Magnus Carlsen: the cool grandmaster who cries when he loses to himself

Erica Buist

Wednesday marks the start of a six-month countdown to the World Chess Championship in New York, where Russia’s Sergey Karjakin will try to snatch the title from the champion, Magnus Carlsen from Norway, who has been hogging (sorry, holding) it since 2013.

Still, how exciting is it really? You never see defeated chess players dropping to their knees and rending their garments. Chess isn’t like football – not least because it doesn’t have anything like the level of money, glitz or fanbase.

Actually, it’s not as far off as you’d think. Chess has exploded in popularity in recent years: between 2009-2013 alone there was a worldwide increase of 37% in open tournaments, perhaps the most notable being the Millionaire Chess tournament in Las Vegas, the highest-stakes open tournament in history with $1m of prizes up for grabs.

When Carlsen and Karjakin go head to head in the 12-round match, it will be for a prize of at least €1m (£790,000). The match is expected to attract a huge global audience via TV and internet. So it is, it seems, kind of a big deal.

To top it off,the defending world champion isn’t a geek with the social skills of a handless sock puppet. He has an army of fans and his own app. He’s even done spot of modelling.

Carlsen became a grandmaster at 13. A few days before his 22nd birthday in 2013, he bagged the title of world champion, and retained it the following year at a tournament in Sochi, defeating former champion VishyAnand. Hailed by some as the best chess player the world has ever seen, he’s appeared on TV, radio, billboards and the sides of buses. Ahead of our meeting, I half expect the 25-year-old to stride in with an entourage of doe-eyed groupies. Instead he wanders in clutching a sandwich, hands me a paper bag and says: “Sorry I’m late. I brought you a pastry.”

Carlsen started playing chess with his father at five. “He started with one pawn, and I had all the pieces, and when I managed to beat him he got two pawns, and so on,” he remembers. “So he made it progressively more difficult as I got better.” Unlike other grandmasters, it took him until age eight to really engage with the game: “I needed to mature a bit at the start. I just wasn’t ready.” He needed to become a mature eight-year-old? “Well, some people can really focus on chess at a much earlier age, even four or five years old, but I couldn’t. Age eight was the right time for me.”

Now Carlsen believes he’s already reached the peak of his brain power? “I still think people can learn at any age – I’m actually sure about that. It’s just that the ceiling is lower for how far you want to go.”

The Guardian. Wednesday 11 May 2016 11.00 BST

UNIT VII

Arthur Evelyn St. John Waugh (28 October 1903 – 10 April 1966), known by his pen name Evelyn Waugh, was an English writer of novels, biographies and travel books. His most famous works include the early satires “Decline and Fall”, “A Handful of Dust”,“The Loved One”, “Vile Bodies”,“Brideshead Revisited” and the Second World War trilogy “Sword of Honour” . As a writer, Evelyn Waugh is recognised as one of the great prose stylists of the English language in the 20th century.

Decline and Fall

Part 1

Chapter V

Discipline

Prayers were held downstairs in the main hall of the Castle. The boys stood ranged along the panelled walls, each holding in his hands a little pile of books. Grimes sat on one of the chairs beside the baronial chimneypiece.

'Morning,’ he said to Paul; 'only just down, I'm afraid. Do I smell of drink’?

'Yes,’ said Paul.

'Comes of missing breakfast. Prendy been telling you about his Doubts’?

'Yes’, said Paul.

'Funny thing’, said Grimes, 'but I've never been worried in that way. I don't pretend to be a particularly pious sort of chap, but I've never had any Doubts. When you've been in the soup as often as I have, it gives you a sort of feeling that everything's for the best, really.

Here comes the old man. This is where we stand up’.

As the bell stopped ringing Dr Fagan swept into the hall, the robes of a Doctor of Philosophy swelling and billowing about him. He wore an orchid in his buttonhole.

'Good morning, gentlemen,’ he said.

'Good morning, sir,’ chorused the boys.

The Doctor advanced to the table at the end of the room, picked up a Bible, and opening it at random, read a chapter of blood‑curdling military history without any evident relish. From that he plunged into the Lord's prayer, which the boys took up in a quiet chatter. Prendergast's voice led them in tones that testified to his ecclesiastical past.

Then the Doctor glanced at a sheet of notes he held in his hand. 'Boys, he said, 'I have some announcements to make. The Fagan cross‑country running challenge cup will not be competed for this year on account of the floods.

'I expect the old boy has popped it,’ said Grimes in Paul's ear.

'Nor will the Llanabba Essay Prize’.

'On account of the floods,’ said Grimes.

'I have received my account for the telephone’, proceeded Dr Fagan, 'and I find that during the past quarter there have been no less than twenty‑three trunk calls to London, none of which was sent by me or by members of my family. I look to the prefects to stop this, unless of course they are themselves responsible, in which case I must urge them in my own interests to make use of the village post‑office, to which they have access’.

'I think that is everything, isn't it, Mr Prendergast?’

'Cigars,’ said Mr Prendergast in a stage whisper.

'Ah yes, cigars. Boys, I have been deeply distressed to learn that several cigar ends have been found ‑ where have they been found?’

'Boiler‑room’.

'In the boiler‑room. I regard this as reprehensible. What boy has been smoking cigars in the boiler‑room?’

There was a prolonged silence, during which the Doctor's eye travelled down the line of boys.

‘I will give the culprit until luncheon to give himself up. If I do not hear from him by then the whole school will be heavily punished’.

'Damn!’ said Grimes. 'I gave those cigars to Clutterbuck. I hope the little beast has the sense to keep quiet.’

  'Go to your classes,’ said the Doctor.

The boys filed out.

'I should think, by the look of them, they were exceedingly cheap cigars,’ added Mr Prendergast sadly. 'They were a pale yellow colour.’

'That makes it worse,’ said the Doctor. 'To think of any boy under my charge smoking pale yellow cigars in a boiler‑room! It is not a gentlemanly fault.’

The masters went upstairs.

'That's your little mob in there,’ said Grimes; 'you let them out at eleven.’

'But what am I to teach them?’ said Paul in sudden panic.

'Oh, I shouldn't try to teach them anything, not just yet, anyway. Just keep them quiet.’

'Now that's a thing I've never learned to do,’ sighed Mr Prendergast.

Paul watched him amble into his classroom at the end of the passage, where a burst of applause greeted his arrival. Dumb with terror he went into his own classroom.

Ten boys sat before him, their hands folded, their eyes bright with expectation.

'Good morning, sir,’ said the one nearest him.

'Good morning,’ said Paul.

'Good morning, sir,’ said the next.

'Good morning,’ said Paul.

'Good morning, sir,’ said the next.

'Oh, shut up,’ said Paul.

At this the boy took out a handkerchief and began to cry quietly.

'Oh, sir,’ came a chorus of reproach, 'you've hurt his feelings. He's very sensitive; it's his Welsh blood, you know; it makes people very emotional. Say "Good morning" to him, sir, or he won't be happy all day. After all, it is a good morning, isn't it, sir?’

   'Silence!’ shouted Paul above the uproar, and for a few moments things were quieter.

'Please, sir,’ said a small voice. Paul turned and saw a grave‑looking youth holding up his hand ‑ 'please, sir, perhaps he's been smoking cigars and doesn't feel well.’

'Silence!’ said Paul again.

The ten boys stopped talking and sat perfectly still staring at him. He felt himself getting hot and red under their scrutiny.

'I suppose the first thing I ought to do is to get your names clear. What is your name?’ he asked, turning to the first boy.

'Tangent,’ sir.

'And yours?’

'Tangent, sir,’ said the next boy. Paul's heart sank.

'But you can't both be called Tangent.’

'No, sir, I'm Tangent. He's just trying to be funny.

 'I like that. Me trying to be funny! Please, sir, I'm Tangent, sir; really I am.

'If it comes to that,’ said Clutterbuck from the back of the room, 'there is only one Tangent here, and that is me. Anyone else can jolly well go to blazes.’

Paul felt desperate.

'Well, is there anyone who isn't Tangent?’

Four or five voices instantly arose.

'I'm not, sir; I'm not Tangent. I wouldn't be called Tangent, not on the end of a barge pole.’

In a few seconds the room had become divided into two parties: those who were Tangent and those who were not. Blows were already being exchanged, when the door opened and Grimes came in. There was a slight hush.

'I thought you might want this,’ he said, handing Paul a walking stick. 'And if you take my advice, you'll set them something to do.’

He went out; and Paul, firmly grasping the walking-stick, faced his form.

'Listen,’ he said. 'I don't care a damn what any of you are called, but if there's another word from anyone I shall keep you all in this afternoon.’

'You can't keep me in,’ said Clutterbuck; 'I'm going for a walk with Captain Grimes.’

'Then I shall very nearly kill you with this stick. Meanwhile you will all write an essay on "Self‑indulgence". There will be a prize of half a crown for the longest essay, irrespective of any possible merit.’

From then onwards all was silence until break. Paul, still holding his stick, gazed despondently out of the window. Now and then there rose from below the shrill voices of the servants scolding each other in Welsh. By the time the bell rang Clutterbuck had covered sixteen pages, and was awarded the half‑crown.

'Did you find those boys difficult to manage?’ asked Mr Prendergast, filling his pipe.

'Not at all,’ said Paul.

'Ah, you're lucky. I find all boys utterly intractable. I don't know why it is. Of course my wig has a lot to do with it. Have you noticed that I wear a wig?’

'No, no, of course not.’

'Well, the boys did as soon as they saw it. It was a great mistake my ever getting one. I thought when I left Worthing that I looked too old to get a job easily. I was only forty‑one. It was very expensive, even though I chose the cheapest quality. Perhaps that's why it looks so like a wig. I don't know. I knew from the first that it was a mistake, but once they had seen it, it was too late to go back. They make all sorts of jokes about it.’

'I expect they'd laugh at something else if it wasn't that.’

'Yes, no doubt they would. I daresay it's a good thing to localize their ridicule as far as possible. Oh dear! Oh dear! If it wasn't for my pipes, I don't know how I should manage to keep on. What made you come here?’

'I was sent down from Scone for indecent behaviour.’

'Oh yes, like Grimes?’

'No,’ said Paul firmly, 'not like Grimes.’

'Oh, well, it's all much the same really. And there's the bell. Oh dear! oh dear! I believe that loathsome little man's taken my gown.’

* * *

Two days later Beste‑Chetwynde pulled out the vox humana and played Pop goes the Weasel.

'D'you know, sir, you've made rather a hit with the fifth form?’

He and Paul were seated in the organ‑loft of the village church. It was their second music‑lesson.

'For goodness' sake, leave the organ alone. How d'you mean "hit"?’

'Well, Clutterbuck was in the matron's room this morning. He'd just got a tin of pineapple chunks.’ Tangent said, "Are you going to take that into Hall?" and he said, "No, I'm going to eat them in MrPennyfeather's hour." "Oh no, you're not," said Tangent. "Sweets and biscuits are one thing, but pineapple chunks are going too far. It's little stinkers like you," he said, "who turn decent masters savage."

'Do you think that's so very complimentary?’

'I think it's one of the most complimentary things I ever heard said about a master, said Beste‑Chetwynde; 'would you like me to try that hymn again?

'No,’ said Paul decisively.

'Well, then, I'll tell you another thing,’ said Beste-Chetwynde. 'You know that man Philbrick. Well, I think there's something odd about him.’

'I've no doubt of it.’

'It's not just that he's such a bad butler. The servants are always ghastly here. But I don't believe he's a butler at all.’

'I don't quite see what else he can be.’

'Well, have you ever known a butler with a diamond tie‑pin?’

'No, I don't think I have.’

'Well, Philbrick's got one, and a diamond ring too. He showed them to Brolly. Colossal great diamonds, Brolly says. Philbrick said he used to have bushels of diamonds and emeralds before the war, and that he used to eat off gold plate. We believe that he's a Russian prince in exile.’

'Generally speaking, Russians are not shy about using their titles, are they? Besides, he looks very English.

'Yes, we thought of that, but Brolly said lots of Russians came to school in England before the war. And now I am going to play the organ,’ said Beste‑Chetwynde. 'After all, my mother does pay five guineas a term extra for me to learn.’

Waugh, Evelyn, ‘Prose, Memoirs, Essays’, Moscow, Progress Publishers, 1980, p.p.55-60.

Notes.

Llanaba – the castle in the North of Wells, where the events of the novel take place.

Essay Prize – essay prize competition between the students of the school.

Worthing – a large seaside town in England.

Scone – Scone college; a fictional college of the University of Oxford.

‘Pop goes the Weasel’ – an English nursery rhyme and singing game; the jack-in-the-box children’s toy often plays this melody.

Vox humana – a reed stop on the pipe organ, so named because of its supposed resemblance to the human voice.

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