by Chantal Tseng

Knight Moves in Dark Matter

“They did nothing–other than subjecting us to complete nothingness. For, as is well known, nothing on earth puts more pressure on the human mind than nothing.” – (p.41, “Chess Story” by Stefan Zweig)

I remain to this day, fairly wary of reading the later works of an author on the verge of suicide. I can be pretty impressionable and the thought of entering the depressed mind of another, crafting his last printed words to the page, (during a very depressing present real-time), just seems ill-advised. Like piling on another load of sand into an arid desert that stretches as far as the eye can see. As if encouraging the hairy stigma of vastness to consume us, all the while drying us to our very skeletal beings, we go, “Sure, I have the skill-set for that particularly meaningless job! Hand me the shovel.”

That being said, I decided to read “Chess Story” (1942) by Stefan Zweig after a friend of mine claimed it as his favorite book. I figured a novella about chess and fascism would be up my alley regardless of the ominous historic precedent mentioned above. I mean I really enjoy chess and really hate fascism. So I risked it.

I’m alright, by the way and thank-you for asking.

I like how Zweig makes a point of clarifying that to be masterful at the game of chess does not equate to being intelligent or wise. One could be highly skilled in chess strategy but absolutely moronic when it comes to running a business, or running a country, or even just reading and understanding books. And more importantly, true brilliance can spring from just about anywhere. Think back to that truly beautiful sentiment from the animated movie “Ratatouille.” 

“Anyone can cook. But I realize, only now do I truly understand what he meant. Not everyone can become a great artist, but a great artist can come from anywhere.” – Anton Ego

Zweig’s two chess prodigies in his story come from absolutely stark beginnings. Mirko Centovic discovers chess as an introverted orphan with a natural repulsion for education exhibiting zero care for humanity, history, art, music, or anything really. And Dr. B discovers his genius via the trauma of soul crushing imprisoned solitude, extreme repetition and eventual insanity. A less than desired recipe for elevation of the mind, or rather, evolution of chess strategy.

The twisted machinations of genius are on display here. One, efficient and silent, lacking art and a care for beauty. The other a mind driven mad as though the universe itself decided to lay an egg in his brain and let it gestate for a thousand and one nights. One, a cold and calculating presence who desires nothing more than privacy, money and prestige. The other, a leaf on the wind whose intricate patterns have been denatured by the evils of the Gestapo. The latter’s strengths are his weaknesses and the former’s weaknesses snake around to uncover a darker strength. 

I won’t spoil the ending by telling you who wins their match-up. I will, however, mention the ease of the chess metaphor in wartime. It’s a game that has stood the test of time and influenced millions. Mirko meteorically rose from the less than everyday man to his notoriety and Dr. B fell from comfort and security with his former royal affiliations to a scattered sense of self. We are in the middle of World War II. The times are changing drastically, with newly introduced weapons of mass destruction and Nazis at the helm. A simple off chance meeting and a game of chess or two later…


Fast forward to the Cold War and an entirely different short story, “All the King’s Men” (1953) by Kurt Vonnegut. An American Colonel and his family survive a crash landing but end up as prisoners of war somewhere on the Asiatic coast by a Communist Guerilla Chief and his Russian ally. The Colonel and his company of sixteen are coerced into playing as live white chess pieces under his command against said Chief’s wooden black pieces. Chess, being a game of war always insists on casualties, ergo, pawns. Or, if you’re a Trekkie, “red shirts” and if you’re more Star Wars, then think stormtroopers. For the Colonel, it’s a lose-lose situation where lives are hopelessly killed off because you cannot win the game without sacrifice. Before Sophie’s Choice there was this gem of a short where hard decisions gave you the option of morally debatable lesser evils. Or of the more familiar, “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.” AND yes, it is hard not to bring Star Trek into this, seeing as how they introduced most of the world to the futuristic 3D chess set.

My Star Trek digression in images from The Original Series with fictional chess master “Mr. Spok” and co. of the U.S.S. Enterprise

But back to the main point. If you superimpose a game of chess into reality, you will end up with war, where death is inevitable and power shifts are congruent with bloodshed. Anyone can play chess if you simply learn the basic rules and moves, but to master strategy, is another level. When Dr. B essentially loses his self within the game of chess, he is really just dissolving into deep dark acknowledgment that Fascism not only took his home away but followed him across the globe. To battle everyday invisibly, yet pervasively, such a gargantuan opponent is akin to battling nothingness. What a thing to have to swallow and adapt to. A pill designed only for the other-wordly likes of Galactus or Thanos with his Infinity Gauntlet. The mind must keep its boundaries intact or else lose one’s will to keep at least one foot on the ground. People often ask “Have you lost your mind?” And perhaps the better query is simply, “Have you lost your boundaries?”

I’ll end on another completely morbid quote from something totally different as I am currently re-reading “The Runaways” by Brian K. Vaughan.

Karolina: Xavin, we have a saying on Earth: “One death is a tragedy. A million deaths is a statistic.” *

…

Xavin: I vow to do whatever I can to improve your world.

Karolina: No, only villains try to change the whole world. The rest of us take it one person at a time.

“All the King’s Men” : 2 oz. Zubrowka Vodka, .5 oz. Plum Wine, .5 oz. Cocchi Americano, lemon oil, pickled plum (not shown)

* Yesterday marked the day where on record, over one million people have died due to COVID-19.

by Chantal Tseng

The Lady of Shalott and the Crystal Spider

My Agatha Christie Sherry Book Club just finished our last session discussing “The Mirror Crack’d from Side to Side,” whose title is borrowed from Tennyson’s “The Lady of Shalott” poem. And for some odd reason, I found myself abstractly thinking about the crystal spider scene from the film “Krull” (1983). Odd indeed. And now I conjure this post in attempts to sort out this mystery of queer inspiration. 

When Christie first began writing her Miss Marple series, (1930) her brilliant down-to-earth character hardly graced the pages until often midway through the novel. As the titles progress, we start to see Jane Marple earlier and more often. By the time we get to “4:50 From Paddington,” (1957) and “The Mirror Crack’d From Side to Side,” (1962) she is all over the stories, clearly occupying a much more prominent space than just showing up with the clever answers. In nearly all of the stories, I think it is fair to say there is typically a character who doubts her abilities or writes her off as one of many old biddies with heads full of nonsense. There is a key trope about old ladies losing their ability to think properly and perhaps go on and on about provincial tangents. The first victim of the latter book, Heather, in many ways, is on her way to such a characterization before she gets killed. She is described as the kindly type who will perhaps talk your ear off while not properly acknowledging her unimpressed audience because it simply gives her too much joy to keep going. Or more specifically, as someone who likes to make a gift of seed cake to her neighbors while never bothering to discover who may or may not like seed cake and simply not taking no for an answer. Basically pushy, yet very nice. 

All in all, I theorize here that perhaps Christie was simply acknowledging the possibility that her readers might be more interested in page time dedicated to the actual mystery than more interaction with the elder ladies of interest. But after several novels, perhaps she realized her audience was truly invested in hearing more about Miss Jane Marple.

In these last two aforementioned books, there is a stronger emphasis on Marple acknowledging her own aging. She makes mention of losing her former keen eyesight, having issues with gardening, bending down and such as well as frequently dropping stitches in her knitting. Her often mentioned nephew has even enlisted the services of a condescending (yet kind) live-in woman to take care of her. And yet her wily mind continues to triumph almost as proof that her brain and sharply webbed thinking is just as keen as ever.

In stark contrast to the savvy yet humble Marple, the aging starlet Marina Gregg is at the center of the plot. She is a five times wedded Hollywood leading lady who is amidst a comeback following a breakdown of sorts, when it seems she is the target of murder. Her instability in dealing with stress and particular personal interactions adds to the notion that she has lost her mojo. The surprise arrival of a much younger rival actress further adds to her perceived struggles and also triggers for me that one scene with the Widow of the Web in “Krull.”

Lyssa Widow of the Web : These are the sands of my life. Accept them and the spider will have no power to harm you. But your own life runs out with the sand.

Ynyr : But what about your life?

Lyssa Widow of the Web : I give it to the girl who bears my name.

The trick here is that ancient Lyssa gives away her precious sands of time thereby sacrificing herself to the crystal spider and damning her long absent old lover who abandoned her big-time in the past. All this to help the dashing boyish hero out of his predicament with the megalomaniac beast in the moving castle who holds the young fire princess captive. Naturally, the spider woman magically gets to be young and beautiful again before her imminent death since she was clearly only waiting around by her lonesome all those years for her lover to return. I mean what else is there to do? Seems like a very Arthurian move if you ask me and well…Tennyson.

“She knows not what the curse may be;

Therefore she weaveth steadily,

Therefore no other care hath she,

    The Lady of Shalott.”

John William Waterhouse, “The Lady of Shalott,” 1888

Christie alludes in “The Mirror Crack’d From Side to Side” to a particular set of lines out of Tennyson’s same poem. And yet I can’t help but find so many more lines from it that keep pulling me back to Krull. It may be about the work of weaving and the cracking crystal that is the key here. Or perhaps it’s the fallen female surrounded by a sea of noble men, whether she be a cursed virgin enchanted by Lancelot, a sorceress-spider-lady with a dream of vengeance, a fire princess who apparently has no ability to wield her own power without her prince, or a highly unstable multiple divorcee balancing a flair for the dramatic whilst struggling with inner demons. In the mystery, Marina Gregg is seen to have suddenly frozen atop a stairwell with a look of shock and subtle doom that is described as akin to the last few lines of the following passage:

“He flash’d into the crystal mirror,

‘Tirra lirra, tirra lirra:’

    Sang Sir Lancelot.

She left the web, she left the loom

She made three paces thro’ the room

She saw the water-flower bloom,

She saw the helmet and the plume,

    She look’d down to Camelot.

Out flew the web and floated wide;

The mirror crack’d from side to side;

‘The curse is come upon me,’ cried

    The Lady of Shalott.”

And of course the answer to all lies in that very look. There are a few movie adaptations and I have to say that so far I think Lindsay Duncan does that pivotal look the best. But I can’t help imagine Francesca Annis, the actress who played the Widow of the Web and also Lady Jessica in Dune (1984) would also have killed it. I have always been mesmerized by her. But of course, I do love my sci-fi.

Left is from Dune. Right is the old to young sequence of the Widow of the Web in Krull.

Miss Jane Marple, I’m so glad that Christie decided you needed more page time and dialogue. I’m so glad we got to hear your thoughts on more than just murder but also on the passage of time and the changing of the world. Few aging women seem to fare as well as thee on the page or on the screen.

And now on to a completely different spider!

“It used to be said that spiders could connect the past with the future. Something about the symbolism of the web.” (P.111) – “Miles Morales: Spider-Man” by Jason Reynolds
2 oz. Fino Inocente Sherry, .5 oz. Reposado Tequila, .5 oz. Otto’s Vermouth, 2 dashes orange bitters, 2 dashes Peychaud’s bitters, orange peel web crafted by Kristen Bartholomew
by Chantal Tseng

Grief in 20/20

“The mind is not a book to be opened at will and examined at leisure.” – Severus Snape

I’ve been trying to remember my aunt who just recently passed away battling colon cancer* which had also spread to her kidneys. Specifically, I’ve been trying to relive some good memories of her. But then, memories don’t often sort themselves as such so neatly. If you dig up one, you tend to let loose several, a large swath that may or may not be exactly navigable. The slightest association can take off and send you to places you hadn’t planned on. This is good, I suppose. I think my mind is just trying to see the whole picture of her. I reckon it’s not really fair to only conjure one or two specific memories. Better to just let it all wash back over you. Maybe this is a new way to learn, akin to the now oft spoken phrase referred to as “hindsight or 20/20.” Hard to learn something from someone if you nitpick out your own moments. 

All in all, as a kid, my aunt always seemed kind of mean. I used to think that all Taiwanese women were mean because I really only knew one growing up. Only a child would extrapolate this negative all-encompassing assumption. Imagine Professor Snape. He really came off like a villain in the beginning, and really for most of the plot. He was often callous and judgmental to his students and we never got much of his backstory until the end. But at this storied end of the whole epic ordeal, he turns out to be just a tough-love, deep undercover, misunderstood tragic-type of person. Highly uncomfortable with showing vulnerability. After all, he had been living his entire life as one volatile tricky situation that most people around him could not possibly relate to or understand. If the only option of interaction from another is pity, perhaps it might be best not to offer the option at all.

When someone acts disagreeable to us as a kid, we only feel the black and white dark entanglement of unfairness in the situation. But as an adult, we have learnt the capacity to look back and see a larger picture of one’s character. We don’t always understand it but we notice that the portrait is much more intricate. Perhaps like the opposite of returning to one’s childhood home and thinking everything seems so much smaller than before.

At any rate, I’d like to share my favorite memory of my Aunt Lucia. It was my very first roller coaster ride. I was pretty excited. My older sister opted out, a bit suspect of the whole experience. My younger brother wanted in, but alas, he was just under the height regulation. So it just ended up being my cousin, my aunt and myself. The first drop was extremely scary, stomach drop and all. My cousin and aunt started screaming, and like everyone else, they never stopped until the end. I definitely felt like I might die in that first drop. It was intense. I never uttered a peep though. Not at all throughout the entire ride either. By the end, I was enthralled by the experience and already looking forward to the next ride. Then my aunt came over to me and looked me straight in the eyes. She said something like “Why weren’t you screaming?” and was half laughing, part in shock with part disappointment that I never made a sound. (I can be pretty internal.) I had never seen so many expressions co-existing on her face before. It was such a wide range of emotion and yet such a happy moment. I had not realized this was my favorite memory of her until she passed two Sundays ago. I am not even sure of the last time I saw my aunt in person. My last communications with her were mostly via my cousin and a few get well cards. The past few years though, I can attest, she was no longer a mean Taiwanese lady in my head. She was supportive and wondered what I was up to in my distant endeavors. My cousin says she still had a lot of fight till the end.

“Telling a story wasn’t as simple as recalling memories. It was building on them and deciding which parts were best left unsaid.” – (P.44) “A Woman is No Man” by Etaf Rum : Dark Rum, Rouge Vermouth, Oloroso, Absinthe, aromatic bitters, preserved cherries and orange peel

I wonder now if all the best memories make you feel a bizarre assortment of happy, sad, confused and alive.

*I’m also pretty sad about the recent passing of Chadwick Boseman who as it turns out, struggled with the same terminal illness.