It is hard to know what someone, who was not alive yet or did not experience what it was like in Iceland the summer of 1972 at the time of the Fischer-Spassky chess match, thinks of this book. It summons so many memories for some of us. Arnaldur would have been only 12 or so then; I was older and working in the reception of a lovely, tiny summer hotel, Hótel Bifröst, 2-3 hours' drive from Reykjavík. I had also spent a few winters in Reykjavik, going to school, and was very familiar with the scene. This is Arnaldur's evocation of Reykjavik of those times, the ways, places and what it was like to have this unprecedented chess match descend on us there, as were the USA and Russia dueling on this island between their empires.
The title of the book, Einvígið, means The Match, also The Duel) The cover shows a little pawn fallen on the chessboard. It harks to the subject matter (and a sentence) in the book. A teenager is killed in a movie theater just after the "match" starts. The police investigates and it soon becomes evident that there is something foreign about the murder. Yet, as the intrigue spins on, Arnaldur does not let the reader forget the innocent young man.
As this book precedes in time Arnaldur's series with Erlendur and co, we now see someone who is a peripheral character in those books, namely Marion, a retired policeman. Marion is now a young man, but we learn about his childhood too. Here Arnaldur weaves in the history of tuberculoses in Iceland, what it was like to suffer it, how it was treated, because Marion suffered from TB as a boy and was treated, both in Iceland and Denmark. Some things I have never quite known what meant I now understand, such as what my mother meant when she referred to her cousin as having been "höggvin" or "chopped" (Thoracoplasty). One thing I love about Arnaldur is how alien it is to him to simplify or demonize what now is outdated; how he gives credit to the people who did their best for others in the battle with this disease, strange as it might seem now. The story is almost a tribute to that fight.
If we have nothing special to hang on to, time wise, it can be hard to go back to a particular time, here the summer of '72. But it so happened that one afternoon during this time when everything was going crazy in the capital and I was all by myself in the reception of the little summer hotel, in walks Spassky. He was with another Russian. There was a reservation (not in S's name!) and as they registered across the little shelf, there stood Spassky with his shy and observant gaze, while the other, older, Russian took care of the paperwork. There was something sweet about them, they were completely unobtrusive and polite, no demands, no paranoia. They stayed in one of the larger double rooms the whole weekend; barely seen and no one bothered them. Since we had no TV out there I'd only follow the news of the match on the radio and I took to hoping that Spassky would win. It was good to read that also in this novel Spassky's persona is as genial and polite as the impression I got of him. The scene in the restaurant Naust, where Spassky and company have dinner, feels very true. But since Arnaldur was only 12 it is hard to believe he was there, but his father, a journalist and an author, might have and told his son? I recently saw a documentary of the match, books have been written. There is so much attention on Fischer and his antics. But hey, at one, not famous, moment, there I stood face to face with Spassky and I was one of very few people in the world who knew his whereabouts that weekend.
My father sent me this book a couple of weeks before last Christmas. Three days after Christmas he died. The book is signed by Arnaldur, my first author-signed book. But it also has a note from my father, the last he wrote to me. No book will be like this book.