her sister and mother, was among the vic
tims. They hid out in the bomb shelter in their basement, which was
instantly demolished by the direct hit. Across their street was a subway
bomb shelter, which remained intact. Their home, which contained
Vera's papers, letters, and game scores, was destroyed.
Chessplayers in Britain reacted violently to Vera's death, calling it
"an unspeakable tragedy," and describing the event as "a robot action
taken by a robot people."5
Sonja stayed in Buenos Aires after the tournament, rather than return to
the continental bloodbath. She explained that she had become smitten
with Argentina upon seeing the Argentinean flag with its two hands
38 C H ESS BITCH
clasped in a decidedly anti-war gesture. Sonja was enamored with the

culture of Buenos Aires, which she compared to that of Spain: It was
"not only for the style of the buildings, but for the ways of the peo
ple" that she was smitten. The Spanish language suited Sonja's romantic
views, and she loved the Argentinean zest for life. The only thing she
couldn't comprehend was the Argentinean "mania for makeup," which
according to Sonja, affiicted many of the women.
Sonja was not the only chessplayer to make such a drastic life deci
sion. Many great European players stayed in Argentina after the event,
most notably Grandmaster Moishe Najdorf, a Polish Jew, who escaped
the Holocaust by staying on in Argentina. In the hopes of contacting
his family still in Poland, Najdorf performed blindfold exhibitions, in
which he played many opponents at once, without sight of the board.
In 1 94 1 , he broke the former world record by playing forty-one at
once. He hoped that this outstanding feat would gain international
press and that his family in Poland would contact him. After the war
had ended, he discovered that his entire family (wife, parents, child, and
four brothers) had died in concentration camps. He then came back to
Argentina, started calling himself Miguel, remarried, and made Buenos
Aires his home till the day he died. It must have been overwhelming
for a chess trip to turn into a permanent relocation. I can only suspect
that the vivacious Sonja took it all in stride. She certainly mastered the
Spanish language quickly. In fact, Sonja published both of her books in
her new language.
Some of the best tournaments held during the forties were hosted
in Buenos Aires, due to the influx of strong Jewish European players.
Graf played, usually finishing at the bottom of the cross-table, with
Najdorf often at the top.
During the spring of 1 947, FIDE president and former World
Champion Max Euwe was in Buenos Aires to play in the yearly Mar
Del Plata round-robin. In placing a phone call, he got misconnected
to a Mr. Vernon Stevenson, an American sailor. Stevenson happened

to be fascinated by chess and in this misdirected phone call arranged
a meeting that same afternoon with Euwe, who already had an ap
pointment with his old friend Sonja Graf. 6 So the three met. Accord
ing to Euwe, there were sparks right away between Vernon and Sonja,
who fell in love and shortly made plans to marry. The two moved
to Hollywood, California, and Sonja became Mrs. Graf-Stevenson.
Coincidentally, Sonja and Vera both married Mr. Stevensons. Sonja
disappeared from the chess world for several years while she raised her
son Alexander. She came out of retirement with a bang in 1 957 by
winning the U.S. Women's Chess Championship. Sonja had not lost
her dramatic flair, and New Yorker Allen Kaufinan, who was a rising
young player at the time, remembers playing casual games with her.
"Sonja used to enter tournaments with two bulldogs. She would play
chess with me, banging down the pieces and shouting, 'It's your move,
boobee.' You could tell that Sonja had made a decision to present a
masculine persona."
Sonja and her family later moved to New York City, and in 1 964
she won her second U.S. Women's Chess Championship. Shortly
thereafter, in an interview with The New Yorker, Sonja spoke of her
regrets over her world championship game twenty-five years earlier
against Vera Menchik. " I had a won game. . .I played the three stupid
est moves." Less than a year later, on March 7, 1 965, Sonja died of a
liver ailment. She was just over fifty-five, and one can only speculate
as to the extent thst her intense lifestyle exhausted her. In Sonja's own
words, she was "an artist of life." She never wrote any books in English,
and because her career garnered only moderate attention in the press,
the last years of her life are unfortunately unrecorded.
The lives of Menchik and Graf show what chess can do for women.
Chess allowed the shy Menchik the opportunity to come out of her
40 C H ESS B ITCH
shell, to achieve greatness, and to make a name for herself. It gave Graf
a chance to express her passion for life, while affording her the freedom
to travel the world. Sonja Graf was drawn to the intensity of the game,
observing that chessplayers have "their gazes locked to the board . . .
hypnotized, forgetting the world." "To the chessplayer, of what impor
tance is World War I, Hitler's regime, or the League of Nations?" As it
happened, Hitler's regime and World War II were of major importance
to Sonja Graf, resulting in a whirlwind life in which she would live on
three different continents. For Vera Menchik and her family, the war
brought tragedy.
The chess world values, above all, quantifiable achievements. Vera
is still (and rightly) hailed as a chess pioneer, while the poetic bon vi
vant Sonja Graf has faded into obscurity. Her books are scarcely avail
able and have never been translated into English or German. Maybe
Sonja would be remembered if she had won her game against Vera
Menchik in Buenos Aires along with the crown of Women's World
Champion.
It was Vera Menchik who served as the inspiration for women
players worldwide: she was the first to be called the queen of women's
chess. The Vera Menchik cups are awarded to the winning women's
teams at the biennial Chess Olympiads.
Though Menchik lived and played mainly in England, because she
was born in Moscow and spoke Russian, the Soviet Union decided to
claim Vera as their own-a Soviet champion, both by birth and incli
nation. Mikhail Botvinnik, who won the first world title after World
War II and was a patriotic Soviet, said of Vera: "This Czech woman
playing under the English flag is in her essence . . . Russian."
The focal point of post-war women's chess was Moscow, where
world championships were held in 1 950, 1 952, and 1955. In the first
event, Ludmilla Rudenko ( 1 904-1986) , an economist and former swim
ming champion, won first place among sixteen participants. In 1 952,
Elizaveta Bykova (191 3-1989) defeated Rudenko in a match for the

title. Bykova lost the title to another Russian, Olga Rubtsova (1909-
1 994) , in 1 956, but regained her title in 1 958. World Champion Eliza
veta Bykova was chosen to write a biography of Vera Menchik to re
flect glory onto the Soviet Union. Published in 1 957, the book outlines
the triumphs of Vera's career. Bykova takes pains to claim Menchik as
a Russian in an effort to extend the Russian champion tradition to the
beginnings of professional women's chess.
Bykova was born a peasant in the Russian village, Bolugubov, and
was an ideal symbol for the intellectual victory of the working class.
Bykova's devotion to communism gives a propagandistic tone to her bi
ography on Vera. Bykova dwells on Vera's trip to Moscow, conjecturing
that Menchik may have played badly in Moscow because she was awe
struck by the utopian conditions. She quotes Menchik: "You couldn't
recognize the city-the change was too huge and great." Menchik had
loved to go to the theater as a young girl, and Bykova reports how Vera
marveled at the improvements in the theaters: "What a pleasure to sit in
a wonderful theater, to see a happy and content crowd, and remember
that in 1919, I sat here shivering." Later, Bykova has Menchik sum up
her affections for her birthplace: "Nowhere but in the Soviet Union
was equality achieved, not just formal, but material." This comment
seems inconsistent with Vera's quote from British Chess Magazine: "The
thing that struck me most about England was that people leave the milk
bottles outside. In Russia, they would immediately be stolen."
Menchik, who finished the 1 935 Moscow tournament with an
abysmal record (1 .5-19) , is quoted by Bykova: "In the West, a person
who doesn't succeed professionally is nobody. Despite all my failures I
still feel warm attention here. This is only possible in the USSR."
As Bykova does not mention the sources of her quotes (she was
not present at the tournament), it is reasonable to question both their
sincerity and veracity. Maybe the quotes are real, maybe they are en-
42 CH ESS B ITCH
tirely fabricated, but most likely the truth is somewhere in between. It

is possible that Vera was interviewed while playing and was encouraged,
or felt it polite, to speak well of the host country.
Despite Soviet women's dominance in chess, Soviet authorities
were not happy with the state of women's chess. A paper published in
1953, "On the State of Chess Work in Physical Culture Organization
and Means of Improving It;' stated, "The All-Union Committee con
siders the state of work in chess among women to be unsatisfactory. The
number of women regularly playing chess is insignificant."7
The Soviet authorities focused on the number of female partici
pants, but British writer John Graham, author of Women in Chess, fo
cused on the playing standard of the Soviet champions: " [Rudenko,
Bykova, and Rubtsova] were curators of the title, making no strides to
ward equality." Unlike Vera Menchik or Sonja Graf, the Soviet women
rarely competed against men and did not raise the standard or rhetoric
of women's chess. The players who were to elevate women's chess to
the next level were from the USSR, but from farther south than anyone
would have predicted.
3
B uil ding a Dynasty:

The Women of Georgia
Georgian women have such difficult characters!

They don't ever listen to men.
-Georgian Master Variam Vepk:hvishvili
t is two o'clock in the A.M., and five-time Women's World Cham

pion Georgian Nona Gaprindashvili has been at the blackjack table
for hours, her dark eyes still focusing intently on the cards. It is the
autumn of 2002, and the thirty-second biennial Olympiad is being held
in Bled, Slovenia, a picturesque mountain resort town in the former
Yugoslavia. Outside the casino in Bled, the view across Lake Bled is
a stunning backdrop of a castle situated in mountains. During breaks
from the tournament, chess players, coaches, and officials stroll the pe
rimeter of Lake Bled, resplendent with turning leaves of autumn. Sixty
one-year-old Nona Gaprindashvili prefers the confines of the casino to
the mountain scenery. "Fierce, strong, and obsessive," said one fan. "For
Nona it doesn't matter what else is going on. She won't stop, she'll keep
studying, keep throwing dice."
Forty years earlier, Nona won her first world championship match,
bringing her fame and unprecedented accolades, while galvanizing a
43
44 C H ESS B ITCH
women's chess revolution in Georgia. Georgia, a small country with

five million inhabitants, lies in the Caucasus Mountains on the south
eastern shores of the Black Sea. The tiny Eurasian country dominated
women's chess for nearly thirty years, producing two world champions,
winning three Olympiads, and training dozens of talented young girls
to be masters.
Female chess talent in Georgia exploded in an environment where
traditional values were the norm. Georgian women usually got married
between the ages of seventeen and twenty-two. Rusudan Goletiani,
the young Georgian women's grandmaster now living in the U.S., tells
me that, even today, "If you are a twenty-five-year-old girl in Georgia
and not yet married, it is very strange." Dowries of Georgian women
included chess sets, because Georgian women were encouraged to play
chess as a hobby. Gennady Zaitchik, a grandmaster from Georgia who
now lives near Philadelphia, told me, "In Georgia it was the job of the
man to do work and put bread on the table. It was good for women to
cook, clean, and play chess at home."
Nona Gaprindashvili was born in the spring of 1941 in Zugdidi,
a small town near the Black Sea, where she grew up among five older
brothers. Her intense brown eyes, dark hair, and strong features give her
a confident presence that can be witnessed even in photographs of her
as a young girl. Nona's father taught her the rules of chess when she was
five. In family tournaments her brothers beat her regularly, and it is like
ly that this youthful competition against male peers shaped her tough,
fearless character and promoted her high standard of play. Karledazde, a
renowned chess trainer visiting Zugdidi, spotted Nona's talent immedi
ately and persuaded her parents to allow their twelve-year-old daughter
to move to the capital, Tbilisi, where she could live with her aunt and
train with experienced coaches.
Throughout her teens, various Georgian grandmasters were called
upon to instruct her. One of them, Gennady Zaitchik, describes how
B U I LD I N G A DYNASTY 45
Nona
Gaprindashvili
( 1 982).
difficult it was to train her. "She wanted me to analyze some hopeless

opening variation for hours. She was always so -stubborn. She wouldn't
respect my opinion as a grandmaster."
Nona's competitive character was also witnessed by players: Nona
had-and still has-a reputation as an ungracious loser.A talented young
Georgian girl joked to me that she hoped not to be paired against
Nona because she was afraid of an angry reaction if Nona were to lose.
After a crucial victory against Nona, one British grandmaster told me
that he'd made the mistake of complimenting Nona by mentioning
that a friend of his had named his daughter in her honor. Unimpressed
by this story, Nona walked off in an angry huff.
In 1 961 Nona won the Women's Candidates Tournament held in
Vrnjacka Banja, a mountain town in the then Yugoslavia. With this vie-
46 C H ESS BITCH
tory, Nona earned the right to challenge the reigning World Champion,
Russian Elizabeth Bykova. At the match held in Moscow one year later
Nona was merciless. She amassed nine points to Bykova's two-a land
slide victory. Many players might have thrown a few draws in the mix,
in order to rest a little and prepare for the next game, but this was not
in Nona's aggressive, fearless character. According to one of her fans,
"Nona always plays for one result: Win."
After winning her first world title, the young Nona became an in
stant celebrity in Georgia. Salo Flohr, a candidate for the world cham
pionship in the 1 930s, described her return home: "Young and old,
great and small, mobbed to see her, shake her hand, embrace her, and
kiss her."
John Graham, in Women in Chess, suggests that Nona's reception "as
a conquering hero" may have been partly rooted in patriotism piqued
by regional racism. He writes that Georgians were often "the victim[s]
of cruel ethnic jokes:' Georgian people tend to have dark complexions
and strong features, like neighboring Armenian and Azerbaijani people.
Their distinct looks have often incited racism from the mainland, where
the blond, blue-eyed, fair-skinned Russians were (and still are) the ideal
of most. Estonian Grandmaster Jan Ehlvest joked in an interview that,
above all qualities, he values "blonde hair and blue eyes."1 In Moscow
I witnessed two darker-skinned women from Central Republics being
denied admission to a rock show. The girls were told that they were too
drunk to enter, even though they looked and smelled perfectly sober to
me. The swarthy Garry Kasparov, born in the Azerbaijani capital Baku,
complained that "Russia is the most racist country in the world."
During the sixties and seventies, as Nona was winning champi
onships, national pride in the ancient country of Georgia was never
greater. From 1921 until 1991, when Georgia was an official republic
of the Soviet Union, the Georgian people studied Russian in school,
but continued to speak Georgian, which has a thirty-three character al-
phabet and is a unique language unrelated to any other in the world. In

1 978, massive public protests struck down Soviet attempts to establish
Russian as the official language of the Republic of Georgia. More than
being a woman champion or a Soviet champion, Nona Gaprindashvili
was a Georgian champion.
Nona spent her twenties and thirties winning one world champi
onship match after another, three in a row against Moscow-born Alla
Kushnir, her major competitor at the time. By 1 975 her influence on
women's chess in Georgia was at its peak. Her next challenger, Nana
Alexandria, was another Georgian. Alexandria, born in 1 952 in Tbilisi,
worked with Karledazde, the same coach who had noticed the young
Nona years earlier. The "in-house" world championship match thrilled
the Georgian public. A perfumery even developed a scent-Nona and
Nana-to celebrate the event. Patriotic camaraderie between the two
combatants disappeared quickly over the board, where a brutal slugfest
unfolded. Of the twelve games, Nona won eight; Nana, only three.
There was just one draw. The final 8.5-3.5 score was a great triumph
for Nona, who, at thirty-four, was at the top of her game.
Nona played rarely, but successfully, against male opposition. Ac
cording to International Master Victor Frias, "Nona was the first wom
an who could sit down against anyone and play." Nona's most impres
sive result among men was in 1 976 in a tournament held in Lone Pine,
a mountain resort town in California. She tied for first, defeating four
male grandmasters. Nona's strength of character must have helped her
endure unflattering comments, such as the one in The Lone Pine Bul
letin that wrote Nona was "constructed more like a bricklayer than
a woman." In this unkind description is the implication that a real
woman could not have won the tournament.
Despite such isolated sexist slurs, Nona was widely respected in the
chess world as a pioneer in women's chess. The FIDE congress, held
in Buenos Aires in conjunction with the 1 978 Olympiad, decided to
48 C H ESS B ITCH
award Nona the title of grandmaster based on her result in Lone Pine,
her overall high level of play, and her sixteen-year reign as world cham
pion. She was the first woman to hold this title, the most prestigious
in chess, for which many players strive their entire lives. The decision
to make her a grandmaster was not without controversy. Nona had not
strictly met the requirements that would normally merit a grandmaster
title. To become a grandmaster, a player must earn three norms, meaning
that they have to perform over the 2600 level at three different events
while maintaining an overall minimum rating of2500. Grandmaster Pal
Benko wrote at the time, "She is the only woman ever to have deserved
it [the title) . It is regrettable that she did not earn the title in the regular
way. In my opinion, this historic occasion should not have been allowed
to carry even this slight tarnish." 2
The timing of Nona's acquiring the GM title was bittersweet. Nona
had just encountered the first major disappointment of her chess career,
one from which she would never bounce back. In October of 1978,
Nona was scheduled to defend her title against another Georgian, the
seventeen-year-old Maya Chiburdanidze.
Maya learned chess from her eldest brother when she was a child of
six or seven. She improved rapidly at her local club, catching the eye
of Grandmaster Eduard Gufeld. Eduard played a few casual games with
Maya and was immediately impressed by the focus and passion of the
child: "Before me sat a girl of nine who was not in the least perturbed
by an international grandmaster. I remember her resourcefulness, sur
prising for someone of her age, with which she tried to reorganize her
reduced forces after she had lost a pawn in the middlegame. We played
another game and it was clear that she had great natural chess talents
and an all-absorbing love for our ancient game."3 Between the opening
(the first phase of the game in which the pieces are developed) and the
endgame (where the material is reduced and the result often settled) is
BU I LD I N G A DYNASTY 49
Maya
Chiburdanidze
( 1 982).
the middlegame. Professional players have usually spent countless hours

studying their opening set-ups prior to the game and memorizing the
most common endgames. Middlegames are the least theoretical phase
of the game, where a player must rely on creativity, intuition, and cal
culating abilities.
Maya is often called the first prodigy of women's chess. Prodigies
are common to chess, math, and music, all abstract endeavors in which
competence does not require adult experience. In chess, the energy of
youth often balances the wisdom of older players. The young are also
more likely to have the time and inclination to spend countless hours
studying and weeks competing in tournaments.
When Maya was ten, her family moved to Tbilisi, where Maya
would be able to improve her skills and face better competition. She
played incessantly. As an eleven-year-old, she competed in twelve dif-
50 C H ESS BITCH
ferent week-long events in one year. The intensive training and playing
program was effective. At just fifteen, Maya won the USSR champion
ship, ahead of two former world-champion candidates (Kushnir and Al
exandria) . The victory was not only a remarkable achievement in itself,
but also gave Maya the opportunity to challenge Nona two years later.
The World Championship match was held in Pitsunda, Georgia,
a resort town on the coast of the Black Sea. Despite Chiburdanidze's
obvious talent, the experienced, determined Nona was still the favorite.
Three tense draws began the match. In the fourth round, Maya won in
thirty-four moves with the black pieces, punishing Nona harshly for an
ineffective opening strategy followed by very poor middlegame deci
sions. Nona was shell-shocked. An energized Maya won the next game
as well. In the latter half of the match, Nona narrowed Maya's lead by
winning three games to Maya's two. In the final game Maya had the
white pieces and needed only a draw to dethrone Nona. The course of
the last round game could not have been more dramatic. Maya, under
tremendous pressure, played too passively and Nona won a pawn and
simplified into an endgame. After a ninety-four-move struggle, Nona
was forced to yield a draw to Maya's determined defensive fortress,
bringing to an end the reign of Nona, de facto Queen of Georgia.
By defeating Nona, Maya became, at the age of seventeen, the
youngest world champion in history, too young to fully understand
her victory. One observer remarked, "Maya was pure genius. She just
loved the game, but had no idea of the historical import of what she
had done. After she won the match, she went to her room to play with
dolls."
There is no prototype for the temperament of a champion. Maya
and Nona are very different from each other. While Nona's energy
emanates outward, Maya's is more introspective, giving her a meditative
glow. She is deeply religious. Like many Georgian Orthodox Chris
tians, she often wears a headscarf. Romanian IM Corina Peptan admires
Maya Chiburdanidze, Erevan Olympiad- ( 1 996).
Maya's modest demeanor: "She is not concerned with her image, and
prefers to stay in the corner. She is a star in chess, but she does not need
.
or want attention.
"
The personalities of the two women carry over into their chess
styles. Nona is aggressive, even ruthless, while the mysterious Maya
is patient and strategically minded. "You could never predict Maya's
moves" said one contemporary, "Nona-you could be sure she would
choose the most aggressive option." Nona pushed too hard in the Pit
sunda match, and it was her hasty, overwrought decisions that cost her
points. Judging from the style of the games, a master would surely guess
that Maya was the veteran and the impetuous, aggressive Nona the
youngster.
Maya defended her title four times. In 1 98 1 she played against Nana
Alexandria, who'd previously lost in the battle of the Georgians, Nana
versus Nona. This time Alexandria played very well and managed to
tie the match. But the rules state that in the case of a tie, the champion
retains her title. Maya's next successful defense was against Irina Levitina
from Russia, who now lives in the United States and is a professional
52 C H ESS BITCH
bridge player. With two rounds to go the women were even, then Maya
rallied and won both games. Her third and fourth world-championship
victories-in 1 986 against Siberian Elena Akmilovskaya and in 1 988
versus compatriot Nona Ioseliani-went more smoothly. Elena (now
Donaldson) has dismal memories of her games against Maya. "When
I first played Maya, I was fourteen years old and she was just a chubby
little girl of eleven years old who stared at the ceiling for most of the
game. But staring at the ceiling, she began to make spectacular moves
and it became clear to me immediately that she was a genius. I could
never get over this young loss to her, and my lifetime record against her
has been horrendous. The match was a catastrophe."
Maya's own reign finally ended in 1 99 1 , in a surprise upset at the
hands of the Chinese player Xie Jun. According to Maya, losing her
world title made her hungry to reclaim it. In the past decade, she has
come close, but failed to regain her title in six attempts.
Nona Gaprindashvili and Maya Chiburdanidze were the only
two Georgian women to achieve the ultimate women's title of World
Champion. Nona and Maya inspired many players, and the Georgian
women's chess culture grew. Nana Alexandria and Nana Ioseliani both
lost world championship matches by narrow margins. Although they
never enjoyed the fame or success that Maya and Nona did, they helped
to establish the great tradition and international reputation of women's
chess in the tiny country of Georgia.
Every two years players and fans look forward to the most prestigious
chess team event, the Olympiad. The first Olympiad was held in Lon
don in 1 927, but fielded only male teams, while women played indi
vidually in the first ever Women's World Championship. Starting from
1 9 5 7, the Women's World Championship was organized separately, and
women's teams entered the Olympiad. Each participating nation selects
four players for its women's Olympic team, three of whom play at any
Elena Donaldson, 2004 U.S. Championship. (Photo by Quinn H ubbard. )
given time while the fourth sits out. 4 The team result is derived from
the individuals' combined records. Georgian women were selected most
often for the Soviet team, but there were talented contenders from
other parts of the USSR, including Elena Akmilovskaya, who played for
the 1 986 world title, losing to Maya.
Elena was born in Leningrad, in 1 957. Although chess was not
popular in Siberia, Elena's mother, Lidia, was a strong player and
taught her eight-year-old daughter the rules. Elena says, "My mom
was everything in my chess development. We played blitz every day
and I got mad when I lost." When she turned twelve, Elena had the
opportunity to be introduced to the wider chess community. Twice a
year, the most talented young players in the USSR met in Moscow to
spend a week at a special training academy, run by World Champion
Mikhail Botvinnik. Among the students of the school was a future
champion, Garry Kasparov, who later wrote glowingly of his experi-
54 C H ESS B ITCH
ences there. Elena's own experience was abruptly interrupted. At the

age of sixteen, she was not invited back, because of her recent medio
cre results.
Temporarily disenchanted with chess, Elena turned her attention
to her university studies, which were biophysics and mathematics. She
did continue to play, however, and to her surprise, had a breakthrough
tournament in the 1975 Soviet Women's Championship. Elena gave up
biophysics and math and switched to law in order to devote more time
to studying and playing chess. "Chess never came easily to me. I always
had to train very hard for good results."
Elena's renewed confidence and personal motivation gave her the
strength she needed to confront the Georgians. To them, Elena was
something ofan outsider, and was not readily welcomed into their circle.
At the Candidates Tournament in 1 978, held in Tbilisi, the Georgians
went to extraordinary lengths to slow Elena's progress. A Georgian
man, "incredibly gorgeous" by all accounts, showed up at the tourna
ment. The man, Vladimir Petukhov, showered Elena with flowers and
presents. Elena suspected he was a plant to distract her from her games,
so that the Georgian women would prevail. "It may have been a dis
traction," noted an observer, "but they fell in love and got married, and
Elena ended up playing Maya for the world championship anyway, so
it must have been a positive distraction!" Vladmir lived in Tbilisi. Elena
transferred to the university there and married him. She divorced him
in 1 986 after seven years of marriage and one child, Dana.
At the time, another romanance was burgeoning for Elena, with
American John Donaldson, an intelligent and affable international mas
ter from Seattle. They met at a tournament in 1985 in Cuba, where
Elena was playing and John was coaching. Their contact should have
been limited because of the scrutiny of the Soviet authorities; however,
"As luck would have it," John recalled, "Soviet security was very lax."
The two spoke cautiously about uncontroversial topics such as opening
BU I LD I N G A DYNASTY 55
variations. "We felt severely constrained in saying what we wanted to

say," John explained. "We didn't want to attract a lot of attention."5
Elena and John continued to see each other at tournaments around
the world. At the 1 986 Olympiad in Dubai, they met at a disco every
night. Their behavior was noted by the Soviet authorities, one of whom
gave Elena an official censure for associating with a Westerner. Elena
was warned that if it happened again, she would be barred from playing
outside the Soviet Union.
In the 1 988 Thessaloniki Olympiad, Elena's romantic and profes
sional ambitions were destined to collide. The Soviet team had to con
tend with a formidable Hungarian team's rising stars: Susan, Judit, and
Sofia Polgar. Maya Chiburdanidze was first-board on the Soviet squad,
the sole Georgian on the team-the first time in years that the Soviet
team was not dominated by Georgian women. The contest between
the Hungarian and Soviet teams was tight throughout the event. Ju
dit Polgar and Elena Donaldson were the high-scoring stars of their
respective teams. With three rounds to go, both women were playing
at the grandmaster level with staggering performance ratings of more
than 2600. On the day of the eleventh round, Elena failed to appear
for her game. That morning she left her team to elope with John Don
aldson, who was there as captain of the United States team. American
players cheered on the couple, and it became the fairy-tale story of the
tournament. The darker side is that Elena did desert her team, a move
that would likely be harshly criticized if it were made by a man. She
had performed brilliantly, earning 8.5 points from nine games. In the
final three rounds, the now-weakened Soviet team lost to Hungary by
just half a point.
This loss was symbolic of the end of Soviet domination of wom
en's chess. Elena's abrupt departure foreshadowed a great migration of
Soviet players to various corners of the world, especially that of Rus
sian Jews to the United States and Israel. Fifteen year later, remarried
56 C H ESS BITCH
to IM Georgi Orlov and still living in Seattle, Elena continues to regret

her decision to leave in the middle of the tournament: "I cried when
I read the news that the Polgars ended up winning the gold medals.
Now, it is clear that with the disintegration of the Soviet Union soon
after the Thessaloniki Olympiad, I could have left the country easily
without abandoning my team. But at the time, there were still KGB
spies traveling with us, and I had no idea whether I would get another
chance to escape the country."
Since the break-up of the Soviet Union in 1 99 1 , the economy in Geor

gia has suffered enormously as a result of corruption, damaged infra
structure, and an economy that relied heavily on imports from other
Soviet republics. In 1 994 the unemployment rate was estimated at 1 . 5
million, nearly half of the Georgian working-age population. As a result,
one million Georgians, almost a fifth of the population, have emigrat
ed. The situation for Georgian sportspeople, who were well supported
under the Soviets, has also deteriorated, and among the one million
emigres are several prominent chessplayers. This exodus has naturally
loosened Georgia's stronghold in women's chess. In the 1 992, 1 994, and
1 996 Olympiads, the Polgar squad had dissolved, and Georgia won each
Olympiad impressively-the same players who had dominated a decade
earlier, including Maya and Nona, were still playing successfully. But
countries such as China and Russia, with younger squads, were closing
in on the Georgian dominance.
The economic problems in Georgia have resulted in the departure
of some of the most talented young players-those who had fewer per
sonal and professional roots in Georgia. Among those who emigrated
are youth champions Tea Bosmoon-Lanchava and Rusudan Goletiani,
who moved to Holland and the United States, respectively.
I have become friendly with Rusudan throughout our meetings
as members of the U.S. Women's Olympic Team. Rusudan calmly told
Rusudan Goletiani.
(Photo by Jennifer Shahade.)
me about her dramatic childhood. She grew up in Abkhazia, a region

in northwest Georgia where civil war erupted in 1 992. Tipped off
by a KGB agent of the upcoming civil chaos, Rusa and her family
fled the region for Tbilisi with only the clothes on their backs. "It
was awful; the plane was crammed full of people and everyone was
crying." Rusudan was one of more than 200,000 ethnic Georgian
refugees to flee from Abkhazia in the years 1 992- 1 993. Rusa and her
family slowly built up a life in Tbilisi, but making money in Georgia
was difficult, and in 2000, Rusa jumped at a chance to move to the
United States.
Friendly and magnetic, Rusudan had no problem fitting in New
York, especially not in Brooklyn, where she first landed: "I was shocked
to see how many Georgians are living in NewYork.When I first moved
here to Brighton Beach, I would constantly hear people speaking Geor
gian." Her heart is still in Georgia, but the economic situation keeps
her in the United States. "Ever since the break-up of the Soviet Union,
58 C H ESS BITCH
there has been no government support for chessplayers. So if you want

any money to play in tournaments, you have to go to private sponsors
and you have to self-promote, and this is not for me." Rusudan sends a
large part of her monthly take-home pay back to family and friends in
Georgia: "I would rather that a friend has money for food than to have
a new pair ofjeans."
Rusa began her life in the United States living in Coney Island and
baby-sitting. When her English improved, she moved to Westchester,
New York, where she now teaches chess. Goletiani makes in an hour
what she could make in a month in Georgia by giving lessons in posh
homes, but she does not feel that Americans respect chess. "In Georgia,
if I was training for a tournament, the teacher would allow me to con
centrate all my efforts on chess, but here in America nobody takes chess
seriously. They see it just as a game, whereas for me it is like a small
model of life-the middlegame in chess is like being middle-aged and
you have to decide on the right plan."
Tea Bosmoon-Lanchava is six years older than Rusa and shares
Rusa's ambivalence about leaving her beloved Georgia. Tea's first years
as a chessplayer were like those in a fairy tale. Her role model, Nona
Gaprindashvili, discovered her at the age of nine when she was brought
by her uncle to play against Nona in a simultaneous exhibition. Nona
recognized Tea's talent and instructed her parents that she should move
to Tbilisi in order to train. Tea describes those days as the best of her life.
"Nona and I would train for hours and she would tell me stories until I
would look at the window and notice that it was getting dark. I would
forget hunger, time, thirst." Tea won two World Youth Championships
for the Soviet Union. "I'm really nostalgic for the Soviet days. I was
lucky to see the last days of how much support you could get as a Soviet
sportsperson." Now Tea lives in Holland with her husband and child;
she still plays chess, insisting that she will never quit "because it is in
my blood. Everyone is always asking me about how frequently I travel,
when I have a husband and child. Sometimes I feel like telling them to
shut up and allow me to live my life. I love chess and I can't quit."
Most of the older players have remained in Georgia, including Nona

and Maya, who still enjoy celebrity status. Nona Gaprindashvili, now
in her sixties, has lost a couple hundred rating points since her peak,
but she keeps playing. She takes her games very seriously, and if she
loses she still becomes visibly upset. At the 2003 European Women's
Championship in Istanbul, she would play Yahtzee for hours. I hung
around the table watching her play for a while, hoping to ask her a few
questions, but Nona was totally wrapped up in the dice.
In the 2002 Olympiad in Bled, Slovenia, the Georgian team was
poised to recapture the gold medals, which had fallen into Chinese
hands for the past four years. After ten rounds Georgia was ahead by
three full points and, under normal conditions, would be able to glide
gracefully into first place. But disaster struck. Ketevan Arakhamia had
"never seen anything like it. It was as if nobody could win a single
game." The terrible performance of the Georgian women in the last
few rounds left them off the podium, and allowed the Chinese to gain
top honors for the third time in a row. Judging only by the Olympic
team members, three of whom were over thirty-five, you'd think that
Georgian women's chess was a tradition of the past. In reality, Georgia
is still producing many great talents, including the 2003 World Girls'
Champion, Nana Dzagnidze, along with Maia Lomineishvili and Ana
Matnadze. These women, all in their teens and early twenties, often have
to take backseats to the more experienced and higher-ranked Georgian
women at the prestigious tournaments. But the energy of youth can
trump higher ranking, especially at long and exhausting tournaments.
Nino Gurieli, president of the Georgian Chess Federation and past
member of winning Georgian women's Olympic teams, is dedicated to
promoting the younger generation: "The team that played in Bled was
60 C H ESS BITCH
the Georgian women's team of the twentieth century. From now on we

need to support the team of the twentieth-first century."
In the fall of 2003 I called Nana Alexandria, the former world
championship candidate turned chess politician, who is fluent in Eng
lish. She answered her phone in Georgia and, though courteous, was
short with me. "Can't talk now," she said, "there is a revolution going
on outside."
In November 2003 the bloodless Revolution of Roses ousted pres
ident Eduard Shevardnadze, who had led Georgia since the Soviet era.
He was replaced by opposition leader Mikheil Saakahsvili, a thirty
nine-year-old progressive. The next time I saw Rusudan Goletiani in
New York, she was beaming. "All my friends and family are thrilled,"
she said. Rusudan is cautious about predicting how Saakahsvili's elec
tion will affect her future, but she hopes for political reforms that will
allow her to return one day to Georgia, where both her family and her
husband's remain.
4
Be Like J u d it !
When Ifirstfound out that the J in J Folgar stoodfor]udit,

I was so excited. I didn't even know she was a woman,
just that she smashed her opponents like mashed potatoes.
After that, I put her games up on my bedroom wall.
-Linda Nangwale from Zambia
ona's successes and character influenced the younger women of

Georgia, many of whom cite her as a role model. "It all just kept
rolling after Nona won the title. She was the first, and many fol
lowed;' says Rusudan Goletiani. Nona's fame was unprecedented: girls
took up chess instead of enrolling in ballet school; fans would wait to
greet Nona at the airport; people would stop her on the street for her
autograph; many even named their girl children after her. A statue of
Nona was erected in her hometown, Zugdidi. On her sixtieth birthday,
the Georgian government awarded her two cars.
Stretching the limits of what was possible for Georgian women,
Nona's influence extended outside chess. "Nona began an intellectual
revolution." said Rusudan "She turned everything upside down. She
was always beating men. If women could be good at chess, they could
be good at anything. Nowadays Georgian women are more involved
in politics, science, and art. They do not like to sit at home anymore.
61
62 C H ESS B ITCH
It used to be more common for women in Georgia to get married as

young as seventeen or eighteen, but now they are encouraged to be
come professionals before getting married and starting a family."
Rusudan Goletiani's father used to show her newspaper clippings
about Nona, Nana, and Maya, which she would read hoping "that one
day I would become a great player myself1"
The stars of women's chess in Georgia were particularly powerful
role models because they were both accessible and exceptional. Geor
gian girls could read about them in dailies, meet them at exhibitions,
or go to tournaments to watch them play. At the same time Geor
gian women were international heroes, breaking records and winning
championships. Tea Bosmoon-Lanchava laments that trying to develop
women's chess in Holland is not easy because the girls do not have such
national role models to follow.
When Linda Gilbert, a doctor in psychology, surveyed American

chessplayers, she found that the most influential role models were ac
cessible figures such as coaches, teachers, and parents. According to
her study, when fathers were highly educated, only the sons excelled
in chess, but when the mothers were highly educated, both girls and
boys excelled.Whether the mothers were chessplayers made no differ
ence. Successful mothers seemed to transfer their professional ambi
tion to their daughters.
My own experience meshes with Gilbert's findings. My father
taught me the basic moves and rules of the game at an early age, later
advising me on the intricacies. My mother's role in my development as
a chessplayer, though less direct, was just as crucial. She was a professor
of chemistry (Dr. Solomon), an avid games-player, a skilled writer, and
a gourmet cook. My mom always seemed to be excelling at three or
four things at once, all the while having a great time. My mother once
claimed that her birth year-1 940-made her the perfect age to enjoy
B E LI KE J U DIT! 63
the sixties to their fullest. Still, she was more serious than many of her
peers-despite participating in the protests and the parties she wanted a
stable career and financial independence.
She never put too much direct pressure on me, but I understood
from an early age that to her, succeeding in male-dominated endeav
ors, being independent, and having the means to be generous were
important values. Still, there were things I rejected. The main point of
contention between us was my more-relaxed view toward money and
a stable future. The tension settled suddenly as my fame in the chess
world increased. I appeared on the cover of chess magazines and was
profiled in Smithsonian magazine. My mother, as well as many friends of
the family and relatives, suddenly stopped asking me when I was plan
ning to apply to law school. This delighted me, though I sensed it was
based on a misconception that media recognition was lucrative-as if
magazine spreads could be endorsed and cashed.
Asking interview subjects about role models is complicated because

the concept of a role model is both semantic and deeply personal.
When questioned about role models, many of the women I inter
viewed seemed uncomfortable with the idea and declined to name
any. Rebuffed again and again, I began to see that, role models to them
carried with it a negative connotation, equivalent to idol worship. If
I wanted answers, I needed to find a different way to ask my ques
tion. Almira Skripchenko had already denied having a role model, but
when I asked her which women she admired, she had no problem
coming up with tennis player Steffi Graf, philosopher Ayn Rand, and
Grandmaster Judit Polgar.
The women who were willing to name a role model gave a diversi
ty of answers, often choosing someone they had never met. Some cited
men, such as Anna Hahn, who chose a fellow Latvian player, World
Champion Mikhail Tal. Zhu Chen told me her role model was Wu Zei-
64 C H ESS B ITCH
tan, the Chinese empress from the sixteenth century. There was only
one person, a chessplayer, who was named again and again.
Hungarian Judit Polgar, the best woman player by a wide margin,
has had a global impact that extends to girls from five continents. Ec
uadorian Evelyn Moncayo said, "I have admired Judit since I was nine
years old and saw her beating up on all the boys in the World Youth
Championships in Wisconsin." Judit made her realize she could com
pete against boys.
Irina Krush, like Evelyn, began her chess career at the time that
Judit Polgar was cementing her position as one of the w-0rld's best play
ers, female or male. I remember a twelve-year-old Irina telling me once,
"What I would give to be Judit Polgar, for just a day." Recalling this
declaration, I was surprised when in response to my question about
role models, Irina understated Judit's influence on her: "I admire Judit
Polgar, but not in a different way than Karpov." Perhaps Irina had hon
estly forgotten how she had once felt about Judit Polgar. Irina may also
have realized that having Judit as her role model would interfere with
her own ambition. Irina, on her way to becoming a world-class player,
must only want to be Irina. Alexandra Kosteniuk, the young Russian
grandmaster, articulated it best: "I have no heroes in chess. Maybe that's
because I want to become a hero myself."
Free-spirited Bulgarian Grandmaster Antoaneta Stefanova cites no
role models, although she does describe having a youthful fascination
with Bobby Fischer, as did fans all over the world, especially young men.
Fischer's victorious match with Spassky in 1 972 caused an enormous
increase in the popularity of chess in the United States as the general
public-not just chessplayers-eagerly awaited the results of their every
game. Fischer became a symbol for the superiority of individualistic
American ingenuity over systematic Soviet training methods. Fischer's
skills as well as his good looks and quirkiness were admired, while
his poor manners and bizarre demands were accepted as part of the
package that made him great. Fischer's awesome feats in chess made it
too easy to underestimate his early signs of madness. His descent from
American hero into a raving, uncouth anti-Semite was chronicled by
journalist Rene Chun in "Bobby Fischer's Pathetic Endgame," pub
lished in 2002 in The Atlantic Monthly. The danger in equating achieve
ments with character is exemplified by Bobby Fischer; his worshipers
were forced to shed their admiration for the man himself.
For women it is often problematic to have male role models, since the
desire to be like a great man can easily be confused with the desire to
be with a great man. As a teenager and rising chessplayer, I remember
trying to distinguish between the two. At the time I found strong chess
players sexy, but wrote in a journal that more than having crushes on
them, I wanted to crush them!
Such paradoxes seem to abound in the chess world. Indian-born
American chessplayer and coach Shernaz Kennedy was inspired by
Bobby at a young age. The first book she picked up was Fischer's My 60
Memorable Games, and she was immediately intrigued by his clear-cut
victories and lucid writing style. She began to carry a picture of Fischer
in her wallet. (At the time of writing, coincidentally, there is a photo
graph of artist and master chessplayer Marcel Duchamp in my wallet.)
Later Shernaz even became a close friend and confidante of Fischer's.
Shernaz played competitively for years, until settling into her current
job as a high-end chess coach. I met Shernaz, her arms overflowing
with shopping bags from ritzy boutiques, at a cafe on Park Avenue.
As we chatted over iced cappuccinos, raven-haired Shernaz joked to
me: "When I was young, I only wanted to date guys who looked like
Fischer!"
Many women chessplayers find the prospect of dating a player
weaker than they unpalatable. "I would just as soon date someone from
outside the chess world than a weaker player than I," said Anna Hahn,
66 C H ESS BITCH
who likes "men who are good at what they do." Young German star
Elisabeth Paehtz also told me she is attracted to strong chessplayers,
though she would be reluctant to date anyone too good. "A player over
2700 is likely to be crazy!" she jokes.
There is nothing unusual about wanting to be with a man who is
good at what he does. Elizabeth Vicary, a chess expert and coach from
�
Brooklyn, has always been attracted to strong chessplayers and is un

apologetic about it. "There must be some reason to be initially attracted
to someone, and I admire people who are good at what they do. Lik
ing someone for their chess strength is not as superficial as liking them
for their appearance or money." Elizabeth says chessplayers are often
"intelligent, imaginative, and hard-working," and also less likely to be
"entranced by fame and money."
In chess, the Elo rating system clearly delineates worth. Top Brit
ish woman player Harriet Hunt says that very early she realized that
her chess rating was an important part of who she was. Until recently
the international rating system has assigned ratings that ranged from
2200 to 2800. In 2000 the system was amended, and international
ratings, as they do in the United States Federation, go as low as 100.
Rating denotes value to such a large extent that one grandmaster
compared losing ten rating points at the top level to losing ten liters
of blood. A high chess rating is a status symbol. Many people refer
to opponents not by their names but by their ratings: "I am playing
a 2250, or I lost to some 1 500," since the number becomes a more
crucial mark of identity than a name. At the highest levels, names are
obviously used, and no chessplayer would say, "I am paired against
some 2700:' After all, there are fewer than twenty players rated over
2700, and part of the deal in becoming that strong is that you do get
your name enshrined.
That the chess rating system presents value in such a stark, numeri
cal way leads to some difficult questions for women. Does the desire to
be with a strong man conflict with the desire for a woman to be strong
herself? Is sleeping with someone who is a great player a consolation
for not being a great player oneself? Elizabeth Vicary thinks that her
own motivation was squashed, partly because as an attractive woman,
she was already a star in the chess world. "As a young female 1 900
in the chess world, I got so much attention-which seemed like re
spect-from all the best players that my incentives to improve were less.
If I were a guy, the only way I could have gotten such attention would
be to study all the time." Proximity to greatness becomes a substitute
for greatness itself.
There are countless examples of chess relationships in which a
male grandmaster is with a talented, but weaker, partner: beginning
with U.S. Women's Champion Mona Karff and International Master
Dr. Edward Lasker up to and including today's couplings between
elite Grandmaster Alexei Shirov (27301) and Victoria Cmilyte (2450),
or the now-broken marriages between Almira Skripchenko (2500)
and Joel Lautier (2700) and Alisa Galliamova (2500) and Vassily Iv
anchuk (2750) . And these are only the high-profile examples, where
the talent in the relationship is phenomenal and the female players are
chess stars in their own right. The tendency for women to choose the
top male players is partly because of the skewed female/male ratio at
chess tournaments-so few women play chess that they usually have
a choice between many suitors. "Why not pick the strongest?" asked
American player Diana Lanni. This phenomenon also occurs in less
male-dominated subcultures. My mother, Sally Solomon, pointed out
'
that at bridge tournaments-where the male-female ratio is far more

balanced-"whenever you see a weaker woman player with a top man
player, everyone begins to whisper that they are sleeping together.And
most of the time they are ! "
Victoria Cmilyte 's marriage with Alexei Shirov is the strongest and
tallest union in chess history (both are over six feet tall) . The two met at
68 C H ESS BITCH
the 2000 Istanbul Olympiad in which Shirov was immediately taken in

by the smiling, radiant woman. In the tournament, she won game after
game, earning a gold medal on board one. At the time, she was only
eighteen years old, and had already won the mixed Lithuanian Cham
pionship. She was one of the best young players in the world of either
gender, and naturally she had already stuqied the games of Shirov, one
of the most thrilling figures in modern chess, a brilliant tactician and
fighter. (His book of games is titled Fire on Board.)
Cmilyte said that her initial attraction to Shirov was largely based
on his stature in the chess world. However, she insists that after a few
weeks something more "substantial" such as love is needed to sustain a
relationship. A few weeks after meeting in Istanbul, Cmilyte and Shirov
both played in the 2000 World Championship in New Delhi, India.
Cmilyte got knocked out first, but she stayed on to support Shirov, who
proposed to her during this tournament. A few months later, Cmi
lyte and Shirov were married and they soon had two children, Dmitri
(2002) and Alexander (2004) . I caught up with the young mother re
cently, who told me that she does not study chess too often with her
husband, but he does help her at tournaments with her opening prepa
rations. Still, it is clear when talking with Victoria that the focus in the
family is on Alexei's chess career: "It's very hard to maintain his level at
the top of the chess world."
Men are sometimes also attracted to powerful and intelligent wom
en. In the chess world there are examples of couples in which the
strength of the players is equal, as in the marriage between Mohamad
Al-Modiahki and Zhu Chen, both of whom are rated about 2500. Or
the young couple Irina Krush and Pascal Charbonneau. The generally
amiable International Master Almira Skripchenko was clearly annoyed
when I asked her whether women had less incentive to get strong for
fear of intimidating men. Attractive, charming, and confident, Almira
has always received attention, but she does not believe that her chess
B E LIKE J U DIT! 69
strength detracts from this. "Guys are impressed by chess skill; it's ri
diculous to think they'd be turned off by it."
Other women players maintain that men are intimidated by smart
women. Olga Alexandrova, a grandmaster from Russia, ranked as the
thirtieth woman in the world, declared in an interview that the worst
thing about being professional women players is that "men are afraid
of us!" When she meets a man, she keeps her profession secret for as
long as possible. She finds it unusual for a man "to appreciate intel
ligence. . . there is a common stereotype that if a woman plays chess
she is either abstruse or crazy."2 This reminds me of an episode of Sex
in the City where the powerful law partner Miranda, beautiful but
luckless in love, guesses that her power as a law partner is intimidat
ing men. So she starts lying to guys, telling them that she is a flight
attendant. Lo and behold, their interest multiplies. Such anecdotes are
supported by serious psychological studies, one of which showed that
men found female geniuses to be unattractive.
Underlying such male fear of smart women is the ideal that men
ought to hold the dominant role. The British Master Susan Arkell
(now Lalic), who married an even stronger player, Grandmaster Keith
Arkell, was asked by her compatriot Cathy Forbes if she wanted to
become a stronger player than her husband. Susan responded, "How
could a man still be a man after being beaten by his wife?" As outra
geous as this quote is, in a way, it goes to the heart of how complex it
can be for men to accept powerful women as role models or influenc
es. It is common, on the other hand, for women to identify with the
accomplishments of men, as the French feminist Simone de Beauvoir
(
pointed out in The Second Sex. " [T]he adolescent girl wishes at first
to identify with males; when she gives that up, she then seeks to share
in their masculinity by having one of them in love with her," writes
de Beauvoir. "Normally she is looking for a man who represents male
superiority."3
70 C H ESS BITCH
My intermingling feelings of envy of and desire for men became

clear one Valentine's Day, which I spent in my apartment with my
friend Bonnie. Both of us were single at the time, and our intimate
conversation eased the holiday's shrill celebration of romance and
happy couples. We stayed up late discussing relationships and drinking
hot chocolate. We realized that we were poth attracted most of all to
the men who we might like to be. When encountering such a man, I
often am cautious, fearing that my own identity and creativity will un
ravel, replaced by mere admiration for my lover's brilliance. Realizing
all this brings me solace when crushes don't work out. I know that my
desire for some particular man often masks a deeper urge to experi
ence the world in another skin; preferably as a man as I am envious and
curious about the more direct way men seem to approach life; ideally a
super-talented man, with a high chess rating or fantastic prose style.
"Chess is so heteronormative," said my friend Martha, upon learning

that it is illegal for two Kings to rest on adjacent squares. Although
Martha was j oking, the sexual symbolism in chess is a rich topic. Chess
is an intellectually intimate game in which two players sit for hours,
both gazing at each other as well as at the chessboard. The erotic con
notations of chessplay were at a peak in Medieval Europe, where Mari
lyn Yalom, author of Birth ef the Chess Queen, points out, "The Queen
sent out vibrations that were responsible for sexualizing the playing
field." In a chapter on "Chess and the Cult of Love,"Yalom describes
an engraving of a chessgame from a fifteenth-century text: "The chess
match was considered sufficient to tell prospective readers that the po
ems would be about love:' Yalom despondently concludes that today
the romantic aspects of chess have mostly faded. There are still remnants
of a more sexy chess. At a cocktail party I met a woman who told me
she shunned chess as a child, but recently took up the game after she
realized that it was a great way to meet guys "who aren't stupid!" An
ironic scene in Austin Powers II: The Spy VVho Shagged Me depicts chess
as erotica. In it, dopey spy comedian Austin Powers sits down to play
chess with a buxom, barely clad opponent. The competition quickly
turns to foreplay, with chess pieces used as props.
A common charge is that women chessplayers often win against
stronger male opponents, because men are distracted during the play. In
one case, a man from Australia who lost to a young woman complained
to organizers and journalists that her low-cut shirt had distracted him
and caused him to lose.4 But an attractive opponent can also inspire
great play, as one male chessplayer confided in me: "Guys play better
against women, because they want to impress them." My own motiva
tion spikes when I play against men I admire or find attractive. I find it
fun to play against someone I like, and therefore I work harder at the
board. At the 1 999 World Girls' Championship held in the capital of
Armenia, Yerevan, I realized that I could also experience heightened
concentration against women I admire.
Armenia borders Georgia, and the people of Armenia share the
strong features, ancient history, and patriotic fervor of the Georgians.
Irina Krush and I were roommates at the championship, both repre
senting the United States. The conditions at the tournament ranged
from shabby to grand. The food, often inedible, caused many players
to lose ten pounds at the event. (Even with heartier fare, it is typical
for chessplayers to slim down at events; playing is a physical strain, and
nerves contribute to long stretches of fasting.) Irina and I subsisted on
bread and fresh tomatoes and cucumbers, eschewing the daily mys
tery meats. We slept on tiny beds with stiff mattresses in rooms with a
'
kind of exotic post-communist charm. Our balconies did open onto

Yerevan's central square, an inspirational setting reminiscent of James
Bond movies.
The tournament itself began with a dramatic upset on board one,
in which Greek player Maria Kouvatsou was paired against top-seeded
72 CH ESS BITCH
Rusudan Goletiani, then playing for Georgia. After Maria sacrificed

two pawns in the opening, Rusudan was unable to shield herself from
'
Maria's onslaught. She resigned, still not castled. Charged by this first-
round victory, Maria steam-rolled through the rest of the field, beating
four players over 2200. Not in the top half of the field, Maria was ex
pected to lose more games than she won. She hadn't planned to play in
the tournament, but when she went to the Greek Federation to inform
them of her decision to cancel, there was no one at the office. "I took
this as a sign that I should play."
The movie-like narrative of Maria's charge drew me in; it was
hard for me to stop looking at this hip woman from Athens, who
wore a nose ring and stylish outfits in bright colors. She had a nearly
sublime focus while playing. Her long hair tucked behind her ears, she
placed her hands on her temples and stared at the board, immobile for
hours.
In the last round, I was paired against Maria. I had no chance of
winning the tournament myself, but ifI beat her, there was a possibility
that my roommate, Irina Krush, would tie for first and earn a medal. I
traveled to Yerevan right in the middle of a semester at NYU, and some
times I found it hard to focus on the chess; while playing my thoughts
would drift to the possibility of drug legalization or existentialist lit
erature. I had no such problems in concentrating against Kouvatsou. I
became aware before the game of a certain amount of attraction that I
felt toward Maria. I thought she was beautiful and cool and I wanted
to impress her. This newfound clarity allowed me to play my best. I did
win, in my best game of the tournament. Maria still won the tourna
ment on tiebreak. In the end, I tied for fifth place,just a half a point out
of the four-way tie for first, which did include Irina Krush.
There is a wide range of ways for a woman to react to another
powerful woman in the same field. The range can span everything
from accepting her as a role model to feeling envy or even to feel-
B E LIKE J U DIT! 73
ing attraction. Too often, the admiration of one girl for another is
completely displaced by jealousy. A heterosexual woman ought to
be able to recognize and embrace the feelings of respect, admiration,
and even attraction for a female peer.And the complicated admiration
that a woman can have for a man is too often displaced by attraction.
It should be possible to be attracted to and competitive with a great
man-to want to be with him and to beat him. Judith Butler, gender
theorist, says, "Desire and identification can coexist." I would add that
they should, and if we are aware of this peaceful coexistence, sexual
relations will improve.
The first time I saw my childhood idol, Judit Polgar, in person is
imprinted on my memory. As a teenager I read voraciously about the
Polgars and played through all ofJudit's major tournament games. Her
style even influenced my choice of openings-I switched from the rela
tively restrained c3 Sicilian to the riskiest lines of the Open Sicilian, as
championed by Judit.
I was spending a couple of days in Holland, where Judit was play
ing in an elite grandmaster event. Sightseeing would wait for another
trip. I traveled to Tilburg, an hour away from Amsterdam, to the world
class event Judit was playing in, where she was the only woman among
twelve men. That day she was playing a strong Dutch Grandmaster,
Jereon Piket, and I studied how she looked at the board with a focused
but calm gaze. In the post-mortem, she joked around and assertively
waved away a smoker. After the analysis, a friend introduced me to
'
Judit, who was friendly, though she declined to join us for dinner, ex-
plaining that she was tired and wanted to study for her game the next
day. This disappointed me, but I also admired her decisiveness. In the
next few years, I realized how hard it can sometimes be, especially for a
woman, to say no when asked to join friends for parties or socializing.
I didn't need to know Judit personally-she was already very pow
erful to me. Since I didn't know her, my image of her reflected what
74 C H ESS B ITC H
I wanted to be just as much as it reflected what she was actually like,

which is perhaps the essence of a role model.
5
Bringing U p Grand m asters:

The Pol gar Sisters
From Greek mythology to fairy tales to Chekhov all the

way up to Sherwood Schwartz and U0ody Allen, Ui?stern
culture has evoked sisters times three to personify the forces
that bewitch and buffet humankind.
-Melissa Morrison in Bitch magazine
henever Garry Kasparov, the top-ranked man in the world

since 1 980, plays Judit Polgar, the top-ranked woman in the
world since 1 988, the crowd is transfixed. Garry, with his
good looks and confident swagger, fits into his glamorous Armani suits
as easily as he fits into his larger-than-life role as the best chessplayer
ever. Judit stands just over five feet tall, and-aside from her fiery red
hair-her appearance is understated; she is possessed of a calm presence
both on and off the board. The drama of the war of the sexes is height
ened by Kasparov's outrageous remarks. "Chess is a mixture of sport,
psychological warfare, science, and art;' he said to the Times of London
in 2002. He continued, "When you look at all these components, man
dominates. Every single component of chess belongs to the areas of
male domination."
75
76 C H ESS BITCH
The two stars were paired in Moscow in a 2002 match featuring

Russia Against the Rest of the World. Judit, as always, opened with her
King pawn. Garry chose the Berlin defense, a solid system that usually
results in a trade of Queens on move seven. It was a surprising choice
for Garry; who prefers complicated positions with the Queens on the
board. Moreover, he had recently been defeated by the Berlin system
when Vladimir Kramnik used it in their 2002 world-championship
match, ending Kasparov's fifteen-year-long world reign. Judit Polgar
tends to be even more aggressive than Kasparov, favoring the most vio
lent variations in nearly every opening. "In analysis, I will sometimes
suggest to Judit to trade Queens and she will look at me and chant 'no,
no, no,"' recalls her trainer, Polish Grandmaster Bartek Macieja. "She
knows she will have more chances to trick her opponent with Queens
on the board." Talk ofJudit's aggressive style can be misleading. She is
a world-class player who often wins in long, strategic battles, or in the
endgame. Trading Queens against the Berlin defense is, according to
theory, the only challenging option. So Judit did just that, calmly main
taining her advantage. In a cool performance, she dominated the play
throughout the entire game, forcing Kasparov's resignation on move
forty-two.
This was Garry's first loss to a woman, and the first time that the
strongest woman in the world defeated the strongest man. It was a
monumental encounter, moving the once-hypothetical notion that a
female could become world champion one step closer to reality. The
milestone, many might argue, could have been reached nearly a decade
earlier when Judit played Garry for the first time in a game marred by
controversy.
Their first contest was in 1 993 in Linares, Spain, where the stron
gest players in the world meet each year for a round-robin tournament.
Judit, who was seventeen at the time, had the white pieces against
Kasparov. He replied energetically to her opening and was able to
B R I N G I NG U P G RA N D MASTERS 77
establish a strong position. Just when he was about to finish off the
game, Kasparov picked up his Knight and placed it on cS, a losing
square. Noticing that this move would be a grave error, Garry lifted the
Knight and put it elsewhere. The question would arise as to whether
he had taken his hand off the piece. Judit said nothing at the time, and
Kasparov won the game. Afterward Judit said that she believed Kasp
arov might have let go of the Knight on the fatal square. If so, accord
ing to the strictly enforced "touch-move" rule, he would be forced to
leave it there. After examining the videotapes of the match, it was clear
that Kasparov did, if only for a fraction of a second, take his hand off
the piece. If Garry had realized that he had released the piece, he was
morally obliged to abide by the rules. On the other hand,Judit should
have reacted when it happened. It is unorthodox to make a claim once
a game has been completed and lost. Nevertheless, Judit was furious
with Kasparov, accosting him at the end of the tournament, asking,
"How could you do this to me?" For two years Judit and Garry did
not speak to each other.
After this loss, Judit dropped eight more games to Kasparov, in
cluding a heartbreaking one in which she lost a drawn endgame. She
had only a Rook, to Kasparov's Rook and Knight, which theoretically
is a dead-draw. But Judit was in time pressure, meaning that she had
to play several moves in a short time period, sharply increasing the
chance that she would make a mistake. Kasparov did trick her, reeling
in yet another win.
Judit's victory in Moscow was long overdue. When I asked her
about beating Kasparov, she recognized that "it was a historic moment,"
but she was not very enthusiastic about the game, saying "it didn't feel
so special to win, because besides that game, I had a terrible tourna
ment." Judit's response to her landmark victory was characteristically
low-key. Busy studying chess and working on her game, she prefers to
leave the discussion of her accomplishments to fans and journalists.
78 CH ESS BITCH
Before the Polgars arrived on the scene, male chauvinism in chess

circles was more widespread and virulent. "The Polgar sisters changed
everything," says master Ivana Jezierska, originally from Poland, who
played women's chess both pre- and post-Polgar. "I am so grateful for
what they did." Judit, along with her two older sisters, Sofia and Susan,
was responsible for altering the course of women's progress in chess.
The old questions "Could women ever be grandmasters?" or "Could
women defeat the best players in the world?" were dismissed by Judit
Polgar's success. New questions took their place: "In general, can wom
en be as good as men?" or "Will a woman ever be world champion?"
Laszlo Polgar was determined to turn his children into geniuses, a proj
ect he planned before they were born. In Bring Up Genius!, he main
tains that with dedication, any parent can raise a genius, writing, "It
is much easier to blame differences in ability on inheritance than to
investigate the intricate social roots." Laszlo was also convinced that
girls, if raised shielded from sexist cultural biases, could achieve at the
same level as men.
Laszlo married a fellow teacher, Klara Alberger, a union that would
eventually produce three daughters. Fortunately for him, Klara was
willing to be part of her husband's experiment. All the members of the
Polgar family would function as a single unit with Laszlo as the mas
termind, and his children the flesh-and-blood subjects.
The Polgars' first child, Susan, found a chess set in an old rusted
trunk in 1 972 when she was three. The little girl was immediately at
tracted to the game, mesmerized by the pieces and the stories her father
told about them as he taught her the rules. Although he himself was
not a skilled player, Laszlo, who had always loved chess, was thrilled by
Susan's interest in the game. Just half a year later at the age of four, she
won her first tournament, the Budapest Girls' Under 1 1 Championship,
with an astonishing 1 0-0 score. "I was just a little munchkin. I had to sit
B R I N G I NG U P G R A N D MASTERS 79
Top (I to r): Susan, Judit, Sofia; Middle (I to r): Sofia, Susan, Judit;
Bottom (I to r): Judit, Sofia, Susan. (Photos courtesy Susan Polgar.)
80 C H ESS BITCH
on pillows to reach the chessboard."1 Recognizing her potential, Laszlo

began to organize an intensive chess-training program for her. Six-year
old Susan devoted time to an alternate intellectual course, advanced
math. Laszlo thought she could be a prodigy in either area, but wanted
her to choose between the two. "It was an easy decision," she now re
calls: "I hated math:' After abandoning math, she began to devote twice
as much time to chess, studying it for six to eight hours a day.
She progressed rapidly and became the strongest girl in Hungary
when she was only twelve years old, making her eligible to represent
her country in international youth competitions. Susan traveled to the
West in 1981 when she played in the World Girls' Under 1 6 Champi
onship in England.Years later Susan vividly remembers her first impres
sions of the West: "lt was amazing to be in London. Nowadays you can
get anything anywhere, but then, the variety of goods and services was
astonishing in comparison to Communist Hungary." Not that the fam
ily could afford to buy much at that time. The Polgars were not well off,
so Klara and Susan were traveling on a tight budget.
Susan, who was only twelve, won the gold medal with five wins
and two draws. In retrospect, Susan sees this victory as a crucial mo
ment of her career: "The name Susan Polgar would now be a name to
be reckoned with."2
One of Susan's draws in England was against American player
Baraka Shabazz, the first African-American to represent the United
States internationally. Unlike Susan, whose tournament in England was
at the start of an illustrious career, this was destined to be Baraka's final
international foray.
Baraka's father, like Susan's, pushed her to study chess for long
hours, sometimes from seven in the morning until late at night. The en
tire Shabazz family moved from Alaska to San Francisco so that Baraka
could train with the best coaches. Her father's control over his daughter
was even more intense than that of Laszlo Polgar. One coach reports
B R I N G I N G U P G RA N D MASTERS 81
that after asking Baraka if she wanted something to eat, she replied, "If
I accept, my father would be very angry." Baraka got some media at
tention for her successes, including a lengthy profile in the Los Angeles
Times. Her father predicted in the article that exhibitions, books, and
tournament prizes would make their whole family rich-he even envi
sioned a Baraka doll. Baraka did become an expert-the category just
before master, the first African-American woman to do so. She faded
from the game before becoming a master, maybe burnt out from the
pressure brought by her father. In contrast to the inspirational chronicle
of the Polgars, the short-lived career of Baraka Shabazz is a cautionary
tale. Excessively pushy parents are likely to guide their children not to
greatness but into early retirement.Why wasn't this so with the Polgars?
It may have been because of the genuine love that was shared within
the family, the girls' quick successes and financial rewards, as well as the
deep passion the girls had for the game itself.
By July of 1 984 the name Susan Polgar appeared at the top of
the ratings list for women. Susan at fifteen was already higher ranked
than the world champion, Maya Chiburdanidze. Susan was ready to
play stronger opposition and made it clear that she wanted to compete
against the best men. In the fall of 1 984 she was awarded the presti
gious international master title, becoming the youngest woman ever to
receive it. "At this time in my career, it felt as though the sky was the
limit," said Susan.
Susan's appearance fees, prize money, and endorsements significantly

improved the economic status of the family. They moved out of their
one-room flat in Budapest into a much larger apartment. Laszlo and
Klara quit their teachingjobs to concentrate on training Susan and
"<
her sisters, Sofia and Judit, who were born in 1974 and 1 976. From
their experiences with Susan, Laszlo and Klara had gained invaluable
knowledge.
82 C H ESS . B ITCH
Although his daughters were able to beat him quite easily, Laszlo's
role in their training was integral. Laszlo could now afford to hire train
ers to coach the girls. He made sure that the girls had access to all the
best books and latest periodicals. He laboriously collected and orga
nized games from all over the world-a task that today would take
minutes with an Internet connection.
The Polgar routine was rigorous and structured. They awoke at
six and started the day with three hours of table tennis. The sisters
were home-schooled by Laszlo and Klara, who were using their sav
ings to support the girls' full-time education. Laszlo warns that school
is "very dangerous for talented children because leveling out happens at
a low standard."3 Glad to have escaped the daily grind of the classroom,
middle sister Sofia says, "To go to school is a major waste of time. You
could study a textbook for a year that it is possible to read and absorb in
a week or two." The parents made sure to cover subjects outside chess,
compiling very full daily schedules, including the study of many lan
guages: English, Russian, Spanish, and Esperanto. Laszlo was a supporter
of the Esperanto movement, whose goal was to unite post-war Europe
with a common language. There are only one million Esperanto speak
ers today, among them Laszlo, Susan, and Klara. In the afternoon and
evening they spent up to eight hours on chess. There was even a desig
nated block of time for telling jokes.
Defending himself against the many cr1t1cs who have accused
Laszlo of robbing his daughters of normal lives, he says, "They did have
a real childhood, because they are not building sand castles, but real
castles, castles of knowledge."4 When questioned about her structured
upbringing, Susan answers with a balanced view. "My sisters and I trav
eled to forty countries and had the chance to see things that most chil
dren could only read about in National Geographic. On the other hand,
we missed out on doing some of the typical things that young people
do, like going to the movies or hanging out with friends."When I ask
Susan what she regrets missing in particular, she seems at first to have
trouble finding the words, then simply replies, "Goofing off!"
Susan's battles were not with her parents. From a very young age
she had disagreements with the Hungarian Chess Federation, which
thought that she should play in the Hungarian Women's Championship
in order to prove herself as a top woman player. Susan refused, worried
that playing against weaker opposition would be a waste of time and
an impediment to her progress. She thought that the only way to earn
her own grandmaster title was a steady diet of male grandmaster op
ponents. As punishment, she was barred from playing in tournaments in
the West for the three years between 1 982-85. Susan complained that
this "crippled my career at a time when I had peak interest."
When the ban on traveling was finally lifted, Susan and Sofia went
to the United States with their mother, Klara, to play in the 1985 New
York Open. From the start Susan fell in love with the city: "I used to
sit on the subway and marvel that each person was a different color.
That kind of diversity was unheard of in Communist Hungary. I knew
I really wanted to live in New York City." Susan's wanderlust, evident
from her first trips to London and NewYork, combined with her rocky
history with the Hungarian authorities, foreshadowed the move that
would come a decade later.
Even more painful for Susan than the ban on traveling was the
ratings fiasco of 1 986. FIDE made a controversial decision to increase
the ratings of all female players by 1 00 points. The thinking behind
this strange move was that the ratings of women were kept artificially
low since they played only amongst themselves. Adding the rating
points was thought to be an appropriate countermeasure. Since Susan,
at this point, played exclusively against men, FIDE refused to add the
points to her rating, making her the only woman who did not reap
the benefits of the bonus points. As a result, Susan lost her first-place
ranking among women: Maya Chiburdanidze leap-frogged over her.
84 CH ESS B ITCH
Susan told me, " I was heartbroken. My parents always taught me that
in chess, if I study and work harder than my opponents, I would beat
them. It felt like good results were not enough anymore. I got really
depressed."
While Susan was fighting the chess bureaucracy, younger sisters
Sofia and Judit were being intensively trained to follow in her foot
steps. In 1 986 when Susan returned to play in the New York Open,
her younger sisters accompanied her. Their results were incredible.
Ten-year-old Judit won the unrated section with 7.5/8, while Sofia
tied for first in a reserve section. In the following year they returned
to New York, where both Sofia and Judit defeated their first grand
masters. Judit's strength was particularly impressive, drawing glowing
praise from the British daily The Guardian: "She is the best eleven
year-old of either sex in the entire history of chess. "
The threesome was a sensation. Here were three sisters who were
possibly the strongest women players in the world. The Hungarian
public and the chess world wanted the Polgars to prove themselves
against the mighty Soviets, who until then had been resting on their
laurels, unchallenged as the top women players.
The Polgars abandoned their usual refusal to compete in wom
en's events by accepting an invitation to play in the 1 988 Olympiad
in Thessaloniki, an old port city in Greece, enclosed on one side by
the sea and on the other by mountains. American Grandmaster Larry
Christiansen describes rough conditions in Thessaloniki: "The traffic
noise outside our hotel extended to the early hours. The playing hall
was utterly smoke-filled and the restrooms were primitive. Pollution
was bad." Still, Larry says the players had a great time, at after-game
parties concentrated in a bustling hotel in the downtown. The Polgars
did not socialize at all, devoting their free days and evenings to prepara
tion. I asked Susan if her father forbade his daughters from going to the
big dance held before a free day. " It was not recommended," she said.
The Hungarian team was composed of Susan, nineteen; Judit,

twelve; S ofia, fourteen; and Idliko Madl, eighteen, another promis
ing j unior player. The Olympiad comp etition is structured accord
ing to the Swiss system, in which teams are paired in the first round
based on ratings. If there are ten players, the first-ranked would play
the sixth-ranked, the second would play the seventh-ranked, and
so on. Starting from the second round, teams with the same scores
play one another.
Top teams such as the Soviets and the Hungarians tend to be
paired near the middle of the tournament. This time they were paired
together in the fifth round, dubbed by the tournament bulletins as
"The Clash of the Amazons." In the three games of the round, Judit
and Susan both drew and Madl won (Sofia sat out), giving Hungary
a crucial 2-1 victory over the Soviets. But it wasn't over. Teams can
only play each other one time, meaning that the winner of the entire
event hinged on which team routed their opposition more harshly in
the final rounds.
Twelve-year-old Judit finished with 1 2 . 5 points out of 1 3 , the half
coming from her draw in the Soviet match. The way she won her
games was just as memorable as her awesome score. Her quick sev
enteen-move victory against the Bulgarian player, Pavlina Angelova,
introduced the world to Judit's inspired style, which featured graceful
development, a subtle Bishop sacrifice, followed by a Queen sacrifice
that forced her opponent's King into an inescapable trap. The game was
over: it was checkmate. Judit's style was already becoming legendary.
Just winning was not enough for her-she had to tear her opponents
to pieces.
It was this tournament in which Elena Akmilovskaya made her
sudden unannounced departure to marry John Donaldson, paving the
way for a Hungarian triumph. The young squad composed of teen
agers and preteens broke Soviet dominance of women's Olympiads,
86 C H ESS B ITCH
which dated back to the inception of the events in 1 9 5 7. "We were

euphoric," says Susan.
The chess world was impressed, while the Hungarian press hailed
the Polgars as national heroines. Susan recalls how "the victory changed
our lives completely."Judit said, "Everybody now wants to help us who
before were against us." Judit sarcastically mocks these fair-weather
friends. "Oh, yes, you are very nice."5
Two years later the Polgars attended the 1 990 Olympiad in Novi
Sad, Yugoslavia, hoping to repeat their gold-medal performances. This
time the three Polgars played on the top three boards: Susan, first; Ju
dit, second; and Sofia, third; with Idliko Madl as the reserve player.
The Polgars had improved in the past two years, but so had the Soviet
squad. Women's World Champion Chiburdanidze was joined by for
mer champion Nona Gaprindihasvilli along with two younger players,
Russian Alisa Galliamova and Georgian Ketevan Arakhamia. The cru
cial match between Hungary and the Soviets did not go well for the
Polgars-Judit and Sofia both lost, while Susan managed to narrow the
margin to 2-1 by defeating Chiburdanidze on the first board.
The final rounds decided the contest, just as they had in Thes
saloniki. This time the Soviet and Hungarian teams had accumulated
the same number of points. The gold medals would have to be de
termined by the first tiebreak, the strength of their respective fields,
which would be judged by adding up and comparing the results of
all the teams Russia and Hungary had played throughout the event.
The Polgars won by a hair. The medal for the top performance rating
in the Olympiad went to Georgian Ketevan Arakhamia, whose spec
tacular score of 1 2-0 exceeded Judit Polgar's 1 0-2-not a bad result
for anyone, but with Judit's astronomical FIDE rating of 2555 her fans
expected even more.
After the Novi Sad Olympiad, the three girls never again played to
gether as a team.Judit, in fact, never played in another women's tourna-
B R I N G I N G U P G R A N D MASTERS 87
ment. The paths of sisters Sofia, Susan, and Judit were about to diverge,
both geographically and professionally.
Her sisters overshadowed middle child Sofia, sandwiched between pio

neer Susan and prodigy Judit. She became less focused on chess and
more interested in exploring life outside of chess. Although Sofia gen
erally had the lowest rating in the family, she had no shortage of talent.
An old trainer wrote, "I believe Sofia had a comparable talent [to Judit]
and with some luck in the mid-eighties she might have had a similarly
astonishing career."6 When she was fourteen years old, Sofia had the
result of a lifetime in an open tournament in Rome. Out of the nine
rounds, Sofia won eight games and drew the last. Five of her opponents
were grandmasters, and seven had higher ratings than Sofia, whose rat
ing was 2295 at the time. This was one of the best performances of all
time, enough not only for her to win the tournament ahead of top
grandmasters, but strong enough to earn her the first of three norms
required for the title of grandmaster. Her success caught the attention
of the chess press-one headline screamed, "Super Sofia! Third Polgar
sister lashes out in Rome."
Over a decade later I asked Sofia about Rome. "It was a great per
formance on the heels of our victory of Thessaloniki, and my interest
in chess was then at its peak;' Sofia recalled. "At the same time, my re
sult in Rome was difficult to live up to, and it may have been too much,
too soon." Sofia's triumph in Rome was to be her one and only great
result. She never came closer to becoming a grandmaster. She grew out
of her status as a child prodigy, and was uninterested in continuing her
career by playing in women's tournaments. Her level was not quite high
enough to compete with the top male players.
Sofia met her future husband, Yona Kosashvili, a grandmaster and
also a medical doctor, at a chess tournament. They married and moved
to Tel Aviv, Israel. That Sofia, who was interested in so many things
88 C H ESS B ITCH
besides chess, married "someone involved with chess at all" was a sur
prise to older sister Susan. Living so far from both of her sisters and her
beloved hometown was difficult for Sofia. "I miss Budapest, the archi
tecture, and my own language. And most of all, I miss being together
with my family."
Sofia has never felt resentful or unhappy about her chess position
in her family. Her other interests are important to her; she studies inte
rior design and has a love for art and literature. Her favorites are Vin
cent Van Gogh and Czech writer Milan Kundera. "In other fields,just
like in chess," says Sofia, "women have not been allowed to rise to the
top because of cultural constraints." There is only one woman whom
she truly admires: "I don't really have any female role models besides
Judit. When growing up, our parents taught us to believe in ourselves."
When I ask her if she is a feminist, she replies, "I am just an average
woman of the twentieth-first century. I have my feminist ideas, but I
also want to stay at home with my children as much as possible."
The intensity and talent with which Judit approaches the game has
made her unquestionably the greatest female chessplayer in history, so
far ahead of any other woman in chess (her rating is between 1 50 and
200 points higher) that she has not even played one game against a
woman in six years. "My attitude toward the game, especially in my
youth," Judit tells me, "could be called obsessive." Her childhood was
decorated with unprecedented achievements. In the same year that she
scorched Thessaloniki,Judit became the youngest player of either gen
der to gain an international master norm. Also in 1 988 Judit became
the first girl to win a mixed world competition, the so-called Boys' Un
der 12 Championship in Romania. And 1988 was only a typical year.
As a preteen Judit began her quest for the highest title in chess,
grandmaster. She was racing to break Fischer's record in acquiring the
grandmaster title at fifteen years and eight months. It seemed as ifJudit
Judit Polgar, age 1 1 , playing in the top section of the 1 988 New York Ope n .
(Photos by Gwen Feldman. )
was on track. A twelve-year-old Judit scored her first GM norm at the

start of 1 989, in Amsterdam, Holland, causing a sensation in the chess
crazed nation: "Polgaritis conquers Holland," wrote Hans Kottman, a
reporter for New In Chess, going on to describe Judit's conduct at the
board: "She smilingly rattled off deeply calculated variations, leaving
her male opponents quite embarrassed with the situation." Almost
two years later, after many near misses, Judit scored her second norm
in a round-robin tournament in Vienna. Judit had only one major
tournament in which to score her last norm and break Bobby's record:
the 1 99 1 Hungarian championship.
Both Judit and Susan played in the nine-round all-play-all national
competition. Judit began the event with three draws: the first against
her sister Susan-who performed well in the event, placing third-and
the second and third against two veteran grandmasters of Hungarian
chess-Portisch and Adorjan. Portisch's irritating remark that " a woman
world champion would be against nature"7 may have provided the ad
ditional and necessary motivation for Judit. Portisch realized that he
was old-fashioned, pointing out that people once thought that no man
would ever walk on the moon. However, a female chess champion, he
said, would be an even less-likely circumstance.
90 CH ESS B ITCH
In the second half of the tournament, Jud.it was unstoppable. At

her level, having the first move was an enormous advantage, and in
rounds four and six, she used the white pieces to devastating effect.
Her opponents helped her by choosing very tactical opening varia
tions, turning the games into the mad melees in which Jud.it was bril
liant. By the last round,Judit had five points out of eight and was in a
fantastic position.
A draw would clinch her the grandmaster title, but a win would
earn her the title of Hungarian Champion. Would Jud.it play a quiet line
in order to secure the draw or would she go for the tournament victory
as well? She played the most uncompromising line imaginable. Navigat
ing through the thicket of variations, Judit emerged from the scramble
into a winning endgame. Her opponent, International Master Tibor
Tolnai, was twice her age. He resigned on move forty-eight: Bobby
Fischer's record was shattered.Judit became the first woman to win a na
tional championship, and only the fourth women to gain the GM title.
Judit's list of accomplishments started to read like a laundry list, as
British master and chess journalist Cathy Forbes points out: "Reports of
the Polgar sisters' successes, at first astonishing, began in time to sound
like a litany-repetitive and predictable . . . . the repetitive refrain, symbol
ized by stark numeric scores, was only success."8
After gaining the grandmaster title,Judit improved even more and
advanced into the elite group of players rated over 2600. This score of
players, the roster of which changes from year to year, now always in
cludes Judit. For her, chess is a lucrative profession in which she battles
the top men in the world in well-sponsored round-robin tournaments
and rapid events in glamorous locations such as Aruba, Monte Carlo,
and Buenos Aires. Judit is always in demand-she is the only woman
in the world able to hold her own against the world elite.Judit's pres
ence ensures peak media interest, and her single-appearance fee is
about $1 0,000.
Judit's first success in a high-profile "super" tournament was in

Madrid in 1 994. She placed first in a strong field that included Latvian
Alexei Shirov and Russians Evgeny Bareev and Sergei Tiviakov, all
world-class players. New In Chess described her victims as "lamentable
figures reminiscent of the gloomiest Goya pictures," to which Judit
added, " I am now eighteen and they behave as though they lost to a
little girl. "9
Judit continues to try for more tournament victories. When I con
gratulated her on all her recent successes, she, like a true champion,
reacted with customary dissatisfaction: "True, my rating has gone up,
but it's been ages since I won a tournament!"
Judit is notoriously reluctant to agree to interviews, so I was pleased
that she had time to meet me for a one-hour interview. I took a cab
to the greenest and most posh neighborhood in Budapest and walked
up two flights to Judit's immaculately decorated apartment, which she
shares with her tall, dark, and handsome veterinarian husband, Dr. Gusz
tav Font. She met her husband when she took her dog to his office;
he recognized her and asked her out for a game of tennis. Among the
decorations in Judit's apartment are a fine collection of chess sets and
a tiger-skin rug. I inquired about her veterinarian husband's feelings
about the rug, and Judit replied with a laugh, saying, "Oh, this is not his
work. Don't worry." The two got married in Budapest in August 2000.
Since then Judit has achieved some of her career milestones, beating
Kasparov and breaking the 2700 rating for the first time. Judit, at the
start of 2004, was ranked eighth in the world-a new height for her.
Judit credits her recent achievements to her happy marriage. "My
husband supports me and works part-time so that he can travel with me
to tournaments.You can even see that my playing style has changed. My
life is more stable, and my play is more solid. Before I would sacrifice
and lose a point, where now I would relax and make a draw." Judit, es
pecially in her youth, has been famous for her ruthless, verging on the
92 C H ESS B ITCH
reckless, attacks. But for her to compete with the world elite, it is neces
sary that she have a more universal style. "When I was younger, people
would say my style was too aggressive, and I just didn't understand
what they were talking about! " That her victory over Kasparov was an
endgame, where technique takes precedence over attack, is symbolic of
her more balanced style.
Of the three sisters, Judit is the one who responds most negatively
when I ask if she's a feminist. "I'm not a feminist!" However, she has her
own definition of the word: "In America I hear stories about women
getting angry at men for holding the door for them or buying them din
ner. I think women have the same mental capabilities as men, but I still
like it when a man treats a woman as a man should treat a woman."
When I ask her about future plans,Judit continues in the tradition
alist vein. "Right now I care more about family than career." Drinking
tea with her on that Tuesday morning, it struck me that Judit resents
the idea of being a symbol for feminism, or any other cause. Her cool
manner and traditional opinions disappointed me-I was hoping that
Judit would be more bombastic about her own accomplishments and
more vocal in her support of other women in chess. She says, "I've been
playing chess since I was a little girl and I have achieved so much. There
is nothing new for me in the chess world. Being in a serious relation
ship is new and excites me more. I will continue playing chess, but I
am not putting any timeframe on when I will have a child, regardless
of how it affects my career." The ordinary and the extraordinary have
been flipped for Judit, who had been trained from infancy to aspire to
dazzling heights in the chess world. The very goals Judit strove so hard
to achieve have now, with their attainment, become banal.
Throughout the interview Judit asks me questions about my
thoughts on feminism and my experiences in Budapest. Even after years
of being interviewed, she is still uncomfortable with the format, and
would prefer just to have a conversation. As soon as the interview is
over, Judit's guarded posture and diction morph into those of a friend
lier person. Because I am a chessplayer and a member of her sister
Susan's training team,Judit likes me and wants to chat, but she is clearly
suspicious of my journalistic intentions.
Judit has been hounded by the press for as long as she can remember.
This has resulted in a lifelong distaste for fame. When I asked her about
the plusses and minuses of celebrity, she disregarded the first half of the
question: "When I was younger, it was particularly unpleasant. I would
walk around and people would be pointing at me and whispering, but
they wouldn't even approach me and introduce themselves-just point."
The Polgar family is notorious for its mercantilist nature. Judit often
charges reporters for interviews-from which I was happily exempt-at
rates as high as $2,000. Recently, though, Judit has been giving many
interviews for free, especially to chess-related reporters.
The custom of charging journalists for interviews was Laszlo's
idea-and certainly one that made many people less sympathetic to the
girls. Reputable magazines and newspapers rarely pay subjects, since
it would create an atmosphere for auctioning off celebrity interviews
to the highest bidder. As a result, the media coverage of the Polgars,
though prolific, has not been so far-reaching or as deep as it could have
been. Some journalists have had to use comments from others about
the Polgars or reprint quotes from other sources. A typical scenario oc
curred at the World Youth Championship in Wisconsin, in which Judit
played and won the Under 1 6 division. A woman filming a documen
tary called Chess Kids was denied an interview and had to resort to
using a voice-over of a printed quote from Judit.
Besides making money, Laszlo probably did this to shield his daugh
ters from an onslaught from the media. After all, ifJudit accepted every
interview and TV spot she was offered, she would have little time to
work on her game. In contrast to Judit, who claims to extract little
pleasure from her fame, Susan has mixed feelings. Susan reveled in the
94 CH ESS B ITCH
international recognition she and her sisters received after winning gold
in Thessaloniki. Highlights included a trip to the White House and a
spot in a commercial for 0.P.T., the biggest bank in Hungary. When
the press threatened to swallow up too much of their time, Susan says,
"Laszlo was very good at pulling us away."
The Polgars have always been sensitive about their public image,
and the entire family was disturbed by an unauthorized biography,
The Folgar Sisters: Training or Genius (1992) , written by Cathy Forbes.
To this day, Susan refuses to autograph copies of the book. Laszlo said,
"The book strives to portray us in a negative light," a summary that
in my opinion, is untrue. The ethical standards, however, are fair to
critique-Cathy often quotes anonymously or from unreliable sources.
(She describes an incident in which Judit and Susan are chatting in the
bathroom-as heard from a woman eavesdropping in a stall.) She did
not attempt to contact the Polgars themselves for interviews or fact
checking. In her own defense, Cathy says she didn't believe that the
Polgars would consent to interviews, adding, "Any book which tries to
be interesting and truthful is bound to offend a lot of people."
I met Cathy at a cafe in Selfridges, the historic department store
in London, to discuss her views on women in chess and the criticism
of her book. Selfridges was the same place where, in 1 926, handsome
Cuban World Champion Jose Capablanca gave a simultaneous exhibi
tion to thirty-six women.
Despite its historical import, Selfridges is an inconvenient meeting
spot, since there are several cafes in the department store, and when I fi
nally did find Cathy I was more than half an hour late and frazzled. She
calmed me immediately with friendly greetings. Cathy was extremely
well put together, with neat red hair and small features. I marveled as
Cathy consumed cappuccino after cappuccino while explaining her
views. Cathy quotes intellectuals in casual conversation, a habit that
might smack of pretension if it weren't for her passion. Such writers
as Germaine Greer, Naomi Wolf, Sammer Ashani, and Oscar Wilde all
came up as we chatted. "I always memorize a few quotes from the books
I love." Cathy has been removed from the chess world for some years.
The controversy over The Polgar Sisters wounded her and she prefers to
talk about other subjects, such as literature, politics, and London.
When I do get her to speak about her book, Cathy intimates that
she took the criticism of her book to heart, and is nearly in tears when
she tells me that she "regrets deeply not trying to contact the girls,"
adding that she "didn't have a thick enough skin to accept the harsh
reviews." She says, "I was twenty-two when I wrote it. Such a young
biography is bound to tell more about the writer than the subjects, and
upon reading my own work today I see myself more than I see the Pol
gars." Indeed, on the last page of the book, Cathy, a competitive player
herself, writes, "I respect and envy-yes, envy-their achievements . . . and
have sometimes wondered whether I could have . . . been brought up in
the same disciplined way." Cathy concludes that her "lazy freedom has
always been so dear to me! "10
Cathy's thoughts have become even clearer in retrospect. After our
interview, Cathy wrote me a letter:
My book rather clumsily attempts to express the tension between

a positive feminist response to the sisters' achievements on the one
hand and unease on the other at the personal and ethical price of
those achievements. The Polgars seemed to me to belong to the
type of people who are interesting primarily in what they do rather
than in terms of who they are. Oscar Wilde, my hero of creative
individualism, was the opposite type; he put 'all [his] genius into
[his] life, and only [his] talent into [his] works.' His friends felt that
his conversation was more brilliant than his writing, and the dra
matic tragedy and pathos of his life is more moving and fascinating
than his fiction or his plays. The genius of the Polgars, however, is
to be found in their chess, not in their personalities. I instinctively
felt profoundly disappointed by the apparent completeness of their
compliance with the parental project. Ideally, a female chess grand-
96 C H ESS B ITCH
master, to have a more lasting feminist role-model value, should be

more self-invented.
Cathy still believes that the Polgars have had a positive impact in
side and outside the chess world, and is aware that her expectations go
ing into her research and writing were quite high, confessing, "I wrote
the book because I wanted to be them."
At the start of 1 986 Susan Polgar was the highest-ranked woman in the
world, her name at the top of the list published by FIDE. She had won
the women's grandmaster title and the girls' junior competitions. Ea
ger to compete with men, seventeen-year-old Susan tried to enter the
Boys' Under 20 Championship. The Hungarian Federation refused to
send her. They argued that since boys were not permitted to play in the
girls' sections, girls ought not to play in boys' sections. At the time, all
of the most prestigious tournaments on the chess calendar were strictly
divided by gender into separate sections-women against women and
men against men. Included in these was the most prestigious of them
all, the World Championship, for which Susan should have qualified
when she tied for second in the 1 986 Hungarian Championship. Once
again, the Hungarian Federation refused to send her. She was bitterly
disappointed-devastated. "How would you feel if you were invited to
the big dance and never got to go?"
Susan went to war with FIDE and her federation, battling for the
right to play against men. ans campaigned on her behalf, writing let
ters and organizing Polgar supporters. She won on paper during the
1 986 FIDE Congress, when the name of the World Men's Champi
onship was changed to the Absolute Championship. Women could
play in either the traditional women's event or, if-like Susan-they
were qualified to play against the stronger competition, in the absolute
championship. The problem was that the national federation of each
country decided who would go, and the president of the Hungarian
Chess Federation had a bad relationship with the Polgars, and did not
want Susan to play against men.
Finally in 1 98 8 , the FIDE president at the time, Florencio Cam
pomanes, intervened. He demanded that the Hungarian Federation
begin to nominate Susan and her sisters for absolute titles. That year
in Adelaide, Australia, Susan was finally permitted to play among her
young male peers. She placed a respectable eighth in a strong field of
fifty-two players.
Susan was the first woman to challenge the gender divisions
in international chess tournaments. She set the precedent. Women's
tournaments still exist, but it is now commonplace to see a handful
of women playing in the "men's Olympiad," or in the boys' sections
at the World Junior Championships. Susan and her followers, who
compete and succeed in tournaments once comprised solely of men,
threaten the fundamental assumption upon which the segregated
structure was based-the one that implies that men are stronger than
women.
Susan was the first woman to become a grandmaster in the cus
tomary way. (Nona and Maya, the first two female grandmasters, were
awarded the title on the basis of their world championship titles and
high standard of play.) After years of near misses, Susan's third and final
norm came in 1 990 in Salamanca, Spain. She told me that "it was a joy
to finally win the grandmaster title." Then, as if to dispel any notion
that she might have been worried about winning it, she added, "There
was no doubt in my mind I would achieve it."
Susan made history as a teenaged chess prodigy. She led the wom
en's rating list and fought to give women the right to compete with
men. All her accomplishments, though, paled in comparison to her
younger sister's meteoric rise to the top. When Susan was just nineteen,
her twelve-year-old sister,Judit, had a rating that exceeded hers, which
must have been painful for Susan. We were talking about Judit's play in
98 C H ESS B iTCH
a recent tournament in Budapest when I detected a hint of resentment:

"I am proud to have paved the way for my sister Judit. By the time she
came onto the international chess scene, I had already fought and won
many battles." After I remarked that Judit must be very grateful for this,
Susan pauses before saying cryptically, "Yes. You would think she'd be
grateful." In a recent interview for New In Chess, Judit acknowledged
what her sister went through: "It was clear to me from a very early age
that I was the lucky one. Whenever someone was against my father's
ideas, she [Susan] would be the first to hurt."
Susan has not improved substantially since becoming a grandmas
ter. In 1 992, she decided to make a comeback by going all out to win
the Women's World Championship. Laszlo was dead set against this, be
lieving that the separation of women and men in chess was unneces
sary and insulting. Daughter Sofia echoed her father's strong opinion:
"I have always hated the idea of separate women's tournaments. It is
like admitting that we are weaker than men." Judit, for whom women's
tournaments were never very important, was somewhat less critical.
She said, " I have only played in three women's tournaments in my life,"
adding wryly, "I'm not a big fan of them."
Susan, however, had much to gain from playing in the Women's
World Championship. Changing her mind dramatically on segregated
women's tournaments, she now saw them as a way to encourage more
girls and women to play and improve. "I came to realize that for an
average girl, who did not have the support I had, there is much more
resistance from both society in general and the male-dominated chess
world. My father always believed that I should shoot for the ultimate
and not play for women's titles. But I was determined to play because I
knew that the title would give me the respect from the press I needed
in order to promote chess fully."
Susan had to undergo a grueling qualifying cycle to determine
who would challenge the current World Champion, Xie Jun from Chi-
B R I N G I N G U P G R A N DMASTERS 99
na. After the final qualifier the two women left standing were Susan
Polgar and Georgian Nana Ioseliani. Nana, often overshadowed by her
countrywomen Nona and Maya, is a great player, and like Susan has
a composed, commanding presence. The two would meet in Monte
Carlo for the right to play the champion.
Rated 1 00 points higher than Nana, Susan was the heavy favorite
in the match. Living up to her ranking, Susan got off to an early lead
(3. 5-1 .5), scoring three wins and a draw in the first five games. Un
fazed, Ioseliani began to climb back into the match. She won the sixth
game, and Susan's lead narrowed to a single point. By the final game,
Nana could tie the match with a win. She traded Queens early, hop
ing to squeeze a full point out of a slight endgame advantage. Susan's
nerves got the better of her, while Nana, calmly and coolly, managed
to exploit her advantage and eke out a win.
The match was tied, the winner to be decided by a series of tie
breaks. After three mini-matches, Susan and Nana were still dead
locked. At that point a bizarre FIDE rule came into play: If, after
twelve games, a tie has not been broken, the match can be decided
by the drawing of lots. To no one's surprise, Susan was opposed to the
unorthodox tiebreak. FIDE also agreed that the rule was unfair. If
Susan and Nana both consented, the tie could be broken by more
usual methods. However, Nana, who must have understood that she
was the weaker player, took the shameless but understandable position
that she preferred a fifty percent chance by drawing lots.
An absurdly complicated ceremony was staged to determine the
winner. First, a Mrs.Van Oosterom, wife of the organizer, picking be
tween two envelopes, pulled out the one that read "Nana Ioseliani."
Then, loseliani chose between two more envelopes. The paper inside
that one read "Susan Polgar." Then Susan was asked to pick between
two boxes offered by the arbiter. If she selected the gold coin, she
would be the new champion.When she opened her box, Susan's heart
100 C H ESS B ITC H
dropped. Inside was a silver coin. "My eyesight was blackened for a
few seconds, I thought I was fainting. The meaning was clear: You are
second." 1 1 In her entire career, Susan could recall no more disappoint
ing moment. Nona went on to lose to Xie Jun in the Women's World
Championship match.
While all of this was taking place, Susan was reeling from another
type of heartache. Julio Granda Zuniga, her muscular, square-jawed,
Peruvian lover, was in Monaco to accompany and assist her. Julio is
a free-spirited grandmaster who is considered to be one of the most
talented players in the world. He walks around with an air of sublime
confidence. Based in Peru and isolated from a community of strong
players, Julio has always managed to keep pace with the top players,
relying on his talent and energy more than on detailed theoretical
knowledge. In Monaco, Julio had made up his mind to end his re
lationship with Susan, but had not yet told Susan. She guessed that
something was amiss because of Julio's uncharacteristically cold be
havior. Later Susan discovered just how removed the real Julio was
from his free-spirited chess persona: he had a wife and two children
back in Peru!
After the fiasco against Ioseliani, Susan was more determined than
ever to compete at the next Women's World Championship in two
years. Once again she made it to the semi-finals, where she would face
an even more formidable Georgian opponent, former World Cham
pion Maya Chiburdanidze, who was hoping to avenge her 1 991 loss to
Xie Jun. This time Susan had the support of her sister Judit, who trained
her especially for the cycle. After seeing how disappointed Susan had
been to lose to Nana, Judit "was determined to do anything I could to
help Susan." In the match against Chiburdanidze, Susan was victorious,
taking her one step closer to the championship.
The match against Xie Jun was held in Jaen, a small town in the
mountains of northern Spain. The first game was a comedy of errors
B R I N G I N G U P G R A N D MASTERS 1 01
for Susan.With the white pieces she overextended her position, squan
dered her opening advantage, and later miscalculated, giving Xie Jun
a winning endgame. Susan regained her composure with draws in the
next two games, followed by a win with the black pieces in the fourth.
The match was tied at 2-2. At this point Susan was ready to unleash
her secret weapon. Throughout her chessplaying career she had almost
always12 started her game with white by moving her Queen pawn two
squares (d4) , one of the two leading ways to open the game. Begin
ning with d4 tends to lead to slower, more strategic battles, while the
slightly more popular alternative, e4 (moving the King's pawn) , results
in more tactical games. Judit and Sofia have always been e4 players,
while Susan was loyal to d4. 'Most professional players stick to one or
the other, because there are dozens of ways to respond to either, all of
which must be studied in detail and require experience to master.
For the first time in her career in this crucial game, Susan opened
with e4, a radical switch for a professional player in any game, let
alone a game of such importance. Xie Jun was shocked. She could
have had no inkling that Susan would do such a thing, and probably
spent little or no time preparing for King pawn openings. Xie lost
the game in just twenty-five moves. Susan's brave opening strategy
delivered a psychological blow to her opponent. Xie Jun was never
able to regain her ground and Susan won the match easily, with a
lopsided score of 8 . 5-4 . 5 .
Susan was accompanied in Spain by two people who loved and
supported her: her sister Judit and her new husband, Jacob Shutzman.
In 1 994 in New York, Susan had been introduced to Jacob by his
brother, a chess fan. The couple had such a good time in New York
that Jacob went to Hungary to visit her, where they fell in love. Susan
was thrilled to start a new life in New York City, where Jacob had
moved from Israel to work as a computer consultant. " I think one
of the reasons I loved New York so much more than my sisters," she
1 02 C H ESS B ITCH
explained, "is because I subconsciously wanted to get out of Europe,

having bad memories from my past relationships with FIDE and the
Hungarian Chess Federation."
Jacob and Susan worked together o n various proj ects, includ
ing starting a chess school in Queens, the Polgar Chess C enter,
and c o-writing The Queen ef the Kings [sic] Game, which chronicles
Susan's career. The book was the first account of the lives of the
Polgars told fro m the inside, but it does not do Susan or her family
j ustice. I n addition to b eing poorly written-Jacob Shutzman, who
was responsible for the writing, is clearly not in full command of
the English language-the book details Susan's struggles more than
her accomplishments, which creates an extremely bitter tone. That
Susan was prevented from reaching her full p otential is empha
sized . Various p e rc eived enemies, fro m Nana Ioseliani to members
of the H ungarian Federation, are harshly treated. The book is now
a source of embarrassment for Susan, who blames Shutzman for its
quality; she swears that after all the copies are sold, there will b e no
more printed. She promises that her next book, Breaking Through,
to b e written with current business p artner Paul Truong, will b e
much b etter.
Susan and Jacob are no longer together. After a few years of blissful
marriage they began to quarrel. The emotional tumult of September
1 1 intensified their problems, making their fights increasingly urgent
and more frequent. By the end of 200 1 , the pair had split. Disagree
ments over finances and custody of their two children, Tommy and
Leeam, are ongoing. The break-up was not peaceful, leaving Susan
disillusioned with romance itself. "Well, I'm still happy to live in New
York, although I'm no longer thrilled about my reason for moving
here." When I asked Susan whether it is better to date within or out
side the chess world, she responds cynically, "Either way leaves very
low chances for success."
B R I N G I N G U P G R A N D MASTERS 1 03
Susan has not played in a serious competition since her victory against
Xie Jun in 1 996. An invitation to defend her title was issued to Su
san in 1 999 only months in advance of the scheduled match. At the
time, Susan was pregnant. "FIDE refused my request for a reasonable
and proper delay;' writes Susan. " I was illegally stripped of my title."
Motherhood, like menstruation, is often cited as an explanation for
the less-frequent participation, and decreased enthusiasm, of women
in competitive chess. In one U. S. championship, three-time champion
Angelina Belakovskaya dropped out unexpectedly. She needed to rush
home and breast-feed her baby. Another U.S. championship partici
pant, Shernaz Kennedy, dealt with her problem in a more imaginative
manner-she express-mailed her breast milk home from a tournament
in California to New York.
In a recent encounter of my own, motherhood was cited as a
p ossible obstacle to my future success as a writer. In negotiating a
p ossible book, I was told, "I'm not sure if you plan to continue with
your writing and chess careers or if you intend to j ust pop out a
couple of babies."
Not all agree that motherhood is an impediment to chess results.
Young Lithuanian mother and top woman player Victoria Cmilyte was
asked in a press conference, "What do you think of the Russian say
ing that each baby takes off fifty points from your rating?" Cmilyte
responded, "I think each baby adds fifty points to a woman's rating!
Motherhood is such a stimulating experience for a woman." Later, she
explained that being a mother was so demanding, that it instilled disci
pline. In comparison, preparing and playing chess was easy.
Despite the upbeat comments of women like Cmilyte, the reality
is that motherhood in many societies leaves women with the bulk of
the childcare responsibilities, often interfering with any leisure time
especially interfering with the time needed for highly focused and
demanding activities such as chess. Some chess couples with young
1 04 CH ESS B ITCH
children take turns playing in tournaments. A practical solution to

encourage the participation of mothers would be to make childcare
available at tournaments. Susan believes that the schedule for Women's
World Championships should be announced and set at least a year in
advance, so women can make plans based on this.
Now a mother of two, Susan expressed to me that her interest in
chess will never be as intense as it was when she was in her twenties.
Susan, who competed in the 2004 Olympiad in Mallorca, told me that
the main reason for her comeback was not to reach new chess heights,
but to promote chess in America. Indeed, despite going out of her
way to organize the training sessions, Susan is virtually inactive. The
only time she has played in public was in a tournament in Oklahoma
in which the whole Olympic team played against local players. Since
the members of the team did not play each other, Susan's rating was
far higher than any of her opponents'. From her demeanor one would
have thought that she was competing for the world championship. She
was deadly serious, rarely getting up from the board. Susan won her
first six games, as expected, but in the seventh she drew a player with a
rating 500 points lower than hers. Susan, playing with the black pieces,
used her prepared double King pawn opening, but was frustrated by
her opponent's unambitious opening strategy-he took few risks and
she had few chances to win. Afterward, Susan was clearly upset about
the draw, wondering if she should have chosen a more double-edged
opemng strategy.
Our Dream Team training sessions have given me the opportunity
to spend time with Susan. D espite her formal demeanor, her love for
chess is evident: she always comments on the beauty of surprising
finishes or subtle finesses. During meals and breaks, Susan is a gracious
conversationalist. Choosing her words carefully, she asks questions of
all of us about our favorite cities and our current proj ects. Her re
actions are so consistent-she rarely displays anger, joy, boredom, or
B R I N G I N G U P G RA N D MASTERS 1 05
excitement-that is difficult to tell whether she is enj oying herself.

Sometimes, she seems lonely. Susan spends most of her time with her
children and her manager, Paul Truong, a hyper Vietnamese-Ameri
can businessman, who says he never sleeps " more than three hours a
night." She does not seem to know many other people in New York.
Paul and Susan have such a close business relationship that many in
the chess world have taken to calling the pair "Trulgar." Susan does
not hide the fact that Paul assists her with her writing proj ects, such as
her columns for Chess Life and ChessCafe.com, along with her books.
When I get e-mails from " Susan,'' they are peppered with smiley fac
es and exuberant exclamations, which is typical for Paul, but totally
incongruous for Susan. Such a shared Internet and literary persona
makes it hard to determine what Susan is really like.
Sometimes I wonder if Susan would like to break out of her con
servative persona. "I rarely drink,'' she once told me. "Sometimes I have
a glass of wine, but I never finish it." The one time I did see Susan lose
control made an impression that remains with me today. On lunch
break at a training session, the Dream Team was treated to a sumptuous
buffet. Its crowning glory was a magnificent dessert spread-flan, triple
chocolate mousse, and a selection of fancy Italian pastries. We all started
out by choosing and eating one. It was obvious that we all wanted
to sample more, but no one wanted to go first. "Let's repeat moves,''
someone said, then, furthering the play on chess lingo, said, "how about
three-move repetition?" Finding this absolutely hilarious, Susan began
to laugh so hard she doubled over. She went on laughing for several
minutes, which was totally unexpected from this otherwise perfectly
composed woman.
A devoted ambassador of chess, Susan promotes the game all year
long, giving simultaneous exhibitions and book-signings at National
Scholastic tournaments, working on writing projects, and organizing
Dream Team sessions. Her new attitude toward separate girls' tour-
1 06 C H ESS B ITCH
naments has led to the founding of a "Susan Polgar Tournament for

Girls"-a yearly invitation-only event, the first edition of which was
held in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, in the summer of 2004. Thirty-four
girls arrived in Florida to represent their states. The winner, sixteen
year-old Roza Eynullayeva, was from Massachusetts. The response
to the event was overwhelmingly positive. Ohio representative Emily
Nicholas called it "the best tournament I have ever been to" and said
"meeting Susan Polgar made me feel important. She really made us feel
like she cared about us and that she wanted us to keep playing chess."
Stephanie Hueng from Florida called it a "a flawless blend of chess and
girls. Over the board, girls were archrivals, yet, after the game, complete
strangers from coast to coast went out shopping together, and 'girl talk'
was plentiful." The Virginia representative, Ettie Nikolova, said the Pol
gar tournament was "the first time in my life where girls were not only
excited about chess, but also advanced enough to play good games."
During the summer of 2004 as Susan was promoting chess in America,

her youngest sister, Judit, was in Budapest.Judit was taking a break from
her own inspirational trail blazing. Judit Polgar was the only female
invitee out of 1 20 players to the 2004 World Championship, held in
June in Tripoli, Libya. She declined to participate. Her first child, a boy,
Oliver, was born in August 2004. "You never know when I will show
up again, but I will come back."
6
Women Only !
Winning feels good. Winningfeels to me like catching a one

1 00-poundfish feels to a .fisherman.
-Chess-in-the-Schools student, after winning a big
trophy in the 2004 Girls' Nationals
hen I moved to NewYork City in 1 998, I got a job at Chess

in-the-Schools, a New York non-profit that hires chess in
structors for schools in inner-city neighborhoods. In 200 1 ,
CIS selected me to lead a program called Girls' Academy. Invitations
were sent to the strongest girls from CIS schools all over the city, most
of which are located in Bronx, Brooklyn, and Upper Manhattan. One
Sunday a month, at the CIS headquarters in midtown, I met with about
twenty girls, ranging in age from nine to thirteen.
Beginning and intermediate chess books, with few exceptions,
feature the games of male players. To redress this, I included women's
games in each of my girls' academy lessons, starting with one of my fa
vorite brilliancies played by Judit Polgar. In addition to presenting role
models, I wanted the girls to have fun, because then they are likely to
continue with chess. During Girls' Academy sessions, the girls had time
to chat and play casual games. Friendships formed.
1 07
1 08 CH ESS B ITCH
All Girls' Nationals, Chicago 2004. (Photo by Jennifer Shahade.)
Chess tournaments are social occasions for kids, especially when

they get to stay in hotels. After their rounds, they stay up late watching
movies, playing blitz and pranks. Elevators, ice machines, and sneakers
are all fertile ground for mischief. If a child is one of the only girls,
she can be left out of the fun. For instance, at a summer chess camp,
one girl, due to a strict policy preempting romance, was barred from
hanging out at the after-lesson pizza and blitz sessions held in the boys'
dorm. There were not enough girls for her to form similar chess parties,
so she had little fun at the event.
In May of 2004, I went as a coach with ten of my Girls' Acad
emy students to the first ever All Girls' Nationals. The event was held in
Chicago, in the Adler Planetarium right beside Lake Michigan. Between
rounds, girls. could race along the shore of the lake, photograph the Chi
cago skyline, or look through solar telescopes. The event was organized
and publicized on short notice, but there was great support for it, from
coaches, organizers, and the players. One of my students, Laura Edgard,
was excited to participate, despite being a tomboy used to playing boys.
Laura is one of the most determined students I have encountered. Before
the first round of a crucial tournament I had asked Laura how she felt
about her chances, and she looked me straight in the eye and declared,
"I'll bring back their heads." In Chicago, Laura told me it was "fun for a
change" to hang out and play against girls.
WO M E N O N LY ! 1 09
My students all had a great time at the event-they appreciated the

beautiful tournament site, the games, and a side trip to the top of the
Sears Tower. But what made these competitive girls the happiest was
that we had to take an extra taxi to the airport to carry all the trophies
they had won. I was not surprised by their success, because they were
higher rated than most of their opposition, and New York kids tend to
do well in national tournaments, partly because they get a lot of prac
tice in strong local competitions.
Susan Polgar helped organize the Chicago tournament and was in
attendance throughout. She played a simultaneous exhibition, signed
books, had photographs taken with each prizewinner, and even played
casual games between rounds with some of the players. This was all
from a woman who grew up with a chess worldview that rejected
women-only events. The divergent opinions in the Polgar family mir
ror those in the debate in the chess world about segregated women's
tournaments, titles, training, and prizes. The debate resembles a discus
sion of affirmative action, where one side argues that incentives are
necessary to encourage the paltry percentage of female participants,
and the other contends that these incentives are condescending and will
ultimately stunt the development of female players. Those outside the
chess world wonder why women and men ever play separately, since
they see the world of chess as a unique arena in which men and women
should be able to compete on equal terms. In the United States there
are few separate women's tournaments. The Chicago event was the first
and largest of its kind.
The first-ever international women's tournament was held in 1 897

in London. At the time, critics of the event worried that "the play
ers would collapse with nervous strain at having to play two rounds a
day for ten days."1 Thirty years later, also in London, the first Women's
World Championship was won by Vera Menchik. Once thought of as
110 CH ESS BITCH
progressive, women's tournaments are now controversial for the oppo

site reason. Separating women and men is antiquated, said British master
and writer Cathy Forbes, who thinks that many women are ashamed
to play in segregated events. "A feminist chessplayer is faced with a di
lemma. Her belief in the equality between men and women does not
mesh with her decision to participate in separate tournaments." Ulti
mately, Cathy believes that women's tournaments are detrimental to
women's progress in chess. This, according to Cathy, is because men are
motivated to work harder, since they do not have the "soft options" of
playing in weaker tournaments, and winning qualified championships
and prizes. Almira Skripchenko, the 200 1 European women's cham
pion, also feels that "separate tournaments hold women back, because
in order to play at the level of a strong man, it is necessary to play strong
male grandmasters. The best method;' Almira says, "is to have prizes and
titles that serve as incentives for strong women to improve and keep
playing, but to hold the tournaments co-ed." Almira believes that in
order for women's chess to progress, women ought to get the best of
both worlds-the money for being top female players as well as tough
compet1t1on against men.
My own occasional participation in women's tournaments used to
make me feel uncomfortable, even embarrassed. I enjoyed the com
petitions, the traveling, and the prize money, yet I could not reconcile
playing in women's events with my feminist views. As I have become
involved in writing this book, my attitude has changed. I have stopped
thinking about such events as less than the events with men and started
to think of them as a way to meet and compete with female colleagues.
I reframed the question that I am often confronted with: "If women are
as strong as men, why would they ever play separately?" to "Why might
women enjoy playing amongst other women?"
Separate tournaments offer women space to compete in a positive
way-opportunity for intellectual competition and camaraderie among
WO M EN O N LY ! 1 1 1
women that is sadly lacking in our society and not often portrayed
by the media. There are a great many inspiring movies from Rocky
(boxing) and Hoosiers (high-school basketball) to Searching for Bobby
Fischer (chess) that address complex relationships created by competi
tion among men, but A League efTheir Own (about a women's baseball
league during World War II) is one of the few to feature women.
However, there has been a recent surge in media coverage of
girls and competition. Books on the subj ect, all published in the year
2002, include Rosalind Wiseman's Queen Bees and Wannabees, Leora
Tannenbaum's Catfight: Uiim en and Competition, and Rachel Sim
mons' Odd Girl Out: The Hidden Culture efAggression in Girls. Mean
Girls, a movie released in 2004, was a comedy directed by Tina Fey
of Saturday Nig ht Live, based partly on material fro m Queen Bees and
Wannabees. The common theme in all four works is that competition
between women is catty and covert, taking its most vicious forms
in bathrooms and cliques rather than in sports arenas or classrooms.
As Leora Tannebaum writes in the introduction to Catfight, "I con
centrate on the negative aspects of competition because that is what
we need to fix." I think this is a nai:ve (or perhaps disingenuous) as
sertion, which exemplifies the mean-girl buzz. It is not self-evident
to me that revealing the details of cruel behavior has anything to
do with eliminating, or even reducing, it. To the contrary, there is
a big risk that by graphically detailing mean-spirited tactics, unfair
and simplistic stereotypes of females are reinforced. We need, instead,
more p ositive-but equally complex and enticing-portrayals of fe
males in competition with one another. Chess is an ideal battle
ground in which to for m such relationships.
During my last two years in high school and throughout college,
Irina Krush was my main chess rival, and she inspired me to become
a stronger player. Whenever I played against her, the stakes were raised,
even if it was just in a casual weekend event, such as our 1 997 encoun-
112 C H ESS B ITCH
ter in Allentown, Pennsylvania. It was a large open tournament split up

into different sections based on ratings. In total, there were about two
hundred players, and less than ten percent of those were women. Irina
and I were the only women in the top section, but coincidentally, we
were paired in the last round. Irina attacked me mercilessly. I defended
well until I made one careless move. As soon as I took my hand off the
piece, I nearly gasped. It was a terrible move to which Irina had a bril
liant win. I am very expressive and was sure that my face would show
her I made a mistake. I got up from the board and paced, preparing my
self to resign. Then I saw that my clock was ticking, but she had played
a different move. She didn't see it! I jumped right back into my chair,
stymied her attack, and proceeded to win.
My next game against Irina was at the 1 998 U.S. Women's Cham
pionship, where Irina and I were among the favorites. We both won
our first two games, and were to play in round three. I was nervous.
I knew this game would likely decide the tournament winner. Irina
was well prepared, choosing a variation I had never seen before. Once
again, she attacked me with verve. This time she was successful, sac
rificing a Bishop to break open my King's protection. I was forced
to resign on move twenty-three. This was the beginning of a bril
liant tournament streak for the fourteen-year-old Irina. She won eight
games, drawing one and losing none. Anna Hahn and I, who were the
second- and third-place finishers, went shopping together afterwards, a
slim consolation for me. For months, I had been training daily for the
event, and was dreaming ofwinning. Anna must have felt the same way:
" I'm happy at least," she said, "that I scored the one draw against her."
After such an amazing result, I imagined that Irina would be flooded
with interview requests, invitations to strong tournaments, as well as
lucrative sponsorships. I was j ealous and worried that everyone would
write off my own potential. I realized that I would have to work harder
in order to get attention as a female chessplayer in America.
WO M EN O N LY! 1 13
Irina Krush.
(Photo by Jennifer
Shahade.)
Irina and I first became friends as roommates in a junior competi

tion in 1 999 in Armenia, where we stayed up late, giving each other
romantic as well as chess advice. However, I didn't consider her a close
friend till 2002 in Bled, Slovenia, when we played together on the
American Women's Olympic team. Through the three weeks of intense
chess matches and parties with players from all over the world, Irina and
I supported each other in the mornings before the game, and gossiped
at night. When we came back to New York, Irina posed for me in all
pink, on my roof, for a photo series I was compiling. Later I enlarged
and hung the photos of her and other friends and family members-in
cluding my mother, father, and brother-along with pink Christmas
lights for a pink party at my place. For the occasion, my friend Mikey,
a videogame programmer and expert chessplayer, spray-painted me a
chess set . with pale pink representing white and fuchsia representing
black. Irina, who doesn't like large crowds or noisy atmospheres, �d not
come. Irina and I do hang out regularly, usually one-on-one or with her
boyfriend, Pascal, trading books and playing basketball at the courts in
my neighborhood. While our friendship is still grounded in our com-
petitive past, our relationship off the board has eclipsed our chess rivalry, ..
and I root for Irina in every game except those she plays against me.
1 14 C H ESS BITCH
In high school, I liked playing boys, and liked even more to score upset
wins against experienced male players. On day trips to New York City,
I would play, and usually win, against the macho men at Washington
Square Park. I knew I would win most games, but they usually didn't.
A crowd would gather to watch me defeat the hustlers. They would
often squirm, curse, or refuse to pay me. I was used to playing against
men, had no female rivals in my school or in Philadelphia, and had
never played in an all-women's tournament.
Then I was invited to be one of two female representatives in the
WorldYouth Festival in Guarapuava, a small, landlocked town in south
ern Brazil. It was 1 995 and I was about to turn fifteen.
My father and brother accompanied me on this, my first inter
national trip where teenagers from five continents were gathering to
crown WorldYouth Champions: Girls' Under 1 6; Girls' Under 1 8; Boys'
Under 1 6 ; and Boys' Under 1 8. Right away I understood that this trip
was going to be about more than chess. My brother and I visited a lo
cal school, where the students crowded around us to get our addresses
and to practice a few English phrases. They invited us to their gym
class, where they outclassed us in soccer and we introduced them to
full-court basketball. After the rounds, players went to the Frog, a disco
where samba and salsa played all night. Till then, my experiences in
dancing had been limited to awkward school parties and bar mitzvahs.
After an initial few days of being shy, I began to open up and enthu
siastically participated in the festivities. Much older, beautiful Brazilian
men flirted with me-apparently they found my freckled skin and blue
eyes exotic. One player joked to me, "Latin men love gringas." I was
very inexperienced at the time. In an elaborate matchmaking game
on the dance floor I was paired with a Brazilian version of the model
Fabio. I was too confused to understand that I was supposed to go over
and dance with him, and ended up inadvertently ignoring his advance.
For months afterward, my friends back home teased me for tastes I
WO M E N O N LY ! 1 15
picked up in Brazil, such as collecting samba music and developing

crushes on Latino boys.
In spite of the good times, I was intensely nervous. I had never be
fore competed in such a prestigious competition. Before the first match,
I lay on my bed and read 200 Brilliant Endgames, filled with studies,
brilliant positions not from real games, but composed from scratch to
show off the artistic elements of chess. The aesthetic, often paradoxical,
solutions inspired me and calmed my nerves. It became my pre-game
routine for the tournament.
In the first round, I won a complicated attacking game, then won
the second game as well, against a girl from Estonia, a country I'd never
heard of before then. My most memorable game was with Martha Fi
erro, a charming Ecuadorian master whom I had admired since we met
two years before at a tournament in Washington, D. C. Facing Martha
now in Brazil, I surprised myself with my own strength, sacrificing with
confidence-first a pawn, later a Bishop, and finally a Rook in order to
force checkmate. It was my best game to date and my first victory over a
master. For the first time I saw how winning could be an end in itself.
In the second half of the tournament, I faltered, losing several games
in a row. It was hard for me to understand why because I wasn't play
ing terribly: my opponents were just outplaying me as well as choosing
openings that they thought would make me uncomfortable. Probably
they had studied my games from the first half of the event. In one par
ticularly frustrating game against the German participant, I lost without
even realizing where I had gone wrong. The string of losses deflated my
ego, which had ballooned after my great start.
In the United States, many tournaments are held in hotel ballrooms,
where the florescent lighting and frigid air-conditioning create a sterile
atmosphere. The ratio of males to females at such events is usually about
ten to one. Now I had something to compare with that-an exotic
locale with interesting teenagers from all over the world, including ex-
116 C H ESS B ITCH
cellent female competition. After that tournament my father predicted

that I would become a master within a year. And I did.
In retrospect, I can see that my time in Brazil was formative, deep
ening my passion both for chess and for living. Ever since, I have taken
chess seriously and played in dozens of two-week tournaments in cities
ranging from Istanbul, Budapest, Curac;:ao, and Honolulu to drab sites in
the suburbs of Boston or Denver. The expenses for most international
events are covered by the host city or country or the United States Fed
eration, while many American tournaments are paid for by the players.
The large majority of the tournaments in which I play include
males and females in the same section. The few restricted to women
I've found quite enjoyable. Anna Hahn, 2003 U.S. Women's Champion,
echoes my feelings: "I consider myself incredibly lucky to have gotten
the opportunity to play in women's tournaments." In Anna's case, play
ing in women's events has little to do with winning prize money. After
graduating with a degree in computer science from Penn University,
Anna has moved to New York, where she has worked in lucrative jobs
such as programming at Goldman Sachs and trading on Asian markets.
Anna thinks that she would be a weaker player without having played
in separate women's events such as Olympiads or World Champion
ships. "I don't consider these experiences degrading or detrimental to
my chess in the least," she says. "You have to judge results based on the
quality of your play and your performance. It doesn't matter whether
you are playing against women or men."
My experience training with women has generally been positive. In

preparation for the 2004 Olympiad, Susan Polgar, Rusudan Goletiani,
Anna Zatonskih, Irina Krush, and I met eight times for week long
training sessions. At one of these sessions, held in midtown Manhattan
at the New York Athletic Club, we all raced to solve two-dozen de
ceptively simple-looking positions involving only a few pieces: Rooks,
WOM EN O N LY ! 1 17
pawns, and Kings. We had only a few minutes to solve each, after which
our trainer for the day, Michael Khodarkovsky, would set up a different
problem and reset the clocks. The stress of wondering if I was getting
'
the answers right heightened when I saw my teammate Anna quickly

and confidently filling her paper with variations. As it turned out, I got
a decent number right, though not as many as Anna.
Hungry after this intense mental workout, the team went out for
Greek food, when Michael announced something so astonishing that
I assumed it was a joke or an
empty promise: the great cham
pion Garry Kasparov (whom
Michael had worked with in the
past) had agreed to work with
the women's Olympic team
starting with a session a few
months later, in the summer of
2003. As it turned out, Michael
was serious. It would be Garry's
first outing as a coach. Garry's
motivation is still not clear to
me, though my best guess is
The Dream Team: Anna Zatonskih,
that he wanted to help boost the
Rusa Golentiani, Susan Polgar,
stature of chess in America to a Jennifer Shahade, and Irina Krush.
respectable level-like in Spain,

Holland, or Russia-and thought that the Dream Team members were
good candidates for instigating such a change.
When I arrived in West Orange, New Jersey, a ritzy suburb of New
York, it seemed surreal that I would be analyzing with Kasparov in a
couple of hours. Excited anticipation mixed with nervous apprehen
sion. Garry was known to make sexist comments when interviewed.
Would he be condescending about the level of my play? Would I be
118 CH ESS B ITCH
offended by any of his sexist remarks? All of us, even Susan Polgar, were
nervous. Garry entered the conference room, dressed in j eans and a
cotton shirt-I had only before seen him in a suit. When he asked who
was going to demonstrate her games first, I avoided eye contact with
anyone who might latch onto a glance and cajole me to the front. It was
Irina Krush who bravely stepped up to show him a game, an exciting
Sicilian. Kasparov's eyes lit up when the position became complicated,
and rattled off variations at high speed. He slowed down whenever he
felt we weren't following-typical of his behavior at the training ses
sion, which was attentive and charming. "You see the position clearly
many moves ahead," was his compliment to Anna Zatonskih, adding,
"I know many top male grandmasters who can't do that." The focus
of the session was our games, and Garry seemed genuinely interested
in our repertoires, especially our response to Queen pawn openings:
"What is there to do against d4?" he asked.
During breaks, we became acquainted with Garry Kasparov, who
was perceptive in conversation. In one instance, some of the members
at the table were making sexist, unfunny jokes about men with several
wives. I have no poker face and was grimacing-Garry came to my
defense: "I don't think Jennifer likes that!" He noted that "women are
starting to reach the highest level in chess, a reflection of their entrance
in other fields." When I asked Garry Kasparov his opinion of women's
tournaments , he thought they could actually accelerate the progress
of women and thus increase the chance "to create ten Judit Polgars." I
asked Kasparov why his comments were so different from the often
sexist remarks I had read in the press. He claimed that journalists tend
to distort what he says. It could also be that Kasparov is sensitive enough
not to insult women at a women's chess training session. Or he could
have changed his mind, in view of the recent crop of young women
talents, and his first-ever loss to Judit Polgar, which he simply described
to me as "a loss to one of the strongest players in the world."
WO M EN O N LY! 1 19
The ratings needed to become a grandmaster or an international master

are about 200 points higher than those for the corresponding women's
titles. British author Cathy Forbes, an outspoken feminist who once
held the title of master herself, objects violently to special titles, con
vinced that "in the titles 'women's grandmaster' and 'women's world
champion' women is just a euphemism for 'inferior."'
Supporters argue that special titles keep more women in the game.
Tournament organizers can offer room, board, and pocket money for
women GMs and IMs thus encouraging women to play. Some feel
that since fewer women have a realistic chance of becoming traditional
grandmasters, having the women's title gives them a prestigious award
to shoot for. This argument has been undermined in recent years be
cause of the increasing number of women who are meeting the re
quirements for regular titles. There are now more than fifty women
who are international masters or grandmasters and dozens more with
one or two norms toward their full titles.
Irina Krush, who became a regular international master at sixteen,
finds gender-based titles insulting. She has no problem with separate
women's tournaments, but as for the WGM title-awarded to her with
out her knowledge-she told me, "I have no interest in this title." Cathy
Forbes, who is stridently against women's titles, concedes that strip
ping proud recipients of their titles would be unfair, so she proposes,
"Women grandmasters should take matters into their own hands, and
revoke their titles." So far, no volunteers have come forward.
Though I only occasionally participate in women's events, I have often

been disappointed by my results in them. Since I was fifteen years old,
I have dreamed of winning the U.S. Championship, where ten of the
country's top women meet in a round-robin tournament. In my first at
tempt, as a sixteen,-year-old, I played well, tying for fourth place. Three
1 20 CH ESS B ITCH
times after that, in 1 998 (third place) , 1 999 (second place) , and 2000 (third
place), I came within reach of the title. Each time I either choked or an
other player would start to win game after game, leaving me behind.
In one game, played in the 2000 tournament, I played well in the
opening (my favorite Dragon variation) and middlegame against Na
tional Master Olga Sagalchik. Transposing into a winning endgame, I
realized that this win with black would put me back in the running for
first place. I played quickly and confidently despite having more than a
half hour to finish the game. Then my heart dropped. One of my rapidly
played moves was an enormous error, allowing Olga to achieve a draw.
I was inconsolable after this disaster. I tried commiserating with family
and friends, but it only made me feel worse. Stronger than sadness was
a feeling of incompetence-my brain felt like a machine doomed to
malfunction at just the crucial moment. To ease the pain of such disap
pointments, I believe that accepting how painful it is to lose is the best
solution. Sometimes, hanging out with non-chessplayers helps. Trying
to deny the importance of the result by staring at the mirror and shout
ing that it's just a game, or drinking a bottle of wine, just delays or even
exacerbates the pain, which is inevitable for a serious chessplayer.
In the summer of 200 1 , I was informed that the next U.S. Cham
pionship was to be held in Seattle. The prize fund had doubled, and for
the first time men and women were to play in the same field. The top
scoring woman would win a large prize and the title of U.S. Women's
Champion. The new format had been designed by American Founda
tion for Chess, a non-profit organization based in Seattle. I was deter
mined to train harder than ever for the tournament during my sum
mer break from university. I had just moved to a new apartment in
Brooklyn. I slept in a tiny room just wide enough for my bed. A huge
backyard, a rarity in NewYork, compensated me for the lack of space. I
studied chess intensively, often outside, working for at least four hours a
day, and also got into good physical shape, playing basketball and lifting
WO M EN O N LY ! 1 21
weights. I was feeling good and on top of my game. In August, I had

a disappointing result. After playing well in a tournament in Boston, I
blundered in a crucial last-round game. I decided to take a week off
from training.
My fall semester at NYU had just started when September 1 1 hap
pened. I was devastated, but also compelled to examine my life in larg
er terms. I was questioning my devotion to chess, which had seemed
much more important just a week before. A few days after 9I 1 1 , classes
resumed and I began a challenging schedule, including courses in Span
ish literature and journalism. I was further distracted by the process of
moving out of my miniscule apartment into a much larger space just
two blocks away. The one-week hiatus in August turned into months of
half-hearted attempts to reopen my chess books.
Nevertheless, come 2002 I was in better spirits. I had just celebrated
my twenty-first birthday (New Year's Eve) in my new loft apartment in
Brooklyn, my semester had ended, and I was able to refocus my energy
on chess. I arrived in Seattle a day early to relax, explore, and look over
some of my openings. I liked the vibe of Seattle, which reminded of my
hometown, Philadelphia, but was less used to how new and spacious
everything was. I had never seen such a clean city. A man dressed up
enough for a business lunch asked me for a spare dollar. I soon found
evidence of Seattle's less-glossy side. Capitol Hill , a hip, commercial
neighborhood, was filled with tattoo parlors and secondhand-clothing
and music shops, in which I pined over a pricey red leather jacket, and
bought This Is Hardcore, an album by a Brit-pop band, Pulp. The songs
soon became some of my favorites; they are forever entwined with my
experiences in Seattle.
Before the first round, I had mixed feelings about the men and wom
en's championships being combined. I was excited about playing with
the best men in the country, but wondered how the new format would
affect my chances. Players ranked higher than I often intimidated me.
1 22 CH ESS BITCH
In the first round I played against Gennady Sagalchik, a grandmaster

and the husband of Olga, whom I had blundered against in the previ
ous championship. I had spent the morning searching through the two
million games in my computer database. First I looked at Gennady's
games (of which there were 250) , and then I studied the opening posi
tions that I thought I might get. I worked till thirty minutes before the
game. Then I left my gleaming white Westin hotel room, which was
slowly becoming littered with coffee cups and newspapers. I walked
the mile to the tournament hall in the convention center, just adjacent
to Seattle's signature Space Needle. My preparation was successful, and
I achieved a great position in the middlegame. At a critical moment,
I made a mistake and gave away most of my advantage, but Gennady
had become rattled, used up all his time, and lost. It was my first serious
tournament victory over a GM.
Midway through the event, I lost to Grandmaster Alexander Fish
bein. I needed to get my mind off of chess, so I went to the Crocodile
Cafe, a bar and concert venue. Upon entering, I was surprised to see
another chessplayer, Grandmaster Larry Christiansen, with a beer and
a steak, also unwinding from the tournament stress. I ordered a glass of
wine and later went next door, where there was live music from local
punk-rock bands.
The break was refreshing. Apparently Larry was also relaxed by
his break. He went on to win the tournament. In the rest of the event
I played with unprecedented confidence, earning draws against play
ers I had previously been in awe of, such as Grandmasters Yasser Sei
rawan and John Federowicz. In the penultimate round, I played against
a master originally from Armenia. After twenty moves, the position
was equal, but I saw a chance to set a trap. I made a move that seemed
like a blunder-he could win my Rook. He followed this variation,
but missed the zinger I had at the end. A few moves later, he resigned.
I couldn't get up for a few minutes after the game. I was sitting on my
WO M EN ON LY ! 1 23
legs throughout the game, and now they were numb. I felt dizzy with
happiness-I had clinched the U.S. Women's title with a round to go.
In the final round, I played against a grandmaster. If I won this game, I
would place third and win a norm toward my grandmaster title. I ended
up losing that game, playing very badly. One of my most brutally honest
friends wondered if the reason I played so poorly was because, having
already clinched the women's title, I had relaxed. Perhaps if I were male,
he suggested, I would have played harder, knowing that the only way
to get attention at a U.S. Championship would be to prevail against the
entire field. This comment reminded me of the reasons that the Polgars
questioned women's prizes and events. At the same time, I'm sure I
would not have been on that high board in the last round if it hadn't
been for the women's tournaments and prizes that encouraged me in
my teens to stay with the game. Despite that last-round loss, the tourna
ment was a big success for me. In interviews after the tournament I was
asked if I liked the new format. I won. Of course I liked it.
I celebrated a lot. On the Saturday after the tournament, I went to
an all-night warehouse party back in Brooklyn with Gabi, a dancer and
artist whom I've been close friends with since high school. Proud of
my victory, she was wearing a shirt that was meant to say "Jennifer Sha
hade is a man-eater" in gold marker, but the pen ran out of ink midway
through, so it only read ''Jennifer Shahade." I was flattered nonetheless.
At this party, no one played chess, but word spread through a few circles
that I had just won the U.S. Women's title-news that was greeted with
congratulations combined with disbelief: first that chess was a profes
sional sport, and second, that the blissed-out, blue-wigged girl was its
new champion.
Often I am eager to promote the game and tell nonplayers all about my
career, but other times I keep my status secret. I fear that the conver
sational dynamic will change into one of surprise, sometimes disbelief,
1 24 CH ESS BITCH
followed by a litany of questions that can turn an equal exchange into

an interrogation. To avoid this I either say, "I'm a teacher"-which is
true-or I lie, claiming to be a circus performer. On the other hand, I
can also be annoyed when I get no recognition as a specialist. One time
when I was at a bar with Gabi, we met a charming man with lots to
say about film and politics. When the bar closed at four, the conversa
tion retired to my apartment. The topic of chess had not yet come up.
Glancing around the room, the man noticed chess magazines and sets
scattered around, and he began quizzing my roommate Eric on the
game, assuming that the male of the house had to be the player. Eric,
who is a strong amateur, noted my annoyance and tried to divert the
questions to me, but the guy was not getting it. By this time the sun
was coming up, and I, coming down, was ready to call it a Saturday
night. This man, despite ignoring me on chess matters, was interested
in me and wanted my phone number. I must have been bitter or just
too tired to respond, so he left dejected, numberless. Gabi described the
incident as painful to watch, while Eric said, "I felt so bad-I gave him
my business card!"
Until Seattle, I had not realized how much never winning a nation
al title had bothered me. The money was also important. Moving, books
for college, and New York prices had strained my budget. I needed the
$9,500 check, along with the pay increases, invitations, and exhibitions
that followed the title. I was particularly excited about the U.S.-China
chess summit, scheduled for Shanghai, China, in the summer of 2002.
The Chinese women's chess team was the best in the world, and I
hoped that in Shanghai I might be able to understand why and how
they were the best.
7
Chinese Style
VU:imen hold up half the sky.

-Mao Zedong
long the back streets of today's Beijing, hidden from the hustle
and bustle of bicycles and cars, dozens of men crowd around
dusty chessboards, playing xiangqi, or Chinese chess, in the
open-air. Exploring Beijing on foot, I rarely encountered a girl or
woman playing these casual games. A lay observer would have no way
of knowing that it is young women who are the stars of board games in
China. Chinese women have captured four consecutive Olympiad gold
medals-1 998, 2000, 2002, and 2004-and have produced two Women's
World Champions. The Chinese government has supported the pro
motion of chess, a trend that was accelerated by the success of Xie
Jun, the trailblazer of women's chess in China. Young players, many of
whom were adept at xiangqi, were encouraged to switch to chess and
enroll in the training center in Beijing, where they were able to develop
their talents under the tutelage of experienced masters and coaches.
1 25
1 26 C H ESS B ITCH
Xie Jun was born in 1 970 in an army base outside Beijing, where her
father was posted. Jun means soldier in Chinese, a reference to her
father's occupation, but the choice of Xie Jun's name has a larger sig
nificance. 1 "The name Jun is more often given to boys, but the year of
my birth was in the midst of the cultural revolution. During this turbu
lent period in modern Chinese history, it was common to minimize the
differences between men and women, and this was also reflected in the
names given to newborns." During the Cultural Revolution, launched
in 1 966 by Mao Zedong, Chinese culture was meant to be purged of
the "Four Olds": old ideas, habits, customs, and culture. At this time, tra
ditional Chinese games such as Go, Mahjong, and xiangqi were banned.
Books were burned, historical temples and sites were destroyed, and
traditional gender roles eroded.
By the time Jun was a small child, the Cultural Revolution had
ended, Mao had died ( 1 976) , and the ban on board games was lifted.
She learned xiangqi at six years old and took to it immediately. Her
father accompanied her to the streets, where she competed against
middle-aged and older men. At eleven, Jun won Beijing's girls' cham
pionship in xiangqi. She was spotted by chess trainers, who taught her
international chess and entered her in the Beijing team. Her passion
for xiangqi transferred easily to Western chess. The skills required for
excellence at both games are similar. Jun's progress in chess was rapid.
She became, at fourteen in 1 984, the youngest Chinese national master.
In 1 988 her local team found a sponsor, which permitted her to travel
to the World Junior Championships in Adelaide, Australia. She became
more serious about chess after she tied for second place.
Xie Jun's spectacular breakthrough came two years later, in the
candidate cycles-a two-year series of tournaments to determine the
challenger to Women's World Champion Maya Chiburdanidze. In 1 990
Xie Jun won a preliminary tournament in Malaysia, qualifying to par
ticipate in the candidates' finals in Georgia. In the second round, Xie
C H I N ES E STYLE 1 27
Jun won against local heroine Nona Gaprindashvili. Xie Jun's compas
sionate nature is evident in her description of the encounter:
"I felt overcome by a feeling of sadness at this moment, when Nona
realized that she had no more chances and I was about to mate her, I
could see the tears in her eyes. Every time when Georgian players won a
game, the three to five hundred spectators applauded enthusiastically. But
now there was a dead silence in the hall. I could not feel as happy as one
would normally expect. The whole situation had touched me and I felt
too much sympathy for my opponent."
Xie Jun won her last round game against Nana Ioseliani, catapult
ing her into a tie for first with Yugoslavian Alisa Marie. The two would
play a match to determine who would face Chiburdanidze later that
year. Xie Jun won the match, held in Yugoslavia, by two whole points.
The chess world and the Chinese press were astonished: Xie Jun was
the first Asian to compete for a World Championship in chess. She was
just twenty years old.
To Chinese head coach Liu Wenzhe, Xie Jun's qualification for the
finals was a triumph of historical proportions. In The Chinese School of
Chess, Wenzhe promises, "The Chinese school will be pre-eminent in
the chess world. This is the necessary logic of chess history." But such
an upheaval would take time, and Xie Jun's victory caught even the op
timistic Wenzhe by surprise. In assessing Xie's chances, Liu was reserved:
"Taking into consideration Chiburdanidze's skills and experience, as
well as those of the Soviet coaches, the overall strength of the Soviet
team is greater than ours. It will therefore be very difficult to win the
match. Xie Jun has to undertake thorough preparation."
All of China's chess resources were poured into the upcoming
match against Maya. Wenzhe summoned every grandmaster in China,
all men at the time, to provide support for Xie Jun.Ye Jiangchuan, first
board for the Chinese national team and a coach of Xie Jun, told me
1 28 C H ESS BITCH
that the Chinese women play so well "because the men help them."
When I reminded him that men had also helped the women in the
Soviet Union, he laughed and said, "Here, the men really help the wom
en." Each grandmaster was assigned a different set of openings to work
on at home. They were to convey to Xie Jun their deep understanding
of the positions along with detailed and original analysis. During this
period Xie Jun's days were tightly scheduled. Eight hours were devoted
to chess, along with blocks of time set aside for light exercise and meals.
(The transcripts of the training program are published in Wenzhe's Chi
nese School of Chess.)
The chess confrontation between the Soviet Union and commu
nist China coincided with a turbulent time in the USSR, which was
crumbling as the match was played. Midway through, Xie Jun realized:
"Maya was not at her best throughout the match. The timing coincided
with huge changes in the former Soviet Union. In Georgia, civil war
had broken out and I cannot imagine that Maya ever had a peaceful
mind." Indeed, Maya confirmed in interviews that, at the time, she was
distracted by politics.2
Because Xie Jun had played in few international tournaments, she
was something of a mystery. It was clear that she was young and tal
ented, but her legendary Georgian opponent was higher rated and a
big favorite. The match was held in Manila, Philippines, the first time
a Women's World Championship was held in Asia, and the crowd was
naturally rooting for Xie Jun. In the first game Maya achieved a better
position with black, but Xie Jun played resourcefully, finding a Knight
sacrifice that led to a draw after a ten-move variation. The eventual
triumph of youth over experience was underway. The second game
was a quick draw. Maya made a mistake in the third game, and Xie
Jun pounced, drawing the first blood of the match. Maya then came
back to win two games in a row. A series of draws followed, until Xie
leveled the match with the black pieces in round eight.
Top: Xie Jun, Susan Polgar. Bottom: Nona Gaprindashvili, Florencio

Campomanes, Maya Chiburdanidze.
Xie Jun gained momentum after her eighth-round victory and she
won her next two games with white. Maya was unable to catch up, so
Xie Jun won the match, a final score of 8 . 5-6.5.
Her upset victory created a stir in China, where Xie Jun became
a major celebrity. "I was not sure where I was or who I was. Chaos had
set in," wrote Xie Jun. "It was impossible for me to plan anything-my
life had become a whirl of excitement." She was even elected as a mem
ber of the parliament in 1 993. Though the post was mostly ceremonial,
Xie Jun rejoiced in her new role as politician, which she "considered a
great honor. It was a tremendous experience for me . . . and a nice break
from chess." Xie Jun also took some time off from chess to pursue her
university degree in politics.
Xie's political career was short-lived. Toward the end of 1 993, she
resumed her training regimen, preparing for her match in Monaco,
where she would defend the title she had won two years before. Xie Jun
considered being a world champion an enormous responsibility, so she
worked hard to improve her chess understanding after her unexpected
1 30 C H ESS B ITCH
victory. She gained the grandmaster title and raised her rating to over
2500. Her opponent was Georgian Nana Ioseliani, who had won the
right to challenge Xie Jun after winning in the controversial tiebreak
against Susan Polgar. Ioseliani was mercilessly defeated by Xie Jun, in an
overwhelming 8 . 5-2.5 victory. Her improved skills were evident as she
defended her title. Describing the one-sided match, Xie Jun's remarks
were once again gracious and compassionate: "Luck was on my side in
the first game . . . I felt in great shape and winning four out of the first
five games was beyond my wildest dreams . . . for Nana it must have been
horrible . . . . "
Xie Jun's third title defense in 1 995 was unsuccessful. She faced a
determined Susan Polgar, who duly crushed her, forcing Xie to confront
the first major setback of her chess career. The kind and sympathetic
words Xie had once had for both Maya and Nana were gone, replaced
by an angry diatribe. She complained about the poor conditions in
Jaen, Spain: the food did not suit her and there were no decent transla
tors for the Chinese delegation. A chief gripe was the unprofessional
conduct of organizer Luis Rentero. Rentero sent both Susan and Xie
Jun letters, which harshly scolded them for making quick draws, impos
ing unprecedented fines. Rentero wanted every game to be exciting,
but the rules had already been establish and Xie and Polgar both found
the fines disrespectful and distracting. Xie Jun claims she was unable to
calm down afterward. She gave Polgar nominal credit for her play: "I
cannot say that her victory was undeserved." She continued, though,
"The incident with the letter was unforgivable. All I can hope for is
that one day I will have the opportunity to play another match against
Zsuzsa [Susan] , under different conditions." These candid remarks re
veal Xie's fiercely competitive streak.
Xie Jun was determined to reclaim her title. During Christmas
1 997, she played in a nine-player qualifying tournament held in Hol
land. The two top finishers would play a match to determine the chal-
C H I N ES E STYLE 1 3 1
lenger to Susan Polgar. Russian Alisa Galliamova won first place, and
Xie Jun came in second. So that neither player gains an unfair advan
tage, most title matches are held in a neutral location or split between
both home sites. Half ofXie-Galliamova was set for Jun's native China,
in the large city Shenyang, and half in Kazan,Alisa's hometown. At the
last minute, Kazan backed out and the entire match was switched to
China. Galliamova did not accept these conditions, didn't show up for
the match, and Xie Jun won by forfeit. Susan Polgar, who was starting
a family in NewYork, protested the rushed proceedings of the Polgar
Xie rematch, and refused to play. Galliamova was chosen as a replace
ment, and invited to play Xie Jun once again. This time the match
was conducted as anticipated, half in Kazan and half in Shenyang.
The games were interesting and hard-fought, in my opinion the most
interesting chess of any World Women's Championship match thus far.
Xie Jun prevailed in the end, winning five games to Alisa's three. Jun's
victories ranged from a 29-move checkmating attack to a 94-move
win in an endgame.
The match was the final Women's Chess Championship held with
the classical three-week-long format. Kirsan Ilyumzhinov, the president
of FIDE since 1 994, decided upon an entirely new system, which he
thought would help to popularize chess. First of all, the time control,
(a preset time limit for a player to complete her moves; if exceeded she
will lose the game) was changed, so that the average game lasted about
three or four hours instead of the standard five or six. The tournament
format shifted to that of a knockout, in which sixty-four players play
two-game elimination matches. Ties of 1 - 1 are broken by rapid match
es. The field is whittled down, round by round, into 32, 1 6 , 8, 4, 2 until
there is a four-game final, at the end of which a champion is crowned.
The grand prize was over $50,000. The new idea was certainly more
exciting, and the large starting field gave young players a chance for
the first time. Detractors argued that the knockout format and quick-
1 32 C H ESS B ITCH
ened pace resulted in games of much lower quality than those played
in classical format. A player who would have few chances in a regular
candidate cycle could have a few good games and emerge as World
Champion. Elisabeth Paehtz described the new knockout as "more like
gambling in a casino than world championship chess."
Xie Jun, the highest-rated and most experienced player in the first
edition of the event, held in New Delhi in 2000, was able to win hand
ily, even in the more random format. She outplayed her first five oppo
nents calmly, meeting her young compatriot, Qin Kanying, in the final
round. Xie Jun outplayed her with a win in the second game, and drew
the others. The all-Chinese final was indicative of the dominant posi
tion of China in women's chess at the start of the twenty-first century.
In the two decades after 1 98 1 , when Xie Jun first turned her attention
from xiangqi to chess, the number of casual chessplayers in China soared
from a few thousand to five million. 3 From all over the vast country,
talented young players were recruited to train at the National Chess
Center in Beijing. China's future female team was coming together.
Zhu Chen was only seven when she began to play chess in a local club.
Just four years later, in 1 988, she traveled to Romania to play in the
World Girls' Under 1 2 Championship. She won first place, becoming
the first Chinese chessplayer to win a gold medal in an international
event. After this victory, Zhu Chen was summoned to the capital to
train. Zhu Chen desperately missed her family and yearned to return
home, but her parents implored her to suffer through the homesickness
by throwing herself into her chess. She did just that. She describes being
so tired after grueling eight-hour sessions that she would collapse into
bed at night, going on to dream of chess variations.4
Unlike Xie Jun, whose ascent to World Champion was swift, Zhu
suffered a number of setbacks on her way to the top. At the 2000
World Championship, held in New Delhi, India, she failed to survive
Zhu Chen and I rina Krush. (Photo by Jennifer Shahade.)
the first round of the knockout. She was upset by American teenager
Irina Krush, who, after drawing the first game, dispatched Zhu in an
unbalanced game that could have gone either way. "I was so excited
after this game," Irina told me "that I threw up afterward." Early in the
foilowing year Zhu Chen was awarded the grandmaster title, becoming
the eighth woman to be so honored, and the second Asian woman.
A year later Zhu Chen had another chance to capture the ul
timate title at the 200 1 World Women's Championship. She arrived
in frigid Moscow with high hopes for the tournament that was to
be held in a maj estic hall in the Kremlin. Zhu was the highest-rated
.. Chi�ese woman there, since Xie Jun chose not to defend her title for
reasons she did not reveal. I had also qualified and was paired against
a young Russian, Alexandra Kosteniuk, in the first round. I lost the
match, 0-2. My sole consolation after this disappointing loss was in
1 34 C H ESS B ITCH
watching Alexandra handily dispose of all her opponents that followed

me. Among Alexandra's victims were Almira Skripchenko, the reign
ing European champion; Hoang Trang, an international master from
Vietnam; and Xu Yuhua, another of the new wave of Chinese stars.
Meanwhile, Chen was tearing through her half of the field, de
feating two Georgians in back-to-back rounds-first the young Nino
Khursitdze and then the legendary Maya Chiburdanidze.
The final match between Kosteniuk and Zhu was dramatic and
entertaining. Seventeen-year-old Kosteniuk, a native Muscovite and
crowd favorite, has been featured in dozens of fashion magazines, in
cluding Vogue. Tagged "the Anna Kournikova of chess," Alexandra has
an image similar to that of the famous tennis star. Her picture was in
photo galleries all over the Internet. The two striking young women
exchanged blows while the chess world followed the event in Moscow
and on the Internet. To the satisfaction of chess fans there were no
short draws that so often detract from the entertainment value of world
championship matches. For the first eight games the women exchanged
victories-first one, then the other-until Chen finally broke through
with consecutive wins. The title was hers. Seventeen years after Zhu
Chen first learned to play chess, her dream of ultimate glory was real
ized. Another Chinese woman was champion of the world.
I had occasion to speak with Chen in the summer of 2002, at
the closing ceremony of a friendly match between the American and
Chinese teams in Shanghai. Held in a ballroom on the top floor of our
luxury hotel, we had a spectacular view of Shanghai's recently devel
oped Pudong skyline, with buildings designed in futuristic shapes such
as rockets and cylinders. We were feasting on an eight-course meal of
crispy duck, shark-fin soup, and peeled shrimp. As is the custom in
high-end dining in China, no rice was served so that diners have room
for the rich meats and sauces. As I was musing upon this, Zhu Chen
commented, "Sometimes you have to wonder why we are eating this
fabulous meal while other people are starving. I hope to use my posi
tion as Women's World Champion to help less fortunate people in my
country and around the world." As our conversation continued, Chen
frequently expressed her devotion to helping the less-fortunate and
bridging cultures through her power as a champion. Zhu Chen also
showed her playful side when she sang a lively rendition of "Que Sera,
Sera" to the delight of her proud mother, who was sitting with us. Chen
belted out the lyric: "My mother told me, Que Sera, Sera whatever will
be, will be, the future's not mine to see . . . " Chen's own mother could
hardly have seen that her daughter's future would be as the Women's
World Champion of chess.
Thoughtful and playful, Zhu is at once controlled and wildly im
pulsive. She has demonstrated how disciplined she can be by enduring
the rigors of the Chinese chess school. Her chess control contrasts with
her lifestyle, in which she frequently defies convention. Once she shaved
off all her hair. In FIDE's official yearbook, the photos of the women's
world champions throughout history include a black-and-white shot
of a bald Zhu. An outraged woman remarked to me, "She looks like a
concentration-camp victim! " I disagreed with this perception. Many
women shave their heads to make a statement, including Indian femi
nist Adhuriti Roy, writer of the best-selling novel God of Small Things.
She shaved her head after being elected one of People magazine's "50
Most Beautiful People in the World" because she didn't want to be
seen as "some pretty girl who wrote a book."5 American chess coach
and expert Elizabeth Vicary has shaved her head twice. The first time
she was a senior at Columbia University, and was shocked at how dif
ferently people addressed and treated her. "Before people would listen
to me just because I was pretty-after shaving my head, I learned to be
a better conversationalist." Roy and Vicary both chose to abandon the
conventional standards of feminine beauty, even though they would
benefit from these standards. Wondering about Zhu's motives for her
1 36 CH ESS B ITCH
impulsive act, I asked if she were taking some kind of feminist stand,
but she assured me that she "wasn't trying to make any statement" and
"just got bored of the same haircut." A little later, after thinking it over
silently, she told me, "Shaving off all my hair is an expression of my
individuality, and you can also see this in my chess career."
Zhu Chen's patriotism sometimes conflicts with her free-spirited
nature. Zhu Chen believes in the future of chess in China: "Chess his
tory always follows the great nations. China is destined to become the
next great chess dynasty." However, she chose to marry a grandmaster
from Qatar, Mohamad Al-Modiahki, whom she first met at an Asian
youth tournament in Malaysia in 1 994. Although she and Al-Modi
ahki shared no common language, according to Chen, they were able
to communicate over the chessboard. "There are many combinations
with the King and Queen that are quite beautiful."6 Since then, Zhu
Chen has gained a good command of English, a language in which
Al-Modiahki is also fluent. Chen's mother did not approve of the
marriage and tried to convince her daughter to find a nice Chinese
man, but her efforts were in vain. " Nothing," said Chen, "could have
stopped our marriage." Like Zhu's mother, Al-Modiahki's parents also
believed that the many cultural, racial, and geographical differences
were insurmountable, and Zhu refers to the familial disapproval as a
"cold war."There were certainly no financial restrictions to stop their
relationship. Like many citizens of Qatar, Al-Modiahki is heir to a
great oil fortune.
Zhu's relationship with Al-Modiahki is featured prominently in her
first book, published in May 2003, an autobiography, the title of which
translates, Lay [the] Piece Without Regrets: vvaits and Dreams ef a Mermaid. 7
Zhu Chen is as optimistic about love as she is about chess. "Chess is a
good way to bridge different cultures in a peaceful way, and my rela
tionship with Modhaki is a great example of this. Love can defeat any
resistance."
.
As impressive as the individual personal triumphs of Zhu Chen and Xie

Jun were, even more striking was the proliferation of Chinese women
chessplayers, many of whom were playing at the level of international
masters or even grandmasters. By the late 1 980s their performances in
the Olympiads were already beginning to attract worldwide attention.
In the 1 988 Olympiad in Thessaloniki, it was the Polgars and the
Soviets who grabbed all the headlines. Quietly, though, the Chinese
women were gaining ground, finishing a respectable fourth. Two years
later in Novi Sad they had climbed to third, bringing the first Olympic
chess medal home to China.
The 1 992 Olympiad in Manila was held just after the break up of
the Soviet Union. For the first time the fourteen newly created re
publics could field their own teams. World-class players from Georgia
and Ukraine and Russia, who had been left out of the powerful Soviet
teams, could now participate. As a result, the tournament fielded more
top-flight teams than ever, despite the absence of the Polgars. The Chi
nese team got off to an excellent start, in first place after ten rounds.
However, the team faltered in the closing rounds, having to settle for
the bronze medal once again. Hoping for gold or silver, a disappointed
Xie Jun consoled herself by remembering that this was probably the
strongest field ever assembled for an Olympiad. "Viewed in that light,"
she concluded, "bronze was not bad at all." In the 1 996 Olympiad in
Yerevan, the capital of Armenia, China came ever so close, narrowly
missing the gold medal, which went to Georgia.
In 1 998, the Olympiad was held in Russia.With great performanc
es by Xie on first-board and Zhu on second, China finally won gold
ahead of Georgia (silver) and Russia (bronze) . In the 2000 Istanbul
Olympiad, they easily won again, clinching first place before the last
two rounds were even played. The stars of the Istanbul team were Xie
Jun, who held down board one, and Zhu Chen, who posted a perfor-
1 38 CH ESS B ITCH
mance rating of 2700, gaining the top individual performance of the

women's Olympiad.As the twenty-first century arrived, the dominance
of China's women's team was clearly established.
In the 2002 Bled Olympiad in Slovenia, Xie Jun, who had just had
a baby, did not participate. Because of China's deep and strong women's
chess tradition, a pool of seven Chinese women who played at or above
the international master level (around 2400 Elo) was available to pro
vide Xie's replacement.
The Chinese team was
still top-seed. If the
size of the women's
teams were increased
to five or six players,
the Chinese women's
team would be an even
bigger favorite. Nev
ertheless, without the
experienced Jun on
the Bled team, the road
to a " three-peat " was
not going to be easy
The Russian, Geor
gian, and Polish teams
Xu Yuhua. (Photo by Jennifer Shahade.)
all presented serious
challenges to the Chinese. Even the United States, ranked eleventh
going into the tournament, delivered a shocking blow to the Chinese
squad. It was round five, and our usually optimistic coach, Ilya Gurev
ich, having studied our positions on the board after the first two hours, '
was convinced that we were destined to lose the match, 0-3. On first
board, Irina Krush was playing against Xu Yuhua, a woman in her mid
twenties.Yuhua is free-spirited, which once got her temporarily kicked
off the Chinese team, and stylish, wearing clothes such as a red blouse
with the word "Only" stitched in silver sequins.Yuhua had earned her
share of the limelight by twice winning the prestigious World Women's
Cup championships. In each victory, she won $ 16,000, prevailing over
her compatriots as well as the best European women players. In her
game against Irina, Yuhua chose a tame but solid system, leaving Irina
few chances for counterplay. It looked as though Yuhua would slowly
squeeze her way to a victory. Then the nearly unthinkable happened.
Yuhua gave up an exchange for free, trading her Rook for a Bishop
with no compensation, an error that most coffee-shop players would be
stunned to commit. A few moves later, Xu resigned.
Meanwhile on board two, I was mounting an attack against Wang
Pin that she could thwart with her best play. The correct move for
Wang was to neglect her own development and play a rash-looking
Queen move. To my delight, she played the incorrect move, allowing
my attack to crash through.
Both Wang Pin and Xu Yuhua had blundered, allowing us to win
the match 2-1 , to the surprise of everyone in attendance. In spite of this
stumble, the Chinese women were once again triumphant, winning
their third consecutive Olympic gold.
Our small victory in Bled provided sweet revenge for what had
happened to us earlier in the summer of2002, a few months before the
Olympiad. We'd been invited to Shanghai to play in a friendly summit
match between the men's and women's Chinese teams. Irina Krush,
Elena Donaldson, and I represented the American women.
Our Chinese hosts could not have been more hospitable. We stayed
in a beautiful hotel, were treated to lavish banquets and parties, and ate
dumplings on a cruise down the Yangtze River. The generosity of the
Chinese Federation appeared to be boundless-that is until the compe
tition was underway and they posted the wrong pairings. The United
States players thought they were playing different opponents. As a re-
1 40 C H ESS B ITC H
sult, members of our team were studying the wrong games for their up
coming matches, putting us at a serious disadvantage. The visiting U.S.
officials were flexible and cooperative in their efforts to set things right,
but the Chinese wouldn't budge until they finally had no choice but to
admit their error. One of the officials had been especially friendly and
cheerful until then, graciously insisting that we call her Abigail, because
her Chinese name might be too difficult to pronounce. I can still see
the anger on her no-longer-smiling face as she glared at the e-mail that
forced her to admit that the U.S. team had been misled.
The chess did not go as hoped for the American women. Xie Jun
played with the Chinese men, so we would not have to face her. But we
did not fare well against the others. I lost both of my games with Wang
Pin, and was promptly benched. Elena Donaldson managed one draw
and half a point from her two games against Wang Pin. Irina Krush
scored 1 out of 4 against Zhu Chen. This gave the women a grand total
of 1 . 5 points to the 6.5 points for our opponents.
The American men did better, but once again a Chinese woman
undid us. Xie Jun scored a crucial win against Grandmaster Alexan
der Shabalov in the last round. She played the most aggressive defense
against 1 .d4, the King's Indian. Shabalov achieved a good position, but
committed an error, which Xie Jun pounced on, going on to sacri
fice all her pieces while stripping his King of all defenses. This victory
clinched the match for the Chinese. Joking about Xie Jun's participa
tion in the match, one player complained, "It's not fair. Two players
against one!" Xie Jun, at the time, was eight months pregnant.
The skills of Chinese women chessplayers are mystifying to the rest of

the world. "What are they doing to those girls?" asked Woman Interna
tional Master Anna Hahn. "Everything about them is different," notes
another top female player, "from the way they shake hands to the tiger
balm." Before games, Xu Yuhua and Wang Pin like to rub tiger balm
on their temples, releasing an intense odor. Before one of our games I

asked Wang Pin for a dip. She laughed, then handed over the container
of transparent balm.
Westerners are often unaccustomed to or even intimidated by what
they view as exotic Eastern culture. Likewise, some Easterners feel the
same about Westerners. In her book, Xie Jun reveals how foreign her
first Western opponent, Jorg Hickl, an international master from Ger
many, appeared to her. "I felt very nervous . . . there he sat, a foreigner
with a different coloring of the eyes and hair, with a high nose of a
type I had rarely seen before. Maybe I was the first Asian girl he had
ever played." After the game, which finished in an exciting draw, Xie
really wanted to discuss the game with Jorg, but they had no language
in common. Xie was determined to learn English, so that she could
communicate with her opponents. It is unfortunate that verbal com
munication between Chinese and Western teams is often limited, but
at least there is chess to help transcend language barriers. Once at the
1 999 World Youth Championship in Yerevan, Armenia, I played against
a Chinese girl, Kuang Yinghui. Our game, which ended in a draw, was
interesting and long, lasting for six hours. Although we couldn't talk
to each other, our communication over the chessboard connected us
without words. We walked home together amidst tanks on the dark
boulevards of Yerevan on that day in autumn, the season of Armenia's
independence day. After a few minutes Yinghui grabbed my arm and
began to sing in Chinese. We skipped together arm-in-arm the whole
way back to our hotel.
There is a controversy about whether the difference between the
cultures of East and West extends to styles of playing chess. Many
trainers and players have insisted that "the Chinese play more like
computers." I myself used to be under the vague impression that Chi
nese players blundered less frequently than most, that is, until Bled,
when both Wang Pin and Xu Yuhua made huge errors that turned
1 42 C H ESS B ITCH
winning positions into losses. One trainer even told me that the Chi
nese school won't reach the level of the Russian school because " de
spite having the same intense training and fighting spirit, they lack
creativity." Such spurious claims, in my opinion, are rooted in the
same kind of thinking that assumes that "all Asians are good at math."
Some Westerners even claim that Asians look so much alike to them
that it is difficult to recognize individuals. One American grandmaster
joked that when playing against a Chinese opponent, he could actu
ally be playing against several opponents-his opponent could get up
from the table every few moves and switch with another teammate.
"I would never be able to notice!"
The idea that the Chinese fight hard and long without blundering
while Western players fill their games with blunders and brilliancies
appear's to be based on little more than prejudice and anecdotal evi
dence. I decided to undertake a thorough study of the games of Chi
nese women to see if any playing-style patterns would emerge. After
examining dozens of games involving Chinese women, it became clear
to me that their styles varied widely. Xu Yuhua plays deep positional
chess. Zhu Chen has a minimalist style, is a tough fighter, and often
pulls out wins in even positions. Xie Jun is an aggressive tactician and
the most well-rounded-and, ultimately, the strongest Chinese woman
player. I also compared the games of the two teenage stars of the 2002
Bled Olympiad, one from China, the other, Russia. With an amazing
score of 1 0/ 1 1 , seventeen-year-old Zhao Xue wore a Mickey Mouse
sweatshirt and a sly smile to her games. She ruthlessly posted point after
point. "My only regret in my first Olympiad is losing one game." 8
Tatiana Konsitseva, a sixteen-year-old Russian, who wore her long,
light-brown hair in a ponytail and played with a poker face, finished
with a score of 1 0.5/12. These fantastic results earned Xue and Tatiana
the gold and silver medals for the best performance ratings of the entire
Olympiad. In looking at their games I noticed that one of the women
Xue Zhao. (Photo by

Jennifer Shahade.)
played with a fierce attitude and a fearless attacking style, crushing her
opponents. In an equal position she lost a drawn position with a rash
exchange sacrifice. The other player's games had fewer fireworks, but
showed off her fighting spirit by often picking up points when her
opponents faltered in equal positions. Throughout the tournament, she
made nary a blunder. The blunder-free games were those of Kosintseva.
The more creative games were Xue Zhao's. In this case, the style of play
could not be predicted from the national origin of the player.
In The Chinese School of Chess, Liu Wenzhe, however, argues that the
Chinese do have a different style of play from Westerners. Liu Wenzhe
explains that the Chinese tend to have a shallow knowledge of the
opening, making up for this with a deep understanding of the middle
game and relentless fighting spirit. He points out that many of the
Chinese players who were recruited by the government to learn to play
international chess were brought up playing Chinese chess, xianqi and
so t�ere are some remnants of that game in their play. In Western chess,
players often set up pawn structures early in the game. Pawn stru�tures
are locked formations, which rarely unravel, since pawns cannot move
backwards nor capture forwards. In such closed positions, pieces are
1 44 CH ESS BITCH
hemmed in by pawns, limiting tactical contact between the pieces and

favoring long-term strategic ideas. Although the pawn is the weakest
piece, they often determine the pace and nature of the game, caus
ing Philidor, the great French player from the nineteenth century, to
declare, "Pawns are the soul of chess." In Chinese chess, on the other
hand, pawn structures are less stable, resulting in more open positions,
which require constant tactical vigilance. Wenzhe thinks that, as a result,
Chinese players tend to be very comfortable in open games.
The Chinese women I asked were less sure that Chinese women
play differently from other women. Xu Yuanyuan, a twenty-one-year
old woman grandmaster, said, "It's all the same game." If the Chinese
do play differently from Westerners, the differences are subtle, espe
cially in the highest circles in contemporary chess, where finding the
right move tends to override individual style. Zhao Xue, the star of
Bled, claims to have no preference for a particular type of game: "I like
an easy position." Professional chessplayers worldwide access the same
chess databases, computer programs, and expert annotations, furthering
the standardization of chess expertise.
It is hard to understand why state support of women's chess in Chi
na was able to create a team stronger than the state-supported women's
team in the Soviet Union. The difference in ratings between the top
male and female Chinese players is small compared to the differences
between the Soviet men and women. The top four Chinese women at
the time of writing are rated 2550, 2540, 2500, and 2500. The top male
Chinese players have ratings that are on the average 1 00 points higher.
In addition, the male players are about five years older. As the female
players continue to improve, they could narrow the margin, or one day
equal or even surpass the strength of the men. In Soviet teams, there is
and always has been a much greater differential.
In the eighties and nineties, beginning with Xie Jun, Chinese
chess trainers began to successfully train the women to play at the
grandmaster level. Liu Wenzhe, the head coach of the women's team
since 1 986, knew he had to replace the former leading players of
China in favor of very young players who could be trained intensively
from scratch. Raw talent was not that important, as he writes: "Sys
tematically training players is more important than selecting them."
His program focused on middlegame study and careful scrutiny of a
player's own games. He criticizes programs that emphasize games of
world champions above all: "It is a fallacy reflecting the obsession with
celebrities." By the twenty-first century, Liu Wenzhe was confident
that he had achieved his goal, declaring: "The battle between the
Russian and Chinese schools in the field of women's chess ended in
a Chinese victory."
Almira Skripchenko offered her opinion as to why the Chinese
women are stronger than the Soviet women: "The Chinese team, sup
ported by the Chinese government, has a goal to become the strongest
women's team in the world. They will do what they need to do to reach
this goal, just like the Soviets did what they needed to do to reach the
pinnacle of women's chess." In order to win Olympiads, the Chinese
had to have a team of girls strong enough to compete against the Pol
gars and the Georgian champions. The bar was raised, and the Chinese
women climbed over it.
The success of so many Georgian women initially planted the
idea that women could be great chessplayers if they had role models
and training. The Polgars proved that it is possible for women to play
at the highest level of chess, even though critics called them " excep
tions to the rule." The Chinese, in addition to the Polgars, are adding
weight to the idea that women, in general, have equal chess potential
to that of men.
The success of the Chinese women suggests that female chessplay
ers do not have different cognitive abilities from men, but rather that
they are lacking a thorough and equally intense training program.
1 46 C H ESS B ITCH
In explaining the development of a great player, one has to confront

the controversy over just how important genius is. Overestimating the
importance of genius understates the role of training and motivation. If
genius were all-important, then the lack of opportunities for women in
chess would hardly be relevant. After all, isn't genius likely to override
all circumstances?
8
J u no and Genius
When [a woman] thinks ef a beautiful move, she is liable to

think also about how beautiful she looks in making it.
-Leonore Gallet, prodigy musician and amateur chessplayer1
We invented genius so not to die ef equality.

-French feminist writer Julia Kristeva
t the age of seventeen I believed that men and women had equal
intellectual potential. However, when discussions about gender
differences arose, I lacked the experience and theory to back
up my ideas. I recall how frustrating it felt trying to hold my own
in arguments like the one I had with a twenty-one-year-old grand
master at the 1 998 U.S. Open in Hawaii. He'd j ust lost his penul
timate game to Judit Polgar, who was twenty-two at the time, uti
mately giving her first place in the tournament, which made her the
first woman to win the title. Analyzing after the game, Judit j oked
around and tossed her hair while she zipped through one variation
after another. The young grandmaster could barely keep up with
her. Later he told me, "I lost because she is very well-trained," add
ing bitterly, "she is no genius. Name for me one female genius; I can
name hundreds of male geniuses." I was pressed for the right words
as he continued to goad me: "If women are as smart as men, why
1 47
1 48 CH ESS B ITCH
aren't there any great female chessplayers?" I tried as best as I could

to rebuff his claims, but failed. Four years later, after reading art critic
and feminist Linda N ochlin's essay "Why Are There No Great Women
Artists?" in an art history class at college, I looked back on that argu
ment and saw how I could have responded. Nochlin criticizes feminist
thinkers who respond to the question of why there aren't more female
artists or geniuses by trying to name counter examples. She challenges
the concept of genius that assumes "art is a free, autonomous activity
of a super-endowed individual." According to Nochlin, the greatness of
artists develops when they are given proper training and financial and
psychological backing.
The word genius derives from the Roman genius, a guardian spir
it who watched over the birth of men and their works. The female
counterpart, Juno, who attended the women, would have been the
alternate choice for genius. Later genius came to signify a person born
with extraordinary intellectual gifts. The word genius is applied to ei
ther gender, but men still far outnumber women. In Genius, a re
cent tome by conservative cultural critic Harold Bloom, only thirteen
women are included among the one hundred literary geniuses whose
lives are profiled.
In JiVhy Men Rule: A Theory ef Male Dominance (1 993) scholar Ste
ven Goldberg is overt in his attempt to demonstrate the intellectual
superiority of men. Goldberg, also the author of The Inevitability ef
Patriarchy (1973), is a professor and the sociology department chairman
at the City College, City University of New York. "I suppose that those
who explain the greater incidence of male genius in environmental
terms have never had the fortune to be exposed to a mind of genius for
long," he writes. "Anyone who has will know that it is inconceivable
that genius could be held back by social factors." Goldberg suggests that
anyone who disagrees doesn't know any real geniuses. Nochlin, on the
other hand, disregards first-hand experience (such as conversing with
J U N O AN D G EN I U S 1 49
brilliant people) as relevant evidence, explaining that genius may "ap

pear to be innate to the unsophisticated observer."
Goldberg goes on to assert that no woman could ever reach the
level of a strong grandmaster, a prediction that would soon be shot
down by Judit Polgar.
Goldberg compares intelligence to height:
"Only males possess the extraordinary aptitude for abstraction that
is a necessary condition for genius in mathematics and related fields
[chess] , and the fact that far more males than females possess the high
aptitude for abstraction that is a necessary condition for near-genius in
those fields virtually precludes the possibility of female genius in those
areas and guarantees a preponderance of males in the genius group and
at the near-genius level. This is perfectly analogous to height, a quality
whose etiology is overwhelmingly physiological-all people over eight
feet tall, nearly all people over seven feet tall, and the vast majority of
people over six feet tall are men."
Goldberg's "perfect" analogy is dubious at best. Height is measured
by a standard scale. There can be no debate that a seven-foot man is
seven feet tall. Intelligence and genius are far more difficult to measure,
and the criteria for geniuses are a tricky mix of objective achievement
as well as subjective values.
I think passion can be mistaken for talent, or even genius. When I
was a young girl, I was convinced that I had little talent for the game,
because my father and brother were both much better than me. I was
paranoid that people wondered why my brother was already a master
and I could barely break even in lower sections. There were many rea
sons for my lack of progress. My motivation was less intense since I was
intimidated by the skills of my brother and my father. Besides, I wasn't
having fun playing chess. When I reached middle school, the few girls
I had hung out with at tournaments, eating Doritos and watching car
toons, dropped out of the game. I still played in tournaments, but I was
1 50 CH ESS BITCH
not enjoying them nor was I improving. I began to shift my energies

into theater and writing, figuring I would be the non-games player in
the family.
My parents supported this move and encouraged me to go to
theater camps and bought me books on Shakespeare. So one summer,
as Greg played his usual schedule of tournaments, my mother drove
me to upstate New York for a one-month intensive theater program.
I didn't like most of the classes, which were based on improvisational
games that I disliked because they demanded that I be clever on cue.
Despite being pricey and studded with the children of celebrities,
the camp was overcrowded and I had trouble making friends. I felt
left out of the clique of four girls with whom I shared a room. They
talked about boys and shaved their legs sitting on the carpet. Dur
ing my unhappy downtime at drama camp, I often lay on my stuffed
mattress, obsessively writing lists of words in my journal-not difficult
or provocative words, just adj ective, verbs, prepositions, and nouns. It
was as if I were suddenly overwhelmed by the vastness of language
and wanted to encapsulate a chunk of it in a yellow spiral-bound
notebook. My obsessive streak would soon find another outlet, in the
study of chess openings. One evening my roommates confronted me
for not including words such as love or kindness in any of the lists.
Only a few hours later did it sink in that they had no business attack
ing me for not including certain words-I should have been angry
at them for going through my stuff. But I avoided their eyes and
shrugged, waiting for them to find something better to do. Perhaps if
theater camp had been the creative and social experience I expected,
I never would have gone back to the chess world, which I did soon
after returning from camp.
My father wasn't too much help at first. He thought the pressure of
living up to Greg's chess results would be too much for me. In one ugly
incident when we were analyzing chess positions, he told me that I was
JUNO AND GENIUS 1 51
improving quite slowly. I got so angry that I cursed at him and fled. At
the door, I was still clutching Your Move, filled with the chess problems
we were looking at. With hatred welling up for that book I tore its
cover off. It felt so great that I continued, ripping out page after page,
leaving a black and white mess of chess diagrams and variations on the
gray carpet by the doorway. Recalling that incident years later, my dad
laughed and said, "After that afternoon, she got good really fast."
In the summer of 1 994, a year after the theater camp, I went with
my brother and father to Chicago to play in a two-week chess tourna
ment. I was now thirteen, and hanging out with boys had become more
fun for me. For the first time, I played blitz all night long and threw
myself into my daily matches. My results and play improved immedi
ately. Variations began to click and pieces danced into place. Sacrifices
revealed themselves to me. Suddenly chess coaches and peers began to
notice my talent. My dad also was stunned and impressed, taking me
to tournaments, and arranging lessons for me. Obviously, I still had the
same brain and the same neurons, but now I was motivated.
After Chicago I began to study the game seriously, on my own as
well as with my schoolmates and my family. I would scrutinize my past
games, looking for places that I played badly and searching for the rea
sons why I faltered. In this form, chess could measure my mind, which
would sometimes expand to a size I wouldn't have imagined possible,
but at other times would contract, resulting in lazy play.
Post-game analysis has a rich tradition in the chess culture, and
most tournaments have skittles rooms where players discuss their games
freely. Moves that were discarded during the game for being too risky
or just wrong are tried out in analysis, where pieces can be sacrificed at
whim. If the combination doesn't work out, the pieces are reset again,
and another sacrifice is tried. Jokes and animated input from kibitzers
replace the strict silence and head-to-head format of a tournament
game. In the best cases, such post-mortem sessions become more satis-
1 52 C H ESS B ITCH
fying than the game being analyzed, much like a Sunday brunch, where
yesterday's party breaks down over Eggs Florentine.
In the room I had lived until college, I have copies of notes to my
old games. "Not patient enough," I scribbled about one rash move. "I
need to be more comfortable in waiting for something to happen." I
was hard pressed to resolve one inexplicable blunder: "I threw myself
right into the rocks." I did give myself credit for nice wins, though.
In the notes to one win I wrote, "I was able to find the hammer blow
right away." This rigorous introspection has carried over into my life
outside of chess, where I often dissect my own behavior in conversa
tions and encounters.
I often wonder how different my life would be without chess. Many
of the other selves I could have been might have been happier, less alien
ated, more/politically active, and more likely to land in stable relationships
and jobs. But without chess, I would be less confident and cosmopolitan,
with fewer varied experiences and international friendships.
In China, a great chess tradition for women is greatly assisted by the

government, which sponsors training and provides salaries for top play
ers. The Georgian women of the former Soviet Union were offered
similar resources. This type of support, both financial and psychological,
is not common in the United States or Western Europe, where chess
tends to be seen as an eccentric hobby, not a serious intellectual pursuit .
.
Unless parents can pay for training or a child goes to a school with a
chess program, American chessplayers (both males and females) are left
to fend for themselves. Some nations offer stipends to talented players,
but never in Europe or the Americas have the entire chess resources of
a country been so concentrated as they were for Xie Jun's monumental
1 991 match against Chiburdanidze.
A player has to be very motivated to pursue chess in the United
States or Western Europe. There are so many career options for an in-
J U N O AND G EN I U S 1 53
Jennifer Shahade,
2000 U.S.
Championship.
(Photo by Val
Zemitis.)
telligent person to pursue that to play chess serior.isly requires a very

passionate attraction-an attraction that could be called obsession.
While it is viewed as normal for girls to obsess over clothes, weight,
or men, it is not perceived as normal for them to obsess over chess.
As American Grandmaster William Lombardy pointed out, "Women
'
are not as good at ches� as men because they are more interested in men
than chess."A woman who does spend all her time on chess is often seen
as bizarre, particularly in places where a woman is expected to marry
at a young age. Linda Nangwale from Zambia told me that women in
her country are expected to be married by their early twenties. She
wonders, "What kind of man is going to understand that I'd rather play
blitz all night or study the Sicilian than hang out with him?"
The two greatest American players have reinforced or, to a
certain extent, created, the image of a chessplayer as an obsessive
genius. The first American chess legend, Paul Morphy, traveled
to Europe in 1 85 8 , where he stomped on his opponents in bril-
1 54 CH ESS B ITCH
liant style. H e quit chess soon after returning to his hometown,

New Orleans, where his madness bloomed.Wandering around the
French quarter, talking to imaginary p eople, Morphy had already
gone mad when he was found drowned in his bathtub in 1 884. H e
was forty-seven years old.
Bobby Fischer, the ultimate symbol of individualism in chess, spent
even more time on chess than a Chinese woman does, but he did it
alone in his room in Brooklyn or in the hotels at tournament sites, sur
rounded by his stacks of chess books. Now Fischer, exiled from Amer
ica for tax evasion, and has become a raving anti-Semite. Unlike the
more glamorous, free-spirited eccentricity of a musician or an artist,
the image of chessplayers like Morphy and Fischer is more often one of
narrow, introverted weirdness.
Fiction reinforces the stereotypes. Chess fanatic Vladimir Luzhin in
Nabakov's novel The Defense was unable to disentangle the events of the
real world from the events on the chessboard. He became a great player,
but his life ended in disaster when he threw himself out of a window.
Obsession may not be required for phenomenal success in chess,
but it certainly helps. As a result, chess fever is romanticized, and
some young players yearn to be more obsessed than they actually
are. Harriet Hunt of Britain compared herself unfavorably to an ex
boyfriend, a grandmaster who was far more focused on chess than
she was. "He would spend hours studying esoteric pawn endgames,
and this really made me feel inferior and jealous that I was not as ob
sessed as he was. Women have this problem in chess, that we are not
as obsessive as men."
At tournaments, women may find it more difficult than men to com

pletely lose themselves in the game and reach a zen-like state of total
focus. That women are trained from a very early age to be constantly
aware of how they appear may explain this.
J U N O AN D G E N I U S 1 55
John Berger, author of vvays ef Seeing (1 972) , developed the idea of

the "male gaze," the feeling that many women have that they are being
watched, even when alone. He writes, "A woman is almost continu
ally accompanied by her own image of herself. Whilst she is walking
across a room or whilst she is weeping at the death of her father, she
can scarcely avoid envisaging herself walking or weeping. From earliest
childhood she has been taught and persuaded to survey herself con
tinually.' '2 Such an extra layer of self-consciousness makes it hard to
experience life directly or to feel pure freedom.
The male gaze is a psychological c oncept, a generalization that
posits invisible differences in the way women and men think and
feel. In chess, expert player Elizabeth Vicary thinks that women are
also often watched in a very literal sense. As one of the few women
in American open tournaments, Elizabeth and her games often at
tract a lot of attention. Although this can b e embarrassing and an
noying, it can also have p ositive side effects, according to Elizabeth.
She feels that being mindful of their audiences makes women play
more exciting chess.
Olympic women's team coach, Grandmaster Ilya Gurevich, also
believes that women are particularly conscious about what other
people think about their games. "Women players are mostly worried
about what their coaches will say after the game-usually men are j ust
"
upset to 1ose.
In the view of my coach, Victor Frias, putting in fewer hours is the

main reason the best female players are not at the level of the best males.
He praised Judit Polgar as the first woman to break into the world's
top-ten list, because she was "the only woman in chess who eats, sleeps,
and breathes chess,just like her male counterparts." Some feminists and
writers agree that women do spend less time on chess, but think that
the problem is not with women, but with the hyper-competitive struc-
1 56 CH ESS B ITCH
ture of the chess culture. Alexander Cochburn wrote in Idle Passion, "It
can be taken as a creditable sign that women have largely not become
involved in chess or as expert as men in its execution, because they are
happily without the psychological formations or drives that promote an
expertise in the game in the first place."
Anti-chess feminism, a way of thinking that I encountered time
after time in my interviews and research, accepts Victor's premise that
women spend less time on chess, but don't think this is a bad thing.
As Margaret Mead said, "Women could be j ust as good at chess, but
why would they want to be?" Nine-time American women's cham
pion Gisela Gresser considered men obsessed with chess bizzare. She
said, "You know women are too reasonable to spend all their time
on chess."
Such rhetoric is not limited to the chess world. In the October
26, 2003, edition of The New York Times Magazine, the cover featured
a woman sitting with her baby next to a ladder. The article by Lisa
Belkin was titled "The Opt-Out Revolution."The so-called revolution
was about women leaving the work force to pursue more old-fash
ioned feminine roles. Sally Sears, a lawyer-turned-homemaker, said that
women were leaving "the rat race" because "we're smarter."
That women might be too intelligent to waste their time on chess
or work strikes me as a superficial idea. We reward excellence in most
areas with money and respect, so to inquire casually if women are too
smart to be obsessive requires a harsh assessment of our cultural values.
Surprisingly, some radical feminists would agree with conservatives
that women and chess don't mix well. Sexists might say that women
aren't playing chess because women are stupid, while "anti-chess feminists"
might say that women aren't playing chess because chess is stupid. Le Tigre,
a radically feminist pop-rock band, wrote a song called "Mediocrity
Rules," with a CD cover that reads: "Behind the hysteria of male ex
pertise lies the magic of our unmade art." In this view, the existence
J U N O A N D G EN I US 1 57
of superstar figures such as grandmasters or rock stars are based on a

patriarchal pyramid structure of power. The accomplishments and ideas
of a few are celebrated, while the majority is overlooked. To replace
"the hysteria of male expertise" it would not be sufficient to simply add
a few women to the top of the pyramid, but to tear down the whole
structure in favor of something more egalitarian and inclusive.
Chessplayers are definitely categorized with a pyramid structure,
determined by their chess ratings. But this is not only a function of
chess, but also the way the chess culture is setup, which could change
in a way that valued participation and enjoyment in the game along
with masterful play. In my career, I support ideas and organizations that
broaden the appeal of chess, like coaching for Chess-in-the-Schools,
which emphasizes participation over mastery, and in creating liaisons
between artistic and chess worlds. Much more could be done. For in
stance, there could be tournaments in a larger variety of locations, and
players could be invited based on factors other than rating, such as
personality and chess style. There could be more prizes for beautiful
moves rather than the current situation where-with the rare exception
of brilliancy prizes (in which a panel of masters determine the most
artistic games of the tournament)-all awards go to the winners. There
could be more experimental matches in which the performative aspects
of the game are highlighted, such as Marcel Duchamp's match against
musician John Cage, held in 1 968 in Toronto. The two avant-garde art
ists designed and then played on a board on which each square was
wired to respond to a move on it with a different eruption of sounds
and images. Such measures could weaken the pyramid structure, and
encourage less competitive types (both male and female) to try chess.
On the other hand, I profile the accomplishments of champions
like Judit, Chen, and Nona because I believe that the focus and pas
sion required to excel at chess is a beautiful thing. As long as there
are winners and losers in chess, more prizes and attention will go to
1 58 CH ESS BITCH
winners. And I think that's appropriate, because winners tend to work

harder on the game, have a deeper love for and understanding of the
game, and deserve a greater share of accolades. Some of my fondest
memories are of those periods when I was most engrossed in chess.
Hours would go without my being aware of their passing as I played
or studied intricacies. Losing track of time while imm ersed in chess
fills me with a satisfaction so profound-for me the way being alive is
supposed to feel.
9
European Divas
Sexy, self-confident, sociable . . . can we be talking about a

prefessional chessplayer?
-Journalist Sarah Hurst on Grandmaster Stefanova
ineteen-year-old Antoaneta was wearing a black wool jacket

over her waifish frame on our way to a nightclub in a cab. The
next day, Christmas 1 998, was an off day from the tournament in
Groningen, a Dutch college town. I was seventeen at the time and in
timidated by Antoaneta, but after a couple of drinks I was loosening up
and we began to talk. With her enchanting Bulgarian accent, dimpled
smile, and quick wit,Antoaneta Stefanova has such charm that it is hard
to meet her without wondering, How cool can you get? Already among
the top ten women players in the world, Antoaneta-before hitting the
dance floor-told me, "I prefer to beat men."
Antoaneta (pronounced Antwaneta, and shortened by friends
to "Ety") was born in 1 979 in Sofia, the capital of Bulgaria, where, at
the age of four, she learned to play chess from her father. Her remark
able talent for the game was clearly demonstrated when she swept the
1 989 World Girls' Under 1 2 Championship in Puerto Rico with a per
fect score of 1 1 -0. "I was winning all my games and very happy!"
1 59
1 60 C H ESS BITCH
Antoaneta extracts pure pleasure from winning, which I observed

after playing her in a tournament in Spain a few years ago. Though an
underdog, I was holding on to my position until she took a risk in mu
tual time pressure, sacrificing a pawn to gain control of the dark squares
surrounding my King.This threw the game into a mad scramble. Under
tremendous pressure, I eventually blundered. After the game,Antoaneta
and I went to a restaurant with some Israeli friends. Glowing with the
pleasure of victory, Antoaneta lingered over her tiramisu, luxuriating in
what she calls "my fifteen minutes of feeling good about myself."
Later in that tournament, I was introduced to Antoaneta's sharp
sense of humor. Waiting for a taxi outside a disco at around 5 :00 A.M. ,
Antoaneta impatiently complained: "When will this stupid fricking taxi

get here?" causing one friend to tease her. "Ety-you're so negative . . . "
"Oh, sorry," she quipped, "where is the very nice and highly intelligent
taxi?"
Now in her twenties, Antoaneta Stefanova is one of the most ac
tive professional female chessplayers in the world. A typical yearly travel
schedule (2002-2003) for Ety included trips to Argentina, Turkey, Rus
sia, India, Israel, Indonesia, Curai;:ao, and nearly every country in West
ern Europe. Although Antoaneta usually prefers hot climates, she has
recently added Iceland to her list of favorite countries. In the spring
of 2002 Antoaneta and I were both there for the biennial Reykjavik
Open, a strong international tournament. The Icelandic Chess Federa
tion went to great lengths to support women players, inviting women
from around the world and paying all expenses.
This was not my first trip to Iceland. In 1 995, I played in a friendly
chess match between American and Icelandic high-schoolers. I turned
fifteen in the midst of the spectacular Icelandic celebration of New
Year's Eve. I was hanging out with teenaged Icelandic chessplayers, who
were drinking beer while I sipped Coca-Cola. All over the country,
families and friends gathered early in the evening to light roaring bon-
E U R O PEAN DIVAS 1 61
Antoaneta Stefanova.
(Photo by Victoria
Johansson.)
fires. By midnight the skies were lit up with fireworks. Iceland, a de
pressing place in the winter when days can remain black for as long as
twenty-four hours, has one of the highest alcoholism and suicide rates
in the world. One Icelandic master explained darkly, "In Icelandic win
ters, we don't drink to have fun."
This time, it's March, and Iceland was on the cusp of spring. The
event was held at the city hall in the center of Reykjavik. An hour
early for my first game, I ordered an expresso in the cafe adjacent to the
playing hall, where wide windows looked out on the icy landscape, and
I could see school children skating on a pond. By the time of my last
game the ice had melted.
Antoaneta had a below-par result in Reykjavik, but still managed
to enjoy the virtues and vices of Iceland. The healthy lifestyle of fresh
food included the finest salmon in the world. Clean, crisp Arctic air
contrasted with the vibrant nightlife of smoky discotheques. We stayed
1 62 C H ESS B ITCH
at a mega disco till early in the morning, relieving the stress of six days
of chess. Just before departing from Iceland, Antoaneta and I visited
the famous Blue Lagoon Geothermal Pools, where tourists and locals
bathed in the open air in all seasons. As the end of her stay in Iceland
drew near, Antoaneta wasn't sure she was ready to leave: "Iceland is one
of the most interesting places I've been in a while and I would like to
see more of it. But," she added, "when I am in the same country for
more than a week and a half, it feels strange, like it's time to go." At
tournament's end, she was off.
Antoaneta is unusual in the highest echelons of women's chess in
that she generally travels alone. I asked her why she rarely brings a coach,
and she says that it is often prohibitively expensive. She also feels freer
when traveling alone, explaining, "When I bring a coach I often feel
more responsible for my results. I can easily become nervous and play
badly." Many coaches would also have problems with her free-spirited
behavior. "I travel to chess tournaments ten months out of the year,"
Antoaneta told me. "Wouldn't it be a shame if I didn't enjoy myself?"
If there is a discotheque near the tournament site, Ety is likely to be
there, dancing to the pounding music and flashing lights. She smokes
Cartiers and drinks Bacardis. Time permitting between moves, Antoa
neta heads for the hallway, where she can puff on a cigarette while
contemplating her position. When she was a teenager, Johnnie Walk
er sponsored her tournament expenses. Antoaneta has recently toned
down a little. "When I was younger I used to be able to go out every
night and still play well, but now if I go out more than two nights in a
row it will show in my results."
A major milestone for Antoaneta was to achieve the grandmaster
title. She made her first norm during a trip to the United States by ty
ing for second at the 1 997 Hawaii International. The U.S. chess circuit
was impressed by the young Bulgarian, who celebrated her eighteenth
birthday during that tournament. In the weeks before Hawaii, Antoa-
EU ROPEAN DIVAS 1 63
neta had played in open tournaments in New York and Las Vegas on
her first and only trip to mainland America, where she did not enjoy
herself at all. She did not plan to return until she turned twenty-one,
when she could legally enter bars and clubs.
Antoaneta struggled for a few years before earning her second
norm in a round-robin tournament held in Salou, Spain. Her third
norm came soon after in the 2001 Andorra Open, where she tied for
first. She was awarded the title in 2002. At twenty-three, Antoaneta
Stefanova became the eighth woman to gain the grandmaster title.
The twenty-first century found Antoaneta Stefanova among the
highest ranked Bulgarian players, male or female. For the 2000 Olym
piad in Istanbul, rather than agree to play first board on the three-board
women's team, Antoaneta accepted an invitation as a reserve on the
mixed team. In Bulgaria, where the popularity of chess is similar to that
of Olympib figure skating in the United States, an angry press attacked
her decision. She could not think straight in Istanbul, Ety tells me, be
cause of critics who wanted her to play on the women's squad, where
they thought she would contribute more points. Despite winning only
three out of seven points in Istanbul, Antoaneta was able to play against
tougher competition and was convinced she had made the right deci
sion. "If I had to do it over again, I would do the same thing."
As ofJune 2002, in spite ofAntoaneta's high ranking, she had never
won a major women's tournament. That year the European women's
championship was to be held in Varna, Bulgaria, a seaside resort ly
ing on the shore of Varna Bay on the Black Sea, once a favorite spot
of Bobby Fischer. The first prize of $1 2,000 attracted most of the top
women players in Europe. Onlookers were rooting for Antoaneta, the
hometown favorite. She would not disappoint. Antoaneta was in fine
form, scoring 6.5 points from the first seven games. She eased into first
place with draws in the last three rounds. The championship was the
jewel in a crown of excellent results throughout 2002 and 2003. Her
1 64 CH ESS B ITCH
FIDE rating peaked at 2560, and when the April 2003 rating list was
published,Antoaneta Stefanova had become the second-ranked woman
in the world.
In the summer of 2003 Antoaneta discussed her recent successes
with me, speaking with characteristic candor: "I made some good de
cisions in my life, for instance, moving my home base back to Sofia,
where my friends and family are instead of living in some stupid place
in Spain." That place was Salou, a resort town near Barcelona. Salou's
spectacular beaches and discos provided good times as well as conve
nient access to strong European tournaments. But Antoaneta missed
too many elements of her own culture and decided that she had to go
back to her roots.
The adventurous spirit that sparks Antoaneta's behavior also ap
pears in her style over the chessboard, especially in her early years, when
she liked to play offbeat openings. The lines were not theoretically chal
lenging, but were likely to catch unprepared opponents off-guard and
leave them frustrated. "How could you live with yourself playing chess
like this?" one opponent wondered out loud during a bliti game. An
toaneta was playing one of her favorite systems, the London, an ex
tremely solid opening that is difficult for many players to fight against.
"Oh believe me, I can live with myself;' she said and then proceeded to
crush him.Antoaneta now plays more conventional lines, and writes off
her earlier opening strategies to laziness. " At some point I just realized I
didn't have the discipline to study the main lines in depth," she said. She
believed her natural skill would give her an edge and that she would
score more points with sidelines.
Antoaneta's strength, both over the chessboard and in her personal
life, has allowed her not only to survive in the male-dominated arena of
European Open tournaments, but also to thrive there. She told me, "I'd
rather do feminist things than talk about feminism." Antoaneta is not
afraid to confront tournament organizers and journalists, as I discov-
EU RO PEAN DIVAS 1 65
ered when interviewing her. At the time, a question I'd used in other
interviews seemed entirely reasonable to me and so I asked her, "What
is your favorite [chess] piece?" Even though Antoaneta and I have been
friends since we met at a tournament in 1 998 in Holland, she gave me
a withering look as though I'd gone mad, then said, "I can't believe that
you-as a chessplayer-asked me that." She added, "When journalists
in Bulgaria ask me questions like that, I tell them to learn something
about chess and then come back for an interview."
At least I didn't make the mistake of trying to interview her too
early in the day. Antoaneta, who usually prepares at night and sleeps
until just before a game, was outraged when an organizer once tried to
schedule an interview for her in the morning. "What-they want me to
get no sleep and lose my game?" The interview was rescheduled.
She does not tolerate disrespect. At one tournament, I ran into an
angry Antoaneta, who had just spoken with a Lebanese organizer. He
wanted her to come to Lebanon for a month to give exhibitions and
play in a tournament. She was offered a paltry sum for her services and,
to make matters worse, she would have to play in a tournament with
opponents far below her level. When Antoaneta explained that her Elo
rating was 2550, and she deserved better pay and better competition,
the organizer challenged her: "But that's 2550 Elo for women, right?"
There has never been a separate Elo rating system for women. After
this insult, Antoaneta walked off without further negotiations.
In Europe, playing chess professionally is a viable occupation. All
year long there are tournaments where prize money, free room and
board, and sometimes sizeable appearance fees are offered to top female
chessplayers. To hone their skills, the top players must endure demand
ing playing schedules that often require sleeping in several different
countries each month, a lifestyle that is not for everyone. Judit Polgar
commands a large enough appearance fee to make her living by playing
in just five or six tournaments a year, but still thinks that "traveling is the
1 66 C H ESS B ITCH
worst part about being a professional chessplayer." To those who long

to see the world, this may seem hard to believe, but "the dream-life gets
old;' says Grandmaster Artur Kogan, a globetrotting professional.
Antoaneta adapts well to a schedule that is at once grueling and
glamorous, and even sets herself a yearly goal to visit two countries
she has never seen before. Still, the traveling and focused activity wears
on her, and she often talks about switching to another field. Her main
academic interest is in psychology, but recently she has completed a
course in business and gotten involved in Bulgarian real estate. She tells
me that she will move away from chess when it feels right, not after she
accomplishes any particular goal. But she is certain that her lifestyle will
not last forever. "Come on," she says, "I am not going to be playing and
•
traveling to tournaments like this when I'm seventy."
The relationships formed on the professional chess circuit tend to be

both sporadic and intense. At tournaments, old friends pick up where
they left off, even when years have separated their last meeting. The
friendships are further complicated since players are often c:ompeting
against one another for prizes and invitations. Almira Skripchenko is
one of the top European women players is also one of the most popular
players on the tour.
Almira was born in 1 975 in Moldova, a country once part of the
USSR, separated from Romania on the west by the Prut River and
surrounded on the north, east, and south by the Ukraine. She is the
daughter of a chess family. Her mother is a woman international master
and her father is a chess politician.
In 1 994 at the Moscow Olympiad she began a romance with Joel
Lautier, the top grandmaster from France. When they married in Oc
tober 1 997, Almira moved from her native Moldova to Paris. By then
she was one of the top female players in the world. Besides chess, the
couple shared an interest in the cinema, literature, and philosophy. Both
Almira Skripchenko.
approach life with an intensity bordering on hedonistic. In explaining

to me why he took up smoking for a few months, Joel described it as
"another pleasure" to add to an apparently already lengthy list. To Almi
ra, who is interested in art and fashion, Paris is a cultural playground
where, she says, "I could spend most of my days in museums." Both are
adept at languages. Joel spoke fluent Russian, and Almira was quick to
learn French. The young couple has since separated (inJune 2002) .The
two are still good friends, and live on the same block in Paris.
In September 2003, Almira-along with her ex-husband, Lautier,
and three other grandmasters living in France, including World Cham
pion Vladimir �amnik-formed the Association for Chess Profession
als (ACP) . The mission of the young organization, which now has
I
about 300 members, was to improve conditions for chessplayers and

to determine ethical standards. The ACP, for example, protested FIDE's
decision to host the 2004 World Championship in Libya, where Israeli
players could not participate. Almira's easy interaction with others and
social skills were qualities well suited for her entry into the arena of
1 68 CH ESS BITCH
chess politics. Joel was appointed the president of the organization and
Almira became the treasurer.
Giving a woman such a leadership position is already in sharp con
trast to FIDE, where Joel points out that "female representation is vir
tually nonexistent." Indeed in attending an opening ceremony for the
World Women's Championship organized by FIDE, I was expecting
to hear at least one motivational talk or one welcoming speech from
a woman organizer or supporter. I was disappointed to see six men in
suits, standing side by side, who gave all the speeches. In ACP's view,
promoting women chessplayers is crucial if chess is to be integrated
into mainstream culture. The very first tournaments that ACP spon
sored included blitz tournaments and rapid events for women. ACP
also announced that their nine-person board would always include at
least two women.
A current appointee on the ACP board is Latvian-American player
Anna Hahn, a childhood friend ofAlmira's, who was her roommate at
many world youth championships. Still good friends, Almira and Anna
make a point to see each other often. When I went to Anna Hahn's
twenty-fifth birthday party at a friend's apartment in Brighton Beach,
Brooklyn, I was amazed to see Almira there. She had surprised Anna by
flying in from Paris to celebrate her birthday.
Almira does not have the fierceness of Antoaneta, admitting that
she suffered from a tendency to accept draws against players who were
higher-ranked than she, even when her position was better. When she
played against one of her many friends, the game often ended in a quick
draw. It was difficult, she said "to be comfortable with my aggression."
Almira's big breakthrough came at a tournament in 2000, in Italy, where
she gained her first norm toward the grandmaster title. "Instrumental
to my improvement," said Almira, "was developing an aggression and
being able to separate my conduct off the board from my conduct on
the board." She attributes the change in her attitude to the influence
of philosopher Ayn Rand, whose fictional bestsellers The Fountainhead

and Atlas Shrugged are built around the theme that individual develop
ment and creativity are primary over empathy. "For instance, in the past
I was sometimes peaceful, and would even feel pity for my opponent.
Ayn Rand's books and her philosophy helped me to respect myself as
an individual." In Italy she refused every draw offer. Soon afterward in
Macedonia, Almira won the 2001 European Women's Championship.
In 2003 Almira Skripchenko and Antoaneta Stefanova were among

more than one hundred young female chess stars from thirty-one differ
ent European countries to arrive in Turkey for the European Women's
Championship. The variety of individual personalities on the Euro
pean women's chess circuit makes the annual European championships
a much-anticipated contest. The 2003 competition was held in Kum
burgaz, a suburb west of Istanbul. The players stayed in the Princess
Marine, a four-star hotel housed in a luxurious pink high-rise, which
looked entirely out of place on the desolate stretch of unmanicured
highway. Among the favorites were the champions from the previous
two years, Almira and Antoaneta, along with established players Alisa
Galliamova from Russia and Pia Cramling from Sweden. The field was
rounded out with a bevy of young stars, including twenty-year-old
Victoria Cmiltye from Lithuania, eighteen-year-old Elisabeth Paehtz
from Germany, and Tatiana and Nadezhda, the teenaged Kosintseva
sisters from Russia.
Alisa Galliamova had a spectacular start, winning 6.5 games out of
her first seven against some of the strongest players in the tournament:
Pia Cramling; Corina Peptan; and the Georgians, Ketevan Arakhamia
and Nino Kurtsidze. Thirty-four-years old at the time, Galliamova is
quiet, modest, and devout, covering her head with a scarf while she
plays. By the time I arrived to watch the ninth of thirteen scheduled
rounds, Alisa was leading the event by two full points. According to the
1 70 CH ESS B ITCH
Swiss format, players with similar scores play one another. Galliamova
was so far ahead that she could lock up the gold medal with a few
draws against her final opponents. In round nine, she was able to draw
with the black pieces against a frustrated Stefanova, moving her closer
to the championship. But in the next rounds, she faltered. She played
a quiet system with white against Viktorija Cmilyte, who responded
with a violent attack and a victory. Tatiana Kosintseva, whose solid
play and steady nerves had earned her the nickname "The Rock;'
ended Alisa's chances in the eleventh round with an elegant Queen
sacrifice in an already dominant position. What appeared a few rounds
before to be a clear-cut victory for Alisa Galliamova had turned into
a complicated free-for-all with as many as four women contending
for the title.
It was the thirteenth and final round, with twenty-year-old
Victoria Cmiltye and the teenaged Tatiana Kosintseva tied for first place.
According to the Swiss format, they should have played each other, but
since they had already played earlier in the tournament (a draw), they
had to be paired against different opponents. Cmiltye drew her game
against young Marie Sebag from France. Meanwhile, Kosintseva lost
to Swedish Grandmaster Pia Cramling. This left Victoria Cmilyte tied
with Pia Cramling. A sudden-death playoff would decide the winner
of the prestigious title and the $ 12,000 purse. The first game ended in
a draw, but Cramling won the second. It was over. Pia Cramling pre
vailed over all the young stars to become the 2003 European women's
champ. The chess world, so used to victories by young women players,
was stirred up by the success of Cramling, who two months before had
turned forty.
Pia is a mild-mannered, slight woman with ash blond hair. She
began her chess career in the 1 980s, playing mostly in mixed events.
Winning a chess clock in a school tournament at the age of thirteen
convinced her that she was destined to master the game. Pia's goal
was to become a respected player among men and women, not to be
come a women's champion. In fact, there is no women's championship
in Sweden. She earned the grandmaster title in 1 992, a monumental
achievement that received little attention in light of the even more
impressive feats of the Polgar sisters. Lately, Pia has been playing in
women's tournaments regularly, explaining, "I used to play in very few
women's tournaments, but now the level has increased and it is much
more interesting." It took time for Pia to find her top form. "I used to
have a lot of problems playing against women. I got so tense, like I had
to prove something."
Pia does not think of herself as a celebrity.As a teenager, she became
annoyed when reporting results was not enough for the Swedish news
papers, who also expected to interview her regularly. "I wanted to be
left alone to play chess." Many of the top women chessplayers share this
distaste for publicity. Romanian champion Corina Peptan says, "Fame
takes away from freedom. Suddenly you are not a person anymore but a
brand, like McDonald's. It is very hard to feel free if people are looking
and pointing at you all the time."
Antoaneta believes that "chess needs promoting," and she wants to
do her part, but has mixed feelings on the personal consequences of
fame. Antoaneta was a guest on the most popular talk show in Bulgaria,
which has an audience of two million viewers. After the show aired,
she encountered a lot of attention from strangers on the street, which
she thought was "funny at first, but then it started to get annoying. I
couldn't walk down the street without someone stopping me. Luckily,
people in Bulgaria have very short memories, so the attention only
lasted a short while."
The tendency of the media to dwell on the accomplishments of
very young people is exaggerated in the world of women's chess, where
young and attractive women have been so successful. Cathy Forbes re
marks, "To put it humorously, women need the right to get old." When
1 72 C H ESS B ITCH
I asked Antoaneta about the way the press tends to concentrate on only
young and beautiful female chessplayers, she replied, "What do you
expect from the press? If you're going to beat Kasparov, then you can
be anyone, but if you want attention and you can't beat Kasparov, you'd
better be young and beautiful."
A notable absence at the 2003 European Championship was the fa

mous Russian Alexandra Kosteniuk, who was busy finishing her high
school examinations in Moscow. Kosteniuk plays at the level of a male
grandmaster, and is among the top ten female players in the world.
By aggresively pursuing publicity, and playing up her good looks and
youth, she has become the hottest and most controversial story in chess,
also capturing the attention of the mainstream.
I first met Alexandra at the World Youth Festival in Menorca,
Spain, when she was thirteen years old. I was fifteen and playing
in the Girls' Under 1 6 Championship for the United States. Alex
andra often came around to visit her friend, Irina Krush, who was
also playing for the U.S. in the Under 1 4 section. Alexandra struck
me as a tomboy when I saw her playing blitz with spunk against
boys. I remember watching one game where she slamm ed down her
Rook, in a quiet-yet powerful-move, played so instinctively that
it could only have come from intense positional training. Alexan
dra was home-schooled, and her father, Konstantin, a professional
chess coach, trained her methodically. Alexandra loved the training so
much that during a vacation to the country all she wanted was "to go
home and study chess with my dad!"
Alexandra's competitive streak, combined with intensive home
schooling and training from her father, quickly paid off. In Spain,
she won her second world championship. At fourteen, Alexandra
won the woman grandmaster title. At fifteen, she became an interna
tional master among men. An even bigger success came in the 2001
EU ROPEAN D IVAS 1 73
World Championships, in which she nearly snagged the FIDE Wom

en's World Championship crown, making it to the final, only losing
against Zhu Chen.
It was not only in chess that Alexandra was precocious. At just
sixteen, she posed in heavy makeup and a tight black dress with black
and-white checkered belt and choker for a photo series sponsored by
FIDE. She was wearing the new so-called "chess uniform." (Such a
costume was never used in official tournament play, and there was no
men's uniform.) Alexandra jumped at the opportunity to model. As
a preteen, she told me how she used to mail her photos to model
of-the-year competitions, but never received a response. Those early
FIDE photos are disturbingly sexy as Alexandra looks at the camera
with alternate pouty and helpless stares. Alexandra now says, "They're
not my favorites now . . . I feel I was wearing too much makeup."
Today, Alexandra's image is still sexy but more refined. In her

hometown of Moscow, a photo of her wearing a pale blue evening
gown while playing chess on her laptop is plastered all over city bill
boards in advertisements for the electronics company LG. She has
appeared in Russian Vogue, Newsweek, and Elle Girl; and in America,
she has been interviewed on CNN and in Time magazine. She is also
sponsored by Balmain watches, which markets its watches as "prob
ably the most elegant in the world" and hails Alexandra as the "vice
world champion." The moniker refers both to Alexandra being the
second-place finisher in the world championship (as in vice-presi
dent) , and also her presumably wild, vice-loving personality.
Alexandra tells me that she does not have a personal style, and the
thing she likes about fashion and modeling is that for each photo ses
sion "a completely different look is achieved." Her favorite shoot was
for the December 2002 edition of Russian Vogue, in which she posed
in Paris for fashion photographer Zhenia Minkovich in five different
1 74 CH ESS B ITCH
high-fashion outfits. Alexandra is pictured outdoors wearing a low-cut

black couture dress and black leather boots with stiletto heels, her hair
blowing. In another, Alexandra is strolling down an indoor mall wear
ing a white dress, a brown suede belt, and brown cowboy boots. "Un
fortunately," she said, "I did not get to keep any of the clothes."
Alexandra's life is hectic. In addition to her crowded schedule of
photo shoots, chess tournaments, and exhibitions, she has embarked on
a third career as a movie star. She had a major role in the movie Bless
the Woman (2002), by popular Russian director Stanislav Govorukhin.
Alexandra is interested in performing in more movies, though she does
not consider it challenging. "It was too easy! I thought it was going to
be so difficult because I'm always reading about actresses and actors
who talk about how hard it is to act, and how long the hours are. Really,
in comparison to chess, it was such a breeze. It was boring, just waiting
around a lot."
Kosteniuk's frequently updated website-including catalogs of Al
exandra's photo-shoots, game scores, and future tournament and travel
schedules-at times verges on pornographic. A photo of Alexandra in
a pink thong bikini is labeled simply, "Alexandra is now in Miami! "
where she spends a couple months each year. Another shows Alex
andra naked from the waist up, with a digital Post-It covering both
her breasts. Accompanying text reads, "This picture is too sexy for the
website." Beauty and Chess, her CD-ROM filled with- exclusive, high
resolution photos, is sold for $34.Visitors to the site are urged to "Buy
it! Do a good action today!" The brilliance of her marketing campaign
is its ability to simultaneously promote Alexandra as a sex-bomb and
a sweetheart who loves children. A portion of the profits made by her
website are donated to Alexandra's Chess Fund, which promotes chess
for children all over the world.
Financially, Alexandra seems to do well-she won't reveal numbers,
but she snickers when I ask if she makes more money than Judit Polgar.
Alexandra Kosteniuk. (Photos courtesy Alexandra Kosteniuk.)
"I know I do well; I don't know anything about how much money Judit
makes." On sale on Alexandra's site are photographs, j ewelry, clothing,
even lessons with her father. Her book, How I Became a GM at Age 1 4,
has already sold over 5,000 copies in Russian, and has been translated
into Spanish and English. For higher prices, she also sells photos and
books with autographs, and as for inscriptions, she insists on "reasonable
requests only." One coach asked for a picture to add to a photo gallery
of female chess stars in her classroom, and Alex sent an autographed one
free of charge, because the photo was for inner-city children. Unfor
tunately, it was a sultry shot of her in a bathing suit. Kind though the
gesture ·was, another (less-revealing) photo of Alex was downloaded,
printed, and posted on the wall.
Chess journalist Taylor Kingston suggests that Alexandra's website
ought to be renamed "From Russia With Hype," predicting a "logical
1 76 C H ESS BITCH
progression to a 'chess cake' calendar a la Anna Kournikova and 'fan

zine' articles linking Kosteniuk with a member of, say, *NSYNC." But
Alexandra Kosteniuk, at nineteen, chose as her manager Diego Garces,
a skilled marketer more than twice her age. The pair was married in St.
Petersburg recently, but Alexandra prefers to be secretive about her per
sonal life. The wedding is probably the only thing that is not chronicled
on her extensive website, which is a photo gallery, a biography, a store,
and-most amusingly-a diary. Alexandra's every move is documented
and displayed in rudimentary English that sometimes makes the website
seem like a beginning English textbook. "Alexandra is smiling because
the weather is much better in Paris than it was in Moscow." "Alexan
dra is happy to make her debut at the movies." "Oxana [Alexandra's
sister] is happy to go to the ball too." "Alexandra is running toward the
beach . . . and jumping in anticipation!"
I was curious about how seriously Alexandra took her image and
wondered if she was embarrassed by some aspects of her campaign. I
got my chance to find out in a National Scholastic Championship in
Chicago, where I was coaching LS. 3 1 8, a national junior-high chess
champion team from Brooklyn. Alexandra was there giving a simul
taneous and a book-signing. I was eager to satisfy my curiosity about
how she really felt about being a chess star/sex symbol. Assuming that
Alexandra was charging the organizers exorbitant sums for this, I was
resentful, since a number of competent American players (myself, for
instance) could make appearances for less.
I went to watch Alexandra give her simultaneous to thirty chil
dren. Susan Polgar was also giving an exhibition. I was surprised to see
that Alexandra was wearing three-inch heels, but had to laugh when I
noticed Susan wearing similar shoes. Apparently Susan and Alexandra
were not aware of former U.S. Women Champion Gisela Gresser's ad
vice to women giving simultaneous exhibitions: "Bring courage and a
sensible pair of shoes!"
In chatting with an organizer, I found out that Alexandra was

not only giving the simultaneous for free, she was paying for her
own hotel room in addition to giving out prizes to the children. It
was becoming clear to me that there was much more to Alexandra's
campaign than money. Anxious to arrange some private time with
her, I dropped by when she was signing How I Became a GM at 1 4.
Alexandra was gracious and radiant, autographing books and chat
ting with her fans in the long line of young girls, doting parents,
teenage boys; and older men. When the crowd thinned out, I asked
if she wanted to meet and maybe play a few blitz games later in the
evening. She was enthusiastic, assuring me that although she had
a dinner appointment, she would definitely keep our engagement:
"When I say yes, I mean yes! " Later that night, I came to her room,
spread out the chess set and clock, and started to chat with her and
her husband, Diego.
Diego was propped up on the king-size bed, half watching an
action movie, occasionally glancing at our blitz games, and mostly
working away on Alexandra's website. He is the sole web designer,
pointing out that "it only takes a few months to learn how to do this
properly." Alexandra glowed with pride over her husband's computer
prowess. When I asked her how much input she had into the website,
she told me very little. "Sometimes Alexandra does not agree with
some of the photos I post there," Diego teases her, "like they are too
sexy. For example the one on the beach.Alexandra must have thought
her stomach looked big in it," Diego said, as if Alexandra could not
possibly doubt the appropriateness of a bikini-thong shot, and any
objection she has must surely arise from vanity. When disagreements
arise between the newlyweds, Alexandra says, Diego always wins her
over to his side. "I listen to his thoughts on publicity and politics, and
I always agree with him." Diego, who is rated about 200 points lower
than Alexandra, says, "I trust Sasha's chess evaluations."1
1 78 C H ESS BITCH
In the first blitz game with Alexandra, I used one of my favorite

openings for black, the Dragon, a risky set-up in which the pawn struc
ture supposedly resembles a dragon. Midway through I became aware
of how much I wanted to win. I may have come to her room primar
ily out of curiosity, but when the clocks started, I was a chessplayer. I
outplayed her in the endgame and won a pawn.Alexandra fought back.
She checked me, I moved my King to the only available square, and
she checked me again, forcing me to return to my King to its previous
square. It was perpetual check, one of the paths to a draw. Afterward,
she showed me a winning line I had missed. By now, the idea of win
ning the blitz match had completely seduced me. In the second game,
I played a tricky, aggressive line, hoping to catch her off-guard and steal
a quick point. It seemed as though it might work.Alexandra then spent
nearly two minutes on three or four moves-a luxurious allotment for
a five-minute game. She either figured out the moves over the board
or recalled them, but in either case she played the late World Cham
pion Mikhail Tal's recommendation and I lost. She visibly relaxed as we
continued to speak about her career and lifestyle.
In their energetic lifestyle I sense Alexandra's and Diego's passion
is more for the fame and glamour than for the money: for shopping in
Paris, lounging in Miami, having a quick vacation in Venice, and doing
business in Moscow. Of course, money is required for such a lifestyle,
but it seems that money is merely the means for the jet-setting excite
ment that is the real source of pleasure for the couple. "We always have
a plane ticket in our front pockets," says Diego. "I can't stand being in
the same place for too long," Alexandra concurs. "We have 336 unan
swered e-mails;' Diego says with a laugh. "These days Alexandra gets
about a hundred e-mails a day, and we try to answer each and every one
of them." Compared with those chessplayers who can't be bothered to
show up for press conferences, Alexandra and Diego are refreshing in
their enthusiastic quest for fame.
EU ROPEAN D I VAS 1 79
Alexandra Kosteniuk. (Photo'

by Jennifer Shahade.)
Alexandra and Diego don't comprehend feminist criticism of their

campaign. When I asked Alexandra about her views on feminism, she
tells me, "I smile when I hear about feminism. I don't understand what
feminists are fighting for now. Perhaps this was necessary some time
ago." Men's magazines, including Penthouse and Playboy, contact Alex
andra, but Diego says, "We will not allow them to photograph Alexan
dra, but they are free to choose any photograph from the site." Playboy
magazine will not yet be able to concoct a spread, playing with words
such as mate and position. However, the two see_ no problem in offering
interviews or pictures to erotic magazines. "What's the problem? The
questions they ask are the same as usual."
Alexandra's website happily accepts her label as the "Anna
Kournikova of chess," a journalist's moniker that quickly caught on.
Both Kosteniuk and the Russian tennis star are at the center of de
bates about publicity. Anna Kournikova appeared on the cover of
Sports Illustrated in June 2000, causing heated criticism from femi-
1 80 C H ESS B ITCH
nists who pointed out that male athletes are not " stuffed into tight
fitting uniforms that display their genitalia as a way of getting more
women to buy magazines." Feminist cultural critic Michael Messner
argued in his book Taking the Field that it is too simplistic to as
sert that women like Kournikova and Kosteniuk are " disempowered
dupes who have allowed themselves to be 'objectified' by a powerful
cultural system." The diversity of feminist viewpoints, he explains,
should not be confused with one specific strand of anti-sex femi
nism. Powerful women athletes may see no contradiction in being
both an attractive woman and a formidable player. Alexandra enj oys
modeling, playing chess, and being famous, and believes these things
are compatible.
Alexandra has no problem separating her sexy image from her
serious chess play. She is intent on reaching the level of a strong grand
master, and when she is not in a tournament, she trains for up to six
hours a day. At chess tournaments she dresses professionally. She wears
thick glasses and expensive-looking business suits, dressed as if she is
about to have a power lunch. In Alexandra's position, she will garner
criticism no matter what she does. If she wore skimpy outfits, she
would be criticized for dressing unprofessionally. As it is, people chide
her for appearing so plain at tournaments and at the same time fancy
ing herself as the Anna Kournikova of chess. I've heard people remark
that Alexandra "is no Kournikova." In other words, she is not blond,
not blue-eyed, not long-legged, and not as big:.. chested as Kournikova.
Kosteniuk, slender with classic features, does not fit as perfectly into
the narrow ideal of female sex-symbol beauty as Kournikova, but she
does a good enough job. As Alexandra said: "I am clever, so I can play
chess; and I am not so ugly, so I can model."2 When I ask her if it is
difficult to concentrate on chess with all her publicity, she denies a
conflict, explaining that when she is playing chess, she is completely
focused on the game.
Alexandra believes that "chess deserves better" but that chessplay

ers tend to talk about promoting the game without doing anything.
According to Alexandra, her initiatives in publicity have not been em
braced by most chessplayers. She told me, "I have no female friends in
chess anymore. They are all so jealous of me. I show people my photos
and they say things like 'Wow, it's amazing what photography, lighting,
and makeup can do,' as if the quality of the photos has nothing to do
with my personality or style." Alexandra says that she hears what oth
ers say behind her back, but no one in the chess world is brave enough
to criticize her to her face: "Not one person has ever said something
straight to me."
But there is more behind the criticism of Alexandra's publicity tac
tics than j ealousy. The stereotype that competitive women are unfemi
nine can cause some participants to bend over backwards to flaunt their
sexuality. This reassertion of femininity may be a free choice, but it
plays out within a larger context with attention and money on the line.
I avoided a knee-j erk reaction of disapproval because, from a feminist
perspective, I find nothing wrong with Alexandra being proud of her
looks. However, she goes too far on her website, creating the impression
that clothes, makeup, and modeling are more important to her than
chess variations, thus perpetuating the idea that a woman's most essen
tial quality is her appearance. Encouraging men to ogle at Alexandra is
an easy way for amateurs to forget that Kosteniuk could destroy them
over the board. The stereotypes of female inferiority that Alexandra
bashes with her play are thus covered with her smiling, sultry shots.
While this does promote chess to the mainstream, it doesn't necessarily
help all women chessplayers. Less-attractive players, or those who are
unwilling to play up their looks, might be left with little attention and
few endorsements and invitations.
Both chess and non-chess media focus on the looks of young fe
male players, a phenomenon that chess journalist Mig Greengard deri-
1 82 C H ESS B ITCH
sively calls the "Lolita factor." The Lolita factor was on full display at a
match between Kosteniuk and German Elisabeth Paehtz held in Mainz,
Germany, in August 2002 when both girls were seventeen. Officially
the match between Elisabeth and Alexandra was termed the "Duel of
the Graces" and unofficially "The Duel of the Cuties." Most important
to the press were the looks and sex appeal of the young players. Though
not quite so well known or high ranked as Kosteniuk, Paehtz is famous
in Germany and is a frequent guest on German talk shows. If Kosteniuk
is the pop star of chess, Paehtz is the closest thing the game has to a
rock star. She likes to go out, knows all the gossip, and dresses in funky
/ outfits, including a signature black-leather hat pulled over her cropped
red hair. "Playgirl" is her nickname on the Internet. Often blunt to
the point of hilarity, she once complained to me about how her loose
tongue got her into trouble with journalists: "They made me look like
an arrogant girl who parties all the time and only beats grandmasters
who are drunk!"
The hairstyles and outfits of the attractive teens were scrutinized
round by round, while their actual play was often dealt with as a
sidebar-a shame considering how thrilling the games were. Both
Kosteniuk and Paehtz have extremely aggressive chess styles and are
most comfortable in wide-open games with lots of tactics, and in
each round of the match, both girls played as if they might never
get another chance to play a chess game. Both exchanged blows,
each winning three games. The remaining two games were exciting
draws. Since the match was tied, a blitz playoff determined the win
ner, who turned out to be Kosteniuk. A disappointed Elisabeth was
unprepared for the surge of media attention the match got. She later
complained to me that reporters would try to get her to say mean
things about Alexandra to report in the papers the next day. In one
instance, when Paehtz was asked what she thought of Alexandra's
glamour photographs, she snapped, "Anyone can look good with that
much makeup." Concurrent with the Kosteniuk-Paehtz match was

a match between FIDE world champions Ruslan Ponomariov and
Viswanathan Anand. This match was advertised as a serious match
between grandmasters in which Ponomariov was never once asked
what he thought ofAnand's outfit.
Elisabeth "would like to play against Kosteniuk again," but inti
mated to me that she hopes in the future "the matches will have more
to do with chess."
The media frenzy over the Kosteniuk-Paehtz match is typical of
the atmosphere at any chess tournament in which young, attractive girls
participate. Throughout the chess world, chatter about the looks of the
top women players is constant, usually complimentary, but sometimes
nasty. When two women players contest a chess match, the live com
mentary from spectators on the Internet often focuses more on their
bodies and whether they are hot or doable than on chess variations.
Even the best female player in the world is vulnerable to criticism:
one grandmaster criticized changes in Judit Polgar's figure, using inap
propriate gestures and language. Polgar is a stronger player than he, and
his comments sounded as though they were meant to put Judit in her
place. The message is that Polgar may have money, fame, and brains, but
she is still a woman and as such is open to nasty attacks on her physical
being. I've had my own experiences with such unkind remarks. On one
newsgroup, I was both horrified and amused to find someone describe
me as "pretty, smart, but fat." The "but fat" caused me to scream, "I'm
not fat," and then to ask, "but so what if I were?"
ChessBase.com, the most popular chess news source in the world
with over 50,000 daily visitors, covers the top tournaments in the
world, along with exhibition matches, chess politics, and instructional
briefings. There is a heavy emphasis on showing off young and beau
tiful chess-playing women, though their games and quotes are rare
ly included beside their photos. The site loves Alexandra Kosteniuk,
1 84 C H ESS B ITCH
who is hailed as the ultimate "chess-playing babe." Every few months

ChessBase posts a new series of photos of Kosteniuk. In 2002, in the
annual ChessBase player-of-the-year contest, fans selected Alexandra
Kosteniuk as the winner-she edged out Kasparov by a hair. Frederic
Friedel, who is the editor and founder of ChessBase, congratulated
Kosteniuk "on her convincing win over Kasparov;' the subtext be
ing that Kosteniuk would never beat Kasparov in a game that didn't
involve photos.
Kosteniuk is not the only darling of the ChessBase website which
often posts photos of other pretty, smiling young women, preferably in
bikinis. One headline, "Bikini chess championship in Ukraine," featured
"dazzling pictures of young women GMs and IMs in beachside circum
stances." In another news item, ChessBase profiled an eighteen-year-old
Siberian master, Ksenya Rybenko. Her respectable rating of2260 FIDE
was never mentioned in the report because her "vital statistics" were
determined to be her measurements, weight, and height, which were
duly noted. The picture gallery includes a photo of Ksenya holding a
gun and another of her lounging on a Thai beach in a bikini.
ChessBase came very close to crossing the line into straight up
porno when it reproduced an interview with a thirty-year old Rus
sian master, Maria Manakova, who calls herself a "sex specialist." She
had posed nearly nude for the cover of a Russian tabloid magazine,
Speed. This resulted in a spate of interviews, one of which, titled "Sex
and Chess;' was filled with ludicrous questions about whether or not
Maria travels with her husband so she can have sex during tournaments,
and whether there are any "real men" among the top male players. An
other burning inquiry was, "A chess game usually lasts for four hours
or more-is there enough time for sex?" Maria's responses included: "A
woman should always be a woman," "Maybe I'm a bit perverted;' and
"We are not so strong as men, so we should cash in on our beauty, don't
you agree?"
EU ROPEA N D I VAS 1 85
"I love to eat Bishops;' reads the headline of the Speed cover. A
strong chess-playing woman is certainly made less threatening when
she is half-naked and her image emphasizes her fondness of oral sex.
The intellectual threat of a woman chessplayer is thus undercut-Maria
Manakova's image is an extreme example of the tendency to downplay
the intelligence of female players, to celebrate their physical beauty and
sex appeal instead.
Women and men with a range of levels of feminist sympathies
read such news items, even if they are offended by them. My brother,
who was particularly outraged by the news item on Manakova, told
me, "Now I have to avoid reading ChessBase-that's the only way to
make a point of this." But others (including myself) , who lack the firm
resolve of my brother, pay attention to such things, even as we criticize
them, because sex and controversy are entertaining reading. Using such
news items to lure readers is an effective but juvenile tactic, tantamount
to trying to get attention for a junior-high school fundraising drive by
holding up a sign with SEX in big block letters. Okay, I looked, but I'm
not buying any candy.
In an interview with a world-class grandmaster from Russia, Vlad
imir Tkachiev, ChessBase found a way to display its self-proclaimed
"sleaze alert."Vladimir has movie-star good looks and is proud of his
bon-vivant lifestyle, including a love for alcohol and women. The in
terview ends with a discussion of the best-looking girls in chess, and
with what ChessBase founder Frederic Friedel calls a "humorously
sexist note."
.
"Among the girls who could compete for the beauty contest
title are Kosteniuk, of course, and then the big favorites are [Dana]
Reizniece, a Latvian player who is a very spectacular woman, and
Shirov's wife, Victoria Cmilyte. Another big favorite is Regina Po
korna, who is a child-woman, an eternal girl. The reason there are so
many beautiful women playing chess these days is because the game
1 86 CH ESS B ITCH
has become faster and faster. As Tal said, it was always too difficult for
women to play chess because during the games they are forced to
keep silent. Now the games are much quicker and it has become easier
to shut up during the games [laughs uproariously] ."
Disclaiming his interview as "humorously sexist" is typical of Fred
eric Friedel, who knows that the way ChessBase presents women is
over the top and leaves the site open to criticism. Therefore, the presen
tations are done in such a light-hearted way that any critics are likely to
be called "Feminazis"-moral crusaders out to win an argument, while
stunting the development of chess.
As ChessBase became more popular, more readers mailed in com
plaints to the site, which Frederic published, along with his respons
es. One reader wrote, "I'm just tired of seeing ChessBase objectifying
female chessplayers. I don't think that is the best way to make chess
more popular or for that matter to attract more women to this male
dominated sport." In response to the criticism, Frederic asked a litany
of questions, "You really want us to become one of the boring run-of
the-mill sites that the world ignores? You really want chess to stay per
manently out of the mainstream? Restricted to studious people with no
interest in the many non-chess aspects of human life?"
Frederic thought sexy news items would actually increase female
interest in the game, since "it eliminates the century-old cliche that
chess is a game played by boring old fogies and women's chess by el
derly matrons. They see that perfectly normal-in fact, pretty-girls
participate in the game." He continues, "In every area of human life
and entertainment the media celebrates beautiful women," but that can
depress adolescent girls, whose self-esteems dip when they read fashion
magazines.
.
I think that chess can do better than imitate the worst aspects of
mainstream culture. There are ways to show that chessplayers can be hip
and attractive without stooping to bikini shots and measurements. In
Irina Krush and Jennifer Shahade, Viewing Room Gallery, New York, 2003.
(Photo by Paul Truong.)
conversation with Friedel, I expressed my disapproval with some of the

content of his site. He attacked me: "Aren't you interested in promoting
chess?" and then challenged me: "I thought that you would understand
chess needs promoting, with all the wigs you wear." Friedel was refer
ring to a match I played with Irina Krush in the Viewing Room art
gallery (also covered on ChessBase) , in which we wore white and black
outfits, from our shoes to pageboy wigs. I considered the event both
a chess match and a performance. The atmosphere was festive. There
were a dozen brightly colored abstract paintings on the walls. Specta
tors from art and chess circles sipped wine, ate cookies, and mingled as
Irina and I played.
The two-game match was competitive despite the artistic focus of
the event. Irina won the first game convincingly, while I fought back
from a losing position in the second, tying the match. Usually when
1 88 CH ESS B ITCH
non-chessplayers come to tournaments, they are struck by the oddness

of two people sitting down, staring at the chessboard for hours on end.
I wanted our event to highlight that strangeness. Two young girls all
dressed up, staring at a chessboard instead of the camera.
It's not all black and white, as Grandmaster Susan Polgar points out:
"We all have different limits as to how far it is acceptable to promote
chess through feminine beauty." Promoting young and attractive wom
en chessplayers is not in itself objectionable. After all , much of Garry
Kasparov's fame in the mainstream press is because of his confident
swagger, good looks, and luminous energy. However, there is a line
with him and other male players that one dares not cross. Journalists
and fans don't go around commenting on the size of Kasparov's cock.
In the chess world, the sexuality of the top male players is private and
implied, while discussion of a woman's sexuality is open to all .
10
Checkmate Around the

Worl d
Some people call me 'bitch'for playing with boys all the

time. But it's the only way I can get proper training; so they
can call me names until they get tired-they always do.
-Linda Nangwale from Zambia
am in Budapest, Hungary, losing game after game in the August

2003 edition of the monthly "First Saturday" tournaments. I came in
the hopes of earning my third norm toward the international master
title. My living conditions are more suitable to socializing than compet
ing against seasoned grandmasters. I am staying in a dingy hostel with
college students on their summer breaks and Japanese teenagers on
whirlwind tours of Europe. All-night revelers awaken me at all hours. I
decide that since I can't sleep, I might as well join the fun.
I've become friends with a waiter in a nearby restaurant called Noa,
which serves fancy salads and sandwiches to well-heeled tourists and
stylish Europeans. In Hungary, chess is popular and the best players
are national heroes, so when my waiter, Arpi, started talking with me,
I mentioned that I was here for a chess tournament, and also to con
duct some interviews. Arpi immediately began to gossip about the two
1 89
1 90 CH ESS BITCH
top players in Hungary, Judit Polgar and Peter Leko. Arpi is tall and
blond and has movie-star good looks. I can't help but think that this
wild and charismatic twenty-four-year-old would be successful-even
famous-if he lived in more prosperous circumstances. In Budapest he
seems exhausted from working double shifts and he expresses his dis
quiet by self-destructing. When we go out, he tends to order a shot
of tequila, a beer, and a double espresso. In between gulps of this fatal
combination he puffs one cigarette after another. Arpi yearns to live in
North America. He seems jaded by the sentiment that his beloved Bu
dapest is irreparably corrupt.While waiting tables at a break-neck pace,
he points out some muscled, tattooed men, who are sipping beers at a
nearby table. Arpi whispers, "They are part of the mafia that protects
this place-they never pay for anything."
In Hungary, corruption is also evident in the top tiers of chess,
since resources are so limited. It is rumored that unscrupulous and des
perate professionals can sometimes buy the coveted final IM and GM
norms, which will secure invitations and respect for them. Opponents
with nothing special to gain from a win are sometimes willing to ac
cept a fee to lose on purpose.When some of my American chess friends
heard I was going to Budapest, one advised me not to play in the tour
nament because of its poor reputation, while anotherjoked: "Make sure
to bring enough money to buy your last IM norm."
When in Budapest, I never once encountered anyone being offered
the opportunity to buy norms and suspect that it must have been the
crooked practices ofjust a few chessplayers that gave rise to the myth
that Budapest is a "norm factory."
Several chessplayers from Iceland, the United States, and Russia
told me stories of another kind of Hungarian swindle. An Icelandic
master was drunk at a bar when a beautiful Hungarian girl asked if he
would buy her some champagne. He obliged. Thirty minutes later, he
was shocked to find that the bill came to $500.When he explained that
C H ECKMATE ARO U N D TH E WO R LD 1 91
he didn't have the cash on hand, a few friendly members of the mafia
escorted him to an ATM machine. An American chessplayer, who had
fallen for a similar con, tried calling the police. They laughed and told
him, "There is nothing to be done." Arpi just shook his head know
ingly when I told him about the refusal of the police to intervene.
"To get any kind ofjustice here;' he said, "you have to go back to the
mafia." It is hard for Arpi to imagine that anyone would choose to live
in Budapest. He says derisively of the post-Cold War influx ofAsian im
migrants: "Chinese and Vietnamese immigrants who couldn't get into
America or Western Europe come here."
Budapest is the center of the chess universe, a prime destination
for ambitious young players. It is close to maj or tournaments in the
Czech Republic and Germany and not too far from Russia, Holland,
and Spain. Every month, world-class tournaments are held on the sec
ond floor of a non-descript building on Budapest's antique row, where
the Budapest Chess Club is housed. Players from five continents regu
larly come to the spacious club with big windows and sturdy furniture
to chase their final grandmaster and international master norms. For
Vietnamese Hoang Trang Tranh (Trang is the given name), the tenth
rated woman player in the world and former Asian champion (2000) ,
Budapest is an ideal place to live. Hoang Trang earned two grandmas
ter norms in First Saturday tournaments in 1 999 and 2000, and also
reached a rating near 2500, the minimum requirement for the GM title.
She expected the GM title to follow quickly. But in the past couple
of years, her rating has dropped and the final norm has proved elusive.
Now that her results are improving again, Hoang Trang feels that she is
coming out of her slump.
Trang and I meet at Europa, a cafe on a bustling street in Budapest.
Trang is a petite, upbeat twenty-three-year-old, who speaks in a soft
voice. Wearing small glasses, she arrives dressed in a trendy j ean jacket
and maroon dress decorated with printed elephants, which her mother
1 92 C H ESS BITCH
Hoang Trang. (Photo by Arvind Aaron.)
brought from Thailand. She cannot devote much time to shopping since
she spends four to six hours a day studying chess, and another few hours
on the administration of her family's two businesses, in chess train
ing and trade. "My mother works in commerce between Vietnam and
Hungary, and she always knows how to pick good clothes for me."
Europa is an apt, if somewhat forced, name for this posh Hungarian
cafe. Hungary was not yet fully European. (On May 1 , 2004, Hungary
was accepted into the European Union, with partial privileges to start.)
But the international crowd, rich pastries, and plush surroundings are
decidedly post-communist. From a sumptuous selection, Trang selects
a slice of cake with raspberries along with peach tea. I am on my third
cup of coffee of the day, at which Trang marvels: "Coffee has always
been repellent to me, though I wish I liked it."
Hoang Trang is reflective about the differences between us. About
fifteen minutes after settling down across a white marble table from
each other, Hoang Trang confesses that she is bewildered by my note
taking. Apparently, I had not made my intentions completely clear. I
CH ECKMATE AROU N D TH E WO R LD 1 93
felt slightly guilty that she did not understand I was eager to grill her
on her life and opinions. She thought I just wanted to hang out. Trang
explained that I look like I go out a lot, shop a lot, lounge in coffee
shops, lifestyle choices that are special treats for her: "Usually I am too
serious to meet up casually with friends, but my boyfriend urged me
to come meet you. He said, 'Hang out with the American girl! Enjoy
yourself! '"
Recently, Hoang Trang met her first serious boyfriend when do
ing administrative work for her parents. He is a Vietnamese foreign
exchange student in architecture, who, according to Trang, identifies
himself as an artist: "He is not as serious as I am. He only applies himself
when he's really interested, in which case he will spend all day and night
working. I, on the other hand, study chess every day, whether or not
I feel inspired. He does what he wants to do, and I do what I need to
do." To Trang, being Vietnamese is as important to her identity as be
ing a chessplayer. "I need a boyfriend who is Vietnamese more than a
chessplayer, because in any relationship, problems will arise. Being from
the same culture makes them easier to overcome."
The government supports chess in Vietnam. Trang describes a typi
cal schedule for Vietnamese chess school as grueling. The morning be
gins at 6:00 A.M. with two hours of running, followed by eight hours of
chess with a break for lunch. Trang thinks the system sometimes puts
too much pressure on players, which can be detrimental to results. Her
father, also her main coach, is more relaxed. "My father understands that
a chessplayer who is sitting down to play obviously wants to win."
Trang's father, Hoang Minh Chuong, emphasizes the psychological
aspects of the game. For a while, Trang experienced some difficulties
playing against women. "I realized at some point that my chess was suf
fering because when I played against male players I would work very
hard, but against women players, even though I thought I was playing
my best, deep down inside I thought that I should beat them pretty
1 94 C H ESS BITCH
easily because I played so well against men. My father told me then that
I have to add 1 00 points to a woman's rating in my mind when I play.
I did this, and the problem was solved. Now I automatically respect
women as serious, worthy opponents."
Haong Trang's career goals are as focused as her lifestyle. In addi
tion to earning her final norm for the grandmaster title, Hoang Trang
strives for the ultimate women's crown: "A player of my level obviously
dreams of being world champion.Without such high ambitions, I would
not be where I am now." Though Hoang Trang has spent equal time in
Budapest and Vietnam since she was eight years old, she has never seri
ously considered representing Hungary in international competitions:
"Hoang Thang Trang of Hungary just doesn't sound right."
Trang doesn't think there is anything particularly Vietnamese about
her style. "I don't play as an Asian, or Vietnamese, or as a woman. I
have my own personal style." However, Trang describes her approach
to chess as professional, and is baffled by the tendency of some Western
players to drink and party after games: "Asian players don't go out after
the games. We stay at our hotel rooms, prepare for the games, and play.
We take it more seriously, probably because of the government helping
us." The support of a government is similar to family support. Either
way, material conditions are satisfied and training is arranged. The dan
ger is that all these resources can generate enormous pressure to win,
making players nervous, or causing them to burn out.
In Vietnam, Hoang Trang is widely known. She has been elected
one of the top ten sportspeople of the year six times. In 1 998, when she
became the Girls' World Champion, she was chosen as second sport
sperson of the year, just behind a champion in wushu, a Chinese mar
tial art. In 2000, when she won the Asian Women's Championship, she
was third place. The population of Vietnam is approximately eighty
one million. Whenever she returns home, customs officials stop her at
the airport to inquire about her tournament schedule. She enjoys the
C H EC KMATE ARO U N D T H E WO R LD 1 95
recognition, but she assures me, "I don't play chess with the goal of
being famous."
Hoang Trang is the most successful Vietnamese woman chessplayer.
Living in centralized Hungary allows Hoang to compete with play
ers from all over the world, but still enjoy the disciplined support of
her father, and the recognition from her home country. Hoang Trang
plays chess not just for herself, but also for Vietnam. She thrives on the
pressure. Beneath her soft voice, small frame, and polite manners is a
character strong enough to withstand the demands to achieve from her
country, her family, and from herself. "When people around the world
hear aboutVietnam, they hear about war or strife. It makes me proud to
. . .
represent my country 1n a pos1t1ve way. '
'
In Ecuador, recognition for Martha Fierro reached an unprecedented

height. For three years in the late 1 990s, her likeness, appearing in an
advertisement for margarine, was plastered on buses all over the capi
tal city, Quito. Ecuador is a small country on the west coast of South
America, but it has the strongest women's team on the continent and
Martha is the leader of that team.
Although Martha grew up in Ecuador, with Spanish as her first
language, she was born in Rhode Island, which allowed her automatic
entry into the U.S. and the opportunity to apply for citizenship. But
Martha has never considered switching her allegiance. "I have in Ec
uador what I would never get in the United States: the love of the
people."
Martha has sparkling eyes and a warm smile. Charm seems to flow
from her singsong voice and graceful step. At tournaments she is always
ready to laugh and talk with anyone from a grandmaster to a young
novice. When I was just thirteen years old, I played in a tournament in
Washington, D.C., that Martha also attended. I admired Martha straight
away. At the time I was just starting to take chess seriously and was
1 96 C H ESS B ITCH
competing in one of the lower boards of the tournament. I was excited

when Martha, a master, came from the top boards to check out my
games. Between rounds, she introduced herself to me and suggested
improvements for my game. She told me stories about her interna
tional success and gossiped about the best players in the world. Martha
couldn't get enough of the
game. After rounds, she could
usually be found playing ca
sual blitz games with friends.
She would tease her male op
ponents relentlessly. "0h no,
you're going to lose to a girl!
Has that ever happened to you
before?" or announce, "Time
to attack!" before pounding
down an aggressive move.
Martha did not always
love chess so much. When she
learned the moves from her
mother as a thirteen-year-old,
she was not so enthusiastic.
She liked to travel, and en-
joyed the attention she got as
Martha Fierro. (Photo by Jennifer Shahade.)
one ofjust a few female play-
ers. After playing in more tournaments, she says, "I began to become
addicted to the game itself. I would play every day from six P .M. until
one A.M. All I wanted was to win the Ecuadorian National Women's
Championship." She reached that goal in 1 992, and went on to win
the national title every year for the next decade. Now Martha "cannot
imagine a life without chess. I would probably not have traveled to a
tenth of the places I've been. Most likely, I would have a common life."
C H EC KMATE ARO U N D TH E WORLD 1 97
In 1 994 Martha began to represent Ecuador for the Pan-Ameri

can Championships in which players from all over North, Central, and
South America participate. She won the event and repeated the feat
for the next four years. By the fifth time, Martha was becoming blase
about winning the title. This feeling was in direct contrast with that of
her Ecuadorian fans, who hailed her as a heroine. The media hounded
her for interviews, and fans clamored for autographs. "For me it did
not seem hard to win the Pan-American Championship. Though I was
happy to give autographs to my fans in Ecuador, I felt guilty. Maybe if
I won the world championship I would feel as though I deserved all
the attention."
Martha was more proud of her international accomplishments.
She won a silver medal for her individual performance at the 1996
Olympiad and became a WGM, one of only three women in South
America to hold the title. Martha was invited to an elegant banquet in
her hometown of Guayaquil, a port city, the second most populous in
Ecuador after capital, Quito. The Ecuadorian political and sporting elite
was all there to determine the best sportspeople of the 1 997. Martha
was delighted just to be invited, but was stunned when she was called
to the stage to receive the award as number-one sportsperson of the
year, ahead ofJefferson Perez, the 1 996 Olympic gold-medal winner in
race-walking. Martha recalls, "That evening was one of the highlights
of my life. I was so happy when I went up to the podium, I could barely
remember the names of the people I had to thank."
Her new recognition resulted in sponsorship from the telephone
company Bell South, which paid for her airline tickets and gave her a
monthly stipend. A bank also sponsored her. With firm financial back
ing, Martha was able to travel around the world, playing in tournament
after tournament.
Martha has a close friendship with Antoaneta Stefanova, with whom
she shares a jet-setting lifestyle. Martha manages to take her games seri-
1 98 C H ESS B ITCH
ously while flitting around the tournament hall, keeping track of where
the party is each night. Martha finds that she can enjoy the nightlife
more when she is abroad than in Ecuador, where she is too likely to be
recognized, even in the darkest discotheques. "And then they ask me:
'Why aren't you studying chess?"'
"I play better when I'm happy. Going out and having a good
time before the game and sleeping till the round time is far better
than staying up all night worrying about the openings." Martha claims
that she often wins her best games after staying out late. In the 1 996
Olympiad in Yerevan, Armenia, where Martha won a silver medal, she
had a good time despite the Spartan conditions. "The food was aw
ful, the buildings were dark;' Martha said. Armenia, in the midst of
political turmoil at the time, held its presidential elections during the
Chess Olympiad. Protestors tried to storm the main square of Yerevan
because of an irregularity in the counting of the votes. Tanks, which
had been on display for Independence Day festivities, were used to
block off the protestors. During the chaos, hotel guests were barred
from the streets.
On that particular night, Martha Fierro and Antoaneta Stefanova,
tired of the daily fare of bland meat at their assigned hotel, had gone out
to dine at a better hotel. Because of the turmoil they found themselves
locked inside the new hotel: "We only brought enough money to eat so
we had to spend the night in the lobby. We had no idea what was going
on outside. It was scary. But there was a bar so at least we had something
to do." The next day Martha won her game and went on to earn a silver
medal for her performance on board one.
In spite of Martha's frequent assertions that her freewheeling life
style has helped her chess, I get the sense that she herself is not entirely
convinced. There were times in her life, says Martha, that she regrets
not taking the game more seriously. "In Ecuador we call the years be
tween seventeen and twenty-one the donkey (el burro) years, where
C H EC KMATE AROU N D TH E WORLD 1 99
young people go crazy. At this time (in the late nineties) I had so much
support, I sometimes wish I had tried harder." When I remind Martha
of her claims that partying often improves her performance, she said,
"Well, maybe I did need to go out. I never learned to get that balance,
where I could go out and prepare well."
Martha admires Antoaneta's ability to balance the demands of hav
ing fun and preparing. "If Antoaneta and I go out all night dancing,
she will still be at her computer in the morning, even with dark circles
under her eyes, preparing for the game."When I ask Martha how good
she might have become had she studied more, she became philosophi
cal: "Who knows if I would have been in the top women players in
the world? But at least if I had worked I would have a chance. Without
working, there is no chance."
Her fame in Ecuador brings with it pressure. Martha tells me that
one of the reasons her chess activity has waned in the past few years
is the overwhelming feeling that her fans in Ecuador would accept no
less than first place. In 200 1 , at the age of twenty-four, she moved to
Charlotte, North Carolina, where she taught chess to children for two
years. Even there, she was recognized by one of the only Ecuadorian
families living in Charlotte.
It didn't take long for Martha to become bored with Charlotte,
where the Hispanic population is small, the nightlife limited, and op
portunities to play top-level chess nonexistent. In 2003 she moved to
New York City, where her grandparents live. She is now teaching and
playing more often. Martha plays in the New York Masters, a week
ly event held at the historic Marshall Chess Club, organized by my
brother, Greg. Martha has a voracious appetite for the game. Between
tournament rounds she will play rapid games, and analyze late into
the night. Greg founded the New York Masters to promote chess in
America, and he wishes more women played there. He finds Martha's
attitude toward the game refreshing: "It's rare to find a female player
200 C H ESS B ITCH
who will never miss a tournament. Martha is so straight£orward in her

love for the game."
"I am here in New York because I am serious about the game,"
Martha says. "Without chess I would lead a more common life, in Ec
uador, probably married with a stable career." Her father, Miguel, sup
ported Martha's chess wholeheartedly in the beginning, paying for her
tournament expenses before she found a sponsor. Miguel was brought
up in a working-class family, one of seventeen children. When attend
ing university, he met Martha's mother, also called Martha, who was
from a wealthy family and has an infectious personality that has clearly
influenced the younger Martha. His burgeoning success as a naval en
gineer along with wife's inheritance afforded the whole family a com
fortable lifestyle. Unable to underestimate the importance of money,
he ultimately wants Martha to have a career more lucrative than chess.
Though her family is proud of her fame and success in chess, Martha
points out, "To be famous is not the same as to be secure financially.
People in Ecuador assume that because I am always in the press, I am
making a great living all the time." The truth is that Martha's love for
the game is what keeps her playing chess: "I could make more money
just by using my image in Ecuador, or by teaching chess in Charlotte."
Although Martha has a strong allegiance to Ecuador, she acknowl
edges the problems there, such as racism. For instance, light-skinned
men and women are almost always used as models in advertisements.
Martha describes her own skin as "very light for Ecuador." When I
press the issue, she reminds me, "In the United States, there is racism-it
is only slightly more under the surface." Martha is relatively privileged,
which seems to make her neither proud nor ashamed as she describes
to me the fancy private school she attended in her hometown, Guaya
quil. Martha is a poster woman for Ecuador, but she is not representa
tive of its average Ecuadorian. Because Martha is relatively well off and
famous, she escapes rigid gender roles (an expectation to marry young
CHEC KMATE AROU N D TH E WORLD 2 0 1
and raise a family) , which restrict many Ecuadorian women. Still, inter
viewers chide her about her non-traditional lifestyle. When visiting her
family in Ecuador recently, Martha gave a radio interview. They insisted
on discussing her love life: "They even told me, 'You better promise me
you'll be married by age thirty! "' Martha, twenty-six at the time, was
caught off guard: "What could I do but laugh and agree?"
For Ecuadorians who are not as renowned or mobile as Martha, be
coming an international chessplayer is hardly possible. Martha's friend
and Ecuadorian teammate, Evelyn Moncayo, won the World Girls' Un
der 1 0 Championship in Wisconsin in 1 990. Despite this show of talent,
Evelyn received few opportunities to compete internationally. Raised
by a single mother (her father passed away when she was ten), her
family could not afford to send her to tournaments, and Evelyn never
managed to attract a regular sponsor or coach. Now twenty-two years
old, Evelyn explains that Ecuadorian culture does not mesh well with
her goals as an international chess star. "In Ecuador women usually get
married by twenty-three or twenty-four. After twenty-six, if you are
not married, it is a problem. Before you get married, you should not be
out after ten P.M. For a while, it was really difficult, because if I wanted
to play in a tournament in a neighboring city or stay at the chess club
until late, it was not possible. Now my parents are more accepting. But
there is no struggle for boys who want to go to a tournament in a city
far away. Their parents will say, 'No problem!"'
In 1 980, after the Iranian revolution, chess was outlawed in Iran. But
Fatemeh Salami, president of the Iranian Women's Chess Association,
assures me that the government permitted chess again after just a few
months. Traditionally, strict Muslims prohibit games of chance and
gambling, like cards and dice, but permit chess, a game of skill. Fatemeh
thinks that the misconception that chess was outlawed for a longer
period is typical. "Too many people have an exaggerated sense of the
202 CH ESS B ITCH
,,
)
��
Shadi Paridar (left) and Atousa Pourkashian , Bled Olympiad, 2002.

(Photo by Jennifer Shahade.)
restrictions on women in Iran," she says: "Iranian girls can do any

thing-use the Internet, drive their cars, vote, go to parties, play chess.
The only thing that irritates many young Iranian women is the hijab."
Hijab is the requirement for all women in Iran, even visitors, to cover
their hair and bodies, usually with thick, dark fabric.
At a tournament in Russia I spotted Shadi Paridar, seventeen at
the time, covered in black hijab. Her bubbly personality was evident
straightaway. I barely made eye contact when she gave me a huge smile
and introduced herself. I asked her for an interview. She asked permis
sion from her supervisor and companion, Fatemeh Salami, who agreed,
but only if she could sit in on the interview. When I went to their
room later that evening, Shadi was wearing a pink headscarf, which she
removed at some point (permitted because there were only girls in the
room) , revealing short, dark hair.
Shadi .is a four-time Iranian women's champion, has a WGM title,
and has defeated some of the best women players in the world, including
Antoaneta Stefanova. Still, she is not ranked among the top fifty women
in the world, partly because in Iran, there are few top-flight tourna
ments or competitors against whom Shadi can test her skills. Today this
C H EC KMATE ARO U N D TH E WORLD 203
disadvantage is less relevant than it would have been a decade ago, since
Shadi has to up-to-the-minute chess news on the Internet, including
live feeds of games from elite tournaments. Shadi can also play casual
games with masters all over the world on sites like the Internet Chess
Club (The ICC.) Under the nickname "shadishelmo," Shadi has played
more than 2,500 games there. ICC, founded in 1995, has about 30,000
members, among them the majority of active grandmasters (who get
free membership) .
In order to qualify for the Olympiad and the World Champion
ship, Shadi participates in the Iranian Women's Championship, which
is a three-part event. In the first leg, three to five hundred Iranian
women play in an open tournament. I am surprised and impressed by
this number, but Fatemeh is not satisfied with the level of participation.
"There are eighteen million women in Iran who are eligible to play
in this event. A few hundred is not so many." The forty top finishers
qualify for the second leg, and the final leg consists of twelve. Shadi
now prefers to play outside Iran, where she can play against stronger
competition, as well as male opponents. Iranian laws prohibit her from
playing against men, but there is only one other Iranian girl who is at
her level, Atousa Pourkashian.
Chess is one of the few sports in which Iranian women can com
pete abroad. Women must wear hijab in the presence of males. There
fore, in Iran, women's sports like basketball and swimming have all-fe
male referees, and audiences. But outside Iran, these conditions would
be impossible to maintain. Along with chess, women can travel inter
nationally for shooting or tae kwon do competitions, in which wearing
hijab is also not an impediment to play. When I ask Shadi if she likes
wearing hijab, she bursts into hysterical laughter and makes faces at me. ·
When she finally calms down, she says sarcastically: "Oh I just love it.
I feel like such a star in this outfit. People look at me and know I am
from Iran." Then she raises her eyebrows and informs me, "I am very
204 CH ESS BITCH
bad at wearing hijab, you know." Pushing down her pink headscarf a
few inches and demonstrating: "I wear it like this, but it is supposed to
cover all my hair."
Shadi and Fatemeh are intent on expressing to me how progressive
many Iranian women are. "There are so many young people in Iran
now. The government does not want to annoy them, so they are more
relaxed about many things than they were in the past. Young people
can have parties together. Young people often let a little hair show from
their hijab, and nothing happens. They can wear hijab in any color. Black
is a popular one, but I have orange, pink, and blue. It's like fashion."
Shadi has not found the time for a boyfriend yet. She does like par
ties and dancing, and when music from a friend's laptop leaks into our
room, she starts dancing. "I like music with a fast beat. No love songs!"
When I ask if girls must wear hijab at parties, she winks at me and starts
laughing again. "Shadi is always laughing. That is her problem. She is
so talented, but not serious enough at chess," says Fatemeh. Shadi stops
giggling to explain: "Of course I am always laughing. My name, Shadi,
means happiness."
Shadi has performed successfully in Asian girls competitions, win
ning a gold medal for Under 1 6 in 2000. She will attend physical edu
cation school for free as a result of her performances. She intends to
continue her chess studies at university: "Physical education" she says
with a laugh, "is not so hard."
Shadi understates her devotion to chess with an aloof attitude: "I
don't like chess books. They make me go to sleep." Still, she has high am
bitions. First she aims to become a grandmaster, and then world women's
champion. Then Shadi laughs and declares: "And if after all that I'm still
breathing, I will shoot for the overall world championship!"
I met Linda Nangwale at the 2002 Olympiad in Bled, Slovenia. She

stood out from the crowd with her short braids dyed in green, yellow,
C H ECKMATE ARO U N D TH E WO R LD 2 0 5
Linda Nangwale. (Photo by Jennifer Shahade.)
and red, the colors of the Zambian flag. The striking and confident
African woman with her wide smile and open, friendly personality
attracted reporters and photographers, who clamored after her. Linda
thinks little about her appearance and what she wears, and she told me
that in Bled she was hoping to rid herself of vanity. "I only brought
along only three pairs of trousers. Many women can't lay their hands
on money without buying clothes. I think that emphasis in clothes in
women is related to an inferiority complex, where what is inside is not
enough. In chess, an inferiority complex will halt your progress."
Just getting someone to teach Linda the rules of chess was a struggle.
Every night when her brother and his friends played chess in the back
yard, Linda was distracted by the ruckus they made. She was also in
trigued by their excitement and was anxious to learn the game. "Chess
is a man's game and you won't survive an inch on the board," one of the
crew told her. That was the night Linda convinced her brother to teach
her the rules. He warned her that chess was boring, but Linda loved it.
"I joined the bandwagon of noisemakers behind the house every day.
They hammered me easily at first, using fools' mate." Fools' mate is the
206 C H ESS B ITCH
quickest chess finish in which black checkmates white in two moves. It

is actually very rare, since it requires white to play the worst moves pos
sible. I think Linda was actually referring to Scholar's mate, a four-move
checkmate that is far more common.
"Some people," Linda said, "call me 'bitch' for playing with boys all
the time. But it's the only way I can get proper training, so they can call
me names until th<:>y get tired-they always do." Now that she is a strong
player, boys from the neighborhood come to her for lessons. "I don't
forget to seek revenge fools' mate on the unlucky few!"
Linda's successes have aroused considerable interest. After winning
the 2002 Zambian Women's Championship, in which there were fif
teen participants, Linda said that the local papers "reported on my suc
cess, and many men came to my house to see if a woman could really
beat them in chess. They lined up around the block." Linda has a more
feminist outlook than most of the women with whom I spoke, maybe
because she had to fight so hard to get where she is. Linda's family life
has been troubled. Her mother, Carolyn Tembo, divorced her father,
Bebbington Nangwale, in 1 989. "My dad," Linda says, "was a selfish
man who loved no one but himself. He hardly ever had time for us."
She describes her mother as an "underpaid secretary," who worked tire
lessly, dying soon after her divorce, leaving Linda and her older brother
to take care of their two younger brothers. When Linda's successes were
reported, her father "wanted to play the proud papa," but Linda was
unwilling to forgive his irresponsible behavior. "In my country, men
are always trying to take the credit for the accomplishments of their
children, while women get the blame if they go astray." Not reconciled
with his children, Bebbington Nangwale died in 2001 .
Linda must tolerate sexist attitudes from society and from her
friends, who frequently inquire about her marriage plans. Her expe
rience with her father has made Linda wary about jumping into a
relationship prematurely. She told me: "I'm twenty-one and have no
C H ECKMATE ARO U N D TH E WORLD 2 07
boyfriend or prospects of a boyfriend. People are asking me: 'What are

you doing, girl?"' In response, she says, "What kind of man is going to
understand that I'd rather play blitz all night or study the Sicilian than
hang out with him?"
Zambia, located in Southern Africa and bordering Mozambique
and South Africa, is one the poorest countries in Africa and has an
alarming AIDS rate. One out of four Zambians between the ages of
fifteen and twenty-four has AIDS, leaving huge numbers of orphans
to fend for themselves. Linda speaks Njanya, one of more than sev
enty tribal languages in Zambia. She is also fluent in English, so our
correspondence has been easy. When her speech does strike me as
foreign, it is usually because of its wild exuberance rather than gram
matical errors. She sends me e-mails from a computer at an Internet
cafe. They are filled with exclamations: "YIPPEEE! Skirts up! Trousers
down! " or "Do men get angry when I beat them? OH YES! ! ! They
actually go mad! " Telling me about the beauty of Zambia's wildlife
and nature, she urges me to visit one day and with childlike affection
adds, "It is super, just like you!" Lamenting about the poor state of
Zambian healthcare and finances, she says, "It is a harsh situation, and
many are afraid to speak out." Linda, a positive person, who can't bear
to sign-off on such a somber note, closes with, "Despite all this, your
brother is so cute!"
Linda was sponsored to play in Olympiads and All-African tourna
ments, but the Zambian chess federation does not have enough money
to support her year-round. The top male player, Amon Simutowe, has
family ties to the small but powerful Zambian elite, and he has improved
the visibility of chess in the country. But Linda still describes dire pros
pects for professional chessplayers, especially females: "The sports min
ister is a woman, but she won't sponsor women's chess. She thinks that
soccer is the only sport." It is hard to get periodicals and chess books in
Zambia. Linda complains, "Once you have a good book it's best to hide
208 CH ESS BITCH
it 'cause once someone borrows it the chances of it being returned to

you are one in a thousand."
Though Linda hopes to earn a scholarship to study in the United
States, she loves Zambia and wants to do her part to improve condi
tions there. She is a dedicated coach for young girls, including a group
of children with AIDS. "I want to go to university, but first I have to do
something for these kids." Linda Nangwale is very much admired by
the young girls and boys she teaches. She told me, "I overheard one girl
saying that I was her role model, and I felt so proud."
Linda's chess heroes are Judit Polgar and Indian GrandmasterViswa
nathan Anand, whom she admires because "he proves that a player from
the third world can rise to the world-elite."Viswanathan Anand, a for
mer world champion, is the second highest-ranked player in the world,
just behind Kasparov. He is a national hero in his country, heralded as
a "one-man Indian chess revolution" on the webpage of the All-India
Chess Federation. Partly because of the successes of Anand, chess in
India enjoys an exalted status and is thoroughly covered in the sports
sections of Indian dailies. Anand gives up to 1 00 interviews on busy
weeks. When I remark how cooperative he is with the media, he tells
me: "Of course! You can't complain about the popularity of chess and
then get mad when they want an interview." In a report on an inter
national tournament in Delhi, Scottish Grandmaster Jonathan Rowson
observed, "Chess had become a symbol of Indian national resurgence,
or at least a vehicle for patriotism."1 The explicit goal of the Indian
Chess Federation is to produce 100 grandmasters by the year 2012,
which would position India at the top of the chess world. As of 2004,
there are eleven GMs, seven of whom are under twenty-five years old.
The exposure and promotion of women's chess in India is growing,

and the top women players are also national symbols. Much of this is
because of the success of Indian prodigy Humpy Koneru. Humpy's rise
C H ECKMATE ARO U N D TH E WORLD 209
was fast and spectacular. She won the Girls' World Under 20 Champi
onship at just fourteen. At fifteen, Humpy became the ninth woman,
and only Indian female, to gain the requirements for the GM title. She
also broke Judit Polgar's record by three months and one day, becoming
the youngest female grandmaster in history.
Humpy's parents, Ashok and Latha, had designs for their child as
soon as she was born in 1 989. It was her father Ashok's idea to name
her Hampi, which is derived from the word champion. Later, he was in
fluenced by great Soviet chessplayers and changed his daughter's name
to Humpy to sound more like a Russian name. When Humpy, at age
six, showed a talent for chess, Ashok poured his extra resources of time
and money into her development. Friends and relatives were surprised
when Ashok and Latha used their savings to buy a laptop instead of a
color TV, as most middle-class Indians would do. "I still remember how
people mocked our decision to buy a computer," said Latha.
In one of hundreds of glowing articles about Humpy in the Indian
press, Ashok is described as the "proudest father of the Queen of In
dia . . . waiting for that day when she is queen of the entire world." So,
too, waits all of India, where Humpy is a celebrity, whose chess results
are followed by all the major newspapers. To play under constant scru
tiny of the national media is tremendous pressure for a teenager, but
Humpy handles it calmly.
Humpy pays little attention to fashion. At tournaments she wears
sneakers and sports pants. Reserved and composed, Humpy rarely
smiles. In interviews, much like Judit Polgar, she tells little, except that
she aims to become world champion (among men) .
Before Humpy came along,Viji Submarayan was the headliner in
Indian women's chess. The first woman grandmaster to come from
India, Viji held down board one for the Indian women's team in the
1 998, 2000, and 2002 Olympiads. Humpy did not play. Unlike her
reserved compatriot Humpy,Viji is forthcoming, willing to talk about
210 CH ESS B ITCH
Humpy Koneru.
(Photo by Arvind Aaron.)
her role in chess, women in India, and the problems faced by her pov
erty-stricken country. Viji says, "I am quite patriotic. I usually take the
responsibility to represent India in team competitions very seriously
and play well."
Viji is not fully satisfied with the status of women in India. She
complains that the Indian culture "worships the man. The woman is
supposed to be of service to the man, and parents are disappointed
when they have girl children." Fortunately, Viji's parents were differ
ent: her father always encouraged his three daughters to be strong. "He
didn't care whether we were boys and girls. He wanted us to be good
sportspeople." Chess is an ideal sport for a woman in India, Viji points
out, because "women can study chess alone at home." Traditional In
dian values can actually help women in chess, Viji argues, since chess is
an activity that can be pursued in private.
Viji used to be distracted and despondent by the severity of the
poverty in her country. Recently, she has learned to relax and focus
on her own goals. An avid reader, she has been affected by Ayn Rand's
books Gust as Almira Skripchenko has been), which argue that compas-
C H ECKMATE AROU N D TH E WORLD 2 1 1
sion is a spurious virtue. "There is so much poverty and starvation in

my country. It is so sad, and it affected me so much in the past, and it
still does. But I realize now that feeling pity is not going help anyone
and I have to live my life. Even the smallest of insects has to search for
his own food."
Humpy, Viji, and several other masters are all supported by the
government. India has one of the strongest women's squads in the
world-strong enough to compete for the highest honors at Olympi
ads in the next decade provided that Humpy does not prefer to play
for the men's team.
In India, you can find some of the best women chessplayers in the
world, and also millions of women crippled by poverty. Such juxta
position raises disturbing questions about the role of chess in a world
with so many problems. That feminism confronts different problems in
developed and undeveloped nations is real. I was made acutely aware
of this outside of Istanbul during the 2003 European Women's Cham
pionship, which I attended as a spectator and writer. At the time, I
was looking over the notes on gender difference I had compiled after
dozens of interviews. I was frustrated that many of the women I had
interviewed had traditional concepts of gender roles. I was looking for
more criticism and more anger from them.
I spotted Austrian teenager Tina Kopinits, who stood out from
the crowd with her bleached-blond hair, low-cut jeans, and confident
swagger. I had an inkling Tina might have something challenging to say.
I introduced myself, chatted about Istanbul, the tournament, and her
life in Vienna. I discovered that Tina was an activist and had radical po
litical views. I asked whether she considered herself a feminist and was
roused by her answer: "Yes, but I don't think about feminism in relation
to the chess world. The place a feminist most needs to fight is in the
third world, where women are victims of crushing poverty and abuse.
Anyone who is playing chess has got it pretty good already." I agreed
212 CH ESS BITCH
with Tina that sweatshop labor, overpopulation, and domestic abuse

are more urgent issues than sexism in the chess world. Still, I felt her
argument was much like responding to "my stomach hurts" with "but
some people have kidney stones." I told her that. Tina laughed at my
stomach analogy, but was not convinced, maintaining that chessplayers
were automatically among the lucky. I admired Tina's idealistic pas
sion to combat world poverty. Women who have their civil rights and
sufficient food in the first world fight for quality of life, while women
of developing nations fight for survival. At the same time I think it is
still acceptable to argue in favor of activism on smaller, admittedly less
urgent, battlefields.
Attending an international tournament in India can be an emotion
ally grueling experience for the more sensitive members of the chess
world. In reporting on his first trip to India, grandmaster and writer
Jonathan Rowson described his confrontation with poverty, sickness,
and existential confusion: "If life begins at the edge of your comfort
zone, then life begins in India."2
My own trip to India was both thrilling and wrenching. The
World Championships in 2000 were held in late November at a luxu
rious five-star hotel in the capital city of Delhi. I had qualified by plac
ing third in the U.S. Women's Championship in 1 999. Intent on seeing
more of India, I had arranged to stay for three weeks, regardless of how
many rounds I advanced in the knockout format.
The hotel had five gourmet restaurants, a discotheque, a fitness
center, massage services, and lush bars. It would be easy for a chessplayer
to spend time in India sheltered in air-conditioned comfort. Many par
ticipants, serious about their chance to compete in the most elite tour
nament in the world, understandably did not leave the hotel complex.
To mix the chess world and the real world is difficult for some players.
Former World Championship challengerVictor Korchnoi feels strongly
that "chessplayers should not be tourists."3
C H ECKMATE ARO U N D TH E WORLD 2 1 3
For my first few days in Delhi, I followed Korchnoi's advice. I

studied chess in my hotel room and ate at the rich buffet. At night I
sometimes went to the bar adjacent to the hotel, frequented by up
per-class Indians and Westerners on business trips. An Australian rock
band played U2 cover songs as customers drank eight-dollar martinis
underneath flashing lights. This scene did not seem far from Manhattan.
When Georgian Ketevan Arakhamia knocked me out of the tourna
ment, I switched from chessplayer to tourist.
Outside, a world of dirt roads and crushing poverty awaited me. I
turned down an invitation to go to the Taj Mahal in Agra in favor of
exploring Delhi. So I took an open-air taxi into Delhi's Old City, the
ancient core of the now-sprawling metropolis where sacred cows and
fornicating monkeys are always out and about. The streets were nothing
more than multiple zigzag lanes, and the permanent rush-hour traffic
gave me the leisure to take it all in. The traffic was so slow that the
mutilated beggars who approached my cab reached into the car; others
knelt on empty spots of pavement, pleading for money and food. I had
read in Salman Rushdie's Midnight's Children about impoverished Indi
ans cutting off their limbs to increase their worth as beggars. I thought
this had to be an exaggeration, but the frequency of mutilation and
bizarre disfigurings cast aside my doubts. An elderly woman with no
teeth approached my cab and knelt beside me. I gave her the ten-rupee
note I was using as a bookmark in a contemporary, post-modern novel,
Art and Lies by the feminist author Jeanette Winterson. I felt my literary
pretensions being dwarfed by my embarrassment.
The pollution was so severe that my face was covered with soot
by the time I reached my relatively unmemorable tourist destination.
Later that day, exploring on foot, I crossed an abandoned parking lot,
where dozens of homeless were camped out. I was instantly surrounded
by bare-footed beggars in rags, who blocked my path back to the street.
I was hit on a visceral level by the suffering I was witnessing. I had al-
214 CH ESS BITCH
ways known about poverty in India, but to see it up close was unforget
table. I could not think straight, and on the taxi-ride home, I was softly
weeping. My driver coolly remarked, "You must have just arrived. You
are still so sensitive."
I knew my experience was hardly unique. Travelers who'd also
been emotionally devastated in their first experiences in impover
ished countries had warned me. My reaction that evening surprised
me even more than my afternoon sadness, as I felt more humbled
than guilty. I went back to the hotel to take a shower and gratefully
re-entered the chess world, its never-ending stream of meaningless
variations a great relief.
11
Playin g for America
Never effer a draw to an American!

-Grandmaster Eduard Gufeld, coach of the Soviet women's team
Every radio comedian and night-club wit has several entries

in his card-index file about the possibility of a woman's
becoming President of the United States. The idea that a
woman might become our chess champion seems equally
'comical.' Yet both ef these possibilities are less remote than
they were in, say, 1930 . . .
-Mrs. H.D. Sheldon in Chess Review, 1950.
n the fall of 2000 I was to be invited for the first time to play for
America in the prestigious biennial team competition, the Olym
piad, to be held in Istanbul, Turkey. After each Olympiad, the chess
world buzzes for months about brilliant chess and lively gossip from the
three-week-long event.
Arriving in Istanbul, I was immediately smitten. My first evening
there, I walked around the main strip, my senses reveling in the aroma
of beef kabobs, carts of mussels and mangoes and incense. The sounds
of calls to prayer mingled with modern Greek music. I observed the
intense gestures of Turkish men and noted the style of women, some
215
21 6 CH ESS BITCH
of whom were veiled while others were dressed like fashion models.
I remember thinking over and over I am in Istanbul, and this is so great.
Istanbul nightlife was diverse: when teammate Anna Hahn and I went
out to a bar in a coastal suburb, we were shocked when we realized that
the live Turkish music was being performed by a man in drag.
The Chess Olympiad is a social occasion as well as a fierce com
petition. Most delegations include four women and six men, so the
male-to-female ratio is much more balanced than at most chess tour
naments. Several married couples came out of Olympiads. Lithuanian
Camila Baginskaite and the Russian-American Alex Yermolinsky met
at the 1 996 Yerevan Olympiad and now live in Northern California,
with two children. Almira Skripchenko and Joel Lautier began dating
at the 1 994 Moscow event. Such relationships are instigated by social
events at the Olympiad, like the historic Bermuda bash. The Bermuda
team has one of the lower-rated lineups in the event, but they make
their mark each year with their party, held at every Olympiad since
1 980. They rent out a huge space, hire DJs, and print out invitations
for thousands of participants, along with arbiters, journalists, and chess
tourists. Always held before a free day, even the most professional play
ers abandon rigorous routines to stay out late and sleep in. " I can't
wait to see all these players, so serious over the board, shake it over
the dance floor," said Zambian representative Linda Nangwale. Tem
porary social constellations form between players from all corners of
the world, from Santiago to Oslo and Namibia. I met an Iraqi medical
doctor, who asked me to dance: I don't like to talk about politics."
"
Some of the best Russian players in the world perform comically

athletic dance moves, arms flailing, jumping up and down for some
treasure on the ceiling.
Some nonplayers would be surprised at chessplayers' penchant for
partying, but for me there are natural similarities between chess games
and parties. Before either, I feel giddy over the numerous possibilities-
PLAY I N G FO R AM E R I CA 2 1 7
perhaps this party will be one where I will have a transcendent con
versation or perhaps this game will be filled with sacrifice and beauty,
making the hours of small talk or technical study worthwhile. As the
night or game goes on, anticipation dwindles into the reality of the
present.You win or you lose, the lights are turning off.
Not all of my memories from Olympiads are positive. In the 2002
event (held in Bled, Slovenia) , in addition to playing, I was writing an
article about the Olympiad for Chess Life (the national chess magazine) .
I wanted to interview two of the top young Russian male players in
the world, both of whom have been heralded as possible future world
champions. I was nervous, especially because one seemed particularly
cool-he had big blue eyes, dreadlocks and wore black leather. I was al
ready familiar with his games, one of which had impressed me so much
that I showed it to the junior high team I coached back in Brooklyn.
("That game was hot;' said one of my students, "can I have a copy?")
I approached him at the hotel's dining room and was pleased that he
consented immediately to an interview. He wanted to do it right then
and there, over dinner where his teammate, the other young grandmas
ter, was also eating.
It was the most disturbing interview I have ever conducted. One
declared that he hated journalists, hated New York, and became an
noyed when I asked him about his training routine. His teammate had
even worse things to say. America was a horrible place, he said, because
the rape laws were stricter than in Russia, where he was used to raping
women who are 'too ashamed to go to the police.' He proceeded to use
words like lesbian, fat, and stupid to describe American women. As we
left the dining hall, one of them asked me to join him and some friends
for drinks later that night, as if their outrageous comments were part
of a charming routine. I declined. Later, I found out that the two were
bragging to their teammates about how much they upset me with their
sexist, anti-American insults.
21 8 CH ESS BITCH
At my first Olympiad in Istanbul, I was feeling more American than

I ever had. I'm not particularly patriotic, but there is something about
competing for my country internationally that uncovers my deep-seat
ed identification as an American. Because of this, chess at the Olympiad
is even more intense for me as winning feels noble and losing shame
ful. At the 2000 Istanbul event, the U.S. team began with a sensational
upset in the third round, beating the higher-ranked German team 3-0.
We were euphoric for a short time-the following day, we lost to the
lower-rankedVietnamese team.
Midway through the Istanbul tournament, I tuned into the BBC to
watch the votes of the 2000 Bush-Gore election being recounted. I was
nineteen at the time, so it was my first chance to vote in a presidential
election. I knew I was going to be playing in the Olympiad on Election
Day, but I applied too late for an absentee ballot, and did not receive it
before departing for Turkey. Feeling guilty, I lay down on the bed and
watched the TV for hours until it became more and more clear who
our new president would be. I yearned to be back in the States, com
miserating with friends and family.
I often criticize the policies and customs of my own country-yet still
I get defensive when I travel to tournaments and Europeans gleefully rip
on America. It's like the difference between criticizing your family and
hearing a stranger do so. Sometimes, I encounter foreigners who think
that to be an American is to be stupid: "I'm so surprised to have such an
intelligent conversation with an American;"'I'm sure I know more about
American history than you do," or "I'm impressed you're doing so well! I
heard it is very difficult for American girls to learn chess."
Women's chess in America has, in fact, had a very rich history. True,
there have not yet been any homegrown American women's world
champions, or even contenders, but there have been many women
who are deeply passionate about chess, just like their counterparts
around the world.
PLAY I N G FOR A M E R I CA 2 1 9
The history of women's chess in America had fortuitous beginnings.

In 1 934, Caroline Marshall was inspired to organize a women's event.
Caroline had recently been widowed from Frank Marshall, the world
championship candidate and founder of New York's still-active Mar
shall Chess Club. For the next two years successful open women's tour
naments were held at the West Village brownstone. In 1 937, the tourna
ment got an official boost from the National Chess Federation, which
announced that the first official U.S. women's title was at stake.
The tournaments began in a progressive spirit, through the impas
sioned efforts of Edith L.Weart (1897-1977), an energetic feminist born
in Jersey City. She graduated from Oberlin College with a degree in
chemistry. She learned to play chess late, at twenty-seven, and played in
many U.S.Women's Championships, though she was among the weaker
players. A free-lance writer, Weart penned many articles on the rise of
female chessplayers in the world and in the United States.
To Ms. Weart, the entry of women into the chess arena symbol
ized their acceptance into other fields. In one article she wonders
why "women have left undisputed men's claims to mastery of the
royal pastime." She responds, "The answer lies, I think, in lack of op
portunity."1 In another article she points out: "As in practically every
other sphere, woman is astir in the chessplaying world and bent upon
emulating the activities and achievements of the male portion of the
population. The doors . . . are beckoning our sisters to enter the portals
behind which have been kept from them opportunities for delight
ful mental recreation and possible distinction at home and abroad."2
She organized a scrapbook of clippings on early women's chess in
America, which is now part of the John G. White Collection at the
Cleveland Public Library. 3
There were ten players in the 1 937 event, which was won by Bel
gian-born Adele Rivero. Rivero learned chess to disprove her Spaniard
220 CH ESS BITCH
husband's assertion that women didn't have the brains for the game.
Riviera won the 1 941 championship also, but she faded as two wom
en-Mona Karff and Gisela Gresser-established a nearly exclusive ri
valry for the national title.
Refined, rich, and redheaded, Gisela Gresser and Mona Karff were
uncannily similar on the surface. Each won many national women's
championship titles: Gisela won nine; Mona, seven. Both were multi
lingual, interested in the arts, and loved to travel. Mona had a degree in
international affairs and in 1 948 traveled through Europe in support of
the One World movement. Gresser painted, sculpted, and wrote.Ameri
can player Dorothy Teasley, who knew both women, said, "It was hard
to mention Gisela Gresser without mentioning Mona Karff. The two
went together . . . two very brainy, very savvy, very well-traveled, very
sophisticated, and very cosmopolitan women of another era."
Mona Karff was born in Central Europe and lived in Palestine as a

teenager. She learned chess from her father, Aviv Ratner, who was a
Zionist and rich landowner in Tel-Aviv, Israel. Karff was described as
"a refined, elegant woman who loved opera, collected art, spoke eight
languages fluently, traveled the world with confident ease, and made
millions in the stock market."
Mona Karff won the second U.S.Women's Championship in 1 938.
She collected six more titles, the final one in 1 974, thirty-six years after
her first victory.
Karff was mysterious. Even good friends of hers were left in the
dark as to the most basic matters concerning her life-her birthplace
is to this day uncertain. The USCF listed her place of origin as simply
Europe, while relatives attest that she was born in a Russian province,
Bessaberia. It was not easy to ask her. Ms. Teasley "once inquired, inno
cently enough, where she had been born" and was disappointed: "I got
some kind of reply but it was definitely not a direct answer."
PLAY I N G FO R A M E R I CA 2 2 1
Mona Karff. ( Left photo courtesy Cleveland Public Library.)
Soon after settling in Boston in the 1 930s, Mona had a brief mar
riage with a cousin, Abe Karff, a lawyer. She kept even this a secret,
and one good friend only found out about the marriage when she
called Abe's house and Mona picked up the phone. Mona had a lon
ger-lasting relationship with International Master Dr. Edward Lasker,
who was twenty-nine years older than she. When one female chess
player innocently asked Karff's main rival and friend, Gress er, if Lasker
and Karff were engaged, she responded: "Miss Karff is much, much
too sophisticated to be engaged."
Lasker and Karff lived separately but were always together at tourna
ments and parties. Allen Kaufman, who was a rising young chessplayer at
the time and was often a guest at their home in the 1960s, says, "Lasker
lived in a magnificent penthouse apartment overlooking the Hudson
River, where he would host lovely soirees. He threw German lieder
on the phonograph, and chessplayers would play and analyze for hours.
Karff was always there-and she was a great conversationalist."
Lasker died in 1981, leaving Mona single. Allen observed that "she
seemed heartbroken," but was still able to get on with her life. "I saw
222 CH ESS BITCH
her at restaurants dating guys when she was in her eighties-she was a
go-getter, not the type to mope around for too long."
Mona and Gisela were of approximately the same strength, but
their styles were in direct opposition to one another. Karff was aggres
sive and "never missed an opportunity to throw materialistic caution to
the winds," while Gresser had a patient style, preferring closed games.
Gisela Gresser was born in Detroit in 1 906, with a silver pawn in her
mouth. Her father, Julius Kahn, was the president of a steel company
and an engineer who earned a fortune by inventing reinforced concrete.
Though she had learned chess from her father as a child, her youth
ful passion was for Greek, of which she said in an interview in 1 945,
"When the other children were out playing, I used to study Greek. I
loved it just the way I love chess now."
Gresser followed her love for ancient languages, earning an A.B. in
classics at Radcliffe and a post-college scholarship in Athens. In 1 927
Gisela found herself in New York City, where she married William
Gresser, a lawyer and accomplished musician. They settled in a Park Av
enue apartment, and her luxurious lifestyle allowed her to pursue many
hobbies-horseback riding, sculpting, painting, and voracious reading in
ten different languages.
Gisela and her husband went on a cruise to Europe in 1 938, the
same year the first U.S. Women's Chess Championship was held. On
the boat she met a man with a pocket chess set and a chess book and
became hooked on the game. Thereafter, chess was her primary ad
diction. Gresser was quickly successful, winning her first U.S.Women's
Chess Championship just six years after her chance encounter on the
boat. She developed a strategic style, preferring closed games. Gresser
was a record-breaker on the U.S. circuit: besides winning more U.S.
women's titles than any woman in history, Gresser was the first woman
to achieve the national master title.
Gisela Gresser. (Photos courtesy Cleveland Public Library.)
In 1948, Gresser and Karff tied for first place in the U.S. Women's
Championship and were selected as the official U.S. representatives to
the first Women's World Championship held since the war. The event
(which ran from December 1 9, 1 949, through January 1 8, 1 950), in
Moscow, had the Soviet Federation hosting the players and absorbing
the many expenses that such a large undertaking incurs.
Both Karff and Gresser had dismal showings, scoring five points
each from fifteen games, and finishing in a three-way tie for twelfth to
fourteenth. One bright spot of Gisela's event was her victory over the
tournament winner, Ludmilla Rudenko. Gisela was frustrated by her
inability to communicate or navigate Moscow, and upon returning to
New York, she began to study Russian. By the time Gresser won the
1 955 U.S. championship, and was again selected to play in Moscow, she
had a basic grasp of the language.
224 CH ESS B ITCH
Top: Gisela Gresser

(left) playing Adele
Raettig in the final
round of the 1 944
Women's Chapionship.
Gresser won the game
and clinched the title.
Bottom: Gresser plays
a skittles game with
U.S. Champion Arnold
Denker. Standing (r
to I) Albert S. Pinkus,
Frank J. Marshal l , I.A.
Horowitz, Herman
Steiner, Reuben Fine,
Edward Lasker. (Photo
courtesy Chess Review,
1 94 4 . )
After her second journey, Gresser wrote "Chess Queens in Mos

cow, " a twenty-page, candid account of her thoughts on the tourna
ment and the city. She seemed more concerned with the state of the
Soviet Union than her mediocre result. Gresser, a well-heeled Upper
East Side socialite, was struck by the uncomely appearance of Russian
women: "There is no attempt at elegance or charm in the ordinary street
dress," Gisela observed coolly. "The women appear resigned to their
corrugated hair and crude cosmetics, their colorless knitted headgear
and shapeless suits." Her opponents did not escape her scrutiny either:
"The Russian ladies have all gotten very fat since I last saw them."
PLAY I N G FOR AMER ICA 2 2 5
According to Gresser, her hosts were gracious and intent upon

showing her the best Moscow had to offer. "In what other country
would female chessplayers be feted like traveling ambassadors and fol
lowed as though they were movie stars?" Upon her arrival at the airport,
she was greeted with bouquets of flowers. The opening ceremony in
cluded ballerinas, marionettes, even "a magician who extracted a bowl
of live goldfish from a vest pocket." The best seats at the opera and the
ballet were arranged for her, and she was assigned a private translator
and assistant, Tamara.
Despite such generosity, Gresser was unable to get more basic things
in Moscow. "Toilet paper," she noted, commenting on one terrifying trip
to the restroom, "must be a bourgeois luxury." She was disappointed by
the unavailability ofjarred caviar to bring back to friends or glue to re
inforce the soles of her shoes. In one particularly absurd episode, Gisela,
overwhelmed by the jumbo pillow on her bed, asked for a smaller one,
but Tamara deemed it impossible. "We have some things, at other times,
other things . . . This year we have only large pillows. A few years ago the
pillows came small. But now it has been decided that Moscow people
all like large pillows, so we have only large pillows."
When Gresser left Moscow, Tamara was the last person she saw.
"I shall always think of her as a child, gentle and eager and obedient,
never complaining and never questioning the authority of her guard
ians." Gisela was clearly unsympathetic with communism. She conclud
ed that Tamara was symbolic of an intellectual immaturity pervading
the country. "There must be many Tamaras in the Soviet Union."
Women's chess never got the financial backing or support in the
United States that it had in the Soviet Union. American women went
to prestigious events without trainers, unthinkable for Soviet and Eu
ropean representatives. A trainer's role,s or "second," in a serious event
was multiple. Up until the 1 980s, adjournments occurred in major
tournaments. The game would stop, and both players would have all
226 CH ESS B ITCH
night to analyze the position, resuming play on the next day. To ana
lyze an adjourned position without a strong player to bounce ideas off
is an unenviable situation. With the advent of computer analysis, the
adjournment tradition is nearly extinct, though there are a handful of
Luddite organizers who persist with having them. An equally valuable
role of a second is the psychological support and companionship the
person offers. To play in a foreign country can be a lonely, taxing expe
rience, and a trainer psyches a player up before the game, then consoles
or celebrates with her afterward. Gresser, who had a strong personality,
seemed content to tackle the tournament solo.
In some ways, Gresser was happy to be without a trainer. She was
unimpressed with the attitudes of the Soviet and Eastern European
coaches, many of whom were married to their students. Gresser over
heard one trainer proclaiming loudly, in earshot of other players, " To
day my wife played like a dog." Another said scathingly, "Women can
memorize mountains of opening theory, but can't win the simplest
. .
pos1t1ons.'
'
Nearly ten years later, in the Georgian coastal town, Sukhimi,

Gresser got a more positive impression of Soviet chess training. Gress
er played in the 1 964 Candidates' Championship, which would de
termine a challenger to World Champion Nona Gaprindashvili. This
time it appeared that a Yugoslav player, Lazarevic, would upset the
Soviets. Lazarevic had only one game left-against Gresser. Gresser
recounts, with amusement, that a group of Russians bemoaned her
chances of beating Lazarevic. "I heard a group of Russians discussing
my gloomy chances . . . and was sorry that I had taken two years of
Russian." If Gresser won, it would pave the way for the victory of the
Russian player, Alla Kushnir. Gresser was accosted on her way to the
dining hall and asked where her trainer was. When Gresser responded
that she had no trainer, the Soviet coach arranged an emergency les
son with her for the next morning. Gresser was blown away: "In that
PLAY I N G FOR AM E R I CA 2 2 7
hour I learned more about chess theory and chess psychology than I
could have ever have thought possible. Next day, when I walked on
the beach after winning the best game of my life, the bathers (all Rus
sians, of course) were screaming malodiez (meaning bravo) ." Gresser
was ecstatic. " One of life's great moments ! "4
Gisela's dilettantish approach may have prevented her from crack
ing into the world chess elite. She was not so successful internationally
as she was in the United States. She simply had too many other inter
ests. Gresser never felt guilty for not spending more time studying chess.
If anything, she seemed proud of it. She considered chess a dangerous
addiction, and was sometimes wistful for the hours she had whiled away
on the game. " To spend so much time on something that's not really
constructive hurts my conscience. I don't spend all my time on it, but
I could."5
In her writings and speeches, Gresser may have underplayed her
devotion to the game. Allen Kaufman describes Gresser as being com
petitive and sometimes paranoid. At one U. S. championship, Allen says
that Gresser was convinced that Karff's common-law husband, Edward
Lasker, was cheating by observing Mona's games and then passing her
· paper notes, on which he would presumably write what move she
should play. Allen commented, "She was very childlike in this way. She
even thought I was probably passing moves to my wife, who was also a
contender in the U.S. Women's Chess Championship, and tried to get
me kicked out of the playing hall."
Gresser had a vain streak. In one instance, she played in a senior
championship, for players over sixty-five. She requested that the tour
nament director make a special announcement that she was playing
under special consideration of her gender, and not because she was over
sixty-five, which in fact she was.
Gisela played with verve till her last days. Ivana Jesierska, a young
immigrant from Poland, was invited to Gisela Gresser's apartment to
228 CH ESS B ITCH
play blitz soon after she arrived in America. Under ordinary circum
stances, a young immigrant with no knowledge of English would not
find herself as a guest in a Park Avenue home. But in chess, such
things are normal. lvona was stunned by the comfort in which Gisela
lived: "I had never seen anything like it. We went up to her place in
an elevator, where she had an entire floor to herself-the apartment
was filled with antiques." Even more surprising to lvona was Gisela's
blitz strength: "I took one look at this old lady (Gisela was in her late
seventies at the time) and thought, 'No problem! ' But I don't think
I won a single game."
In 195 1 , Mary Bain, who was born in Hungary, interrupted the domi
nation of the U.S. women's title by Karff and Gresser. Her stepfather
had been captured in World War I and never reappeared: her mother
died of a broken heart. Bain, seventeen years old at the time, was on
her way to j oin her sister in NewYork City. Mary, who spoke no Eng
lish at the time, spent most of the weeklong trip to America playing
chess with passengers. She showed remarkable talent for the game, and
an audience of onlookers was delighted when she beat the captain of
the ship.
A highlight in Bain's career came in 1 933, when, at twenty-three
years old, she defeated Jose Capablanca in a simultaneous game. The
Cuban world champion missed a simple tactic, allowing Bain to grab
his loose Bishop, after which he resigned-an ignominious eleven-move
loss. Bain's talent was recognized after this game by Hungarian Grand
master Geza Maroczy, who hoped Bain would one day challenge his
star student,Vera Menchik.
In 1 937 Mary Bain sailed to Stockholm to play in the World Cham
pionship there. She was the first American woman to represent the U.S.
in an organized chess competition. Menchik won the tournament, but
Bain came in a respectable fifth out of twenty-six players.
PLAYI N G FOR AM E R I CA 2 2 9
Mary Bain. ( Photo courtesy Cleveland Public Library.)
According to Allen Kaufman, Bain was "strong, with a husky, peas

ant look about her." Bain would spend hours at the Marshall Chess
Club, playing in tournaments or just hanging out. Frank Brady, author
· of Bobby Fischer: Profile of a Prodigy, called Mary a " classic Village type . . .
very liberal."When a man addressed her as Mrs. Mary Bain, she sharply
corrected him: "Just Mary Bain!" Another time, she waved her hand
dismissively at the suggestion that women ought to wait till marriage
to have sex-a brave declaration in the 1 950s.
It was not until 1 9 5 1 that Bain managed to capture a single title
from the Gresser and Karff duo. This enabled her to take another stab
at the world crown. She was thrilled to travel to Moscow, along with
second-place Karff, to participate in the 1 952 World Championship
Candidates.
Bain was impressed by the generosity of her hosts, who invited her
to the circus, the ballet, and fancy banquets. Distraught at being under-
230 C H ESS B ITCH
prepared, she did her best to relax : " I am going to enjoy my stay, at least
until the tournament starts. After, I'll be worried about my games."
Once the tournament began, she was overwhelmed, writing: "The
excitement is too much for me. The large crowd, the cameras, the large
wall board . . . the importance of the scene is killing me."
Bain did not play well. She lost game after game and finished with
just 3.5 points out of 1 5 . Elizaveta Bykova won the tournament and
went on to defeat Rudenko for the world championship title. In a series
of letters written to David Lawson-American organizer, chessplayer,
and author of Paul Morphy: The Pride and Sorrow of Chess Mary Bain
-
reveals that her poor showing wrecked her emotionally. Depressed, she
was unable to eat or sleep for days. She gives her opponents no credit
for her defeats, saying: "I am not being outplayed, I simply beat myself."
Compounding her misery was news from America that Eisenhower had
won the 1 952 election over Democratic candidate Adlai Stevenson. Af
ter this, Bain was so despondent that she "collapsed in my room and
cried like a child," signing one letter " Good for nothing Mary." But Bain
didn't blame herself alone.
She was livid that the American Chess Federation offered her nei
ther financial nor psychological support. "My sendoff was cruel. I was
told that I was not going to represent the USA and USCF but Zone
Number Four.6 No use complaining . . . " She also had no second to help
her analyze adjourned games, which usually resumed the following day:
"When I have an adjourned game I stay up all night and then make the
worst move." Ideally, Mary would be sleeping soundly, while her trainer
would work through the night, and then supply her with a thorough
analysis in the morning. British Master Golombek sympathized with
Bain, pointing out, "It is very sad that a great country like the USA
should have such a weak chess federation." Perhaps the worst insult was
that the Soviet Federation had been willing to pay all expenses for her
second, but Bain had not been told this until it was too late to arrange.
PLAY I N G FOR AM E R I CA 2 3 1
Bain and Gresser were both trounced by the Soviets, who were
simply better players. Their reactions to their poor showings were dia
metrically opposed. Gresser looked at the chess world with detached
curiosity and gentle derision. Happy to dip in and out of the elite chess
world, Gresser was content with her position in the U.S. chess circuit
and comfortable in her Park Avenue penthouse. Her talent brought
her to the top of the U.S. women's chess circuit, but without assiduous
work, she couldn't hope or expect to reach the top of the world. She
never believed that losing a game reflected poorly on her character or
intellect, both of which were nourished from other sources.
Bain was more focused on her own chess potential, which frus
trated her because she was unable to unleash it. She was furious with
herself and the U. S. Chess Federation for being under-prepared. Bain
may have overreacted, causing her to spiral downward faster.
Many players have trouble striking that fine balance between de
bilitating despair and nonchalance. "If it doesn't hurt, there's something
wrong," said American Grandmaster Joel Benjamin, who expects to be
in pain after losing a crucial game. However, professionalism requires
that even the most distraught players pick themselves up after a tough
loss and get ready to play their next game at full strength.
My own experience in finding the appropriate emotional involve
ment with the game has been an ongoing struggle. As a teenager, my
identity was closely intertwined with my chess results and rating, so a
poor result would set me back for days, or even weeks, leaving me in a
state of near depression. I vividly remember feeling the world was over af
ter losing a crucial game in the U.S. Championship of 1998. A perceptive
observer berated me: "You put too much pressure on yourself," suggesting,
"Your results will improve if you relax and allow your talent to show." His
advice was accurate, but it would take a while for me to implement it.
After winning my first U.S. Women's Chess Championship in
2002, gaining my first IM norm and performing much better than
232 C H ESS B ITCH
even I expected, many people asked me how I had prepared. The

truth was that I had not studied much chess, but instead had had
four days of raucous fun celebrating the NewYear with my friends in
Brooklyn. We went to house parties, drank coffee all day, and planned
decadent art proj ects. Entering the tournament in Seattle, I was hap
pier than I 'd ever been. I was more relaxed playing than I had been
in the past, knowing that if I lost I'd still be happy. It retrospect, I see
that the superior play I exhibited in that event had been hidden in
side me for years.
The emotion attached to my chess results loosened after Seattle. I
still feel pain when I lose, but it usually goes away within a few hours.
This might now detract from my performances, because knowing that
I would feel bad if I lost motivated me to study. However, I am thankful ·
that I don't care as much as I did when I was sixteen.
How much a player identifies with results depends as much on
disposition as chess strength. At weekend tournaments, it is common
to see grown amateurs knocking their heads against walls or young
beginners crying uncontrollably. Professionals, though, can often calmly
pick up the pieces, even after the most excruciating losses. Some even
channel their disappointment into renewed vigor for following rounds,
like Garry Kasparov, who is renowned for recovering from losses by
crushing his next opponent.
Though elite players may appear to be less sensitive to the visceral
pain of losing, they care more than novices. Their intellects are fully
engaged and thus fully on the line. Furthermore, their livelihoods are
dependent on their results.
American chess pioneers Bain, Gresser, and Karff did not have pro
fessional approaches to the game, either in disposition or lifestyle. A fur
ther reason for their mediocre results may have been their ages. By the
time all three were playing in the post-war world championships, they
were in their forties and fifties. The peak years of their careers would
PLAYI N G FOR AM E R I CA 2 3 3
· have been in the 1940s, but the war precluded international champion
ships during this time.
The grueling nature of contemporary chess rewards youth, which
is why most top players consider it to be more a sport than an art or
science. Women's chess is even more extremely skewed toward youth.
One reason may be that older women are likely to retire after starting
families. Another is that the bar for the standard of the best female chess
players is rising so rapidly that young players begin with far higher
ambitions than their predecessors. Adjournments were phased out in
the 1 980s, all but disappearing by the late 1 990s. Time controls have
shortened, and women jog and lift weights before tournaments in order
to prepare physically for the grueling pace of an event. The next bright
light of women's chess in America after Bain, Gresser, and Karff was an
outspoken upstart from Philadelphia, young enough to be the daughter
of her competitors.
"Each move seems to be weighted with some cosmic significance to

her," wrote Robert Cantwell, a reporter for Sports Illustrated. "At such
moments she seems . . . beautifully serious, or seriously beautiful, a side
of feminine loveliness that Hollywood has rather neglected."
The woman so memorably described was Lisa Lane. Lane got
hooked on chess as a nineteen-year-old and became U.S. Women's
Champion just two years later in 1 959, edging out veteran players Karff
and Gresser.
Lisa was not surprised by her success. Nor was she overwhelmed
by the spate ofjournalists who began to call her for interviews.Young,
ambitious, and arrogant, Lisa felt she was entitled. "I'm the most im
portant American chessplayer. People will be attracted to the game
by a young, pretty girl." Lisa believed she deserved all the recognition
and support she got, since she was "bringing publicity and ultimately
money" to the game.
234 CH ESS B ITCH
Lisa Lane. ( Photo by John G. Zimmerman, courtesy Sports Illustrated.)
Born in Philadelphia, Lisa had a difficult childhood. She did not

know her father, and her mother worked two jobs. Lisa had to stay with
foster families as a schoolgirl: she did poorly in school and dropped out,
and then she moved from low-paying job to low-paying job. Anxious
to continue her education, after dating an older, well-educated man,
Lisa enrolled at Temple University, where she began a special program
in which she would complete her high-school diploma while begin
ning her college coursework.
At the same time, Lisa discovered chess while on a date in the
Artists' Hut, a bohemian coffeeshop in downtown Philadelphia. She
began to play there regularly, and was discovered by an active play

er, who introduced her to Attilio Di Camilo, a charismatic Italian
American master, who was also a passionate and affordable coach. Di
Camilo started to coach Lisa in the mornings. When "Di-cam" was
asked why he only charged his students two dollars an hour for les
sons, he responded: "When I teach, I learn more than my students."
Di Camilo was impressed by Lisa's talent and assured her that, with
hard work, she could become U.S. champion in two years-a dead-on
prophesy. Lisa was soon a chess addict, dropping her studies at Temple
to concentrate on the game. She worked up to twelve hours a day at
chess, often staying up until three or four in the morning analyzing or
playing at the club.
Because of her volatile temper and fiery personality, Lisa was in
volved in scrapes and scandals. The details of one after-game dispute
were murky, but Lisa was quoted in Sports fllustrated as saying, "I never
hit that guy with an ashtray!"
Lisa's defiant attitude made her all the more exciting to the press.
Lisa declared, "I hate anyone who beats me."
"If talent alone won championships, I'd be world champion now."
Lisa was obsessed with chess and eschewed talk of politics: "I don't care
what's going on in the world."
"Her main role in the chess world is social. She is pleasant to look
upon," was the double-edged compliment of one American master.
Certainly, Lisa had scores of suitors, which seemed to amuse her: "I
get a lot of love letters from other chessplayers," she said to a New York
Times reporter. "I read them, I laugh, and then I file them. Letters from
grandmasters go on top."
Lisa's victory in the U.S. Championship in December 1 959 earned
her invitations to the Olympiad in the Netherlands and to the World
Championship in Vrnjacka Banja, a mountain resort in Yugoslavia, both
held in the fall of 1 963. In preparation for these events and with the
236 C H ESS B ITCH
help of a public sports grant, Lisa moved from Philadelphia to Green

wich Village in New York City, the center of American chess activity.
She amassed a huge collection of chess books and studied day and
night. She also studied Russian at the nearby New School so that she
could read Soviet chess magazines.
The media hoopla over Lisa, articles in The New York Times Magazine,
Newsweek, the dailies such as the Post and the Sun, along with chess mag
azines, scared her Russian opponents, who were reportedly just as afraid
of Lisa as they were of better-established foreign contenders. Their fears
were unjustified: Lisa only tied for twelfth out of eighteen players in
Vrnjacka Banja.7 It was becoming clear that Lisa had a way to go before
she could be a serious competitor for the world crown.
Lisa stayed in Europe for the rest of the winter, having received
an invitation to the prestigious Chess Congress (challengers' section)
in Hastings, England. In a shocking move, Lisa dropped out midway
through the tournament after two losses and a draw. Her explanation
was that she was "too much in love" to continue play. When Lisa left
New York in October for her European chess tour, she had abandoned
a burgeoning romance with Neil Hickey, a journalist who interviewed
her for the American Tteekly. Hickey wrote passionately about Lisa's
"lissome beauty," which "confounds all customary notions of bookish,
brainy females." Clearly, Hickey's article reflected feelings deeper than
the detached admiration of a reporter. Lisa was missing Neil and quit
the tournament to return to New York. "I could not concentrate-my
thoughts kept wandering."
Newspapers on both sides of the Atlantic had a field day with the
story, joking that Lisa Lane had "flipp [ed] her chessboard." Another
wrote that it was understandable for a brilliant girl to give up the game,
"especially if she really was in love." Lisa's return to normalcy, a state
in which girls put love above chess, elicited bemused pleasure from the
public. There was little outrage at the breach of sportsmanship it is to
P LAYI N G FO R A M E R I CA 2 3 7
quit a tournament in the middle of an event, or sadness over the declin

.ing interest of such a dynamic talent.
In fact, Lisa was not done with chess. Two years later she caused
a stir when she was overlooked for the 1 963 Olympic Team in fa
vor of Mary Bain and Gisela Gresser. 8 The Associated Press ran a
story on Lisa's reaction with
the cheeky headline " Scorned
Woman Gets Something Off
Her Chess." Lisa had assumed
that since she was the first run
ner-up in the 1 962 U. S. Cham
pionship (to Gresser) and the
second highest-ranked player
in the country, she would be
selected for the team. Lisa was
only able to think of one ex
planation for being left out:
"They were sore from all the
publicity I 've been getting. Ev
erywhere I go, people want to
take my picture and get inter- Lisa Lane. (Photo courtesy Chess Magazine.)
views with me." The wealthy· Gresser assured reporters that she was
happy about any press coverage chess got, though she admitted that
selection was based on factors other than merit, such as the player's
being able to meet expenses. This explanation enraged Lisa. " Since
when did you have to be a millionairess," Lisa fumed, "to represent
your country in sport? "
Lisa's approach to chess had changed by the time she made her next
attempt in the Women's World Championship in 1 964. Having opened
a chess club, The Queen's Pawn in Greenwich Village, Lane played blitz
chess for hours every night, but gave up the nightly grind of studying
238 CH ESS B ITCH
chess books: "This time I am preparing by not preparing." Again she

had a bad result-twelfth out of eighteen. Soon after this, The Queen's
Pawn closed, and Lisa disappeared from chess.
Lisa has been called the "Bobby Fischer of women's chess;' a tempt
ing comparison. Both were good-looking, defiant, eccentric, and mag
nets for a press that till then was uninterested in the chess world. Like
Fischer, Lane suddenly dropped out of chess and has not played since the
late 1 960s. Bobby did not have kind words for Lisa or for any woman in
chess. "There isn't a woman in the world I couldn't give Knights odd to
and still beat," he said in an interview with Harper's. In Newsweek, Bobby
Fischer used different words to express the same sentiment: "They can't
concentrate, they don't have stamina, and they aren't creative. They're
all fish [an ineffective chessplayer] . Lisa, you might say, is the best of the
American fish."9 Fischer concluded that women should not be allowed
in open tournaments. Lane retorted that adults like herself shouldn't
have to play with children like Bobby.
As similair as their personas were, Lisa and Bobby's accomplish
ments were not comparable. While Bobby's strength made him one of
the best players of all time, Lisa Lane's standard did not even place her
in the top ranks of women.
Lisa, still married to Neil Hickey, runs a metaphysical store, where
spiritual items and books are sold, in upstate New York. I called to
see if she wanted to chat. Lisa had not played chess in decades, but
her competitive streak was still intact-she commented that a young
woman player had bragged that she could easily defeat Lisa Lane. "I
think it's absurd to compare the women players of today with those
of my generation. It's like comparing apples with oranges. Chess was
different then, women were different then." I assured Lisa that I was
not the person who said that, but still Lisa did not want to meet me in
person for an interview. She no longer has any interest in fame and has
completely abandoned her former identity as a chessplayer. She seems
PLAYI N G FOR AMER ICA 2 3 9
Diana Lan n i . (Photo by Val Zemitis.)
to have nothing but bitter feelings toward the game. What Lane values
most in her life now is directly opposed to what was written about her
in the press: "I got a lot of attention from the press," she reminds me,
remarking wryly, "I guess I was good copy." "I don't think the things I
did in chess forty years ago are the most important things in my life."
Lisa quit chess partly because. she was annoyed with being identified
as a chessplayer. "It got embarrassing-constantly being introduced as a
chess champion at parties." The fame brought on by Lisa's shockingly
blunt speech, beauty, and skill no longer seem important to her.
Lisa Lane had a relatively short career on the professional circuit, but
her wild ways, tough-luck history, and glamorous lifestyle made an im
pression on girls and women who read about her in the press. Diana
Lanni was one of these. Superficially, she was similar to Lisa. Both were
born to troubled, working-class American families. Lanni, like Lisa, was
beautiful, which proved to be a mixed blessing.
240 CH ESS BITCH
Diana's father showed her Lisa's press clippings, and Diana saw how
much fun Lisa had had with chess. "My dad pointed out that women
were such novelties in the chess world, that if I spent a few good years
of work, I could travel the world, and achieve rock-star status." It wasn't
until Diana graduated from high school and left home that she took her
father's advice. Grateful to her father for introducing her to chess, Diana
describes an otherwise terrible relationship with her dad. "Having such
a poor father figure and seeing my mom struggle so much made me a
feminist very fast."
Immediately after high school, Diana found herself in a series of
unsavory jobs, including "the drudgery of $ 1 .60-an-hour retail work"
at Lord & Taylor's. One night Diana went with a couple of friends to
a strip club in Washington, D.C. The owners encouraged the girls to
audition, and they complied. Diana was offered a job. "We dared each
other to try it out for a while." Diana did, and ended up making four
times as much stripping as she did at her various day jobs. Setting up a
Christmas display at Lord & Taylor's with a chess set, Diana remembered
how her father had encouraged her to pursue chess. Soon thereafter she
became friends with a strong player who was moving to Miami. Frus
trated with all her jobs in D. C., she went with him to Miami, telling all
her friends that she was "running away with chess."
Her stay in Miami was disastrous. Diana got heavily involved in
alcohol and cocaine. "I drank my brains out." In Miami, Diana took
another job as a topless dancer, but she found that stripping in D.C.
was far different from in Miami. "In D.C. we stripped for government
officials, but my job in Miami was far seedier. We were encouraged to
hustle for drinks, ordering the most expensive drinks on the menu, and
then charging men fifty dollars for them."
At one after-hours party, a drunk Diana noticed three fat Italian
men playing chess. She offered to play them for high stakes. The winner
would receive an "eight-ball" (an eighth ounce of cocaine) . Diana, who
was by then a strong amateur player, won easily, but the men refused to
give her the drugs. "I was so angry when they didn't give me the cocaine
that I ran around the party complaining." Her antics caused the men to
threaten her. Shortly thereafter, Diana, scared for her safety, fled Miami.
She didn't know where to go, so her default plan was to drive
back to D. C., where her parents still lived. "My father was abusing my
mother at home, and I didn't want to go back, but I didn't know where
to go." On her way, Diana stopped off at a chess tournament in South
Carolina, where she met a man who offered to put her up in Ann Ar
bor, Michigan. It was a fortuitous move for Diana.
In Michigan, Diana immersed herself in chess, playing as often
as she could. When a few cocky masters teased her about her play,
Diana was determined "to get good and prove them wrong." As she
immersed herself in chess, Diana felt her self-esteem soar. Diana im
proved rapidly and realized how smart she was. "Academically hope
less" in high school, Diana had assumed that she was dumb before she
started playing chess. Her father had always given her that impression.
"He always told me how stupid I was and how ashamed he was of
me." Her success in chess gave her confidence to enroll at a com
munity college in Ann Arbor, Michigan, where she got straight As.
After completing the two-year program, she pursued a B.A. at the
University of Michigan, in which she investigated the psychology of
female chess players, surveying dozens ofAmerican women chessplay
ers. Diana found that many women chessplayers had come from bro
ken homes, and had "messed-up" relationships with their fathers. She
told me, "Chess was a way for them to express their feminism, as well
as gaining belated approval from their fathers."
She won a tournament in Michigan in 1 977, and qualified for her
first U.S. Championship to be held in Los Angeles. Her chess career was
on the move. After finishing with the University of Michigan, twenty
three-year-old Diana moved to New York City to live with some chess
242 CH ESS B ITCH
friends. New York City, then as today, is the closest thing to a chess
Mecca in the United States.
In New York, Diana still had "drug problems up the ying-yang;'
especially with coke, to which she had developed a serious addiction.
She was forthcoming about her most sordid moments in an interview
in Ms. magazine, in which she said, "I wound up living in a sleazy
hotel on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, hooking for cocaine. I
became increasingly suicidal." After realizing how low she had sunk, she
checked into Bellevue Hospital and entered a rehabilitation program.
At this point, chess was a lifeboat for Diana. "The logic of chess was an
alternative system to the chaos of life."
After Diana checked out of Bellevue, in 1 980 on NewYear's Eve, she
began to take chess more seriously, earning an expert's rating and qualify
ing to play for the U.S. women's team in the 1 982 Olympiad in Lucerne,
Switzerland, an event for which Diana has particularly fond memories. In
Lucerne, Diana found the comforting social network she craved. "We got
drunk every single night and partied. It felt like having a family."
Lanni tended to land in relationships with other games players, such
as Grandmaster Roman Dzindzichasvili, a great chess talent and obses
sive gambler, and Paul Magrill, a backgammo n champion. The guys she
dated tended to be more successful than she, and in describing one such
relationship, Diana said, "He was the star. I was just the girlfriend who
took too many drugs."
Diana became a bookmaker in New York City, a job she excelled
at immediately. In speaking with Diana over the phone, I could un
derstand why. Diana's voice is both warm and authoritative, while her
analytical mind is well suited to calculating odds and point spreads.
"Chessplayers make good bookies," says Diana, who had a great time
in New York in the games world, though "it was hard to make ends
meet in Manhattan." She often wound up sleeping on the couch at
the Barpoint, a game room, where ping-pong, backgammon, and chess
PLAYI N G FO R AM E R I CA 2 4 3
were played till late at night. In the early eighties, rents on the Upper
West Side skyrocketed, the club closed, and Diana realized she could
not afford to live in the city anymore. In 1 985, at the age of thirty, Diana
moved to California.
In northern California, Diana worked as a poker dealer, "a com
pletely legitimate job." Diana still speaks fondly of poker, offering to
give me lessons when she finds out I don't play. "Poker is a very deep
game, and it's something you can use to make money all your life."
Diana feels that chess led her to more lucrative activities in poker and
bookmaking and "saved me from choosing between the drudgery of
nine-to-five minimum-wage work and the humiliation of stripping
and prostitution."
Diana resumed bookmaking after she relocated to Santa Cruz some
years later and soon got into trouble with the law. Since moving to
California, she had been arrested for possession of opiates and driving
under the influence. When her bookmaking ring was busted through
an informant, she landed in jail.
Diana's time in prison was both wrenching and enlightening. She
was incarcerated in the Dublin prison, the largest women's facility in
America. There were three thousand prisoners, many of whom, Diana
tells me, were young Hispanic girls. "It was so sad. They were arrested
as mules smuggling drugs across the border. They had been totally sac
rificed by their boyfriends." The atmosphere brought out Diana's pro
gressive and feminist inclinations. She has always wanted to help other
women, especially around issues of pregnancy.
For Diana, jail life was not so miserable. She took opera appre
ciation and Spanish, and attended ice cream socials. Diana did have to
work forty hours a week, like all inmates. " Since I was white, the guards
gave me a good job in the gardening department." Diana even started
a chess club in jail, hoping to introduce chess as a popular pastime like
it is in men's prisons. Diana ordered chess sets for the inmates and ad-
244 C H ESS B ITCH
vertised it in both English and Spanish. The club was given space in the
pottery room. "The recreation department was very supportive of my
project." Some of the women already knew how to play, and Diana gave
lessons to the others.
She was incredibly relieved when her four-month sentence ended;
it was the small comforts she missed most:"I couldn't wait to get out and
have a real cup of espresso instead of the awful coffee they serve you in
jail." Diana regrets the long-lasting repercussions. She is not allowed to
vote, and her record puts off some employers. She is terrified of a future
arrest, admitting, "I am walking a very straight line these days."
Now Diana teaches chess to kids, with a keen eye on her female stu
dents. She wishes she could play herself, but chronic back problems-the
aftermath of a knee injury-preclude long periods of sitting.
Lanni is one of the most explicitly feminist chessplayers I spoke
with, declaring, "I think women play better than men. Chess is a lan
guage, and women are better at languages." She rails on "the testoster
one baloney," saying, "They still don't have a clue about how it affects
people." But in her work of teaching girls, Diana does observe differ
ences: "Winning is so important to men. Women don't play as hard to
win. They sometimes feel bad to beat their opponents. I have to remind
my girls: 'Someone has to win, it might as well be you."'
Rachel Crotto was the first adolescent star of American women's

chess-she played in her first U.S. Championship as a twelve-year-old
in 1 972, and five years later she tied for first at seventeen. As it was for
Lanni, chess was for Rachel a route to higher self-esteem. The ideas of
the two women on the subj ect are uncannily similar. " I used to think
I was stupid," Rachel tells me. "But when my dad taught me chess,
I began to beat everyone during the breaks at lunch. Classmates and
teachers told me, 'You're such a good chessplayer.You must be really
smart."'
Rachel was on her own from the age of sixteen, when she ran away
from home. She tried to make a living on her winnings from chess,
giving up her studies at NYU to play in a tournament in Israel. "My
family was not very happy with my decision," Rachel jokes, "to become
a chess bum."
Rachel became a close friend of lvona Jesierska, an immigrant from
Poland. Ivana spoke only Polish and Russian when she arrived in New
York, and Rachel, who spoke some Russian, became a close confidant.
Ivana describes to me how tough it was for her at first: "I would wait
tables at a restaurant, and I spoke no English so it was hard to understand
what the customers wanted." The two played countless games of blitz
and frequented chess clubs and roomed together at tournaments. Ivana
has fond memories of late-night blitz marathons at Barpoint, a chess
club in downtown Manhattan: "Diana Lanni used to sleep on the couch
there-people were up till three in the morning playing blitz, ping
pong, gambling. Lots of Russian was spoken. It felt like home to me."
Rachel and Ivana were both in love with chess and the jet-setting
lifestyle it offered. But with no independent means, they struggled to
get by. Rachel says, "I was always living on the edge. It was a struggle
to pay the rent."
At the 1 986 Olympiad, held in Dubai, Rachel, at the age of twenty
seven, abruptly decided to give up the game. "I had a bad tournament
and realized that if I hadn't applied myself to studying by then, I prob
ably never would." I ask Rachel if she misses chess, and she tells me, "I
miss the traveling," adding, "and not having to work nine to five." Ivana
also quit semi-professional chess when her minimum standard of living
was raised as she matured. Now Ivana makes a good living working as a
chess coordinator and coach, but lacks the energy to play seriously. She
told me wistfully, "If I was wealthy I would play chess all the time."
Rachel felt estranged from the male-dominated and sometimes
chauvinistic atmosphere at open chess tournaments. She once called
246 C H ESS B ITCH
Rachel Crotto. (Photo

by Val Zemitis.)
into a radio advice talk show to say, "I am a woman chessplayer, and
every time I play a man they underestimate me, assuming that I will
play badly because I am a woman." Rachel recalls that the host advised
her to "dress very sexy, wear a low neckline, and put on a lot of makeup
to use my femininity against them." Rachel, a lesbian, says, "Obviously,
I was not about to do that." Rachel was neither open nor secretive
about her sexuality, though she assures me that she never encountered
any discrimination in the chess world as a result of it. Rachel debunked
rumors I had heard that the large majority of female chessplayers in the
1 970s and 1 980s were lesbians: "I think that some players who were
just not particularly feminine got mistaken for lesbians." "If ten percent
of the population is homosexual, I think the chess world reflects that
number pretty closely."
Rachel's ego was boosted by the attention she got as a young girl,
but later, the scrutiny interfered with her relationship to the chess itself.
She wanted to concentrate on the game, but was distracted by the at
tention she got. Despite lingering feelings for the game, Rachel hardly
plays at all now. But she has a comeback fantasy. "I've always wanted to
Diane Savereide. (Photo by Val Zemitis.)
play chess as a man-in one of those big open tournaments with 400
people." Rachel says, "I would like to know how it feels to be invisible.
To be just one of 400 players. I always felt like I was on trial at tourna
ments. If I were to make a mistake, it would prove that I really was a
stupid woman."
The most dominant force in women's chess during the time of Rachel
Crotto and Diana Lanni was Diane Savereide, who won, or shared, a
total of seven U.S titles from 1 975 to 1 984. (Crotto shared two of her
three U. S. titles with Savereide.) Savereide had a major influence on
fellow U. S. championship contender Diana Lanni also. "She was my
hero," Lanni gushes. "I remember being so psyched to ride with her
each morning to the tournament hall on her motorcycle." Savereide
was the first American woman to maintain a national master rating,
"the first strong female master in American chess," said IM Jack Peters,
also from L.A.
248 CH ESS BITCH
Saveriede describes living in a pos1t1ve chess environment as a

young girl, along with many active, prominent women in the Ameri
can chess scene, including player and organizer Jacqueline Piatigor
sky, whose husband was famous cellist Gregor Piatigorsky. Diane says,
"When I traveled to other parts of the country, I discovered that chess
players were not always so hospitable to women, but it was too late to
discourage me."
In 1 975, Diane won the first U.S. Women's Chess Championship
that she played in, earning her a spqt in a world-title qualifier. Diane
won six more national titles and traveled from Hong Kong to Haifa to
represent the U.S. in international events.
Nearing thirty, with seven national titles under her belt, Diane tried
to make a go as a professional chessplayer. In the summer of 1 984, she
took time off from her job as a computer programmer to play in tour
naments, but didn't make enough money. She quit. "It came down to
being thirty and deciding I had to make a living." At the time, the first
prize for the U. S. women's champion was tiny. For becoming the best
female player in the nation, Diane would get somewhere between $300
and $600.
For the past twenty years, Diane has played chess rarely. She some
times misses the friends, travels, and intensity of chess. But she has always
been too passionate about the game to play casually. Many professional
chessplayers quit when they get real jobs, not because they don't have
time to play chess, but because they don't have time to prepare and play
their best. In 1 990, Ilya Gurevich became the World Junior Champion
ship. He was one of the most promising GMs in American history. He
spent a few years as a pro player, but gave it up after earning a business
degree at NYU and accepting a Wall Street job. He told me he quit
because "I remember what it's like to be in good form, but I can't play
that well now and it feels awful."

I rina Krush. (Photo by Jennifer Shahade.)
Many talented American players quit chess because they cannot make
a decent living at the game. The few who stay with it tend to be
male. "The reason chess never became popular among women in
America, while they broke barriers and proliferated in so many other
fields," Diana Lanni muses, "is that women still needed money as an
excuse to use their brains. Thinking for free was unacceptable."
After Saveriede quit chess, the U.S. championships began to be
dominated by Russian immigrants, who had been strong players in the
Soviet Union. However, these women came to the United States for a
better life, hoping to make more money than they did as professional
players. Many of them quit or played only casually so they could devote
their time to more lucrative pursuits. Irina Levitina, three-time U. S.
Women's Champion, gave up chess for a career as a professional bridge
player. Elena Donaldson, three-time champion, found a good job in
computer programming and stopped playing for a while. Angelina Be
lakovskaya, another three-time champion, slowed her participation in
her thirties to pursue a career in finance.

250 C H ESS B ITCH
The highest-rated American woman player, Irina Krush, literally learned

the moves between worlds, when her father taught her chess on the
journey from Odessa to New York City. Irina is introspective about
her split identity: "I am half American, half Russian." Even her voice
contains a curious mix of accents from Brooklyn and Russia. She ex
presses the most fondness for the Russian language. "I consider English
a utilitarian language. When talking about emotions, I need to speak
Russian-or at least English in a Russian accent." As for playing chess,
her coaches are usually Russian, and her early play was very strategic,
marked by a keen understanding of the endgame. Her style has changed
recently: "I used to always play against strong players as a kid, so I was
used to defending." Now her style is much more aggressive. "No one
could call me a passive player."
Over the board, Irina enters another realm, one of deep mental
focus, but she also seems to savor the physical process of making moves.
After selecting her move, she places her piece on the square with a de
termined yet tender touch, as if she is playing adagio piano. In immacu
late handwriting, she records her move and then turns her concentrated
gaze to the board. When playing Irina I feel particularly conscious of
my own sloppier habits, like the faces I make and the scribbles I use to
record my moves that are so difficult to decipher that one arbiter called
them Chinese.
Irina is a scrupulous and independent thinker, both traits that she
says come from her American upbringing. She is disturbed on a visceral
level by lying and cheating. Irina once witnessed a competitor offer me
a draw before a game that would affect the final standings of the tour
nament. I declined, but Irina was emotionally floored: "I am so upset I
had to see that."
Irina was so precocious in chess-she earned the master title as a
twelve-year-old, her first U. S. title at fourteen years old, and the IM title
at sixteen years old-that she and her parents arranged for her to take
half her classes at home in order to accelerate her chess career. After
graduating from high school, Irina took a year off to devote herself en
tirely to chess. She had some major successes, including the first norm
toward her GM title. But her results were inconsistent and, more sig
nificantly, Irina was not happy. " I spent all day studying chess at home."
She felt alienated. "I realized I wanted to go to college."
She decided to enroll in NYU, because along with her passion for
chess Irina wanted to learn about business and politics and to improve
her writing skills. " It takes me a while to write anything, because I
have to choose j ust the right words." Her perfectionist character is
borne out by her record at NYU, where she earned a 4 . 0 average in
her second semester, even though she was abse11t for two weeks to
play in tournaments.
Soon after entering NYU, Irina began to date a chessplayer, Cana
dian champion Pascal Charbonneau, who was at about the same level as
she. Pascal drove to visit Irina each weekend from his studies at UMBC
in Baltimore, and they soon became a serious couple. Both have strong
opinions about chess positions, and often disagree. In contrast to Irina,
who has a solid foundation in chess theory gained from years of train
ing, Pascal's knowledge is more of a pastiche of things he has picked up
from grandmaster friends, tournaments, and books. He is attracted to
the geometric aspects of the game, and once told me, "The Bishop is
really strong when it is three squares in front of a Knight," the kind of
adage that would be glib coming from an amateur, but was profound
from Pascal.
Pascal's listening skills and good manners have influenced Irina, who
recently confessed in an interview with New In Chess that her biggest
flaw was "selfishness," a trait that in her youth she exhibited at times with
anti-social behavior at tournaments. I've had several heated arguments
with her about whether or not she should have read at the playing hall
while her opponents were thinking or ignored people just because she
252 CH ESS B ITCH
didn't feel like talking. Irina often got away with such antics, not only
because of her status but also because of a depth of sincerity that both
strangers and friends alike saw in her. Irina is and was straight-up. These
days, Irina has adopted more traditional manners, possibly an influence
of Pascal's. I was alerted to the change when Irina called me and, in an
urgent tone, asked me about flight arrangements for an upcoming tour
nament. I hadn't heard from her in months. Five minutes later, she called
me again to ask how I was, apologizing for being so curt. Meanwhile,
Pascal was affected by Irina's perfectionism. He started college with lack
luster ambitions, but now he gets 4.0 averages each semester: "Irina con
vinced me that if I were taking classes, I might as well get As."
Will Irina throw her talents into chess after college, or will she
abandon it for more lucrative pursuits? Irina is conflicted, and is both
envious and critical of professional chessplayers. "It's so great to study
and play chess all the time, but part of me doesn't understand why
they're not aiming for a better life:'
Irina would love to play chess for a living, but worries about the
limited financial resources. "The problem with chess is that sometimes
it feels like begging." Pascal said, "You have to depend on rich people
who are chess fans and sponsor tournaments and players out of the
kindness of their hearts." Irina is intent on making a comfortable living,
explaining, "I identify with a subculture of first-generation Russian
Americans, who aim to go to elite colleges and make a lot of money
after graduation." Her parents are successful accountants, and though
they have encouraged her in chess, they ultimately want her to have a
secure career. Irina, in trying to convey to me just how rich she would
like to be, tells me, "Remember the hotel we stayed at in Shanghai,
Jen?" I tell her I do, an extravagant five-star hotel. "I want to be able
to afford to go on vacation to places like that without flinching." On
another occasion, Irina described her love for shopping as a "passion for
finding that perfect item to complete my wardrobe." Irina sarcastically
PLAY I N G FOR AMER ICA 2 5 3
describes herself as "degenerating into a materialistic parasite." Chess is

the counterpoint to all this, and what keeps her life spiritually fulfilling.
"It's a panacea with which I combat the emptiness."
When I ask Irina about her dreams in chess, I get a passionate re
sponse. "My ultimate fantasy," she says, eyes flashing, Russian accent on
full, "is to play e4 and d4 equally well . . . to be a two-headed monster.
That's a dream with some soul in it." Although she plays in occasional
women's tournaments, her goal is to become one of the best players in
America, male or female. She'd like to become the first female to earn
a seat on the six-person U.S. Olympic team. "That would be historic."
Sometimes, Irina prefers to focus on the chess itself: "I think that if I
understand a lot of different positions, the results will come." Irina has
similar ideas on fame. "I do want to be famous, give interviews, be in
magazines," Irina tells me, "but not because I'm a young woman who's
good at chess. I want fame as a result of impressive tournament results
that I can be proud of."
The opportunities for money in women's chess in America today
are improving. The prizes for U.S. championships have increased dra
matically since the eighties, when the sums were in the three-figures.
Women have a strong presence in the American chess politics-in
2003 Beatriz Marinello, an inactive master, was elected president of the
USCF. Two non-profit organizations, America's Foundation for Chess
(AF4C) based in Seattle, and Chess-in-the-Schools (CIS) in New York
City, are attracting major sponsors. The first CEO of AF4C was Mi
chelle Anderson. Marley Kaplan has been the executive director of CIS
since 1 999. The organizations, while not explicitly focusing on wom
en's chess, have promoted the interests of girls. The prizes for the U.S.
Women's Champion more than tripled after the AF4C took over-from
$4,000 in 1 998 to $ 1 2,500 in 2003.
CIS teaches chess to as many inner-city children as possible. Some
stars have been born in the process. Particularly impressive is the rapid
254 C H ESS BITCH
progress of Medina Parilla, a mature, sweet girl from the Bronx. At

twelve, Medina became the first African-American female to win a
national title in the Grade Nationals in Chicago. She was well prepared,
having just returned from representing the country in the World Youth
Championships in Crete. Throughout the international event, Medina
was battling on the top boards with girls from Russia and China and
realized that she could compete with the world elite. Medina's achieve
ments were recognized on the cover of the New York paper Newsday.
The increased sponsorship of chess in America and the growing
subculture of well-rounded child participants are slowly changing its
reputation. But all is not rosy, in my opinion. Chess in America is still
suffering from an identity crisis, an intellectual endeavor in an anti-in
tellectual society. Chess is often praised for combining aspects of art, sci
ence, and sport. Unfortunately, what that means right now in American
society is that it doesn't fit easily into any category. Chess is not on TV
or represented at the Olympics, nor is chess well represented in artistic
or academic communities. The negative image of chess in America may
prevent many young girls from pursuing it. In Europe, recognized chess
players can range from a respected sportsman to a young, hip teenager,
but to the America public, the stereotype of a chessplayer as geeky and
monomaniacal lingers.
Ironically, it might be that emphasizing the eccentric elements of
chess, but with a positive spin, could increase its popularity. Marcel Du
champ, an influential artist of the twentieth century, liked chess because,
in comparison to the glitzy elite of the art world, chessplayers were
"madmen of a certain quality, the way the artist is supposed to be and
generally isn't." He believed that artists were often pressured to repeat
their styles and successes in order to promote themselves and make
money; chessplayers, on the other hand, were less likely to be corrupted.
Most important to Duchamp was that chess games, unlike art, could
not be turned into commodities. "Chessplayers at least," he remarked
wryly, "cannot make money." Chess might just be the right activity for
anyone seeking an alternative to the more media-driven subcultures.
One of my students, Venice Adrian, was an eccentric, glamorous
woman, who managed the downtown NewYork City nightclub called
Plaid. Blond with plump lips, a Barbie-doll figure, and feline gestures,
Venice was described in a gossip-and-style glossy, Paper, as "the chicest
person in New York City nightlife." I met Venice in 2003 at the Man
Versus Machine match between Garry Kasparov and D eep Junior.
Venice attended with friends who were working on a documentary
about the chess scene in New York City. "I always had an attraction
to chess, but never really got around to pursuing it," Venice told me,
" and then one day I opened the phone book and looked up chess, and
called the biggest number I saw." For a while she took lessons with
a Russian grandmaster. After watching Kasparov live, Venice's inter
est in chess was rekindled. She wanted to take lessons with me, and I
wanted to teach her.
At ten o'clock on a Wednesday night, I met Venice at the Hotel
Chelsea, what had been New York's bohemian epicenter in the 1 960s
and 1 970s. This was where Dylan Thomas lived and Sid Vicious killed
Nancy. Venice's apartment is decorated with her extensive taxidermy
collection, but when I arrived, the centerpiece of the room was a
wooden chessboard, set up between antique couches. Venice was just
starting out in chess, so I showed her some basic checkmates. She was
intensely interested in the positions I set up: sometimes she got up and
pounced eagerly to the opposite side of the board to get a better look.
Deeply involved in the media and nightlife culture, Venice was disen
chanted with many of the fame-seeking New Yorkers she knew at her
nightclub.Venice viewed chess as a purely intellectual activity, balanced
her lifestyle.
In the winter of 2003, nearly a year after we had met at the Kasp
arov-Deep Junior match, I ran into Venice on a plane to Chicago. She
256 C H ESS B ITCH
was poring over horseracing magazines. We hadn't had a lesson in several

months; her interest in chess had been replaced by a new addiction for
horse-betting. I told her I'd read about her in some recent magazines, to
which she responded, "I hate fashion magazines. It's all superficial-all
about being hip and beautiful." She asked about my chess career, and at
one point, grabbing my arm, she confided, "I wish I could be as smart as
you." Usually, when people confuse skill at chess with intelligence, I take
pains to explain that chess does not always correlate with general mental
abilities. This time, I decided to let Venice's mistake go uncorrected.
12
Gender Play:
Angela from Texas
(S)he was a man; she was woman; she knew the secrets, shared
the weaknesses ef each. It was a most bewildering and whirligig
state ef mind to be in. The comforts ef ignorance seemed utterly
denied to her. She was a feather blown on the gale.
-Virginia Woolf, Orlando
n Medieval chess, when a pawn reached the eighth rank and be
came a Queen, a moral quandary arose. How could a male foot
soldier change sex to become a woman? In 1 9 1 2, the great chess
historian H.J.R. Murray wrote about the dilemma: " The pawn had to
change its sex . . . the moral sense of some players was outraged . . . the
usual practice was to use a different name for the promoted pawn
from that of the original Queen."1 The pawn promoted into a piece
that moved like a Queen but was given a masculine name, reserving
the title of Queen for the original. Now, sensitivity to gender has
shifted to the players themselves. The gender of each player in the U.S.
and World Chess Federations is carefully registered, and usually-but
not always-maintained till the end of his or her career.
2 57
258 C H ESS BITCH
In Texas a chess expert ushered in the twenty-first c entury by

transforming from a man, Tony, into a woman, Angela. Angela Alston
calls the day she got her sex-change operation "the happiest of her
life," echoing what millions of pawns must have felt when they
reached the eighth rank. And like p awns, Angela struggled against
ranks of adversity.
"I was born aspected of both genders," Angela says. " I have more
testosterone than most women, but less than most men." Angela's con
dition is known as pseudo-hermaphroditism, in which a child is born
with ambiguous genitalia. The incidence is estimated to be 1 in 20,000.
In the more rare case (approximately one in a million) of "true her
maphroditism," a baby has tissues of both male and female sex organs.
Angela's wavering between the male and the female and eventual
transformation has been painful, expensive, and ultimately redemptive.
In my first e-mail communication with Angela, she referred to herself as
"two spirit." In Native American culture, a two spirit is a revered person
who has special insights into both the male and female psyches. Angela,
who grew up in a traditional family in the fifties, feared that revealing
her gender confusion would elicit more scorn than admiration.
On a visit to Austin, Texas, I got a chance to speak with Angela
face to face. We met in a dim, laid-back cafe, where Angela had driven
from her home in San Antonio. She arrived dressed in white j eans and
a black-and-white knitted sweater. She wore glasses and her long hair
was crimped. She is self-conscious about her voice, which she worries
sounds like a man's. "My voice is the one thing I cannot change." I did
not notice anything about Angela's voice. Only her large, masculine
hands might have led me to guess her history.
Angela and I immediately felt comfortable with each other. We
settled into couches on the smoking side of the cafe. Angela ordered a
latte, lit up a menthol cigarette, and began to rhapsodize about the Texas
capital. "I love getting a chance to visit Austin-it's an oasis in Texas,"
G EN D ER P LAY 2 5 9
Angela Alston. (Photo by Jennifer Shahade.)
she raved. "In this state, intellectual activity is like water in the desert."
Austin has a liberal, artistic community. The largest branch of the Uni
versity ofTexas draws 50,000 students, and the downtown is scattered
with independent bookstores, country-music bars, and coffee shops. I
spotted a vegetarian restaurant offering ten percent off to anyone with
a mullet haircut. George W Bush's face was silk-screened onto T-shirts
that read One- Term President, while Keep Austin Weird was the bumper
sicker slogan of choice. Angela thrives in such an accepting environ
ment. "In Austin you can do anything without being persecuted. Intel
lectual activity is what life is about for me." Angela is drawn to chess
for its challenge, pointing out, "I could play this game for my whole life
and never near the pinnacle."
Born in Boston on December 1 4, 1 955, with both male and female
genitalia, Angela was quickly designated as a male and named Tony.
"After that, no one b·othered to look for years." Early on, Tony knew
that he didn't fit in. "As a six-year-old, I realized that something was
very wrong. I did not fit in with the boys. I thought I was mentally ill."
A ten-year-old Tony would browse in the psychology section of the
public library, hoping to find some clues to the nature of his condition.
260 CH ESS BITCH
At thirteen, he chanced upon a copy of a book by Christine Jorgenson

(1 927- 1 989) , a photographer who traveled to Denmark to get a sex
change operation. When the story leaked out to the press, the charis
matic, multi-talented Jorgenson instantly became a public figure-an
object of ridicule for some and an inspiration to others, like the young
Tony, who said that finding Jorgenson's autobiography "was like a rev
elation. Finally, I saw someone who was like me."
Throughout her life as Tony and as Angela, she has maintained a
passion for chess. Tony learned the moves from his sister when he was
six and played in his first tournament as a teenager.Tony became quick
ly hooked on the game, particularly attracted to its psychological as
pects. He devoured the writings of his favorite player, the second world
champion, Dr. Emmanuel Lasker. Lasker was well-educated in math,
philosophy, and psychology and was friends with major intellectuals,
such as Einstein. "If I could be a fly on the wall, anywhere, anytime, it
would be during the conversations between Lasker and Einstein."
Tony had a frenetic lifestyle as a youth, switching from job to job:
taxi driver, land-surveyor, cook, and Navy payroll officer. Throughout
all of this, Tony was depressed. In his stint as a cab driver, passengers
used to recount their woeful tales to Tony. "I listened, and thought, I
could live your life standing on my head."Tony used to drive into the worst
neighborhoods of San Antonio in the dead of the night, which he now
sees as a "subconscious suicide attempt." He told me, "Part of me just
wanted my life to be over. When I was eighteen I thought I would
never make it past twenty-one, and when I was twenty-one I thought I
would never make it to twenty-five. But, somehow, I kept going. "
Tony's lack of comfort in his masculine body led to his indulg
ing in reckless behavior from hitchhiking to alcohol and drug abuse.
Reminiscing, Angela assures me, "I did have fun." But the troubles
outweighed the good times. Tony didn't feel like a man, so he cre
ated a male persona "imitating different aspects of dozens of the men
G E N D ER PLAY 2 6 1
I knew in my life-it was like making myself schizophrenic so I could

fit in." Tony lived in constant fear that his carefully constructed mas
culine identity would be unmasked: " I sometimes used feminine ges
tures-women tend to move their hands around a lot more when they
talk, and one time, a tournament director told me, 'You behave like a
woman.' I was terrified that I was going to be found out." After such
incidents, Tony would retreat, desperate to iron out the kinks in his
personality.
When Tony settled down in San Antonio, he set himself two goals:
he wanted to become the top player in the city and the president of
the chess club. He accomplished both feats in just four years. Instead of
feeling joy, Tony felt only restlessness, wondering what to do next.
In order to truly fit in, Tony decided that he would have to start a
family. He met Teri in San Antonio while employed as a land-surveyor.
They married and had two children, Ian and Sean. "Doctors told me
the chances of me having kids were very low, but it happened." Tony
kept his birth condition secret from Teri: "She told me that I didn't
look or feel like other men, but she didn't realize the extent of it."
During this time, Tony stopped using drugs, although he was drinking
a lot. "I replaced one vice with another." The relationship was prob
lematic and, though Angela does not reveal exactly what went wrong,
she claims, "We never really got along." In 1 993, after twelve years of
marriage, Tony and Teri divorced.
Angela recalls being in a constant state of depression while living
as a man. "I used to be so j ealous of people who were born into one
sex, and did not have to go through what I had to go through." In May
1 996, a few years after his marriage with Teri fell apart, Tony became
determined to pursue the dream he'd had since he was twelve years
old. Tony yearned for an external body and social identity to match his
internal female self. "I had tried everything else. I had to either live as
I really was or die."
262 C H ESS BITCH
Tony was well aware of the obstacles he would face along the way.
"Some people thought I was just insane to give up being a white man
in this culture. They did not understand why I would voluntarily de
scend the socio-economic ladder."
Tony let it be known that he'd decided to let his female self emerge.
As there were no laws in Texas to protect the rights of transgender in
dividuals, employers cut back Tony's hours as a cook and were openly
nasty. In March 1 998, Tony went to a medical doctor, who confirmed
the existence of his rare medical condition. Then he went to the court
house, changed his birth certificate designation to female and renamed
himself. "When I was seventeen years old, I decided I liked the name
Angela, and wanted it for myself. It took me twenty-five years." Once
she legally became a woman, her rights were protected at work, since
she could claim sexual discrimination based on gender. This attracted
the immediate attention of worried managers. Angela said they walked
on eggshells once they understood her new legal rights. They gave An
gela her hours back and were careful not to say anything offensive, at
least not to her face.
A practical obstacle to Angela's transformation was financing her
sex-change operation. To remove her phallus, she had to save for three
years, working overtime as a cook. After saving approximately $1 0,000
for the operation and related drugs and therapy, Angela traveled to
Montreal, where her surgery was scheduled.
The operation lasted two hours. Angela recalls, "That day was the
happiest day of my life." A Billy Idol lyric from "White Wedding"-" It's
a nice day to start again"-played repeatedly in Angela's head.
Born into a conservative family, Angela tells me, " I was brought up
on the idea that you don't just accept everything. No one ever talked
about ' celebrating diversity."' Her siblings (one sister and two brothers)
and her late father did not support her transformation, but when her
father was dying of cancer in 1 998, Angela accepted the responsibility
G EN D ER PLAY 2 63
to take care of her ill mother, Mary, with whom she now lives. "When
my father was on his deathbed, I promised to take care of Mom," she
recalls. "And I will keep my word." Initially her mother was upset with
Angela, but gradually began to accept her. Angela knew her mother
was ready to love her as she was after receiving her forty-second birth
day card. Her mother wrote, "To my daughter."
In San Antonio, Angela has settled into two stable, part-time jobs:
teaching chess and working as a real-estate advisor. Teaching chess
is Angela's favorite: "I love to see the light in my students' eyes and
realize I reached someone." Angela's students, who range from six to
twelve years old, sometimes ask her, "Are you a man or a woman?"
Struggling to answer the awkward question is worth it for Angela:
" I think it's good for young people to understand that some people
are born different."
The United States Chess Federation has considered Angela a fe
male player since 1 998, but she assures me that until her operation,
she would not have played as female-"lt wouldn't have felt right."
The USCF began to communicate with Angela, who was suddenly
eligible to qualify for the U. S. Women's Championship. Though some
state delegates argued with Angela's participation in women's events,
the USCF calmly accepted her changed status. According to Angela,
Tim Redman, the president of USCF at the time, was well informed of
precedent-setting cases such as that of Renee Richards (formerly Rich
ard Raskin), a tennis player who was barred from playing in the 1 976
U.S. Open by the United States Tennis Association, because she could
not pass the chromosome test. Richards-urged on by fans and sup
porters-fought the decision, resulting in a yearlong battle that Renee
finally won in the Supreme Court, clearing the way for her to play in
the 1 977 U.S. Open.
Angela has not yet qualified for the U.S. Women's Chess Champi
onship, though this is one of her major goals. Her rating places her be-
264 CH ESS B ITCH
tween the top twenty and thirty women in the country, so her chances
to qualify are high. The new qualifying procedures for the U.S. Cham
pionship, set up by the American Foundation for Chess in 2002, require
Angela to earn her spot in preliminary tournaments. These tourna
ments are never in Texas, and Angela does not have the money to travel
to Philadelphia or Las Vegas, two frequent sites for the qualifiers. Angela
is now most active in e-mail chess, where she often juggles more than
fifty games at once. In e-mail chess, the length of time between each
move ranges from one day to two weeks, so games last anywhere from
a month to a year.
Some of Angela's chess peers thought that her sex change would
affect her play. One chess buddy warned her, "Your rating will plum
met after you change your sex." Angela tells me she sees no difference
between her style today and her style as Tony. In her first tournament
game after her operation, Angela crushed a master-in twenty-nine
moves. Selby Anderson, a friend ofAngela's and a chess master, said the
transition was "a surprise, but not entirely out of character. I think she
enjoyed being a lightning rod." The most difficult thing for Selby was
"to stop calling her Tony."
Though she is talkative and candid, I gather that Angela is lonely
and feels a little out of place in both the chess world and San Antonio.
" The person I'm closest to is my mother. I don't have a lot of friends,
though my closest are from chess-we have a point of reference so we
can all relate." After hearing about Angela's operation, her ex-wife had
a nervous breakdown, feeling that she must have been homosexual
to spend so many years with Angela/Tony. Angela is not optimistic
about her future romantic prospects: "At my age, it is hard enough
to find a life companion, but with my condition I suspect it is nearly
impossible." However, the operation did leave Angela multi-orgasmic.
"After the procedure I was able to experience more pleasure than I
could as a man."
G EN D E R P LAY 2 65
The misconception that irritates Angela most is the frequent con

fusion that arises between gender and sexuality. That Angela wanted to
change her sex did not mean that she wanted to date men. She changed
from a lesbian woman living in a man's body to a lesbian woman living
in a woman's body. But many friends did not understand that, assuming
that she changed her sex so that she could sleep with men. One woman
even told Angela, "If you want to find a man, you better stop acting so
intelligent."
Angela is suspicious of men. After the operation, the first thing
she did was look to make sure "it was gone." Sometimes her rhetoric
devolves into absurd invectives. "Ninety percent of men ought to be
flushed down the toilet immediately," she tells me, adding that "the
other ten percent are very good people." Angela said that, living as a
man for thirty-five years, she heard things that men only say amongst
each other. "Many men really do think that women are stupid," she told
me. I press her for details, but she refused: "If I told you, Jennifer, you'd
want to become lesbian."
Angela is not active in any transsexual or transgender act1v1st
groups. "Being a transsexual is not my life," she says. Though she reads
voraciously on topics like religion and history, she rarely reads about
feminism or sexuality. Angela considers herself a feminist even though
"many male-to-female transsexuals are not feminists and still have a
rigid conception of what a woman or man should be." Angela is happy
to educate the curious, but she does not want to spend the rest of her
life thinking or talking about her gender. "I took care of my problem,
so that I wouldn't have to think about it all the time." Angela is so much
happier after her operation that she swears if she ever became rich, she
would set up a fund to finance sex-change operations for people who
could not afford them.
Angela, often surprised by the reactions of her friends in the chess
world, could not have guessed who would be supportive. "At least I
266 C H ESS B ITCH
know who my real friends are." Angela was shocked when one of her
most liberal friends told her she was "sick and perverted." The friends
who touched Angela the most were the ones who focused on her
struggle, rather than on their relationship to her. One friend from the
chess world looked at Angela and said, "Oh my god, you must have
been in so much pain."
In San Antonio the population is conservative. "Many people here
only know about transvestites from The Jerry Springer Show. They lack
exposure-it's as if I'm the first person they met who was different.
Hundreds of people, once they get to know me, say, 'You're not like
I thought."' It is Angela's belief and experience that people will of
ten open their minds to her if she is patient with them. When Angela
worked at a Mexican restaurant, one cook called her "it" within earshot.
Angela turned to him and said, "For you to call me 'it' feels like it would
feel to you if I called you the 'n-word."' After a couple of weeks of awk
ward silence, the same cook began to ask her questions. During one of
their conversations, "He looked at me, pulled up his sleeve, pointed at
his black arm, and declared, 'We are among the unfortunate.'" Angela
was moved that she had made a person who ridiculed her understand
the parallels between racism and the persecution she had faced.
According to Angela, specifying gender is not an effective way to
classify people. In her view, gender expression lies on a flexible con
tinuum, pointing out commonplace examples. "When a woman wears
pants or when a man cries in public-these are transgressions of tra
ditional roles," and so, concludes Angela, "if you really think about it,
we're are all a little transgender."
13
Worst to First
The essence of chess is thinking about what chess is.

-Grandmaster David Bronstein
n the spring of 2004, Irina Krush and I were invited to the Wom
en's World Championship in Chess City, Russia. When I told my
friends that I was going to Chess City, they thought I was j ok-
ing, renaming my destination " Chesstonia." But this was for real. Irina
and I were among sixty-four of the best female chessplayers in the
world contesting the world title, up for grabs for the first time since
200 1 . The tournament would be held near Elista, the capital city of
Kalmykia, one of eighty-nine semi-autonomous regions in Russia.
Kalmykia is led by the president of FIDE, Kirsan Ilyumzhinov, who
has taken his double presidency seriously, building a city in which to
play chess on the outskirts of Elista. Since 1 998, when the prestigious
Olympiad was held there, Chess City has been a comm on site for
world-class tournaments.
I usually love traveling, but I was not thrilled to visit Russia again.
I had developed an irrational fear of the country two and a half years
267
268 C H ESS BITCH
before when I was there in the dead of winter for the Women's World
Championship. The first day I arrived, I walked around Red Square
smiling, excited to be in Moscow. A tall, blond Russian laughed at me
and asked if I was American. I asked how he knew and he said because
of my smiling, which seemed demented to him. I had not brought suf
ficiently warm clothing, and knew only enough Russian to order food
and read street names. There were things I liked about Moscow-the
energy, the subways, the art museums, and the circus. Still, at the end of
the tournament, walking through the security gate, I was happy to be
going home.
The customs agent asked me where my visa was. I replied that it was
inside my passport. She told me it wasn't and said that I should check
my bags. After twenty minutes of fruitless searching, I still couldn't find
it. She told me I would not be allowed to leave Moscow until I found it.
I began to panic. I asked if I could pay a special fee to leave. She said no.
I missed my plane, still looking for the godforsaken piece of paper. After
searching every crevice of my bag, I gave up and took a cab back to the
city center. I spent the next four days waiting in lines at the police sta
tion, travel agencies, and photo shops in order to compile the mountain
of paperwork required to obtain a new visa.
I relived all this four days before leaving for Elista when applying
for my new visa at the Russian Embassy, located in uptown Manhattan.
On my way from the diner where I had been filling out my applica
tion to the visa office it began to pour, soaking through my bag. When
I tried to hand in my damp form, the visa officer screamed at me and
called the application unacceptable, sending me to the back of the line
to fill out a new one.
I traveled to Russia with Irina and Pascal, her boyfriend and second
during the tournament. I was glad to be with friends and also figured
that Irina's fluency with the language would make my second trip to
Russia smoother than the first.
WO R ST TO FI RST 2 6 9
When the three of us stepped off the plane in Elista, after the thir
ty-hour-long journey from New York City, a smiling woman dressed
in a purple robe served us Kalmyk tea, black tea with milk and salt.
She draped a gold-trimmed white scarf around my neck and handed
me a single rose. Irina and I were besieged by interviewers. It seemed
as though we had arrived in the fairytale land of Chess City, Kalmykia,
where women chessmasters are treated like queens. " [Gather] all the
flowers of Kalmykia for Chess Queens" read posters all over the city.
As it turned out, Elista was another world from Moscow. Kalmyk people
have Asian features, their ancestry most closely linked with Mongolians.
It is one of the few areas of Russia in which Buddhism is the predomi
nant religion. One of the poorest areas of Russia, it is also thought to
be one of the most hospitable.
Chess City is a fenced-off suburb of Elista with nothing much but
look-alike cottages and an empty bar called Cafe Rook. I felt out of my
element in the remote surroundings. During tournaments, I like to jog,
play basketball, and take long walks, but Chess City was so isolated that
there was nowhere to walk except in half-mile circles.
We certainly didn't have to worry about our safety. There were
about three security guards for each player, most of whom stood around
smoking cigarettes and chatting all day. "What's your name?" they would
ask me as I walked to the dining or playing hall, ''Jennifer?" "Jennifer
Lopez! " they shouted, followed by uproarious laughter.
Irina, Pascal, and I shared a large cottage, with a Western-style
kitchen and bathroom. At first I thought our accommodations were
simply comfortable, but then I learned how extraordinary they were
compared to those of the residents of rural Kalmykia. Irina, Pascal, and
I traveled to a small town, Yashkol, to meet some Kalmyk players. We
were treated like celebrities. We visited a school and were mobbed for
autographs and given gifts by Kalmyk children who had never met
foreigners. After playing chess with some local players, the three of us
270 CH ESS B ITCH
were invited to the mayor's house for lunch. Our gracious hosts had
prepared a splendid lunch of fresh meat-"the sheep was killed this
morning"-cheese, pirogis, and vodka. As we ate and drank, guests and
hosts were all called on to give the customary lengthy toasts. Our hosts
lavished praise on us-"I can't wait to read about you in the papers in
the coming years"-while Irina, Pascal, and I declared in turn our af
fection for Kalmykia, chess, and the most delicious pirogis of our lives.
Despite the joyous pitch of the afternoon, we saw that the conditions
of even the most powerful in rural Kalymkia were rough. The rooms in
houses were tiny and there was no bathroom-even in the office of the
mayor-only a rancid outhouse that seemed not to have been cleaned
for months. Most Kalmyks, I later learned, do not have electricity.
After that afternoon I understood that, in contrast to the rest of
the region, Chess City was a place of luxury. A few weeks after the
tournament, a New York Times article, "Where Chess Is King and the
People Are Pawns," 1 described the chess palace in which we played as a
"glassed-in biosphere on Mars, where the most brilliant minds of chess
compete for diamond crowns. For miles around, 300,000 live in poverty
in the barren plains." Upon walking just meters outside of Chess City,
protesters pass out fliers in Russian and English denouncing Kirsan Ily
umzhinov and the chess championship. Awkwardly translated excerpts
include: "The citizens of our republic take the financial consequences
due to these chess festivals," "The majority of the children cannot eat
to their heart's content while you are taking pleasure by the concerts
of the poverty artists." Though Ilyumzhinov claims that chess is a re
ligion and a gift to humanity, he seems to believe it is a gift reserved
only for the elite. Ordinary Kalymk citizens need special permission to
visit Chess City, and the only spectators at the event were the friends,
families, and coaches of the players.
As intrigued as I was by the politics and history of Kalmykia, I had
to shift my thoughts to my first match. Two weeks before the start of
WO R ST TO F I R ST 2 7 1
the tournament I had learned that my opponent in Elista would be a

young Georgian, Nana Dzagnidze. Busy with coaching my students, I
had little time to prepare in America. Settled in Elista three days before
the start of the tournament, I began to study Nana's games.
The other reason we decided to arrive early in Elista was to adjust
to the nine-hour time difference, a change that affects some players
more drastically than others. Irina can sleep soundly regardless of the
time or location. Red-eyed and miserable on planes, I am jealous of
Irina, who can go into R.E.M. as soon as the plane takes off. Pascal
and I have more trouble adjusting, so the night after we arrived in El
ista, we stopped at the bar in the Chess Palace, hoping a glass of wine
would help put us to sleep. One of the most active and popular women
players, Bulgarian Antoaneta Stefanova, was there with her trainer and
compatriot, GMVladimir Georgiev. Antoaneta had just come from the
Dominican Republic and looked tan and happy as she smoked a ciga
rette and sipped a whisky on the rocks. Chatting and drinking with
them relaxed my nerves a bit.
Two days after settling in, we attended the opening ceremony, which
was held in a field in the middle of nowhere; the bus to take us there
was two hours late, and the drive itself took an hour. All the players
were grumpy and hungry by the time we arrived. There were traditional
Kalmyk dances, speeches, the Russian and FIDE national anthems, and
Kalmyk models dressed in custom-designed black-and-white-checkered
dresses. "Why don't they give each player such a dress in their own size?"
wondered Elisabeth Paehtz. "That would be a really good present."
Humpy Koneru, the Indian grandmaster, who was the top-seeded
player in the tournament, was invited up to the stage to determine the
colors for each board of the tournament. Without cracking a smile, the
serious teenager drew the colors: each odd-numbered player (which
included me) would have the white pieces in the first game. As soon as
I learned this, my mind started to focus on the next day's game.
272 C H ESS B ITCH
The next morning, my sleeping schedule was still a bit out of

whack-I woke up just before seven. Too early. The round was not until
two. Too many hours to kill before game time. In preparing, I find it
important to strike a balance between relaxation and study. Studying
for six hours before a two o'clock start is dangerous, because it's impor
tant to save energy for the game. On the other hand, I am occasionally
mad at myself for studying too little, especially when a position I only
glanced at appears on the board. More often, I tend to overprepare,
sometimes looking at games on my laptop until minutes before start
time. In Elista, I studied the Naj dorf, the dynamic opening that my
eighteen-year-old opponent had played since she was ten years old.
At two o'clock I sat down at my table, where the traditional,
wooden pieces were set up on a high-tech board that was wired to the
Internet. Our moves would be instantly relayed to chess sites on the
web. I began the game with confidence, expecting to improve on the
play of a previous opponent of Nana's. Nana had played the Najdorf
in more than fifty games, but against me she tried a different opening.
My heart started to beat more rapidly. I had not prepared for this line,
but had no choice but to pretend I was confident. I made a mistake on
move eight and lost all the advantage that comes with the first move.
After that, I began to calm down and play well. My position improved,
but she was solid, and it was not easy to find ways to break through. I
definitely did not want to get short on time-each player had only two
hours, and I had already used more than one. I played a move and hit
the clock. Instantly, my heart dropped. My move was a huge blunder,
allowing Nana to win a Rook for a Bishop. The mistake would cost
me the game and most probably the match. The only thing to do was
pray that she would not notice. It was a vain hope-she won my Rook,
and soon after, the game.
The tournament was single-elimination knockout, and the only
-
way for me to advance would be to win the next game with black. I
tried hard the next day, and even got a double-edged position in which
I had full chances to play for the win. Unfortunately for me, Nana was
determined to advance to the next round. She played well, rebuffed my
activity, and gained an edge in an endgame. I had zero chance to win.
We agreed to a draw. Nana advanced.
The pain was not all-consuming, but there was a lingering sense
of incompetence that stayed with me for the whole week, and only
began to dissipate when I returned to America. I stayed in Elista for a
few days to watch the other games, and support my teammate Irina,
who had made it to the second round. I both hoped and expected to
see Irina go far. However, having just finished classes at NYU, she was
rustier than usual, and missed some tactics in her second match. She
was knocked out.
Irina and I were eliminated, but I still followed all the games of the
tournament, hoping for a deserving champion who would be good for
women's chess. I was therefore thrilled with the winner: Bulgarian bon
vivant Antoaneta Stefanova.
In Elista, Stefanova abandoned her typically wild lifestyle to ap
proach the tournament professionally. She brought a coach. Satisfied
with ties in each two-game match, she relied on her superior nerves
and tactical alertness to prevail in the tiebreaks. In the third round, An
toaneta was matched against a close friend, Ukrainian Natalya Zhukova.
Antoaneta and Natalya made a controversial decision. Instead of playing
out their match games, providing excitement for hundreds of spectators
on the Internet, the two women agreed to draws after just ten moves,
in less than fifteen minutes. Clearly, they had arranged this before the
first game of the round. In the rapid tiebreak, Antoaneta won. But she
had saved herself two days' worth of grueling games, giving her an edge
over less-rested players. When I saw what Antoaneta had done, I was
not particularly surprised: she was tired, needed rest to maximize her
274 C H ESS BITCH
chances, and didn't care what people thought. Antoaneta described the
tournament as " exhausting mentally and physically."
In the fourth round, Antoaneta beat my first-round opponent,
Nana Dzagnidze, leading her to the semi-final match, where Antoaneta
met her most famous victim in Elista, four-time world champion Maya
Chiburdanidze. Stefanova clinched the match victory with a steady
game in which she snatched a pawn and played actively to triumph
against the Georgian legend.
In the final four-game match, Antoaneta played a lesser-known
competitor, Ekaterina Kovalevskaya, a thirty-year-old from Mos
cow. Ranked only twentieth going into the event, Kovalevskaya had
climbed to the top by scoring upset victories over teenaged prodigies
Katerina Lahno from Ukraine and the top-seeded Indian, Humpy
Koneru. Antoaneta was convincing against Kovalevskaya. She won the
first two games, and then drew the third to clinch the title. When the
final game was over, she lit up a cigarette and called her family back
in Sofia to tell them that she had become the ninth world women's
chess champion.
Antoaneta's jet-setting lifestyle became even more packed with
publicity and tournament engagements.Just two months after winning
the diamond-studded crown and $50,000 check, she had made stops in
her native Bulgaria and also in Libya, Russia, Spain, and Poland.
Pascal, Irina, and I had intended to spend a few days in Russia af
ter the tournament, visiting Moscow and St. Petersburg. Those plans
were waylaid because Irina and I had an appointment back in New
York City: our second training session with number one in the world,
Garry Kasparov. As thrilling as this should have been for me, I was not
looking forward to it. At the session, I would have to show the games
I had just played in Elista, which I dreaded. To show the world cham
pion a game in which I'd blundered so horribly felt like a punishment
Garry Kasparov, I rina Krush, Jennifer Shahade, Susan Polgar, Anna

Zatonskih , and M ichael Khodarkovsky. ( Photo by Paul Truong.)
fit for chess hell. Kasparov was easier on me than I was on myself: " I
understand why you blundered-you were better all game-this was
the first moment of the game she had a threat."
Despite the Kasparov training, I felt my confidence and spirit at a
low point. My roommate, who was moving out, told me that the land
lord would not allow me to take over the lease. I needed to find a new
place to live. I was also anxious about the upcoming 2004 U.S. Women's
Chess Championship, which would assemble the strongest female field
in U.S. history. My performance would determine whether I would
play on the 2004 Olympic team, for which I had trained all year. In a
rotten mood, I enveloped myself with negative thoughts. What ifI didn 't
make the team? What if I lost all my games?
I needed more training, so I called an old coach and friend, Inter
national Master Victor Frias, who lived in Chappaqua, New York, and
asked if he could help me. "Come on over! " he said. I showed up at
Victor's home with my laptop, a dozen chess books, and a bottle of red
;
276 CH ESS B ITCH
Jennifer, Anna, and Susan . (Photo by Mig Greengard. )
wine. The chessboard was already setup on his dining room table, where
we immediately began studying my opponents' games. Victor was no
longer an active player, but I have always admired his approach to chess,
ferent from my own. When I first look at a position I
which is very clif
check for tactics and specific variations. Frias, on the other hand, goes
straight to the pawn structure and attempts to decipher the essence
\
of the position. This way of studying chess is good for me. After just a
''
·'
'
few hours of studying with Victor, I begin to look at chess in a more

complete way.
Victor and I stuck to an intense regime. Every morning I woke
up at about seven in the morning, to study until about noon. Then we
went to the gym for a couple of hours. After lunch we worked on chess
until eight or nine in the evening. Most of the time we spent checking
out the games of my opponents, or games with positions similar to the
ones I expected to get in the tournament.
WORST TO F I R ST 277
The training stopped after five days because I wanted to go back to

Brooklyn to figure out where to live. I was also throwing a farewell par
ty for my friend Ben, who was moving to California. Ben is my former
high school teammate, who has since given up chess for poker. Many of
my friends from chess, including my brother, have shifted their focus to
poker, hoping that their intellectual skills (no doubt in part developed
from their experience in chess) might make them rich at the card table.
For a little over a year, Greg had been earning a good living playing on
the Internet and occasionally flying off to play in tournaments.
My father had also gotten into it.When I was playing at the World
Championship in Russia, Greg and Michael were in Las Vegas at the
World Series of Poker-Greg as a player, Michael as a spectator. Greg
still played blitz and rapid chess occasionally, but was more concerned
with organizing tournaments and improving the state of chess in
America than his own progress. " It's very sad to compare the situation
of poker players with chessplayers," Greg said. " Chess will probably
never be as big as poker, but it could certainly get more attention and
sponsorship than it does now."
After the party, my floors were littered with broken glass and cov
ered in a sticky film from spilled drinks, a mess that seemed to symbol
ize the state of my life at that moment. I still didn't know where I was
going to live. My bank statement recorded the lowest figure it had in
years. Even after my hard work with Victor, I was nervous about the
upcoming tournament.
The first sign that things were turning my way came when my
landlord had a change of heart and I was allowed to sign a one-year
lease for my loft, a big space with high ceilings and skylights in place
of windows, located in the center of Williamsburg. Once an industrial
haven with factories, populated by Polish and Dominican immigrants,
in the late 1 990s, Williamsburg gentrified. The rents went up, and the
'Burg was now filled with the young and hip-the streets lined with
278 CH ESS BITCH
sleek bars, numerous Thai restaurants, and the occasional yoga center or
art gallery. It was located right next to the subway, allowing me to arrive
in Manhattan in ten minutes flat.
Relieved and in slightly better spirits, I invited my brother over to
play some blitz. After a few games I confessed to Greg that I was a little
jealous that he had found another subculture in which he could thrive.
Sometimes I feel burned out by the chess world, frustrated by the lack
of popularity of the game. Because of the glamorous TV coverage of
poker events and the steady stream of Texas Hold 'Em cash games and
tournaments on the Internet, it seemed like Greg might have taken the
better course. Also, I was so stressed out and nervous about the upcom
ing championship that my feelings toward chess were ambiguous. At
that moment, chess was just not making me happy. My brother said,
''Jen, you have to figure out a way to play for fun."
Greg was right. Too often, I played chess scared to blunder, as I
had in Elista. Playing chess scared to make a mistake is the intellectual
equivalent of walking around in the perpetual fear of falling.
2004 U.S. Women's Championship

Round 1
In the first round of the U. S. Women's Chess Championship, I

played Rusudan Goletiani. Despite my brother's advice, I was ex
tremely nervous all through the game. From time to time, I would
remind myself, " Play for fun ! " but the tension was so high that the
advice seemed absurd. I got a better position with an attack on her
King, but Rusa defended well and I was unable to find a knockout
blow. I sacrificed a pawn, a dubious decision . Rusa called my bluff
and captured it. I fought back and found a drawish endgame. Rusa
played on for the whole six hours, hoping to find a win. It wasn't
there. She stuck out her hand and we split the point. I went home
with my half point slightly relieved. It was now impossible for me

to lose all my games!
Unlikely as it would seem, this game turned out to be the sole
draw of the twenty-game tournament. In most prestigious tourna
ments, draws are as frequent, if not more common, than decisive re
sults. Such gluts of draws (some of these are good fights, but many are
dull and quick) detract sponsorship, galvanizing Grandmaster Maurice
Ashley, the first African-American grandmaster in history, to warn of
"Draw Death" and start " Generation Chess," an organization that pro
motes fighting chess.
Round 2
In the second game, I played againstTsagaan Battsetseg (Baagi for short),

a cheerful master originally from Mongolia, where she had won seven
national titles. I knew she was a tough player and a creative tactician, but
her handling ofthe clock was impractical-she would often leave herself
with less than one minute for more than ten moves. In such situations,
it's nearly impossible for a player to hold on to all her pieces. Baagi and
I played a theoretical line that had been played dozens of times by the
best players in the world, and I instantly regretted not studying the posi
tion more thoroughly. I knew she might play this line, but I had spent
most of my energy that morning on another opening.
Baagi played creatively, and I found myself up a pawn but in a ter
rible position. The only plan, it seemed at first glance, was to shuffie
my pieces back and forth, forcing her to figure out how to break
through. I started to look at a risky move, placing my Rook in the
center of the board, where it could be taken by three pieces. After
twenty minutes of analysis, I saw that the sacrifice was unsound, but
I wanted to play it, because the move was funny and aesthetic. My
fingers were itching. I played the move and took my hand off the
piece. Is this a death wish? Baagi thought for almost thirty minutes and
280 CH ESS B ITCH
Jennifer Shahade. (Photos Quinn by H ubbard .)
captured my Rook. Her position was winning, but it was complicated.

Luckily for me, she could only choose one move out of all the attrac
tive possibilities. She began to run low on time and chose a second
rate line, allowing me to get back into the game. Her advantage was
beginning to evaporate, and the best course for her was probably to
take a farced draw. On move farty, we each got an extra hour. I got up
from the board feeling as though my brai_n had been squeezed to the \
'
�-
limit. I laughed nervously, had some water, and paced around. Baagi
still had a good position-she was down two pawns, but my King was
vulnerable. I would have to fight hard. She began to play too slowly,
using nearly all the time she was allotted for the rest of the game in
just a few moves. Her clock began to tick down. I was mesmerized,
smelling victory. By the finish, I had a winning position, but really I
was just waiting for her flag to fall. It did. The game lasted nearly six
ho�rs, the maximum time length.
I was happy, but there was so much unreleased tension in my body

that I was longing for a jog. I got home and around ten o'clock I went
to the nearby track. On my way, I passed several bars and cafes teeming
with New Yorkers enjoying the delicious summer evening. It was Fri
day night. After jogging and listening to an hour's worth of pop songs
on the radio, I went home to prepare for my next game.
Round 3
I was playing white against a sweet, shy teenager, Tatev Abrahay

man, originally from Armenia. Uncomfortable with all the varia
tions against her favorite set-up, the French, Victor and I had spent
hours searching for the right way to play against her. I still wasn't
happy with any of my regular choices. Then I remembered that my
brother had told me her nickname on The Internet Chess Club,
282 C H ESS BITCH
" axves." Tatev, under axves, had played hundreds of blitz games on
the ICC, all of which are archived into a database. I logged on to the
server and searched her recent history of games in the French open
ing. I felt sneaky using those games as preparation, as if I were read
ing a private letter. Many players don't know that their opponents
can access their ICC matches, and often try out new ideas. Through
my last-minute online preparation, I saw that Tatev played very badly
against one pawn sacrifice. I made a snap decision. I would play the
same sacrifice.
Tatev was uncomfortable in the opening I chose. She used too
much time and played badly. I was very confident in this game and won
in less than thirty moves.
Now I was leading the tournament. With the title and my spot on
the Olympic team within striking distance, my urge to win became
intense, even animalistic.
Round 4
I was most afraid of the game in this round because I had the black
pieces against one of the strongest women players in the world, Anna
Zatonskih, a twenty-six-year-old Ukrainian emigrant. Zatonskih had
always impressed me in analysis sessions: she calculates well, has an ex
tensive knowledge of opening and endgame theory, and is assertive
about her opinions on positions. Anna is a hard worker with a profes
sional approach to the game, studying all aspects of the game year
round, often for up to six hours a day. After giving so much time to
chess, it is hard for Anna to understand if she has an unsuccessful result.
And this was, perhaps, the only weakness I could sense in her-in very
high-pressure situations, Anna's nerves sometimes give way.
Anna played an opening I hadn't expected. It was a solid choice for
white and secured a small but steady advantage. I had to find an active
plan or I would get slowly squeezed. I found a good idea, opened some
lines for my pieces, and the game was balanced. I started to dream of
mounting an attack on Anna's King. In fear of this, she traded Queens,
and we reached a position that looked like it would be a draw. Anna's
position was still a little better, and she did want to win. My defense was
sufficient, and as we neared the end of the sixth hour, it was clear that
she would have to split the point. Then Anna made a strange offer-a
trade of Knights. I hadn't even considered the move. After thinking
for a few minutes, I could hardly trust my calculations-Anna had just
committed an appalling blunder. I took the Knight, simplified the posi
tion into a pawn ending, where I made a Queen after just a few moves.
Anna was too upset after the game to analyze, but a few days later she
seemed to have gotten over it or was at least able to joke about it, telling
me with a laugh, "I had nightmares about that move!"
This game happened to be on Father's Day, and my dad was in
town to celebrate. He had left my game when Anna was still pressing
for the win. When I called my father, he sounded excited. "I hope you
called to tell me you held the draw!" He was in disbelief when I told
him I'd won-as a Father's Day present.
I was excited: with 3.5 points out of 4, I was leading the tourna
ment. One more victory would probably clinch the title.
Round 5
Angelina Belakovskaya, a three-time U.S. champion, had hardly played

any serious chess in the past few years, having given up chess for a
more lucrative career in finance. While I was invigorated by my great
start, Angelina was rusty, and I was hoping to take advantage of that.
This time my preparation paid off as the line I studied all morning ap
peared on the board. The game was close, and it was clear that it was
going to be a long struggle. I played well in the first part of the game,
gaining an edge. Angelina made a mistake and lost a pawn. It was still
284 C H ESS BITCH
tough to win-I had to muster all my energy and make sure that I suc
cessfully converted my material advantage. At some point during the
endgame (Rusudan Goletiani had defeated the only person who could
still catch me, Anna Zatonskih) , I realized the title was at stake. Night
marish thoughts of blundering horribly entered my brain. I breathed
deeply and ej ected the bad thoughts, forcing myself to play confidently.
After nearly two hours my extra pawn was on the seventh rank, ready
to become a Queen.With just a few seconds left on her clock,Angelina
resigned. I had clinched my second national title with a round to go. 2
Interviewing and profiling so many of the top women players in
the world had diminished my own chess ego. Winning reacquainted me
with my competitive streak. I was happy to see that part of myself again,
the me who wanted to win so badly that I poured every shred of energy
into my games and preparations.
I wandered around the streets and parks of the East Village, sipping
an iced coffee. The weather that week was perfect, the type of weather
that makes New York paradise. Why would I want to live anywhere else?
A child jumped out of a newspaper bin and yelled, "Boo." It struck me
as funnier than it normally would have. My victory made everything
appear to be shot in Technicolor: the emotional content of every expe
rience was heightened. Every joke became funnier, every conversation
more satisfying, and every dessert sweeter.
Soon after my victory, I visited my hometown, Philadelphia, to cel
ebrate with friends and family. Whenever I return to Philly, I feel com
fortable: I settle easily into the rust-colored couches in my living room;
my feet navigate by memory the streets and coffee shops downtown. At
the chessboard, my mind senses the same kind of familiarity. In such a
relaxed state, I can often enter a zone. Not even conscious of my name
or how much money I have in the bank, at times of peak performance I
just let go. My sense of time relaxes, which can be problematic when the
time limit approaches, but is ultimately my favorite aspect of the game.
WORST TO F I RST 2 85
I've often awakened from deep thought wondering, Where was I? Chess
thinking at its most pure is a realm where gender is not relevant. This is
in sharp contrast to the culture and politics of the chess world, where
women are such a minority that their gender is extremely visible.
Chess has also given me a gallery of fond memories and an unusu
ally flexible lifestyle. I am twenty-four years old as I write this, and I
have never worked in an office. Great chess moves can pierce me with
momentary but intense pleasure like a smile in a dream. Then there
are the worldwide travels and connections with people from Russia
and China, half or three times my age. Still, I am distraught by how
few women enjoy the freedom and pleasures that come with losing
oneself in chess. To female readers, I pass the move to you.
Glossary
Adj ournment. A game unfinished at the end of the playing session that is
resumed at a later time; the last move is sealed in an envelope. Adjournments
were gradually phased out in the nineties, partly because players could now use
powerful computer programs.
Algebraic notation. System for labeling a chessboard so that each of the 64

squares is denoted by a number and a letter, from a-1 to h-8; files (left to right)
are a-h and ranks (top to bottom) are 1 -8.
Bishop. Piece that moves diagonally, as many squares as it wants. It's worth about
the same as a Knight, and significantly less than a Rook.
Black. Player with the black pieces. Black moves second, a major disadvantage
when playing an experienced player.
Blindfold chess. Playing chess without sight of the board, indicating the moves
orally in algebraic notation. Usually played in friendly exhibitions for fun and
publicity.
Blitz. Chess games with extremely fast time limits, usually five minutes per
player.
Blunder. A very poor move. Sometimes indicated on scoresheets or published

analysis with two question marks; in contrast, an excellent move may be
followed with one or two exclamation points.
Board one (also first board) . The highest-ranked player on a team.
Castling. A special, composite move in which the King moves two squares
toward the corner, while the Rook jumps to the square adjacent to the King.
Castling brings the King to safety and centralizes the Rook, and experienced
players castle in almost every game.
Check. The King is in immediate attack. The King must escape check by either
capturing the attacking piece, moving, or blocking the check with another
piece. It is not possible to capture an opponent's King.
287
288 C H ESS B ITCH
Checkmate. A position in which the King is in check and cannot make any legal
move to get out of check. Few professional games end in checkmate, because
players tend to resign long before checkmate. Often abbreviated to mate.
ChessBase. Company founded in 1 987 in Germany by Frederic Friedel.

ChessBase developed software that organizes millions of chess games and
allows players to sift through all games played by a particular opponent or in
any opening. Virtually every professional chessplayer uses ChessBase regularly.
ChessBase.com is the most popular chess news source on the Net, run by the
same company.
Chess clock. A double push-button clock to keep track of the time each player
spends on a game; after moving, players stop their own clocks and start the
opponent's.
Closed position. Type ofposition in which there are few pawn trades and pieces
are locked in behind pawn structures. Players who like long-term planning
thrive in closed positions. See open position.
d4.White moves the Queen's pawn two squares on the first move. The second
most popular first-move choice, most often the choice of strategic players. d4 is
favored by top women players such as Susan Polgar, Antoaneta Stefanova, Irina
Krush, Zhu Chen, and the late Vera Menchik.
Dragon. An opening set-up for black in which the pawn structure supposedly
resembles a dragon. A very risky and aggressive system.
Draw. Result in which the outcome is undecided or deadlocked. A draw is worth

half a point. There are many ways to achieve a draw, e.g., upon agreement, when
there is insufficient material for either side to give checkmate, or when the
position is repeated three times.
e4. Moving the King pawn two squares on the first move. e4, usually the choice
of attacking players, is the most popular move by a small margin, just ahead
of d4. Its practicioners include Judit Polgar, Almira Skripchenko, Alexandra
Kosteniuk, and Xie Jun.
Elo ratings. Rating system designed to estimate the relative strength of chess
players based on their tournament results. Named after Professor Arpad Elo.
Endgame. The phase of the game in which the material is reduced (usually
Queens are traded) and the result often settled; players memorize the most
common ones.
G LOSSARY 2 8 9
English opening. White starts the game by moving the Queen's Bishop pawn
two squares; commonly thought to be the safest first-move option.
Exchange. A common material imbalance, involving the difference in value

between a Rook (a major piece worth 5 points) , and a Bishop or Knight (minor
pieces worth 3 points each) .
Expert. Player with a rating from 2000 to 2 199; the category just beneath
Master.
FIDE (Federation International Des Eches). The worldwide chess federation,

founded in Paris in 1 924. FIDE assigns international ratings, awards titles, and
organizes the most prestigious tournaments, including the Olympiad and World
Championships. The president of FIDE since 1 995, Kirsan Illymuzhinov, is also
the president of Kalmykia.
First board. See Board one.
Fish. Slang for a weak chessplayer
Flag. Indicator on a chess clock that drops when a time is reached (even when
using digital clocks) . Players often shout out "flag" to announce a victory on
time.
Fools' mate. Black checkmates white in two moves; very rare, since it requires
white to play the worst moves possible.
Gambit. Opening that involves the planned sacrifice of material.
GM. Grandmaster.
Grandmaster. The most distinguished title in chess. Awarded by FIDE, it is

given to players who meet establised performance standards. A grandmaster
usually holds a rating of 2500 or higher.
IM. International master.
International master. The second most distinguished title in chess. Awarded

by FIDE, it is given to players who meet establised performance standards. An
international master usually holds a rating of 2450 or higher.
Kibitzer. Players who hang around post-mortems or skittles rooms, offering

often colorful-and sometimes unwanted-advice or comment.
290 C H ESS B ITCH
King. The only chess piece that cannot be captured. The King moves one
square in any direction. Because the King must be carefully guarded against
checkmate, the King is rarely used as a fighting piece until the last stages of
the game.
Knight. In many languages, the Knight translates to "horse." A short-range but

tricky piece that moves in an L-shape, the Knight is the only piece that can
jump over other pieces, making it particularly valuable in closed positions.
Knockout. Event in which a player is eliminated after losing a match so that the
field is reduced by half after each round.
Line. Synonym for variation, often used when talking about various opening
possibilities.
Master. Player with a rating over 2200.
Material. Pieces and pawns. Material is counted by a relative value system, which
players use a guideline when deciding whether to trade one piece for another.
A large disadvantage in material often prompts experienced players to resign,
because extra material is often the means to inevitable checkmate. The pawn,
the least valuable piece, is counted as the basic unit, 1 point. Other approximate
values are Knight (3), Bishop (3), Rook (5), Queen (9). Because the King cannot
be captured, he is not assigned a point value.
Middlegame. The phase of the game between the opening and the endgame,
where a player must rely on creativity, intuition, and calculating abilities.
Norm (grandmaster or international master). A prespecified rating perfor

mance against a specific number of internationally rated players. Three norms
are required to become a grandmaster or international master.
Olympiad. Biennale team tournaments contested by teams representing the

members of FIDE. The first Olympiad was held in London in 1927.
Open position. Positions in which there are many open files and diagonals,
and fewer locked pawn structures. Often incites quick contact between enemy
pieces, resulting in tactical play.
Open tournament. A tournament that is open to all comers, though there is

often an entry fee.
G LOSSARY 2 9 1
Opening. The first phase of the game in which the pieces are developed. Strong
amateur players have the basic ideas and moves of their openings memorized,
while professional players memorize larger numbers of openings and variations,
and often have new, never-before-played ideas, novelties. The names of openings
can come from great players who invented or mastered the systems, such as the
Najdorf Defense. Or they can refer to the opening's origin, such as the Berlin
or English Opening.
Pawn. The weakest piece on the board. Each player gets eight at the beginning of
the game. Pawns are the only chess piece that cannot move backwards.
Pawn promotion. The exchange of a pawn that reaches the eighth rank (last
row) for another piece, almost always a Queen.
Pawn structures. Locked formations that determine the pace of the game; often
set up early in the game.
Performance rating. The rating level at which a player performs in a single

tournament. For instance, a master (2200) level player has a 2500 performance
rating if she has a tournament that would be average (e.g., three losses against
2500 players and three wins against 2500 players) , and would not result in a
rating point gain or loss for a player rated 2500.
Point. A unit used to give the result of a chess game; win, 1 ; draw 1/2; loss O;
in a 1 5-round tournament, a player who wins 8 games (8 points) , draws 5 (2.5
points) and loses 2 (no points) has a total score that can be written 1 0.5/15 or
1 0.5-4.5.
Post-mortem. Analysis following a game.
Queen. The most valuable piece in chess, which can move on diagonals (like
Bishops) and in straight lines (like the Rooks) . In Mideval Europe, the Queen
was the weakest piece on the board, and her sudden change in powers in the
sixteenth century quickened the pace of the game. The presence of Queens
allows for spectacular mating attacks and heightens the value of King safety.
Trading Queens alters the nature of the game, usually transforming it into an
endgame.
Rapid chess. Games with time controls that range from about 25 minutes a
player to 60 minutes a player. This is in between the super-fast pace of blitz and
the classical time controls, which range from a total of 2 to 3.5 hours for each
player.
292 C H ESS B ITCH
Rating. Numerical values used to rank chessplayers; classifications according

to the USCF rating system include: senior master 2400+, master 2200-2399,
expert 2000-21 99 , Class A 1 800-1 999, Class B 1 600-1 799, Class C 1 400-
1 599, Class D 1 200-1 399, and Class E 1 1 99 and below.
Resign. To give up by declaration. Often in view of inevitable checkmate or a

tremendous disadvantage in material.
Rook. The most valuable piece besides the Queen. The Rook moves in straight
lines and is particularly powerful in the endgame.
Round-robin. An event in which everybody plays everybody.
Sacrifice. Voluntary surrender of material in exchange for other advantages.
Scholar's mate. A four-move checkmate that shows up frequently in scholastic

tournaments.
Score sheet. Where all moves made by both player and opponent must be
recorded by each player; moves must be written as they are made unless a delay
is allowed due to extreme time pressure.
Skittles room. Room for post-game analysis where players discuss their
tournaments games; a rich tradition in the chess culture.
Simultaneous (also simul) . An exhibition in which a strong player is invited

to take on many opponents at once. Can appear amazing to a lay observer, but
depending on the strength of her opponents, simuls can actually be easy for a
master chessplayer, who doesn't really think on each board as much as make an
instant intutive decision. This is usually enough for her to win.
Strategy. Long-term planning and maneuvering.
Style. A commonality between the opening systems, tactics, and strategies a player
favors. Adjectives such as quiet, balanced, sharp, and aggressive are common
ways to describe style: e.g., A sharp style is one that favors tactics and risky
openings and variations. Talk of style can be misleading, since in many positions
all strong chessplayers would choose the same move.
Swiss system. A popular tournament format for large fields, used for most open
tournaments. Before the tournament, players (or teams) are ranked according to
their ratings, and assigned seed numbers. In the first round, players are paired ac
cording to their seeds. If there are ten players in a Swiss system, in the first round
the number-one seed will play the sixth seed, number two will play number
G LOSSARY 2 9 3
seven, and so on. In following rounds, players are matched with opponents with
the same or similar scores. A player and opponent can meet only once.
Tactics. Short operations requiring proficiency in calculating that force check

mate or a quick win of material.
Three-move repetition. The same position appears three times with the same
player to move; either player may claim a draw.
Time control. Pre-determined time limit for a player to complete moves; if

exceeded, the game is lost. Time controls range from blitz games, where each
players has only three minutes, to classical games, in which each player has
three hours.
Time pressure. When a player is forced to make a large number of moves in

a short time, or else her time will run out and she will lose, regardless of how
strong her position is. Time pressure often causes blunders.
Touch-move rule. Player who touches a piece must move or capture the
piece.
.
Trade (pieces) . Mutual agreement to give up pieces for opponent's pieces,

usually of the same value: e.g. , a Rook for a Rook or a Knight for a Bishop.
USCF (United State Chess Federation). The USCF assigns national ratings
and organizes national tournaments.
Variation. Long strings of projected moves.
White. Player with the white pieces. White moves first, a definite advantage for
an experienced player.
WGM, WIM. Woman Grandmaster, Woman International Master.
Woman Grandmaster (Woman International Master). Gender-specific

titles awarded by FIDE to women. The average performances and ratings are
lower than the regular titles, and therefore the titles are controversial.
Women's World Championship. World Championship in which participants

are female. The first Women's World Championship was a round-robin held in
London in 1 927 (won by Vera Menchik) , in conjunction with the first Olym
piad. From 1 952 to 1 998, a challenger was determined in a series of candidates'
tournaments and matches. The challenger would then play a head-to-head
match against the title-holder. Since 2000, a three-week-long knockout format
294 C H ESS BITCH
has been instated, under which three new Women's World Champions have
since been crowned (2000, Xie Jun; 2001 , Zhu Chen; and 2004, Antoaneta
Stefanova).
World Championship. Open to both men and women, though so far no woman
has come close to the title. The World Championship is now in flux, because the
classical format (where the two best players on Earth play a match of twenty or
more games) has been rejected by FIDE in favor of the tournament knockout
system. World number-one player Garry Kasparov and world number-three
player Vladimir Kramnik have not participated in this FIDE format since
1 998. Instead, the two played a twenty-game match in London in 2000, which
Kramnik won.
Appe n d ix - Games
Menchik - A Becker (Karlsbad, 1929)

1 .d4 d5 2.Nf3 Nf6 3.c4 c6 4.Nc3 e6 5.e3 Ne4 6.Bd3 f5 7.Ne5 Qh4
8.0-0 Nd7 9.f4 Be7 10.Bd2 NxeS 1 1 .dxe5 Bc5 1 2.Bxe4 fXe4 13.Qb3
QdS 14.Na4 Be7 1 5.Bb4 b6 16.Bxe7 Qxe7 17.cxd5 exd5 1 8.Racl
Bb7 1 9.Nc3 Qf7 20.Qb4 RdS 2 1 .Rfdl BaS 22.h3 Qe7 23.Qxe7+
Kxe7 24.b4 Rd7 25.Rd2 RhdS 26.Ne2 RcS 27.Rdc2 Rdc7 28.Nd4
g6 29.Nb5 Rd7 30.Kf2 h6 3 1 .g4 a6 32.Nd4 Rdc7 33.£5 g5 34.Kg3
Bb7 35.h4 gxh4+ 36.Kxh4 Kf7 37.Kh5 a5 38.bxa5 bxa5 39.Nb5 Rd7
40.e6+, 1-0.
M Duchamp - Menchik (Paris, 1929)

1 . d4 d5 2.c4 c6 3.cxd5 cxd5 4.Nf3 Nc6 5.Nc3 Nf6 6.Bf4 e6 7.e3 Bd6
8.Bxd6 Qxd6 9.Bd3 0-0 10.0-0 RdS 1 1 .Nb5 QbS 12.Rcl Bd7 13.Qe2
a6 14.Nc3 Qd6 15.e4 dxe4 1 6.Nxe4 Nxe4 17.Qxe4 g6 1 8.Qh4 Kg7
19.Ng5 h6 20.Qxh6+ Kxh6 2 1 .Nxf7+ Kg7 22.Nxd6 Nb4 23.Be4 Bc6
24.Bxc6 bxc6 25.Rc4 Rxd6 26.Rxb4 a5 27.Rc4 RadS 28.Rel Rxd4
29.Rxc6 Rd2 30.g3 RfE 31 .f4 RhS 32.h4 RbS 33.b3 Rxa2 34.Rexe6
Rxb3 35.Rxg6+ Kf7 36.Rb6 Rd3 37.Rbd6 Rb3, Yz-Yz.
Menchik - Capablanca (Hastings, 1 930)

1 .d4 Nf6 2.Nf3 b6 3.e3 Bb7 4.Bd3 c5 5.0-0 Nc6 6.c3 e6 7.Ne5
d6 8.Nxc6 Bxc6 9.Qe2 Be7 1 0.Bb5 Qd7 1 1 .Bxc6 Qxc6 1 2.Nd2
0-0 13.dxc5 dxc5 1 4.e4 RadS 1 5 .e5 Nd5 1 6.Nf3 Rd7 17.Rdl RfdS
1 8.Bd2 b5 19.Kfl Nb6 20.Bf4 h6 2 1 .Rxd7 Rxd7 22.Rdl Rxdl +
23.Qxdl Qe4 24.Bg3 Qc4+ 25.Qe2 Qxe2+ 26.Kxe2 Na4 27.Kd2
Nxb2 28.Kc2 Nc4 29.Nd2 Nxd2 30.Kxd2 c4 3 1 .Bf4 a6 32.Be3 KfE
33.Bb6 KeS 34.Ke3 Kd7 35.Kd4 Kc6 36.Ba7 f5 37.a4 g6 38.f4 h5
39.axb5+ Kxb5 40.g3 a5 41 .Ke3 Bc5+ 42.Bxc5 Kxc5, 0-1 .
Menchik - Graf (Semmering, 1 937)

1 .c4 e6 2.Nc3 d5 3.d4 Nf6 4.Nf3 Nbd7 5.e3 c6 6.Bd3 Be7 7.0-0 0-0
8.e4 dxe4 9.Nxe4 Nxe4 1 0.Bxe4 Nf6 1 1 .Bc2 c5 1 2.dxc5 Qa5 13.Be3
Bxc5 14.Bd2 Qc7 1 5 .Bc3 Be7 16.Qe2 b6 17.Ng5 g6 1 8.Qf3 Bb7
19.Qh3 h5 20.Radl Ng4 2 1 . Rd7, 1-0.
295
296 CH ESS B ITCH
Graf - Keres (Prague, 1937)

1 .d4 e6 2.c4 Bb4+ 3.Bd2 Qe7 4.Bxb4 Qxb4+ 5.Qd2 Nc6 6.e3
Qxd2+ 7.Kxd2 £5 8.Nc3 Nf6 9.Nb5 KdS 1 0.£3 a6 1 1 .Nc3 f4 1 2.Nge2
6ce3+ 1 3.Kxe3 d5 14.Ng3 Re8 1 5.Rdl Bd7 1 6 .Be2 e5 17.Kf2 dxc4
18.dxe5 Nxe5 1 9.h3 Kc8 20.Rd4 b5 2 1 .f4 Nc6 22.Rd2 Rb8 23.Bf3
Nb4 24.Nge4 Rb6 25.Nc5 B£5 26.g4 Nd3+ 27.Nxd3 Bxd3 28.g5
Ne4+ 29.Nxe4 Bxe4 30.Rel Bg6 31 .Bg4+ Kb7 32.RxeS Bxe8
33.RdS Bc6, Yi-Yi.'h
Menchik - Graf (Women's World Championship, Buenos Aires, 1 939)

1 .d4 d5 2.c4 e6 3.Nc3 Nf6 4.N£3 Nbd7 5.e3 Bb4 6.Bd3 c5 7.0-0 0-0
8.cxd5 exd5 9.Bd2 a6 1 0.Rcl c4 1 1 .Bb l Re8 1 2.Ne2 Bd6 1 3.Bc3 b5
14.Ng3 g6 1 5.Rel Bb7 16.Re2 b4 1 7 .Bel a5 1 8.Ng5 Ng4 19.Nh3
£5 20.Nfl Qc7 2 1 .f4 Ndf6 22.Bh4 a4 23.Ng5 Qe7 24.Rel a3 25.b3
c3 26.Nf3 Qg7 27.h3 Nh6 28.Bxf6 Qxf6 29.Ne5 Qe7 30.Nh2 Rec8
3 1 . Nh£3 Nf7 32.Bd3 Rc7 33.Qe2 Qd8 34.Rc2 Qc8 35.Nxf7 Rxf7
36.Bb5 Rc7 37.Bd3 BIB 38.Ne5 Bg7 39.Kh2 Bf6 40.Rgl Kffi 41 .g4
Bxe5 42.6ce5 6cg4 43.Rfl + Rf7 44.Rxf7 + Kxf7 45.hxg4 Qd8 46.Kg3
Kg7 47.Qfl Qe7 48.Rf2 RIB 49.Rf4 Bc8 50.Bc2 Be6 5 1 .Rxffi Qxffi
52.Qa6 Qe7 53.Bdl Kf7 54.Kf4 h6 55.Qfl Kg7 56.Kg3 h5 57.gxh5
Qg5+ 58.Kf2 Qf5+ 59.Bf3 Qc2+ 60.Qe2 Qxe2+ 61 .Kxe2 B£5
62.hxg6 Kxg6 63.Bxd5 Bbl 64.Kdl Bd3 65.Bc6 Kf7 66.d5 Ke7 67.e4
Kf7 68.e6+ Kf6 69.e5+ Ke7 70.Bb7 Bg6 71 .Ba6 Be4 72.Bc4 Bg6
73.d6+ Kd8 74.Bb5, 1-0.
Gresser - Rudenko (Women's World Championship, Moscow, 1 950)

1 .e4 e5 2.N£3 Nc6 3.Bb5 Bc5 4.c3 £5 5.d4 6ce4 6.dxc5 exf3 7.Qxf3 Nf6
8.Bg5 0-0 9.0-0 Qe7 1 0.Bc4+ Kh8 1 1 .b4 a5 12.Bxf6 Rxf6 13.Qd5
RIB 14.b5 Nd8 1 5.Nd2 c6 16.Qd6 Qxd6 17.cxd6 b6 1 8.Rfel cxb5
1 9.Bxb5 Nf7 20.Nc4 Ba6 2 1 .Bxa6 Rxa6 22.Nxe5 Nxd6 23.Nxd7
Rc8 24.Radl b5 25.h3 Nf7 26.Re7 Kg8 27.Rdel Nd6 28.R1e6
Rxc3 29.Ne5 h6 30.Rd7 Rc5 3 1 . Nf7 Nxf7 32.Rxa6 Ne5 33.Rb7
b4 34.Raa7 Nc6 35.Rxg7+ Kffi 36.Raf7+ Ke8 37.Rb7 R£5 38.RgS+
RIB 39.RxIB+ Kxffi 40.Rb6 Ne5 41 .Rxh6, 1-0.
Bykova - Gaprindashvili (Women's World Championship, Moscow, 1 962)

1 .e4 e5 2.N£3 Nc6 3.Bb5 a6 4.Ba4 Nf6 5 .0-0 Be7 6.Re1 b5 7.Bb3
d6 8.c3 0-0 9.d3 Na5 1 0 .Bc2 c5 1 1 .Nbd2 Nd7 1 2.Nfl Nb6 1 3.Ne3
g6 14.Qe2 Be6 1 5 .Bd2 Nc6 1 6 .b3 a5 17.Nfl b4 1 8 .Bh6 Re8 1 9.c4
APPENDIX - GAM ES 2 9 7
Bg4 20.Bdl Nd4 2 1 .Qe3 Bxf3 22.gxf3 a4 23.Ng3 axb3 24.Bxb3 Bg5
25.Bxg5 Qxg5 26.Kg2 Qh4 27.Rgl Nd7 2S.Kh1 KhS 29.Ne2 Nxe2
30.Qxe2 h5 3 1 . Qe3 Kh7 32.Rg3 Nf8 33.Qg5 Qxg5 34.Rxg5 Ne6
35.Rggl Ra3 36.Rgdl Nd4 37.Kg2 Kh6 3S.Rab 1 Kg5 39.Rd2 Kf4
40.Bdl ReaS 41 .Bb3 Nxf3 42.Re2 g5 43.h3 RgS 44.Re3 g4 45.Rcl
RaaS, 0-1 .
Gaprindashvili - Chiburdanidze (Women's World Championship,

Pitsunda, 1 97S)
1 .N£3 Nf6 2.g3 d5 3.c4 c6 4.Bg2 dxc4 5.a4 g6 6.Na3 Qd5 7.0-0 Na6
S.Ne1 Qh5 9.Nxc4 Bh3 1 0.N£3 Bxg2 1 1 .Kxg2 Bg7 1 2.d3 0-0 13.h3
Qd5 14.Bd2 RfdS 1 5.Qc2 RacS 1 6.Bc3 c5 1 7.Radl h6 1S.Qb3 b6
1 9.e4 Qe6 20.Nh4 Nb4 2 1 .Bxb4 cxb4 22.Rfel Nd7 23.Qc2 Nc5
24.b3 a6 25.N£3 b5 26.axb5 axb5 27.Ne3 Na4 2S.Qa2 Nc3 29.Qa5
Nxd1 30.Rxdl Qxb3 3 1 . Qxb5 Rc3 32.Qb7 Rcxd3 33.Rxd3 Rxd3
34.Nd5 Rxf3, (time), 0-1 .
Chiburdanidze - Gaprindashvili (Women's World Championship, Pitsunda,

1 97S)
1 .e4 d6 2.d4 Nf6 3.Nc3 g6 4.N£3 Bg7 5.Be2 c6 6.0-0 0-0 7.a4 Nbd7
S.a5 Qc7 9.h3 RdS 1 0 .Be3 Nf8 1 1 .Qd2 Bd7 1 2.Rfdl BeS 1 3.b4
e5 14.dxe5 dxe5 1 5.Qel Rxd1 1 6.Rxdl Ne6 1 7 .Bc4 Qe7 1 S.Bxe6
Qxe6 1 9 .Bc5 Nd7 20.Bd6 f6 21 .Qe2 Bf8 22.BxfS Nxf8 23.Nd2 Qe7
24.Qc4+ Bf7 25.Qc5 Qxc5 26.bxc5 RdS 27.Kfl Rd4 2S.Ke1 Ne6
29.Nb3 Rc4 30.Kd2 Nf4 3 1 .a6 bxa6 32.Ral Nxg2 33.Rxa6 BeS
34.Rxa7 h5 35.Rb7 Nf4 36.£3 Kf8 37.h4 Ne6 3S.Nd1 Nxc5 39.Nxc5
Rxc5 40.Ne3 Ra5 41 .Rc7 RaS 42.Nc4 Ra4 43.Ne3 Rd4+ 44.Ke2
Rd6 45.c4 RdS 46.c5 Rd4 47.Kel Rd7 4S.Rxd7 Bxd7 49.Nc4 Ke7
50.Kf2 Be6 5 1 .Nd6 g5 52.Kg3 Kd7 53.Nb7 Bb3 54.hxg5 £Xg5 55.Na5
Bd1 56.Nc4 Ke6 57.Kf2 Kf6 5S.Na5 Ba4 59.Nc4 Bb5 60.Nd6 Ba6
6 1 .NeS+ Kg6 62.Nd6 Bd3 63.Ke3 Bc2 64.Nc4 Kf6 65.Kf2 Ba4
66.Nb6 Bd1 67.Nd7+ Ke6 6S.NbS Ba4 69.Na6 Bb5 70.Nb4 Kf6
7 1 .Kg3 Kg6 72.Nc2 h4+ 73.Kg2 g4 74.Ne3 gxf3+ 75.Kxf3 Kg5
76.Ndl Bc4 77.Nf2 Bfl 7S.Nh1 Bh3 79.Nf2 Be6 SO.Nd3 Bg4+
S 1 .Kf2 Kf6 S2.Nb2 Bd7 S3.K£3 h3 S4.Kg3 Ke7 85.Nd3 K.f6 86 .Nb4
Ke7 87.Nd3 Ke6 88.Kxh3 Be8 89.Kg3 Bg6 90.K£3 Bh5+ 91.Ke3
Bdt 92.Nb4 Ba4 93 .Nd3 Bb5 94.Net,VlYz-Yz.
298 CH ESS B ITCH
Judit Polgar - Chilingirova (Olympiad, Thessaloniki, 1988)

1 .e4 cS 2.Nf3 Nc6 3.BbS g6 4.0-0 Bg7 5.c3 eS 6.d4 exd4 7.cxd4 Nxd4
8.Nxd4 cxd4 9.eS Ne7 10.BgS 0-0 1 1 .Qxd4 Nc6 12.Qh4 Qb6 13.Nc3
BxeS 14.Rael Bxc3 15.bxc3 QxbS 16.Qh6 Qf5 17.Qxffi + , 1--0.
Sofia Polgar - Chernin (Rome, 1 989)

1 .e4 cS 2.Nf3 e6 3.d4 cxd4 4.Nxd4 Nc6 5.Nc3 Qc7 6.Be2 Nf6 7.0-0
Be7 8.Be3 0-0 9.f4 d6 1 0.Khl a6 1 1 .Qel NaS 12.Qg3 Nc4 13.Bcl
bS 1 4.a3 Qb6 1 5 .Rdl Bb7 16.b3 NaS 17.Bf3 Rac8 1 8 .Bb2 Rfd8
19.NdS NxdS 20.Nxe6 g6 2 1 . NxdS Qxd8 22.exdS Rxc2 23.Rabl
Bh4 24.Qh3 Bc8 25.Bg4 Bxg4 26.Qxg4 Nxb3 27.g3 Be7 28.£5 aS
29.fxg6 hxg6 30.Qh3 Rxb2 3 1 .Rxb2 a4 32.Rf2 NcS 33.Rdfl f5
34.g4 Ne4 35.Rg2 Bf6, 1-0.
Gaprindashvili - Xie Jun (Borshomi, 1 990)

1 . d4 Nf6 2.c4 g6 3.Nc3 Bg7 4.e4 d6 5.Be2 0-0 6.BgS Na6 7.Qd2 eS
8.dS c6 9.h4 cxdS 1 0.cxdS QaS 1 1 .Rbl Bd7 12.Kfl Rac8 13.hS bS
14.a3 b4 1 5.axb4 Nxb4 1 6.Nh3 Rc7 17.Be3 Rxc3 18.Qxc3 Nxe4
19.Qel BbS 20.NgS Nf6 21 .hxg6 hxg6 22.Rd1 Bxe2+ 23.Qxe2 Nbxd5
24.Bcl Rc8 25.g3 Ne7 26.Rh4 Nf5 27.Rc4 Rf8 28.Bd2 QdS 29.Nf3
Nd4 30.Rxd4 exd4 3 1 .Bc3 Qc6 32.Bxd4 Re8 33.Qd3 Ne4 34.Kgl
Bxd4 35.Nxd4 QdS 36.QbS ReS 37.Qd3 NgS 38.Kh2 Re4 39.Qb3
QcS 40.QbS+ Kg7 41 .b4 QeS 42.Nc6 Qf5 43.Kgl Qh3, 0-1 .
Yudasin - Susan Polgar (Pamplona, 1 990)

1 .e4 cS 2.c3 dS 3.exdS QxdS 4.d4 Nc6 5.dxcS QxcS 6.Be3 QaS 7.Nf3
Nf6 8.Bc4 e6 9.0--0 Be7 1 0.Nd4 Bd7 1 1 .Nd2 Nxd4 1 2.Bxd4 Bc6
13.Re l 0--0 14.Nb3 Qg5 1 5.g3 Rad8 1 6.f4 Qh6 17.Qe2 Ne4 1 8.Qe3
b6 1 9.Radl Nd6 20.Bd3 QhS 21 .BeS Nf5 22.Qf2 Nh4 23.Be2 Nf3+
24.Bxf3 Bxf3 25.RxdS Rxd8 26.h3 Bb7 27.Kh2 Rd3 28.Bd4 QdS
29.Qe2 Bf6 30.Rgl Bxd4 3 1 .Nxd4 Qe4 32.Qxe4 Bxe4 33.Rel f5
34.g4 Kf7 35.Re2 Rdl 36.Kg3 h6 37.Nf3 Rd3 38.Rf2 gS 39.fxgS
hxgS 40.h4 f4+ 41 .Kg2 gxh4, 0-1 .
Tolnai - Judit Polgar (Hungarian Championship, Hungary, 1 991)

1 .e4 cS 2.Nf3 e6 3.d4 cxd4 4.Nxd4 a6 5.Nc3 Qc7 6.f4 bS 7.Bd3 Bb7
8.Qf3 Nf6 9.Be3 Nc6 10.0-0--0 b4 1 1 .Nce2 NaS 12.g4 dS 13.eS Nd7
14.Kbl Nc4 1 5 .Bcl 0-0--0 1 6.h4 NcS 17.b3 Na3+ 1 8.Kal f6 1 9.c3
fxeS 20.fxeS Nc4 21 .Nxe6 NxeS 22.Qg3 Nxe6 23.Bf5 Kb8 24.Bxe6
bxc3 25.Nxc3 d4 26.Rhfl Bb4 27.Na4 Rhe8 28.Bf5 Bc6 29.Bb2 g6
APPEN D IX - GAM ES 2 9 9
30.Bbl Bxa4 3 1 .bxa4 Be3 32.Bxe3 Qxe3+ 33.Qxe3 clxe3 34.Rel

Re8 35.Rf4 ReS 36.Rb4+ Ka7 37.Rb3 Ree8 38.Be4 R8e7 39.Rebl
Ne6 40.Bxe6 R5xe6 41 .Rb4 Re4 42.a3 Rxb4 43.axb4 Re4 44.hS aS
45.hxg6 hxg6 46.Ka2 Rxb4 47.Rgl e2 48.gS Kb6, 0-1 .
Xie Jun - Chihurdanidze (Women's World Championship, Manila, 1991)

1 .e4 eS 2.N£3 Ne6 3.BbS Nf6 4.0-0 Nxe4 5 .d4 Nd6 6.Bxe6 clxe6
7.clxeS N£5 8.Qxd8+ Kxd8 9.b3 Ke8 10.Bb2 aS 1 1 .Ne3 Be6 12.Rfdl
Be7 13.h3 hS 1 4.a4 f6 15.Ne2 BdS 1 6.Nel Kt7 17.Nf4 Rad8 1 8.e4
Be6 19.N£3 Be8 20.Rel gS 2 1 .e6+ Ke8 22.Ng6 Rg8 23.Nxe7 Kxe7
24.g4 hxg4 25.hxg4 Ng7 26.Nd4 eS 27.Nf5+ Nxf5 28.gxf5 Rh8
29.Kg2 b6 30.Radl Rdg8 3 1 .Kg3 Rh4 32.Rhl Rgh8 33.Rxh4 gxh4+
34.Kh3 RhS 35.RdS e6 36.Bxf6+ Kxf6 37.Rd8 Rxf5 38.Rxe8 R£3+
39.Kxh4 Rxb3 40.Rxe6 Rb4 41 .Kg3, Yz-Yz.
Xie Jun - Chiburdanidze (Women's World Championship, Manila, 1991)

1 .e4 eS 2.N£3 Ne6 3.BbS a6 4.Ba4 Nf6 5.0-0 Be7 6.Re1 bS 7.Bb3 d6
8.e3 0-0 9.h3 NaS 1 0.Be2 eS 1 1 .d4 Bb7 1 2.Nbd2 exd4 13.exd4 exd4
1 4.Nxd4 Re8 1 5 .b4 Ne6 1 6.Nxe6 Bxe6 17.Bb2 Bf8 1 8.Q£3 Re8
19.Bb3 Qe7 20.Radl Bb7 2 1 .Q£5 dS 22.eS Nd7 23.Ne4 g6 24.Qxd7
clxe4 25.e6 :fXe6 26.Qd4 Kt7 27.Qh8 Qh4 28.g3 QhS 29.Qf6+ Kg8
30.Rd7, 1-0.
Chihurdanidze - Xie Jun (Women's World Championship, Manila, 1991)

1 .e4 eS 2.N£3 Ne6 3.BbS a6 4.Ba4 Nf6 5.0-0 Be7 6.Re1 bS 7.Bb3
0-0 8.d3 d6 9.e3 NaS 10.Be2 eS 1 1 .Nbd2 Re8 12.Nfl Ne6 13.h3 h6
1 4.Ne3 Bf8 15.Nh2 dS 1 6.Nhg4 Nxg4 1 7.hxg4 d4 1 8.N£5 e4 19.clxe4
bxe4 20.Ba4 Bd7 2 1 .Bd2 Rb8 22.b3 exb3 23.axb3 Ne7 24.exd4 Nxf5
25.gxf5 exd4 26.BaS Qe7 27.Qxd4 Bxa4 28.bxa4 QeS 29.Qd2 Qe4
30.eS BeS 3 1 .Rael Qd4 32.e6 Rb2 33.Qxd4 Bxd4 34.exf7+ Kxf7
35.Re7+ Kf8 36.Rxe8+ Kxe8 37.Bel Bb6 38.Re4 Rbl 39.Re4+ Kt7
40.Kh2 hS 41 .g3 Kf6 42.aS Be7 43.Be3+ Kxf5 44.Re4 Bd8 45.ReS+
Kg6 46.Re6+ Kh7 47.Rxa6 Rel 48 .Bd4 Rd1 49.Be3 Rel 50.Ra8
Be7 5 1 .Bd4 Re4 52.Be3 h4 53.a6 hxg3+ 54.Kg2 Bf4 55.a7 gx£2
56.Bx£2, 1-0.
Chihurdanidze - Xie Jun (Women's World Championship, Manila, 1991)

1 .e4 eS 2.N£3 Ne6 3.BbS a6 4.Ba4 Nf6 5.0-0 Be7 6.Re1 bS 7.Bb3
0-0 8.d3 d6 9.e3 NaS 1 0.Be2 eS 1 1 .Nbd2 Ne6 1 2.Nfl Re8 1 3.h3
Bb7 14.Ng3 Bf8 1 5.N£5 Ne7 16.Nxe7+ Bxe7 17.a4 Bf8 1 8.BgS
300 CH ESS B ITCH
h6 1 9.Bh4 Be7 20.d4 Qc7 2 1 .dxeS dxeS 22.Qe2 c4 23.Redl QcS

24.Nh2 b4 25.cxb4 Qxb4 26.ND NhS 27.Bxe7 Qxe7 28.g3 Qe6
29.Kh2 Nf6 30.Ra3 aS 31 .Re3 Bc8 32.Qfl Rb8 33.Rbl Ba6 34.Qel
Rb4 35.b3 Reb8 36.bxc4 Nd7 37.Reb3 Qxc4 38.Rxb4 axb4 39.Bb3
Qd3 40.Qdl Qxdl 41 .Rxdl NcS 42.Rbl Bd3 43.Rb2 Bxe4 44.NxeS
Nxb3 45.Rxb3 BdS 46.Rb2 b3 47.Nd3 f6 48.g4 Bc4 49.NcS Rc8
50.Ne4 BdS 5 1 .Ng3 Ra8 52.Ne2 Rxa4 53.Nc3 53 . . .Ra2 54.Rbl
Rxf2+ 55.Kgl Rg2+ 56.Kfl Rh2, 0-1 .
Tony Alston - S Anderson (City Championship, San Antonio, 1992)

1 .d4 d6 2.c4 Nf6 3.Nc3 g6 4.e4 Bg7 5.£3 c6 6.Be3 0-0 7.Qd2 Re8
8.0-0-0 Qc7 9.Kbl a6 1 0.g4 bS 1 1 .Bd3 Rd8 1 2.Rcl b4 1 3.Nce2
aS 1 4.Ng3 cS 1 5.dS Bxg4 1 6.6cg4 Nxg4 17.ND Nd7 1 8 .Be2 Nxe3
19.Qxe3 a4 20.Bdl Rdb8 2 1 . Ne2 NeS 22.NxeS BxeS 23.h4 hS
24.Nf4 Bg7 25.BxhS Bxb2 26.Kxb2 QaS 27.Rbl a3+ 28.Kc2 Qa4+
29.Rb3, 1-0.
Ioseliani - Susan Polgar (Women's Candidates, Monte Carlo, 1993)

1 .d4 dS 2.N£3 cS 3.c4 cxd4 4.cxdS Nf6 5.Qa4+ Qd7 6.Qxd4 QxdS
7.Nc3 Qxd4 8 .Nxd4 Bd7 9.NdbS Kd8 1 0.Be3 Nc6 1 1 .h3 a6 1 2 .Bb6+
Kc8 13.Na3 eS 14.Nc4 Be6 1 5 .e4 Bb4 16.0-0-0 Bxc3 1 7.Nd6+
Kb8 1 8.bxc3 Nd7 19.Be3 Kc7 20.Bc4 Bxc4 2 1 .Nxc4 f6 22.Rd2 bS
23.Nd6 Nb6 24.Bxb6+ Kxb6 25.Nf5 Rhd8 26.Rhdl Rxd2 27.Rxd2
Ra7 28.h4 Rf7 29.hS Kc7 30.h6 g6 3 1 . Ng7 Re7 32.Rd3 Nb8 33.c4
bxc4 34.Rc3 Kd6 35.Rxc4 Nc6 36.Kd2 Rf7 37.Ke3 Rf8 38.g3 Rb8
39.f4 Ne7 40.Ra4 Ra8 41 .£5 gS 42.Rb4 Kc6 43.Ne6 Rc8 44.Rc4+
Kd6 45.Ra4 Rc6 46.Nffi Ng8 47.Nxh7 KcS 48.NxgS Nxh6 49.Ne6+
KbS 50.Ra3 Rc2 5 1 .Kd3 Rg2 52.Nc7+ Kc6 53.Rc3+ Kb7 54.NdS
Ng4 55.Rc7+ Kb8 56.Rf7 Rxg3+ 57.Kc4 Ra3 58.Nxf6 Nf2 59.KdS
Rxa2 60.KxeS aS 61 .Nd7+, 1-0.
Judit Polgar - Tiviakov (Madrid, 1 994)

1 .e4 cS 2.c3 dS 3.exdS QxdS 4.d4 Nf6 5.N£3 Nc6 6.Be2 cxd4
7.cxd4 e6 8.0-0 Be7 9.Nc3 Qd6 1 0.NbS Qd8 1 1 .Bf4 NdS 12.Bg3 a6
1 3.Nc3 0-0 14.Rcl Nf6 1 5.h3 b6 1 6.a3 Bb7 1 7.Bd3 Rc8 1 8.Bbl bS
19.Qd3 NaS 20.NeS Nc4 21 .Rc2 Nd6 22.£3 g6 23.Bf2 Re8 24.Ba2
Bf8 25.Re2 Bg7 26.Rfel NdS 27.NxdS exdS 28.Qdl aS 29.h4 Qc7
30.hS Nc4 31 .h6 Bxh6 32.Ng4 Rxe2 33.Nxh6+ Kg7 34.Rxe2 Kxh6
35.Qel Kg7 36.Re7 Qb6 37.Bxc4 bxc4 38.QeS+ Kg8 39.Be3 f6
40.Qf4 Kf8 41 .Rxh7 Ke8 42.Qh6, 1-0.
APPE N D IX - GAM ES 3 0 1
Judit Polgar - Kasparov (Linares, 1994)

1 .e4 c5 2.Nf3 d6 3.d4 cxd4 4.Nxd4 Nf6 5.Nc3 a6 6.f4 e6 7.Be2 Be7
8.0-0 Qc7 9.Qel Nbd7 1 0.a4 b6 1 1 .Bf3 Bb7 1 2.Khl RdS 13.Be3 0-0
1 4.Qg3 Nc5 1 5.f5 e5 1 6.Bh6 Ne8 1 7.Nb3 Nd7 1 8.Radl Kh8 19.Be3
Nef6 20.Qf2 RfeS 2 1 .Rfel Bffi 22.Bg5 h6 23.Bh4 RcS 24.Qfl Be7
25.Nd2 Qc5 26.Nb3 Qb4 27.Be2 Bxe4 28.Nxe4 Nxe4 29.Bxe7 Rxe7
30.Bf3 Nef6 3 1 . Qxa6 ReeS 32.Qe2 KgS 33.Bb7 Rc4 34.Qd2 Qxa4
35.Qxd6 Rxc2 36.Nd2 Nffi 37.Ne4 N8d7 38.Nxf6+ Nxf6 39.Qxb6
Ng4 40.Rfl e4 41 .Bd5 e3 42.Bb3 Qe4 43.Bxc2 Qxc2 44.RdS RxdS
45.QxdS+ Kh7 46.Qe7 Qc4, 0-1 .
Shahade - Fierro (World Junior Championship, Guarapuava, 1 995)

1 .e4 c5 2.c3 Nf6 3.e5 Nd5 4.d4 cxd4 5.Nf3 d6 6.cxd4 e6 7.a3 Bd7
8.Bd3 Bc6 9.0-0 Nd7 10.Nc3 Nxc3 1 1 .bxc3 dxe5 12.dxe5 Nc5
1 3.Nd4 Qd5 14.Nxc6 bxc6 1 5 .Be2 Qxe5 1 6.Bf3 Qc7 17.Bf4 QcS
1 8.Rbl Be7 1 9.Bd6 Nb7 20.Bxe7 Kxe7 2 1 .Qa4 NdS 22.Rfdl
Qc7 23.Qb4+ KeS 24.Rd6 a5 25.Qd4 f6 26.Rdl e5 27.Qg4 Qf7
28.RxdS+ RxdS 29.Bxc6+ Ke7 30.Rd7+, 1-0.
Susan Polgar - Xie Jun (Women's World Championship,Jaen, 1 996)

1 .g3 g6 2.Bg2 Bg7 3.e4 e5 4.Ne2 Nc6 5.c3 Nge7 6.d4 exd4 7.cxd4
d5 8.e5 f6 9.f4 0-0 1 0.0-0 Bg4 1 1 .Nbc3 fxe5 12.fxe5 Rxfl + 13.Qxfl
Qd7 14.h3 Rffi 1 5 .Nf4 g5 1 6.hxg4 gxf4 17.gxf4 Qxg4 18.Qe2 Qg3
19.Qf2 Qxf2+ 20.Kxf2 Nxd4 2 1 . Nxd5 Ng6 22.Nc3 c6 23.Be3 Bxe5
24.Rdl Nxf4 25.Bxf4 Rxf4+ 26.Ke3 Nf5+ 27.Kd3 Rg4 28.Bh3
Rd4+ 29.Ke2 Rxdl 30.Nxdl Nd6 3 1 .b4 Kg7 32.a4 Kf6 33.Nf2
Bd4 34.Nd3 b6 35.Nf4 c5 36.Nd5+ Ke5 37.bxc5 bxc5 38.Ne7 a6
39.a5 Nc4 40.Nc6+ Kd6 41 .NbS Kc7 42.Nxa6+ Kb7 43.Nxc5+
Bxc5 44.a6+ Kb6 45.Kd3 Nd6 46.Ke2 Kxa6 47.Kf3 Kb6 48.Be6 Kc7
49.Kg4 KdS 50.Kh5 Be3 5 1 .BgS h6 52.Bb3 Ke7 53.Kg6 Ne4 54.Bdl
Ke6 55.Bg4+ Ke5 56.Bdl Bg5 57.Be2 Kf4 58.Bdl Ng3 59.Ba4 h5
60.Bd7 h4, 0-1 .
Susan Polgar - Xie Jun (Women's World Championship, Jaen, 1 996)

1 .e4 e5 2.Nf3 Nc6 3.d4 exd4 4.Nxd4 Bc5 5.Nxc6 Qf6 6.Qd2 dxc6
7.Nc3 Be6 8.Na4 RdS 9.Bd3 Bd4 10.c3 b5 1 1 .cxd4 bxa4 1 2.Qc2
Qxd4 13.Qxc6+ Kffi 1 4.Be2 Ne7 1 5.Qc2 f5 16.0-0 Qxe4 17.Qxc7
Kf7 1 8 .Bh5+ g6 1 9.Bf3 Qc4 20.Qxa7 Qd4 2 1 .Qa5 Nd5 22.Rdl Qc4
23.Bg5 Rd7 24.Racl Qxa2 25.Bxd5, 1-0.
302 CH ESS BITCH
Xie Jun - Susan Polgar (Women's World Championship, Jaen, 1 996)

1 .e4 c5 2.Nf3 d6 3 .d4 cxd4 4.Nxd4 Nf6 5 .Nc3 Nc6 6.Bg5 Qb6
7 . Nb3 e6 8. Qd2 Be7 9 .£3 0-0 1 0.g4 Rd8 1 1 .Be3 Qc7 12.g5 Nd7
1 3 . 0-0-0 a6 14.h4 b5 1 5.h5 Nb6 1 6.g6 Bf6 1 7.h6 fXg6 1 8.hxg7
Na4 1 9.Nd4 Nxd4 20.Bxd4 Bxd4 2 1 . Qxd4 Nxc3 22.bxc3 Qxg7
23.Qb6 Qe7 24.e5 d5 25.Bd3 Bd7 26.Rdgl Be8 27.f4 27 . . . d4
28.cxd4 Rab8 29.Qxa6 Rxd4 30.£5 exf5 3 1 .Bxf5 Qxe5 32.Be6+
Kh8 33.Kb l Ra4, 0-1 .
Judit Polgar - Kasparov (Dos Hermanas, 1 996)

1 .e4 c5 2.Nf3 d6 3.d4 cxd4 4.Nxd4 Nf6 5.Nc3 a6 6.f4 e6 7.Qf3 Qb6
8.a3 Nc6 9.Nxc6 bxc6 1 0.b3 Bb7 1 1 .Bb2 d5 1 2.Bd3 c5 13.exd5 exd5
14.0-0-0 0-0-0 15.Na4 Qc7 1 6 .Bf5+ Kb8 17.Be5 Bd6 18.Qc3 d4
19.Bxd6 Qxd6 20.Qxc5 Qxf4+ 2 1 .Kbl Rd5 22.Rdfl Qe5 23.Qc4
Rb5 24.Qxf7 Bd5 25.Qxg7 Rg8 26.Qh6 Bxb3 27.cxb3 Rxb3+
28.Kcl Qc7+ 29.Bc2 d3 30.Qf4 Rc8 3 1 . Qxc7+ Rxc7 32.Rf2 Ne4
33.RfB+ Ka7 34.Rf7 Rbb7 35.Rxc7 Rxc7 36.Rdl Rxc2+ 37.Kbl
Rxg2 38.Rxd3 Rxh2 39.Rd7+ Kb8 40.Re7 Nd2+ 41 .Kcl Nb3+
42.Kdl h5 43.Re3 Nd4 44.Nc5 a5 45.Nb3 Nc6 46.Rc3 Kb7 47.Kel
Kb6 48.Kfl Rh4 49.Kg2 Nd4 50.Nxa5 Kxa5 5 1 .Rc5+ Kb6 52.Re5
Kc6 53.Kg3 Rhl 54.Kg2 Kd6 55.Ra5 Rh4 56.Kg3 Rg4+ 57.Kh3
Ne2 58.Rxh5 Rg3+ 59.Kh4 Rxa3 60.Kg4 Ke6 61 .Rb5 Rg3+ 62.Kh4
Rgl 63.Rg5 Rfl 64.Ra5 Kf6 65.Ra8 Rgl 66.RfS+ Ke5 67.Re8+
Kf4 68.RfS+ Ke4 69.Re8+ Kf3 70.Kh5 Ng3+ 71 .Kh6 Nf5+ 72.Kh7
Kf4 73.Rb8 Rg7+ 74.Kh8 Rd7 75.Re8 Kg5 76.Re6 Nd4 77.Rel
Kf6 78.Rdl Rd5 79.Ral Ne6 80.Ra6 Kf7 8 1 .Ra7+ Kg6 82.Ra8
Rd7 83.Rb8 Rc7 84.Kg8 Rc5 85.Ra8 Rb5 86.Kh8 Rb7 87.Rc8
Nc7 88.Rg8+ Kh6 89.Rgl Rb8+ 90.Rg8 Ne8, 0-1 .
Krush - Shahade (U.S. Championship, Denver, 1 998)

1 . Nf3 Nf6 2.c4 d5 3.cxd5 Nxd5 4.Nc3 g6 5.Qa4+ Bd7 6.Qc2 Nb6
7.d4 Bg7 8.Bg5 Bg4 9.e3 Bxf3 1 0.gxf3 0-0 1 1 .0-0-0 N8d7 1 2.h4
Nf6 13.Bxf6 Bxf6 14.h5 Kg7 1 5 .Bd3 Rh8 16.Rdgl c6 17.Rh3 Nd5
1 8.hxg6 hxg6 1 9.Bxg6 Rxh3 20.Bf5+ Kf8 2 1 .Bxh3 e6 22.Bxe6 Nxc3
23.Qh7, 1-0.
Shahade - Kouvatsou (World Junior Championship,Yerevan, 1 999)

1 .e4 c5 2.Nf3 e6 3.d4 cxd4 4.Nxd4 Nf6 5.Nc3 d6 6.Be2 a6 7.a4
,
Nc6 8.Be3 Be7 9.0-0 0-0 1 0.f4 Qc7 1 1 .Khl Re8 1 2.Bf3 Bf8 13.Qd3
APPENDIX - GAM ES 303
Nb4 14.Qd2 e5 15.Nb3 exf4 16.Bxf4 Nd7 17.a5 Ne5 18.Ra4 Nbc6
19.Nd5 Qd8 20.Bg5 f6 2 1 .Be3 Nd7 22.Qf2 Rb8 23.Bh5 Re5 24.Bg4
Nc5 25.Nxc5 Bxg4 26.Nd3 Re8 27.Qg3 f5 28.exf5 Be2 29.Bb6 Qc8
30.Rff4 Kh8 3 1 . Nc7 Re7 32.Ne6 Ne5 33.Nxe5 dxe5 34.Rh4 Qxc2
35.Qg6 Qcl + 36.Bgl h6 37.Ng5, 1-0.
Zhu Chen - Krush (Women's World Championship, New Delhi, 2000)

1 .e4 c5 2.Nf3 d6 3.d4 cxd4 4.Nxd4 Nf6 5.Nc3 Nc6 6.Bg5 e6
7.Qd2 a6 8.0-0-0 h6 9.Nxc6 bxc6 10.Bf4 d5 1 1 .Qe3 Qa5 12.Be2
Bb4 13.Be5 Be7 14.exd5 cxd5 1 5.Bxf6 gxf6 1 6.Rhel Qc5 17.Qg3
Bb7 1 8.Bf3 KfB 19.Kbl Rc8 20.Rd2 Qb4 2 1 .Rd3 a5 22.Redl Ba6
23.Rd4 Qb6 24.Bh5 Bd6 25.f4 Rg8 26.Qh3 Bb4 27.Na4 Qc6 28.c3
Qxa4 29.a3 Bc4 30.cxb4 axb4 3 1 .R1d2 Rb8 32.Bdl Qa5 33.b3
bxa3 34.Ka2 Bb5 35 .£5 Bd7 36.6ce6 Bxe6 37.Qxh6+ Ke7 38.Qe3
Rg5 39.Ra4 Qxa4 40.Qxg5 Qb4 41 .Qe3 KfB 42.g4 Qd6 43.Qh6+
Ke7 44.g5 6cg5 45.Qxg5+ Ke8 46.Bg4 Qb4 47.Bdl d4 48.Rd3 Rc8
49.QgS+ Ke7 50.Qg5+ Ke8 5 1 .Qe5 Rc4 52.h4 KfB 53.Qg3 Bf5
54.h5 Bxd3 55.Qxd3 Rc6 56.Qe2 Re6 57.Qc2 Qc3 58.Qg2 Qb2+
59.Qxb2 axb2 60.Kxb2 f5 61 .Kc2 Re3 62.b4 f4 63.b5 f3 64.Kd2 f2
65.Be2 Rb3 66.h6 Rbl 67.Kd3 Rxb5 68.Kxd4 Rbl , 0-1 .
Sagalchik - Shahade (U.S. Championship, Seattle, 2000)

1 .e4 c5 2.Nf3 d6 3.d4 cxd4 4.Nxd4 Nf6 5.Nc3 g6 6.Be3 Bg7 7.£3
Nc6 8.Qd2 0-0 9.0-0-0 Nxd4 10.Bxd4 Be6 1 1 .h4 Qa5 1 2.Kb1 Rfc8
13.Nd5 Qxd2 14.Nxf6+ Bxf6 1 5 .Rxd2 Bxd4 1 6.Rxd4 h5 17.b3 Rc3
1 8.Kb2 Rac8 1 9.Bc4 Bxc4 20.Kxc3 Bfl + 2 1 .Kb2 Bxg2 22.Rhdl Bxf3
23.R1d3 Bg4 24.Rc3 Kg7 25.Ra4 a6 26.Rb4 g5 27.hxg5 Kg6 28.e5
Rxc3 29.Kxc3 dxe5 30.Rxb7 h4 3 1 .Rxe7 h3 32.Rxe5 h2 33.Rel
Bf3 34.Kd4 h1Q 35.Rxhl Bxhl 36.c4 Kxg5 37.b4 Bc6 38.Kc5 38 . . .
f5 39.Kxc6 f4 40.b5 f3 41 .b6 f2 42.b7 f1 Q 43.bSQ Qxc4+ 44.Kb6
Qxa2 45.Qe5+, Yz-Yz.
Kosteniuk - Zhu Chen (Women's World Championship, Moscow, 2001)

1 .e4 c5 2.Nf3 d6 3.d4 cxd4 4.Nxd4 Nf6 5.Nc3 a6 6.Bg5 e6 7.f4 Qb6
8.Nb3 Be7 9.Qf3 Nbd7 10.0-0-0 Qc7 1 1 .g4 b5 1 2.Bxf6 Nxf6 1 3.g5
Nd7 14.h4 b4 15.Ne2 Bb7 1 6.Bh3 d5 1 7.£5 Rc8 1 8.c3 dxe4 19.Qe3
Bc5 20.Nxc5 Nxc5 2 1 .6ce6 6ce6 22.Rhfl Rf8 23.Bg4 Rxfl 24.Rxfl
Qa5 25.Qd4 Qxa2 26.Kc2 e3 27.Bh5+ g6 28.QhS+ Ke7 29.Qxh7+
Kd6 30.Bxg6 b3+ 31 .Kcl Na4 32.Rdl + Bd5 33.Rxd5+ exd5 34.Kdl
Qxb2 35.Kel Qd2+ 36.Kfl Rf8+, 0-1 .
304 CH ESS BITCH
Zhu Chen - Kosteniuk (Women's World Championship, Moscow, 2001 )

1 .d4 f5 2.Nf3 Nf6 3.g3 e6 4.Bg2 d5 5.0-0 Bd6 6.b3 Qe7 7.c4 c6
8.Bb2 0-0 9.Qc1 a5 10.Ba3 Na6 1 1 .Bxd6 Qxd6 1 2.c5 Qe7 13.Ne5
Nd7 14.Nxd7 Bxd7 15.f4 b6 16.cxb6 Qb4 17.Qc3 Qxb6 1 8.Nd2
Rfc8 1 9.Rfc 1 c5 20.Nf3 Rc7 2 1 .e3 Rac8 22.Qd2 a4 23.Ne5 Be8
24.dxc5 Nxc5 25.bxa4 Bxa4 26.Rab1 Qa7 27.Qd4 Be8 28.Rc2 Qa3
29.Qc3 Qa4 30.Qb2 Qa6 31 .Bf1 Qa7 32.Qd4 Qa3 33.Qc3 Qa4
34.Qb2 Qe4 35.Re1 g5 36.Bg2 Qa4 37.Rec1 Qa5 38.Qc3 Qa7
39.Qd4 Qa3 40.Qc3 Nb3 41.Qxb3 Qxb3 42.axb3 Rxc2 43.Rxc2
Rxc2 44.£Xg5 Re2 45.Nf3 Rxe3 46.Nd4 Kf7 47.Bf1 Bd7 48.Kf2 Rc3
49.b4 e5 50.Nf3 Ke6 5 1 .Nh4 e4 52.g6 hxg6 53.Nxg6 d4 54.h4 Rc2+
55.Ke1 Re l + 56.Kf2 e3+ 57.Kgl Bb5, 0-1 .
Zhu Chen - Kosteniuk (Women's World Championship, Moscow, 2001)

1 .d4 f5 2.g3 Nf6 3.Bg2 e6 4.c4 d5 5.Nh3 c6 6.Qc2 Be7 7.0-D 0-0
8.Nd2 h6 9.Nf4 Qe8 1 0.Nf3 g5 1 1 .Nd3 Nbd7 1 2.Bd2 a5 13.b3 Ne4
14.Nfe5 Bf6 1 5 .Bc1 Be7 16.a3 Nxe5 17.Nxe5 b6 1 8.f3 Nf6 19.Bd2
Ba6 20.e4 c5 2 1 .exd5 exd5 22.Qxf5 Kg7 23.Qd3 Rd8 24.Rfel dxc4
25.bxc4 Rxd4 26.Qc2 Bd6 27.Ng4 Qg6 28.Qb2 Nd7 29.Bc3 Kg8
30.Bxd4 cxd4 31 .Kh1 Bxc4 32.Qxd4 Bb3 33.Re3 a4 34.Rd3 Nc5
35.Qxd6 Qxd3 36.Qxh6 Qf5 37.Qxb6 Qc2 38.h3 Ne6 39.Re1 Qc4
40.Kh2 Kg7 41 .Re4 Qd5 42.Re5 Qd7 43.Qe3 Qe7 44.Nf2 Qf6
45.Ra5 Rd8 46.Ne4 Qb2 47.Rxg5+ Kf7 48.Qa7+ Ke8 49.Rg8+
NIB 50.Rg7 Rd7 5 1 .Qb8+ Rd8 52.Nd6 mate, 1-0.
Shahade - Sagalchik (U.S. Championship, Seattle, 2002)

1 .e4 e5 2.Nf3 Nc6 3.Bb5 a6 4.Ba4 Nf6 5.0-0 Nxe4 6.d4 b5 7.Bb3 d5
8.dxe5 Be6 9.Nbd2 Nc5 10.c3 Bg4 1 1 .Bc2 Qd7 1 2.Re1 Be7 13.Nfl
Bh5 14.b4 Na4 1 5.Ng3 Nxc3 16.Qd2 Bg4 17.Qxc3 Bxb4 1 8.Qe3
Bxf3 19.Bf5 Qe7 20.Bd2 g6 21 .Bxb4 Qxb4 22.Qxf3 Nd4 23.Bd7+
Kxd7 24.Qxf7+ Kc8 25.Rac1 Ra7 26.Qxd5 c6 27.Qe4 Rd7 28.e6
Rd6 29.Qg4 Kc7 30.e7 Re8 3 1 . Qg5 Re6 32.Rxe6 Nxe6 33.Qd5
Nd4, 1-0.
Ambarcumjan - Shahade (U.S. Championship, Seattle, 2002)

1 . d4 Nf6 2.c4 g6 3.Nc3 d5 4.Nf3 Bg7 5.e3 0-0 6.Bd2 c5 7.dxc5
Na6 8.cxd5 Nxc5 9.Bc4 Bf5 1 0.0-0 Rc8 1 1 .Qe2 Nfe4 1 2.Nxe4 Bxe4
13.Bb4 Na4 14.Ba3 Nxb2 1 5.Bxb2 Bxb2 16.Qxb2 Rxc4 1 7.Ne5 Rc5
18.Qd4 Qxd5 19.Nd7 Qxd4 20.exd4 Rg5 2 1 .Rfel Rxg2+ 22.Kfl
Rxh2 23.f3 Rd8, 0-1.
APPEN D IX - GAM ES 3 0 5
Shahade - Stripunsky (U.S. Championship, Seattle, 2002)

1 . e4 g6 2.d4 Bg7 3.Nc3 c6 4.N£3 d5 5.h3 clxe4 6.Nxe4 Nd7 7.Bc4
Ngf6 8.Qe2 0-0 9.0-0 b5 1 0.Bb3 a5 1 1 .Nxf6+ exf6 12.a3 Re8 13.Be3
Nb6 14.Qd2 a4 15.Ba2 Be6 1 6.Bxe6 Rxe6 1 7.Rfe1 Qd5 1 8.Qc3 Qd7
19.Qd3 Bffi 20.Bd2 Nc4 21 .Bc3 Rae8 22.Rxe6 Rxe6 23.Nd2 Nb6
24.Bb4 Bxb4 25.axb4 Qe7 26.c3 Rel + 27.Rxel Qxel + 28.Kh2 Qxf2
29.Ne4 Qf5 30.Qe2 Nc4 31 .Nc5 Kg7 32.Nxa4 bxa4 33.Qxc4 Qf4+
34.Kgl Qcl + 35.Kh2 Qxb2 36.h4 h5 37.Qxc6 a3 38.d5 a2, 0-1 .
Judit Polgar - Kasparov (Russia vs The Rest of the World, Moscow, 2002)
1 . e4 e5 2.N£3 Nc6 3.Bb5 Nf6 4.0-0 Nxe4 5.d4 Nd6 6.Bxc6 clxc6
7.clxe5 Nf5 8.Qxd8+ Kxd8 9.Nc3 h6 10.Rd1+ Ke8 1 1 .h3 Be7 1 2.Ne2
Nh4 13.Nxh4 Bxh4 14.Be3 Bf5 15.Nd4 Bh7 16.g4 Be7 17.Kg2 h5
18.Nf5 1 8 . . .Bffi 19.K£3 Bg6 20.Rd2 hxg4+ 21 .hxg4 Rh3+ 22.Kg2 Rh7
23.Kg3 f6 24.Bf4 Bxf5 25.gxf5 fxe5 26.Rel Bd6 27.Bxe5 Kd7 28.c4 c5
29.Bxd6 cxd6 30.Re6 Rah8 31 .Rexd6+ Kc8 32.R2d5 Rh3+ 33.Kg2
Rh2+ 34.K£3 R2h3+ 35.Ke4 b6 36.Rc6+ Kb8 37.Rd7 Rh2 38.Ke3
Rffi 39.Rcc7 Rxf5 40.Rb7+ Kc8 41 .Rdc7+ Kd8 42.Rxg7 Kc8, 1-0.
Xu Yuhua - Krush (Olympiad, Bled, 2002)

1 . e4 c5 2.N£3 d6 3.Bb5+ Bd7 4.Bxd7+ Qxd7 5.c4 Nc6 6.Nc3 Nf6
7.d4 cxd4 8.Nxd4 g6 9.£3 Bg7 10.Nde2 0-0 1 1 .0-0 Rfc8 12.Be3
Qd8 13.b3 Qa5 14.Qd2 a6 1 5.a4 Rab8 1 6.Rabl Nd7 1 7.Rfdl Qb4
1 8.Qcl Qa5 19.Khl Kh8 20.Bd2 Qd8 21 .Bg5 Nc5 22.Bh4 Nb4
23.Qd2 Qd7 24.Nd4 Ne6 25.Bf2 Nxd4 26.Bxd4 Qc7 27.Ba7 Ra8
28.Be3 Re8 29.a5 Qxa5 30.Nd5 Nc6 3 1 . Qxa5 Nxa5 32.Nc7 Rac8
33.Nxe8 Rxe8 34.c5 clxc5 35.Bxc5 Bf6 36.Rd7 b5 37.f4 Rc8 38.b4
Nc6 39.e5 Bg7 40.Rbdl Bffi 41 .g3 Kg7 42.Rb7 e6 43.Rdd7 Nd8
44.Bb6 Nxb7 45.Rxb7 Bxb4 46.Ra7 Rc6 47.Bd8 Rc8 48.Bf6+ Kg8
49.Rxa6 Bc5 50.Ra2 b4 5 1 .Rb2 Kffi 52.Kg2 Ke8 53.K£3 Kd7 54.Ke4
Kc6 55.g4 Kb5 56.£5 gxf5+ 57.gxf5 Rg8, 0-1 .
Shahade - Wang Pin (Olympiad, Bled, 2002)

1 .e4 c5 2.N£3 d6 3.d4 cxd4 4.Nxd4 Nf6 5.Nc3 a6 6.Bg5 e6 7.f4
Qb6 8.Qd2 Qxb2 9.Rbl Qa3 1 0.Bxf6 gxf6 1 1 .Be2 h5 12.0-0 Nd7
13.Khl Nc5 14.£5 Be7 1 5.R£3 Qa5 1 6.Rg3 h4 17.Rg7 Bffi 1 8.Rg4
h3 1 9.6ce6 6ce6 20.e5 clxe5 21 .Nb3 Nxb3 22.Rxb3 Bh6 23.Qd3 f5
24.Rg6 hxg2+ 25.Rxg2 Qd8 26.Bh5+ Ke7 27.Qe2 b5 28.B£3 e4
29.Nxe4 fxe4 30.Qxe4 Bd7 31 .Qb4+ Kf6 32.Qh4+ Kf7 33.Bh5+
Kffi 34.R£3+, 1-0.
306 C H ESS B ITCH
Socko - Zhao Xue (Olympiad, Bled, 2002)

1 . d4 Nf6 2.c4 e6 3.Nc3 Bb4 4.Qc2 cS S.dxcS BxcS 6.Nf.3 Qb6 7.e3
Qc7 8.Bd3 b6 9.0-0 a6 10.a3 Be7 1 1 .b3 Bb7 12.Bb2 d6 1 3.Rad1 Nbd7
14.Ne4 Rc8 1 S.Rd2 Qb8 16.Nxf6+ Bxf6 1 7.Bxf6 Nxf6 18.Rfdl
Bxf.3 1 9.gxf.3 Ke7 20.Qb2 gS 21 .Bfl Rhd8 22.Qd4 aS 23.Bg2 Qc7
24.b4 axb4 2S.axb4 eS 26.Qal Qxc4 27.Bh3 Rc7 28.Qbl h6 29.Khl
g4 30.Bg2 gx£3 31 .Bxf.3 Qh4 32.Qf5 Rc4 33.bS e4 34.Bg2 RcS
3S.Qf4 Qxf4 36.exf4 dS 37.f.3 e3 38.Rd4 Kd6 39.Bfl Rc2 40.Bd3
Rc3 41 .Kg2 KcS 42.Be2 Ra8 43.R4d3 Rxd3 44.Bxd3 NhS 4S.Bb1
Nxf4+ 46.Kg3 Ne2+ 47.Kg4 Rg8+ 48.Kf5 Rgl , 0-1 .
Shahade - Stefanova (Andorra, 2000)

1 .e4 dS 2.exdS QxdS 3.Nc3 QaS 4.g3 c6 S.Bg2 Nf6 6.Nf.3 Bg4 7.h3
BhS 8.b4 Qc7 9.0-0 e6 10.Rb l a6 1 1 .a4 Nbd7 12.Rel Bd6 1 3.bS 0-
0 14.g4 Bg6 1 S .Nh4 axbS 16.Nxg6 hxg6 1 7.axbS Nb6 1 8.Qf.3 NbdS
1 9.Bb2 Rac8 20.NxdS cxdS 21 .Bxf6 gxf6 22.Qxf6 Be7 23.Qb2 Qf4
24.c3 BcS 2S.d4 Bd6 26.Re3 Rc4 27.Ral Bb8 28.Qb3 Qh2+ 29.Kfl
Rfc8 30.Ra4 Qd6 31 .Rxc4 Rxc4 32.Qa2 Rc8 33.Qa4 Kg7 34.Qb4
Qxb4 3S.cxb4 Rc4 36.Rb3 b6 37.Ke2 Rxd4 38.Ke3 Rc4 39.Kd3
Bd6 40.Bfl Bxb4 41 .Rb2 BcS 42.f.3 Rel 43.Bg2 gS, 0-1 .
Milov - Stefanova (Andorra, 2001)

1 .c4 c6 2.Nf.3 dS 3.e3 Nf6 4.Nc3 g6 S.d4 Bg7 6.Be2 0-0 7.0-0 a6
8.b4 dxc4 9.Bxc4 bS 10.Bb3 NdS 1 1 .NxdS cxdS 12.a4 bxa4 1 3.Bxa4
Bd7 14.Qb3 e6 1 S.Bd2 Ra7 16.Rfcl Qb6 17.RcS Rd8 18.Bc3 B£8
19.NeS Bxa4 20.Qxa4 Rb7 21 .Qdl Qd6 22.h4 Nd7 23.Rc6 Qe7
24.Nf.3 Qe8 2S.RcS NxcS 26.dxcS Bg7 27.Bxg7 Kxg7 28.Qd4+ f6
29.Rxa6 eS 30.Qc3 QbS 3 1 .Rxf6 d4 32.exd4 Kxf6 33.NgS Rxd4
34.Qf.3+ Rf4 3S.Qb3 Qc4 36.Qa4 Qcl +, 0-1 .
Skripchenko - Atalik (Saint Vincent, 2001)

1 .e4 cS 2.Nf.3 d6 3.BbS+ Bd7 4.Bxd7+ Qxd7 S.0-0 Nf6 6.Qe2
Nc6 7.c3 e6 8.d4 cxd4 9.cxd4 dS 10.eS Ng8 1 1 .Nc3 Bb4 12.a3
Bxc3 1 3.bxc3 Nge7 1 4.Rdl NaS 1 S .Rb1 h6 1 6.Nel Rc8 1 7.Rd3
b6 18.QhS Rc7 1 9.g4 Qc8 20.Bd2 Nc4 2 1 .Bcl Ng6 22.f4 NcxeS
23.fX:eS Rxc3 24.Rdl Qc4 2S.Ng2 Qa2 26.Be3 Qxa3 27.Ral Qe7
28.Rfl Qc7 29.Ra2 0-0 30.Raf2 aS 3 1 .gS hxgS 32.BxgS Qc4 33.Be3
Qd3 34.Rf.3 Qe2 3S.QgS Rc2 36.R3f2 Qc4 37.h4 Rxf2 38.Rxf2
Kh7 39.hS Nh8 40.Nh4 Qd3 41 .Rg2 Rg8 42.Ng6 Qdl +, 1-0.
APPENDIX - GAM ES 307
Kosteniuk - Paehtz (Duel of the Graces, Mainz, 2002)

1 .e4 c5 2.Nf3 e6 3.d4 cxd4 4.Nxd4 a6 5.Nc3 Qc7 6.Be2 Nc6 7.0-0
Nf6 8.Be3 Bb4 9.Na4 Be7 1 0.f4 Nxe4 1 1 .c4 0-0 12.Bd3 Nf6 1 3.g4
Nb4 14.g5 Ne8 1 5.Bxh7+ Kxh7 16.Qh5+ Kg8 17.Rf3 £5 1 8.Rh3
Nf6 19.gxf6 Bxf6 20.Nf3 Nd3 2 1 .Ng5 Bxg5 22.fx:g5 Nf4 23.Qh7+
K£7 24.Rh6 Ne2+ 25.Kf2 Nf4 26.Rf6+ Ke8 27.Qxg7 Nh3+ 28.Kel
Qa5+ 29.Ke2 Qb4 30.Qg6+ Ke7 31 .Bc5+ Qxc5 32.Qg7+ Ke8, 1-0.
Paehtz - Kosteniuk (Duel of the Graces, Mainz, 2002)

1 .e4 c5 2.Nf3 d6 3.d4 cxd4 4.Nxd4 Nf6 5.Nc3 g6 6.Be2 Bg7 7.0-0
0-0 8.Rel Nc6 9.Nb3 a5 1 0.a4 Be6 1 1 .Bfl Bxb3 12.cxb3 e6 1 3.Bg5
h6 14.Bh4 Qb6 1 5.Bg3 Rfd8 1 6.Nb5 Ne8 17.Bf4 d5 1 8.e5 Nc7
1 9.Qd2 g5 20.Bg3 Nxb5 21 .axb5 Nd4 22.Qe3 Bffi 23.Ra4 Bc5
24.Rcl Rac8 25.Rxc5 N£5 26.Rxc8 Nxe3 27.Rxd8+ Qxd8 28.fx:e3
Qc7 29.e4 Qc2 30.exd5 Qxb3 31 .Rxa5 exd5 32.Ra8+ Kg7 33.Bf2
Qxb2 34.Rb8 Qxe5 35.Rxb7 h5 36.Rd7 h4 37.b6 g4 38.g3 Qe6
39.b7, 1-0.
Luong Minh Hue - Paridar (Asian Junior Championship, Tehran, 2002)

1 .c4 e6 2.Nc3 d5 3.cxd5 exd5 4.d4 c6 5.Qc2 Nf6 6.Bg5 Be7 7.Nf3 0-
0 8.e3 Nbd7 9.Bd3 Re8 1 0.0-0 Nffi 1 1 .Bxf6 Bxf6 12.b4 Be7 13.Rabl
Bd6 1 4.BfS a6 1 5.Na4 Bx£5 16.QxfS Re6 17.Nc5 Rg6 1 8.Qd3 Qe7
19.Rfel Rh6 20.a4 Bxh2+ 2 1 .Nxh2 Qh4 22.Nxb7 Qxh2+ 23.Kfl
Rg6 24.Ke2 Rxg2 25.Rfl Qh5+ 26.Kel Re8 27.Rb3 Qh6 28.Kdl
Qf6 29.Nc5 h5 30.Nxa6 h4 3 1 .b5 h3 32.Nc7 Rb8 33.Ke2 h2 34.Qdl
Q£5 35.Kd2 Rxf2+ 36.Rxf2 Qxf2+ 37.Kd3 Ne6 38.b6 c5 39.Nxd5
cxd4 40.Rbl dxe3 41 .Ne7+ Kfl3 42.Ke4 Qf4+ 43.Kd5 Rd8+ 44.Kc6
Rxdl 45.Rxdl Qxa4+ 46.Kb7 Qxdl 47.Nc8 h1Q+, 0-1 .
Shahade - Dzagnidze (Women's World Championship, Elista, 2004)

1 .e4 c5 2.Nf3 d6 3.d4 cxd4 4.Nxd4 Nf6 5.Nc3 Nc6 6.Bg5 e6 7.Qd2
Be7 8.0-0-0 Nxd4 9.Qxd4 0-0 1 0.£3 a6 1 1 .Kbl Nxe4 1 2.Nxe4
Bxg5 13.Nxg5 Qxg5 14.f4 Qa5 15 .Qxd6 b5 1 6.Bd3 Bb7 17.Qe5
Rac8 1 8.h4 Bd5 1 9.b3 Qc3 20.Qe2 b4 21 .£5 a5 22.Rh3 Qf6 23.g4
ex£5 24.BxfS Rcd8 25.Rhd3 Bb7 26.g5 Qb6 27.h5 Ba6 28.g6 Bxd3
29.gxh7+ Kh8 30.Bxd3 Rde8 3 1 . Qg2 Re5 32.Rfl Rfe8 33.a4 bxa3
34.Ka2 Qd4 35.Kxa3 Rxh5 36.Rxf7 Qal mate, 0-1 .
308 C H ESS B ITCH
Chihurdanidze - Stefanova (Women's World Championship, Elista, 2004)

l .c4 Nf6 2.d4 c6 3.Bf4 Qb6 4.Qd2 Ne4 5.Qc2 d5 6.£3 Qa5+ 7.Nd2
Nxd2 8.Bxd2 Qd8 9.e3 g6 10.Bd3 Bg7 1 1 .Ne2 dxc4 12.Bxc4 Nd7
13.Bb3 a5 1 4.a3 e5 1 5.0-0 0-0 16.Radl exd4 17.Nxd4 Qe7 18.Rfe1
Ne5 19.e4 c5 20.Nb5 c4 2 1 .Ba4 Nd3 22.Re2 Nxb2 23.Rb1 Nxa4
24.Qxa4 c3 25.Be3 Bd7 26.Qc2 Rfc8 27.a4 Rc4 28.Bcl h5 29.Ba3
Qe6 30.f4 Qg4 3 1 .Bd6 Bxb5 32.axb5 Rd8 33.e5 Qxf4 34.Rfl Qg4
35.h3 Qe6 36.b6 a4 37.Khl Rd7 38.Ral Kh7 39.Rfl Rc6 40.Ref2
Qb3 4 1 . Qe2 Rxb6 42.Qe4 Rc6 43.Rbl Qc4 44.Qc2 b5 45.Rffl
Rcxd6 46.exd6 Rxd6 47.Rf2 Bh6 48.Rbfl Rd7 49.Rf3 Bd2 50.Rf6
a3 5 1 .Ra1 Ra7 52.Rd6 a2 53.Rd8 Bg5 54.Re8 b4 55.Qf2 Rc7, 0-1 .
Kovalevskaya - Stefanova (Women's World Championship, Elista, 2004)

1 .e4 e5 2.Nf3 Nc6 3.Bb5 a6 4.Ba4 Nf6 5.0-0 b5 6.Bb3 Bc5 7.a4 Bb7
8.d3 d6 9.Nc3 b4 10.Ne2 0-0 1 1 .Ng3 h6 12.Nf5 Bc8 13.N3h4 Nd4
14.Nxd4 Bxd4 1 5.Qf3 Bg4 16.Qg3 Kh7 17.Be3 Bxb2 18.Rab1 Bc3
1 9.£3 Bd7 20.Qf2 a5 21 .g4 Qe8 22.Nf5 Bxa4 23.g5 Nh5 24.Qh4 g6
25.Nxh6 Bxb3 26.Ng4 Qe6 27.Nf6+ Kg7 28.Nxh5+ gxh5 29.cxb3
a4 30.bxa4 Rxa4 3 1 .Khl Ra2 32.Rgl Re2 33.Bf2 Ra8 34.f4 exf4
35.Qxf4 Raa2 36.Rg2 Kg6 37.Qf3 Rac2 38.Rfl b3 39.e5 Bxe5 40.d4
Bg7 41 .Bgl Rxg2 42.Qd3+ Kxg5 43.Be3+ Kh4 44.Rf4+ Rg4 45.d5
Rel + 46.Bxcl Qel + 47.Rfl Qe4+ 48.Qxe4 Rxe4 49.Kg2 b2 50.Bf4
Rb4 5 1 .Bg3+ Kg5 52.h4+ Kg6 53.Rbl Ra4, 0-1 .
Shahade - Goletiani (U.S. Championship, 2004)

1 .e4 c5 2.Nf3 d6 3.d4 cxd4 4.Nxd4 Nf6 5 .Nc3 Nc6 6.Be2 e6 7.0-0
Be7 8.Be3 a6 9.f4 0-0 1 0.Qel Qc7 1 1 .Qg3 Nxd4 1 2.Bxd4 b5 13.a3
Rb8 14.Khl b4 1 5.e5 Ne8 16.exd6 Bxd6 1 7.Ne4 f6 1 8.Bd3 bxa3
1 9.bxa3 Be7 20.Rabl Bxa3 2 1 .Rxb8 Qxb8 22.Bc4 Be7 23.Qh3 f5
24.Ng5 Bxg5 25.fxg5 Qb4 26.Qb3 Qxb3 27.cxb3 Nd6 28.Bc5 Rd8
29.Bxd6 Rxd6 30.Rxf5 Rdl + 3 1 .Rfl Rxfl + 32.Bxfl a5 33.Kgl Kf7
34.Kf2 e5 35.Bd3 Bb7 36.g3 e4 37.Bc4+ Kg6 38.h4 Kf5 39.Bg8 Ke5
40.Ke3 Bd5 41 .Bxh7 Bxb3 42.Bxe4 a4 43.h5 a3 44.Bbl a2 45.Bxa2
Bxa2 46.h6 gxh6 47.gxh6, Yz-Yz.
APPENDIX - GAM ES 3 0 9
Batseeseg - Shahade (U.S. Championship, 2004)

1 .e4 c5 2.Nf3 d6 3.d4 cxd4 4.Nxd4 Nf6 5.Nc3 e5 6.Nb3 a6 7.Be3
Be6 8.£3 Be7 9.Qd2 Nbd7 1 0.0-0-0 Nb6 1 1 .g4 0-0 12.g5 Nh5
1 3.Rgl Qc7 14.Nd5 Bxd5 1 5.exd5 a5 1 6.Nc5 Rac8 17.c3 Nxd5
1 8.Qxd5 dxc5 19.Bc4 Rcd8 20.Qe4 g6 2 1 .h4 Rd4 22.cxd4 cxd4
23.Bd2 Qxc4+ 24.Kbl Qb5 25.a4 Qc5 26.Rcl Qd6 27.Rgel f6 28.f4
Qa6 29.Rc7 Bd6 30.Rd7 Kh8 3 1 .fxe5 fxe5 32.Bcl Ng3 33.Qd5 Nf5
34.Rxe5 Bxe5 35.Qxe5+ Kg8 36.Ka2 Qc6 37.Rc7 Qxa4+ 38.Kbl
Qb3 39.h5 gxh5 40.Qe4 d3 41 .Rc3 Qb5 42.Qe6+ Kh8 43.Bd2 Qe8
44.Qd5 Qf7 45.Qxd3 Ng7 46.Qd4 Qf5+ 47.Ka2 Qe6+ 48.Rb3 b5
49.Bc3 Rg8 50.Bxa5 Ra8 5 1 . Qb4 Qd5 52.Kbl Qdl + 53.Ka2 Qd8
54.Ra3, 0-1
Shahade - Abrahayman (U.S. Championship, 2004)

1 .e4 e6 2.d4 d5 3.Nd2 Nf6 4.e5 Nfd7 5.c3 c5 6.Bd3 Nc6 7.Ngf3 Qb6
8.0-0 cxd4 9.cxd4 Nxd4 10.Nxd4 Qxd4 1 1 .NG Qb6 1 2.Qa4 Be7
13.Qg4 Kft3 14.Bg5 Qd8 1 5 .Qf4 Nc5 16.Bc2 Bd7 17.b4 Na6 1 8.a3
Kg8 1 9.Bd3 h6 20.Bxe7 Qxe7 2 1 .Rfc l Be8 22.Rc3 Rd8 23.Qd4 Nb8
24.b5 b6 25.h4 g6 26.Qb4 Qb7 27.Nd4 h5 28.Racl Rd7 29.Nc6
Kg7 30. Qf4 Rc7 31 .Nd8, 1-0.
Zatonskih - Shahade (U.S. Championship, 2004)

1 .e4 c5 2.Nf3 d6 3.Bb5+ Bd7 4.Bxd7+ Nxd7 5.0--0 Ngf6 6.Nc3
g6 7.d3 Bg7 8.Ng5 h6 9.Nh3 0-0 1 0.f4 c4 1 1 .Khl cxd3 1 2.cxd3
Qa5 1 3.Qe2 Qh5 14.Qel Nc5 1 5.d4 Nd3 1 6.Qd2 Nxcl 17.Raxcl
e5 1 8.fxe5 dxe5 19.d5 Rac8 20.Nf2 Rfd8 2 1 .Ne2 Rxcl 22.Rxcl
Ne8 23.Rc3 Nd6 24.Rh3 Qg5 25.Qxg5 hxg5 26.g4 f6 27.Rc3 Rc8
28.Rxc8+ Nxc8 29.Nd3 Bf8 30.Kg2 Kf7 3 1 . Kf3 Bd6 32.Ke3 Ke7
33.Nc3 Kd7 34.Nbl Nb6 35.b3 Nc8 36.Nd2 b6 37.NG Ne7 38.h4
gxh4 39.Nxh4 g5 40.NG Ng6 41 .Nh2 Ne7 42.Nfl Ng8 43.Kd2 Nh6
44.Ne3 Kc7 45.Kc3 b5 46.a4 Kb6 47.Kd2 a6 48.NfS Nxf5 49.exfS
bxa4 50.bxa4 e4 5 1 .Nf2 e3+ 52.Kxe3 Bc5+ 53.Kf3 Bxf2 54.Kxf2
Kc5 55.Ke3 Kxd5 56.a5 Ke5 57.Kd3 Kf4 58.Kc4 Kxg4 59.Kc5 Kxf5
60.Kb6 g4 61 .Kxa6 g3 62.Kb7 g2 63.a6 g1Q 64.a7 Qal 65.a8Q, 0-1 .

31 0 CH ESS BITCH
Shahade - Belakovskaya (U.S. Championship, 2004)

1 .e4 e5 2.N8 Nc6 3.Bb5 a6 4.Ba4 Nf6 5.0-0 Be7 6.Re1 b5 7.Bb3
0-0 S.h3 Bb7 9.d3 d6 1 0.a3 Na5 1 1 .Ba2 c5 1 2.Nbd2 Qc7 13.Nf1
RaeS 14.Ne3 BdS 1 5.Nh2 Nc6 16.Nhg4 Nxg4 1 7.hxg4 Bg5 1 S.c3
Ne7 19.QG Qd7 20.N5 Bxcl 2 1 .Raxcl Ng6 22.Rcdl RdS 23.d4
Qc7 24.dxc5 dxc5 25.Bd5 BcS 26.g3 Be6 27.c4 Ne7 2S.Ne3 Rd6
29.g5 Nc6 30.Bxc6 Qxc6 3 1 .Nd5 Qd7 32.Qc3 f6 33.gxf6 gxf6
34.cxb5 Bxd5 35.exd5 Qxb5 36.Rd2 RbS 37.Rcl RcS 3S.Qc4
Qxc4 39.Rxc4 Kf7 40.b4 RcdS 41 .Rxc5 Kg6 42.Kg2 K5 43.KG
e4+ 44.Ke3 Ke5 45 .a4 5 46.Rc6 h5 47.Rxd6 Rxd6 4S.8 h4 49.f4+
Kf6 50.gxh4 Ke7 5 1 .Kd4 Rh6 52.Ke5 Rxh4 53.Kx5 e3 54.Re2 Kd6
55.Rxe3 Kxd5 56.Re5+ Kc4 57.b5 axb5 5S.axb5 Rh6 59.Ke4 Rb6
60.5 Rh6 6 1 .Re6 Rh4+ 62.Ke5 Kxb5 63.Kd6 Ra4 64.Re5+ Kb6
65.f6 Ra7 66.Re7 Ral 67.ReS Rdl + 6S.Ke7 Kc7 69.f7 Rel + 70.Kf6
Rfl + 71 .Kg6 Rgl + 72.Kh5 Rhl + 73.Kg4 Rgl + 74.Kh3 Rhl +
75.Kg2. 1-0.
Notes
1. Playing Like a Girl

1. H.J.R. Murray, History of Chess. New York: Oxford University Press, 1913,
p. 530.
2. War-Torn Pioneers: Vera Menchik and Sonja Graf

1. British Chess Magazine, 1 937.
2. Margaret Hilton Brown, "Tribute to Vera Menchik," British Chess Magazine,
1 944.
3. There were no copies of I Am Susann avaliable in U.S. bookstores or
libraries. Henk Chevret ofThe Hague Collection sent me a copy for
Christmas.
4. R. H. Wood, "Rolling Down to Rio," Chess, September 20, 1 939, pp. 1 8-
1 9 (article was written before, but published after, the start of the War.)
5. British Chess Magazine, August 1 944.
6. Thanks to Michael Negele, who encountered these stories in Max Euwe's
writing in researching Sonja Graf's life for the German magazine KARL.
7. Kathryn Slater, "Women's Chess," Chess Life, October 1 966.
8. John Graham, Women in Chess: Players of the Modern Age. Jefferson, NC:
McFarland & Co., 1 987.
3. Building a Dynasty: The Women of Georgia

1 . New In Chess, No. 8, 2003, p. 106.
2. Chess Life & Review, January 1 979.
3. Graham, op. cit., p. 43.
4. In Olympiads played between 1 957-1978, there were three-player
women's teams with two boards and one alternate.
5. Inside Chess,Vol. 1 , Issue 25, pp. 4-5.
4. Be Like Judit!
1. Ratings change incrementally but constantly, so these are approximate
figures.
2. ChessCafe.com interview between Misha Savinov and Olga Alexandrova.
3. Simone de Beauvoir, The Second Sex. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1 952,
pp. 604-605.
4. Melbourne Herald, April 1 , 1 998.
31 1
31 2 C H ESS B ITCH
5 . Bring Up Grandmasters: The Polgar Sisters
1 . Susan Polgar on chess, ChessCafe.com March 2003.

2 . Ibid.
3 . Zsuzsa Polgar and Jacob Shutzman, Queen of the Kings Game. New York:
CompChess Cosulting, 1 997, p. 1 7 .
4. Ibid.
5. New In Chess, No. 8, 1 989, p. 34.
6. Tibor Karolyi, judit Polgar: The Princess of Chess. London: B. T. Batford,
2004, p. 38.
7. New In Chess, No. 2, 1 989.
8. Cathy Forbes, The Polgar Sisters: Training or Genius? New York: Henry Holt
and Co. , 1 992, p. 49.
9. Dirk Jan Ten Geuzendam, New In Chess, No. 4, 1 994.
10. Forbes, op. cit., p. 1 77.
1 1 . Polgar and Shutzman, op. cit., p. 83 .
1 2. Susan had occasionally chose to develop her King's Knight on the first
move (1 .Nf3), the third or fourth most popular starting move, which
often involves playing d4 later, thus leading to positions that would have
come about after 1 .d4 anyway.
6. Women Only!
1 . Graham, loc. cit.
7 . Chinese Style
1 . The quotes are from Xie Jun's book Chess Champion from China: The Life
and Games of Xie jun. London: Gambit Publications Ltd., 1998.
2. Sarah Hurst, Curse of Kirsan. Milford, CT: Russell Enterprises, 2002.
3. "Making All the Right Moves" Asia Time magazine, April 8, 2002.
4. Ibid.
5 . "God of Big Trends," Bitch magazine, No. 1 6 , Spring 2002.
6. Asia Time magazine, op. cit.
7 . Yu Nan's translations, found on his Internet site. At the time of writing,
the book is only available in Chinese languages.
8. New In Chess, No. 1 , 2003.
8. Juno and Genius
1 . Edward Lasker, "Letter from a Woman," Chessfor Fun and Chessfor Blood.
New York: David McKay Company, Inc., 1 942 .
2. John Berger, JiVtzys of Seeing. New York: Penguin Books, 1 972.
NOTES 3 1 3
9. European Divas
1 . In Russian, Sasha is a nickname for Alexandra.

2. Nigel Farndale, "Blitzed by Russia's pawn star," Telegraph, August 1 4, 2002.
10. Checkmate Around the World
1. New In Chess, No. 8, 2003, pp. 65.

2. Ibid.
3. Ibid. No. 5 , 1 995.
1 1 . Playing for America
1. New York Sun, April 16, 1937.

2. New York Herald Tribune, February 28, 1 937.
3. The Cleveland Public Library houses the largest collection of chess books
and memorabilia in the world, and the Midwestern former steel capital is
an unlikely Mecca for a small but zealous group of chess historians. Upon
visiting the library myself, I was stunned by its wealth of materials, such as
personal letters, original photographs, and rare books. The material in this
chapter as well as in Chapter 2 is largely based on my findings there.

4. Rank and File, January/February 1 993, pp. 1 6- 1 7 .
5 . "Queen Among the Knights," New York Post, September 1 0 , 1 945.
6. A preset number ofWorld Championship invitations are awarded to
Zones consisting of several countries.
7 . The winner was the young Nona Gaprindihasvilli, who later that winter
defeated Bykova for the title.
8. Although many teams fielded two players and an alternate, the United
States Federation only sponsored a two-player women's team.
9. Newsweek, May 22, 1 96 1 .
1 2 . Gender Play: Angela from Texas
1 . H .J.R. Murray, History of Chess. New York: Oxford University Press, 1 9 1 3 ,

pp. 426-427.
1 3 . Worst to First
1 . Seth Mydans, "Where Chess Is King and the People Are Pawns," The New
York Times June 20, 2004.
2. In the final round, I lost against Irina Krush, who played a nice game. She
ended up tying with Anna Zatonskih for second/ third place.
Bib liography
Books
Beauvoir, Simone de, The Second Sex. NewYork: Alfred A. Knopf, 1 953.
Berger, John, Ways of Seeing. Middlesex: Penguin Books, 1 972.
By kova, Elizaveta, Vera Menchik. Moscow: Physiculture and Sport, 1 957.
Cabanne, Pierre, Dialogues with Marcel Duchamp. Cambridge, MA: Da Capo Press, 1 987
Cockburn, Alexander, Idle Passion: Chess and the Dance of Death. New York: Simon and
Schuster, 1 97 4.
Fine, Reuben, Psychoanalytic Observations on Chess and Chess Masters. New York: National
Psychological Association, 1 956.
Forbes, Cathy, The Polgar Sisters: Training or Genius? New York: Henry Holt, 1 992.
Goldberg, Steven, Why Men Rule: A Theory of Male Dominance. Chicago: Open Court, 1 993.
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Susann), 1 946.
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Enterprises, 2002.
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Kasparov, Garry with Donald Trelford, Child of Change: The Autobiography of Garry
Kasparov. London: Hutchinson, 1 987.
Kosteniuk, Alexandra, How I Became a Grandmaster atAge 1 4. Moscow: AkyAS

Publishing, 200 1 .
Liu Wenzhe, Chinese School of Chess. London: B .T. Batsford, 2002.
Messner A. Michael, Taking the Field: Women, Men, and Sports. Minneapolis: University of
Minnesota, 2002.
Murray, H.J.R., History of Chess. New York: Oxford University Press, 1 9 1 3 .
Nochlin, Linda, "Why Have There Been No Great Women Artists?" Women, Art and
Power and Other Essays. NewYork: Harper and Row, 1 989.
Polgar, Zsuzsa (Susan) and Jacob Shutzman, Queen of the Kings Game. New York:
CompChess Consulting, 1 997.
31 4
B I B LI O G RAPHY 3 1 5
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2002.
Xie Jun, Chess Championfrom China: The Life and Games ofXieJun, London: Gambit
Publications Ltd., 1 998.Yalom, Marilyn, The Birth of the Chess Queen. New
York: HarperCollins, 2004.
Newspapers, Periodicals, I nternet, Other

Associated Press, "Lisa Lane, Chess Player, Quits Tourney Because She's in Love," New
York Times, January 3, 1 962.
Beech, Hannah, "Making All the Right Moves," Time Asia, April 1 , 2002.
Benko, Pal, "Match of the Century," Chess Life and Review, Vol. 34, No. 1 , January 1 979.
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Cantwell, Robert, "Queen of Knights and Pawns," Sports Illustrated, Vol. 1 5 , No. 6.
Clarke, P.H, "Vera Menchik: First Queen of Chess," British Chess Magazine, 1 958.
Duffy, Pat, "Diana Lanni: Chess Champion with a Checkered Past," Ms, Vol. 12, No. 7
(January 1984).
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25, December 26, 1 988.
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2004.
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Gresser, Gisela, "Chess Queens in Moscow." Unpublished article.
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May 1 6 , 1 963.
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316 C H ESS B ITCH
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York Times, December 16, 2000.
I ndex of Names
Abrahayman, Tatev, 28 1-82 Cage,John, 1 57

Adorjan, Andras, 89 Campomanes, Florencio, 97
Adrian,Venice, 255-56 Cantwell, Robert, 233 .
Akmilovskaya, Elena (see Donaldson, Capablanca, Jose, 22, 27-28, 94, 228
Elena) Charbonneau, Pascal, 68, 251-52, 268,
Al-Modiahki, Mohamad, 68, 1 36 269, 270, 271
Alexandria, Nana, 47, 50, 5 1 , 60 Chiburdanidze, Maya, 48-52, 54, 55, 56,
Alexandrova, Olga, 69 59, 8 1 , 83, 86, 97, 99, 100, 126, 127,
Alston, Angela, 258-66 1 28-29, 134, 274
Anand, Viswanathan, 208 Christiansen, Larry, 84, 122
Anderson, Michelle, 253 Chun, Rene, 65
Anderson, Selby; 264 Cmilyte,Victoria, 67-68, 1 03, 1 69, 1 70,
Angelova, Pavlina, 85 185
Arakhamia, Ketevan, 25, 59, 86, 1 69, Cochburn,Alexander, 156
213 Cramling, Pia, 1 6 , 1 69, 1 70-7 1
Arkell, Keith, 69 Crotto, Rachel, 244-47
Arkell, Susan, 69
Ashley, Maurice, 279 Denker, Arnold, 224
Di Camilo, Attilio, 235
Babitz, Eve, 24 Donaldson, Elena, 53-56, 85, 1 39, 140,
Baginskaite, Camila, 2 1 6 249
Bain, Mary, 228-33, 237 Donaldson, John, 54-55, 85
Bareev, Evgeny, 9 1 Duchamp, Marcel, 23-24, 65, 1 57 ,
Battsetseg, Tsagaan, 279-80 254-55
Beauvoir, Simone de, 69 Dzagnidze, Nana, 27, 59, 27 1 , 272, 273,
Becker, Albert, 23 274
Belakovskaya, Angelina, 1 03, 249,
283-84 Dzindzichasvili, Roman, 242
Belkin, Lisa, 1 56 Edgard, Laura, 1 08
Benjamin,Joel, 231 Ehlvest, Jan, 46
Benko, Pal, 48 Elo, Arpad, 3
Berger,John, 155 Euwe, Max, 24, 38-39
Bisguier, Arthur, 26 Eynullayeva, Roza, 106
Bloom, Harold, 1 48
Bosmoon-Lanchava, Tea, 56, 58-59, 62 Federowicz,John, 122
Botvinnik, Mikhail, 24, 40, 53 Fey, Tina, 1 1 1
Brady, Frank, 229 Fierro, Martha, 1 1 5 , 1 95-201
Bronstein, David, 267 Fine, Reuben, 4, 1 1 , 27, 224
Bykova, Elizaveta, 4 1 , 42, 46, 230 Fischer, Bobby, 64-65, 90, 1 54, 1 63, 238
31 7
318 C H ESS B ITCH
Fishbein, Alexander, 122 Ilyumzhinov, Kirsan, 1 3 1 , 267, 270

Flohr, Salo, 1 9 , 46 Ioseliani, Nana, 99, 1 02, 1 27
Font, Gusztav, 9 1 Ivanchuk,Vassily, 67
Forbes, Cathy, 69, 90, 94-95, 1 1 0, 1 1 9,
171 Jezierska, Ivona, 78, 227-28, 245
Frias, Victor, 33, 47, 1 5 5 , 275-76, 281 Jorgenson, Christine, 260
Friedel, Frederic, 1 84, 185, 1 86, 1 8 7 Jung, Carl, 5
Gallet, Leonore, 1 47 Kahn, Julius, 222

Galliamova, Alisa, 67, 86, 1 3 1 , 1 69-70 Kaidanov, Gregory, 5, 27
Gaprindashvili, Nona, 43-48, 50, 56, 59, Kaplan, Marley, 253
6 1 , 86 , 97 , 99, 100, 127, 226 Karff, Abe, 22 1 , 222, 223, 227, 229, 232,
Garces, Diego, 1 76, 1 77, 178, 1 79 233
Georgiev,Vladimir, 271 KarfI, Mona, 67, 220-22
Gilbert, Linda Carol, 17, 62 Karledazde, 44, 47
Goebbels, Joseph, 35 Karpov, Anatoly, 64
Goldberg, Steven, 1 48-49 Kasparov, Garry, 3, 4, 15, 46, 53-54,
Golentiani, Rusa, 1 1 7 75-77, 9 1 , 92, 1 1 7-1 8, 1 88, 232,
Goletiani, Rusudan, 1 4-15, 44, 56-59, 255, 274-75
60, 6 1 , 62, 72, 1 1 6, 278-79, 284 Kats, Elina, 1 3
Golombek, H. M., 25, 230 Kaufinan, Allen, 39, 221, 227, 229
Govorukhin, Stanislav, 1 7 4 Kennedy, Shernaz, 65, 103
Graf, Sonja, 1 9 , 28-40 Keres, Paul, 34, 35
Graf, Steffi, 63 Khodarkovsky, Michael, 15, 1 1 7, 27 5
Graham, John, 42, 46 Khursitdze, Nino, 1 34
Granda Zuniga, Julio, 100 Kingston, Taylor, 175-7 6
Grau, Roberto, 1 9 Kogan, Artur, 1 66
Greengard, Mig, 1 8 1 -82 Koneru, Humpy, 208-9, 2 1 1 , 27 1 , 274
Gresser, Gisela, 1 56, 1 76, 220, 2 2 1 , 222- Koneru, Latha, 209
28, 229, 23 1 , 232, 233, 237 Konsitseva, Tatiana, 142
Gresser, William, 222 Kopinits, Tina, 21 1-12
Gufeld, Eduard, 48, 2 1 5 Korchnoi,Victor, 2 1 2
Gurevich, Ilya, 1 38, 1 55, 248 Kosashvili,Yona, 87
Gurieli, Nino, 59-60 Kosintseva, Nadezhda, 1 69
Kosintseva, Tatiana, 1 69, 1 70
Hahn, Anna, 63, 65-66, 1 1 2, 1 1 6, 1 40, Kosteniuk, Alexandra, 64, 1 33-34,
1 68, 2 1 6 1 72-84
Hickey, Neil, 236, 238 Kottman, Hans, 89
Hickl, Jorg, 1 4 1 Kournikova, Anna, 1 79-80
Hoang Minh Chuong, 1 93 Kouvatsou, Maria, 7 1 -72
Hoang Trang Thranh, 1 34, 1 9 1-95 Kovalevskaya, Ekaterina, 27 4
Horowitz, I. A., 224 Kramnik,Vladimir, 76, 1 67
Hueng, Stephanie, 1 06 Kristeva, Julia, 147
Hunt, Harriet, 1 8, 66, 154
Hurst, Sarah, 159
I N D EX OF NAM ES 3 1 9
Krush, Irina, 1 3, 1 4, 1 6, 64, 68, 7 1 , 72, Morphy, Paul, 1 53-54

1 1 1-12, 1 1 3 , 1 1 6, 1 1 7, 1 1 8, 1 1 9, Morrison, Melissa, 75
1 33 , 1 38, 1 39, 1 40, 1 72, 1 87, 249, Murray, H . J. R., 1 0, 257
250-53, 267, 268-7 1 , 27 1 , 273,
274, 275 Nabakov,Vladimir, 1 54
Kuang Yinghui, 1 4 1 Naj dorf, Mikhail (Moishe), 35, 38
Kurtsidze, Nino, 1 69 Nangwale, Bebbington, 206
Kushnir, Alla, 47, 50, 226 Nangwale, Linda, 1 53, 1 89, 204-8, 2 1 6
Nikolova, Ettie, 1 06
Lahno, Katerina, 27 4 Nochlin, Linda, 148-49
Lane, Lisa, 233-39
Langwale, Linda, 6 1 Orlov, Jeorgi, 56
Lanni, Diana, 67, 239-44, 245, 247, 249
Lasker, Edward, 6 7, 22 1 , 224, 227 Paehtz, Elisabeth, 8-9, 66, 132, 1 69,
Lasker, Emmanuel, 24, 260 1 82-83 , 27 1
Lautier, Joel, 67, 1 66-68, 2 1 6 Paridar, Shadi, 202-4
Lawson, David, 230 Parilla, Medina, 254
Lazarevic, Milunka, 226 Peptan, Corina, 50-5 1 , 1 69, 1 7 1
Leko, Peter, 1 90 Perez, Jefferson, 1 97
Levitina, Irina, 5 1-52, 249 Peters,Jack, 247
Lombardy, William, 1 53 Petukhov, Vladimir, 54
Lomineishvili, Maia, 59 Philidor, Fran<;ois Andre Danican, 1 44
Luzhin,Vladimir, 1 54 Piatigorsky, Gregor, 248
Piatigorsky, Jacqueline, 248
Macieja, Bartek, 76 Piket,Jereon, 73
Madl, Idliko, 85, 86 Pinkus, Albert S., 224
Magrill, Paul, 242 Pokorna, Regina, 1 8 5
Manakova, Maria, 1 84-85 Polgar,Judit, 3, 8, 1 2 , 16, 55, 63, 64, 73-
Mao Zedong, 126 78, 79, 84-85, 86, 88-93, 97-98,
Maric,Alisa, 127 1 00, 106, 1 07, 1 1 8, 1 30, 1 3 1 , 1 47,
Marinello, Beatriz, 253 1 55 , 1 65, 1 83, 1 90
Maroczy, Geza, 2 1 , 22-23 Polgar, Klara Alberger, 78, 82, 83
Marshall, Caroline, 2 1 9 Polgar, Laszlo, 78, 80, 82, 93, 94, 98
Marshall, Frank ]., 2 1 9 , 224 Polgar, Sofia, 1 2 , 79, 83, 84, 85, 86,
Matnadze, Ana, 59 87-88, 98
Mead, Margaret, 1 56 Polgar, Susan (Zsuzsa) , 9, 1 1 , 1 3 , 1 5-16,
Menchik, Rufus, 36 1 7-1 8, 78-8 1 , 79, 82-85, 86, 89,
Menchik,Vera, 1 9-28, 35, 36-37, 39-40, 93-94, 96, 1 09, 1 1 6, 1 1 7, 1 1 8, 1 30,
41, 1 09, 228 1 76, 1 88, 275, 276
Messner, Michael, 1 80 Portisch, Lajos, 89
Mieses, Jacques, 36 Pourkashian, Atousa, 203
Miles, Tony, 7 Price, Edith, 2 1
Minkovich, Zhenia, 173
Moncayo, Evelyn, 64, 201 Qin Kanying, 1 32
320 C H ESS BITCH
Raettig, Adele, 224 Steiner, Herman, 224

Rand, Ayn, 63, 1 69, 2 1 0 Stevenson, Rufus, 24-25
Ratner, Aviv, 220 Stevenson, Vernon, 39
Redman, Tim, 263 Submarayan, Viji, 209-1 1
Reizniece, Dana, 1 8 5
Rentero, Luis, 1 3 0 Tal, Mikhail, 63, 1 78, 1 86
Reshevsky, Samuel, 24 Tannenbaum, Leora, 1 1 1
Richards, Renee, 263 Tarrasch, Seigbert, 30
Rivero, Adele, 2 1 9-20 Tate, Emory, 1 1
Rowson, Jonathan, 208, 212 Teasley, Dorothy, 220
Roy, Adhuriti, 1 35 Tembo, Carolyn, 206
Rubinstein, Akiba, 22 Tiviakov, Sergei, 9 1
Rubtsova, Olga, 4 1 , 42 Tkachiev,Vladimir, 1 8 5
Rudenko, Ludmilla, 40-4 1 , 42, 223, 230 Tolnai, Tibor, 90
Rushdie, Salman, 2 1 3 Truong, Paul, 13, 1 5, 1 05
Rybenko, Ksenya, 1 84
Vepkhvishvili,Variam, 43
Saakahsvili, Mikheil, 60 Vicary, Elizabeth, 66, 67, 135, 155
Sagalchik, Gennady, 122
Sagalchik, Olga, 120, 122 Wang Pin, 139, 1 40-41
Salami, Fatemeh, 201-2, 203, 204 Weart, Edith L., 2 1 9
Savereide, Diane, 247-49 Wenzhe, Liu, 127, 128, 1 43, 145
Sears, Sally, 1 5 6 Willis, Ellen, 1 8
Sebag, Marie, )JO Winterson, Jeanette, 2 1 3
Seirawan,Yasser, 122 Wiseman, Rosalind, 1 1 1
Shabalov, Alexander, 6, 1 40 Wood, B. H., 35
Shabazz, Baraka, 80-81 Woolf,Virginia, 257
Shahade, Greg, 6-7, 26-27, 149, 1 99- Wu Zeitan, 63-64
200, 277, 278
Shahade,Jennifer, 7, 13, 26-27, 1 1 7, Xie Jun, 98, 100-1 0 1 , 1 25-32, 1 33 , 1 37,
1 53, 1 87 , 275, 276 1 38, 1 40, 1 4 1 , 142, 1 52
Shahade, Michael, 6-7, 8, 277 Xu Yuanyuan, 144
Sheldon, H. D. , 2 1 5 XuYuhua, 134, 1 38-39, 1 40, 1 4 1 , 142
Shevardnadze, Eduard, 60
Shirov, Alexei, 67-68, 9 1 Yalom, Marilyn, 12, 70
Short, Nigel, 1 1 Ye Jiangchuan, 1 27-28
Shutzman, Jacob, 1 0 1-2 Yermolinsky, Alex, 2 1 6
Simmons, Rachel, 1 1 1
Simutowe, Amon, 207 Zaitchik, Gennady, 44-45
Skripchenko,Almira, 2-3 , 63, 67, 68-69, Zatonskih, Anna, 1 3-14, 1 1 6, 1 1 7, 1 1 8,
1 1 0, 134, 1 45 , 1 66-69, 2 1 0, 2 1 6 275, 276, 282-83, 284
Solomon, Sally, 67 Zhao Xue, 1 42, 143, 1 44
Spassky, Boris, 64 Zhu Chen, 1 , 63, 68, 1 32-38, 133, 1 42,
Stefanova, Antoaneta, 64, 159-66, 1 69, 1 73
170, 1 7 1-72, 1 97 , 1 98, 1 99, 27 1 , Zhukova, Natalya, 273
273-74
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Chess Bitch : women in the ultimate intellectual sport I

by Jennifer Shahade.-1 st ed.

Includes bibliographical references and index.

1 . Women chess players-Biography. I. Title

Cover design by Wade Lageose for Lageose Design

Cover photograph by Gabrielle Revlock

1. Playing Like a Girl 1

2 . War-Torn Pioneers: Vera Menchik and Sonja Graf 19

3. Building a Dynasty: The Women of Georgia 43

5. Bringing Up Grandmasters: The Polgar Sisters 75

6. Women Only! 107

7. Chinese Style 125

8. Juno and Genius 14 7

9. European Divas 159

10. Checkmate Around the World 189

11. Playing for America 215

1 2 . Gender Play: Angela from Texas 257

13. Worst to First 267

Index of Nan1es 317

is book would be impossible without the help of friends and

materials on my visit to the John G. White Collection in Cleveland,

Playing Like A Girl

I am a woman who plays a mans game, so I balance

was angry, overwrought, and couldn't control my aggression and

hours. I was already exhausted and running on caffeine, sandwiches

Explanations abound as to why won1en are rarely drawn to co1n­

I think it would be easier if I were a woman."According to the 2003

The desire to find gender-based stylistic differences is based on a belief

Michael, Jennifer, and Greg Shahade. (Photo by Sylvia Plachy.)

dency to choose solid, positional set-ups, such as the English opening

my brother and father as national masters. I was euphoric. My father,

The modern Queen is the most powerful piece on the chessboard,

tive experimentation, brought on by dissatisfaction with the old

The power of the Queen foreshadows the strength of the women

The Dream Team: Jennifer Shahade, Irina Krush, Anna Zatonskih,

from the California School of Professional Psychology, Los Angeles,

ty percent of the world's chess potential. Fenunist writer Ellen Willis

Sonja Gref has written a book! We must be in the presence

era Menchik and Sonja Graf played in the first head-to-head

In photographs, Vera Menchik is pictured smiling sweetly with nary a

does not speak the language." Vera

This 1969 issue of

of Hungary. Training Vera helped

lar to Vera's. Both were superstars at their world-class events-Duchamp

a myth-my brother and coaches were somehow fallible, as we all are.

larly determined to hold Capablanca to a draw (nobody wins, each

men the fearless, confident style she exhibited against women.

I Am Susan book jacket

through to a future interesting life: a panorama of travels, independence,

the difference between the strong

War would have prevented such an adventure. Sonja was immediately

Vera Menchik played in one tournament in Montevideo, Uruguay, be­

Sonja G raf and Max Euwe.

clasped in a decidedly anti-war gesture. Sonja was enamored with the

to a Mr. Vernon Stevenson, an American sailor. Stevenson happened

Elizaveta Bykova (191 3-1989) defeated Rudenko in a match for the

Explanations abound as to why won1en are rarely drawn to co1n

Vera Menchik played in one tournament in Montevideo, Uruguay, be

t is two o'clock in the A.M., and five-time Women's World Cham

Since the break-up of the Soviet Union in 1 99 1 , the economy in Geor

Brooklyn, has always been attracted to strong chessplayers and is un

Her sisters overshadowed middle child Sofia, sandwiched between pio

hen I moved to NewYork City in 1 998, I got a job at Chess

progressive, women's tournaments are now controversial for the oppo

Irina and I first became friends as roommates in a junior competi