Nonfiction | June 01, 1998
This essay is not currently available online.
Hannah, my daughter, asked me to teach her to play chess. She had been teaching school in Istanbul. There, she said, young people take chess lessons the way they make music lessons in the States, but none of her turkish friends wanted to trouble themselves with a total beginner. This took me by surprise, not so much because she wanted to learn the game, which she had never expressed any interest in before, but because of her sudden forthcomingness.
If you are a student, faculty member, or staff member at an institution whose library subscribes to Project Muse, you can read this piece and the full archives of the Missouri Review for free. Check this list to see if your library is a Project Muse subscriber.
Want to read more?Subscribe Today
SEE THE ISSUE
May 17 2022
Facing it Sally Crossley “there will be time To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;” —T. S. Eliot The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
May 16 2022
Oranges Robin Reif We called it the Buffet of Dead Food: flaccid bacon, eggs—hard-boiled and cold—and toast so tough it scratched the roofs of our mouths. Still, the meal had
Jan 07 2022
Cover Up I did not begin my time in Jerusalem with the desire to be dangerous. I arrived in that most intoxicating, infuriating, enervating, derelict, and sad of cities with