Is it easier to become American than to become British?

This post was recently posted by Michelloui on the Mid-Atlantic English blog. A vision of where I'll be in 3 years?

I'll have lived in the States for 10 years then too!
--
"In a recent post on She's Not From Yorkshire American yankeebean writes that her grandma is a British war bride who moved to the States after WWII and has lived there ever since. When yankeebean was planning a move to the UK, she asked her grandma how long it took her to feel American and her grandma replied, 'Ten years.' Yankeebean goes on to say she feels she is now at a place where she can accept that she is more comfortable doing the British thing when in Britain and more comfortable doing the American thing when in the States (I paraphrase).

I have reached the half and half mark--half of my life in the States and half of my life in the UK. I can completely relate to what yankeebean says about not fancying a cup of tea in the States but not craving the Starbucks coffee when in the UK. It's as if you have to be in a culture to enjoy that culture's artifacts, you can't replicate it elsewhere as it doesn't quite provide the same sense of satisfaction.

But back to yankeebean's grandma. I was surprised when I read what she said. I have long passed the 10 year mark and I still feel American. I have called this blog Mid-Atlantic English because I have adopted some of the accent and colloquialisms of Britain, as well as the world view, but I have not lost all of my American accent or certain habits that define me as American (stockings by the chimney not the end of the bed, fanatical pumpkin carving, a longing for a Williams-Sonoma shop to open near my house, an appreciation of Eudora Welty). In other words, I am somewhere in the middle, or Mid-Atlantic (original credit goes to my dad for first describing me as such). I don't feel I have become British, but I do feel I have made Britain my home.

Is it me, or is it just easier to 'become American'? Or was it easier at the time yankeebean's grandma moved? Or is this simply individual differences? I'm interested in what the rest of you lovely expats think about this!"

Is it easier to become American than to become British?

This post was recently posted by Michelloui on the Mid-Atlantic English blog. A vision of where I'll be in 3 years?

I'll have lived in the States for 10 years then too!
--
"In a recent post on She's Not From Yorkshire American yankeebean writes that her grandma is a British war bride who moved to the States after WWII and has lived there ever since. When yankeebean was planning a move to the UK, she asked her grandma how long it took her to feel American and her grandma replied, 'Ten years.' Yankeebean goes on to say she feels she is now at a place where she can accept that she is more comfortable doing the British thing when in Britain and more comfortable doing the American thing when in the States (I paraphrase).

I have reached the half and half mark--half of my life in the States and half of my life in the UK. I can completely relate to what yankeebean says about not fancying a cup of tea in the States but not craving the Starbucks coffee when in the UK. It's as if you have to be in a culture to enjoy that culture's artifacts, you can't replicate it elsewhere as it doesn't quite provide the same sense of satisfaction.

But back to yankeebean's grandma. I was surprised when I read what she said. I have long passed the 10 year mark and I still feel American. I have called this blog Mid-Atlantic English because I have adopted some of the accent and colloquialisms of Britain, as well as the world view, but I have not lost all of my American accent or certain habits that define me as American (stockings by the chimney not the end of the bed, fanatical pumpkin carving, a longing for a Williams-Sonoma shop to open near my house, an appreciation of Eudora Welty). In other words, I am somewhere in the middle, or Mid-Atlantic (original credit goes to my dad for first describing me as such). I don't feel I have become British, but I do feel I have made Britain my home.

Is it me, or is it just easier to 'become American'? Or was it easier at the time yankeebean's grandma moved? Or is this simply individual differences? I'm interested in what the rest of you lovely expats think about this!"

"Nowhere Boy": new movie about the young John Lennon

Peter Bradshaw
Friday October 30 2009
The Guardian
--
A man who has been the indisputable favourite of his mother keeps for life the feeling of a conqueror," wrote Sigmund Freud - and Sigmund Freud was never twirled by his mum lasciviously around in a coffee bar to the novel sounds of rock'n'roll on the jukebox, and furthermore gigglingly taught by her that "rock'n'roll" actually means sex.

This was the dizzyingly erotic experience of the young John Lennon - played by 19-year-old newcomer Aaron Johnson - in this account of his painful, messy teenage years in 1950s Liverpool, written by Matt Greenhalgh (the author of Anton Corbijn's Ian Curtis biopic, Control) and directed by Sam Taylor-Wood.

The mother in question is the legendary Julia, played by Anne-Marie Duff, a cheerful lover of good times and rock'n'roll in all senses, who had a mysterious breakdown after John's birth and surrendered parental control to her sister, the Tchaikovsky-loving and equally legendary Aunt Mimi, played by Kristin Scott Thomas, who brought him up strictly with genteel, middle-class values.

As adulthood dawns, John's increasingly rebellious discontent manifests itself in re-establishing contact with the dangerous Julia, who passionately introduces him to his musical destiny. She and John begin a strange kind of Oedipal affair, with Julia as the mistress and Aunt Mimi the wronged wife. John's story is the story of the duel between these two women - an intolerable situation for which music is the only way out.

Taylor-Wood interestingly begins her film with the opening, jangling chord from A Hard Day's Night, left hanging in a protracted silence until its potential for implied menace and even tragedy has been allowed to float free. It's a witty opening, but apart from pointed references to "nowhere" in the script and in the title, to a glimpse of Strawberry Field children's home and to a schoolbook doodling of "Walrus", Greenhalgh notably avoids cute prophetic touches. However, it has to be said Julia does hang around a bit possessively backstage, to the unease of both John and the young Paul McCartney, played by Thomas Sangster. Heroically, Greenhalgh avoids gags about John letting a woman get between him and the band.

It's a handsomely made film, with a very game lead performance from Johnson, hampered perhaps only by the fact that Lennon is really a rather callow figure at this stage; unlike, say, the more interesting, more grownup Lennon that Ian Hart played in Iain Softley's 1994 film Backbeat. When John shows Julia an EP record of Screamin' Jay Hawkins, she asks where he got it, and John says he swapped it with a bloke at the docks. "Swapped it for what?" Julia asks sharply, and John has no idea what she's implying.

Throughout the movie, I had the sense that Lennon was really a supporting turn and the stars were Julia and Mimi, but that, frustratingly, we were only ever allowed to see them from John's lairy and semi-comprehending point of view. John has to be the focus, and part of the movie's point is his youth, his poignant inability to appreciate how much these women love him.

And the film does contrive a tearful crisis in which the awful secret origins of the Mimi-John-Julia love triangle are laid bare. But for me, this finale was a little stagey, is resolved too easily and disconcertingly discloses a more intense story which has been happening, as it were, behind the movie's back.

None the less, this is an accomplished feature debut from Taylor-Wood, and a satisfying follow-up to her likeable short film Love You More.

--

(c) Guardian News and Media Limited. 2009

"Nowhere Boy": new movie about the young John Lennon

Peter Bradshaw
Friday October 30 2009
The Guardian
--
A man who has been the indisputable favourite of his mother keeps for life the feeling of a conqueror," wrote Sigmund Freud - and Sigmund Freud was never twirled by his mum lasciviously around in a coffee bar to the novel sounds of rock'n'roll on the jukebox, and furthermore gigglingly taught by her that "rock'n'roll" actually means sex.

This was the dizzyingly erotic experience of the young John Lennon - played by 19-year-old newcomer Aaron Johnson - in this account of his painful, messy teenage years in 1950s Liverpool, written by Matt Greenhalgh (the author of Anton Corbijn's Ian Curtis biopic, Control) and directed by Sam Taylor-Wood.

The mother in question is the legendary Julia, played by Anne-Marie Duff, a cheerful lover of good times and rock'n'roll in all senses, who had a mysterious breakdown after John's birth and surrendered parental control to her sister, the Tchaikovsky-loving and equally legendary Aunt Mimi, played by Kristin Scott Thomas, who brought him up strictly with genteel, middle-class values.

As adulthood dawns, John's increasingly rebellious discontent manifests itself in re-establishing contact with the dangerous Julia, who passionately introduces him to his musical destiny. She and John begin a strange kind of Oedipal affair, with Julia as the mistress and Aunt Mimi the wronged wife. John's story is the story of the duel between these two women - an intolerable situation for which music is the only way out.

Taylor-Wood interestingly begins her film with the opening, jangling chord from A Hard Day's Night, left hanging in a protracted silence until its potential for implied menace and even tragedy has been allowed to float free. It's a witty opening, but apart from pointed references to "nowhere" in the script and in the title, to a glimpse of Strawberry Field children's home and to a schoolbook doodling of "Walrus", Greenhalgh notably avoids cute prophetic touches. However, it has to be said Julia does hang around a bit possessively backstage, to the unease of both John and the young Paul McCartney, played by Thomas Sangster. Heroically, Greenhalgh avoids gags about John letting a woman get between him and the band.

It's a handsomely made film, with a very game lead performance from Johnson, hampered perhaps only by the fact that Lennon is really a rather callow figure at this stage; unlike, say, the more interesting, more grownup Lennon that Ian Hart played in Iain Softley's 1994 film Backbeat. When John shows Julia an EP record of Screamin' Jay Hawkins, she asks where he got it, and John says he swapped it with a bloke at the docks. "Swapped it for what?" Julia asks sharply, and John has no idea what she's implying.

Throughout the movie, I had the sense that Lennon was really a supporting turn and the stars were Julia and Mimi, but that, frustratingly, we were only ever allowed to see them from John's lairy and semi-comprehending point of view. John has to be the focus, and part of the movie's point is his youth, his poignant inability to appreciate how much these women love him.

And the film does contrive a tearful crisis in which the awful secret origins of the Mimi-John-Julia love triangle are laid bare. But for me, this finale was a little stagey, is resolved too easily and disconcertingly discloses a more intense story which has been happening, as it were, behind the movie's back.

None the less, this is an accomplished feature debut from Taylor-Wood, and a satisfying follow-up to her likeable short film Love You More.

--

(c) Guardian News and Media Limited. 2009

Why chess is a perfect game for fiction - KGB chess!

Stuart Evers
Friday August 28 2009
The Guardian
---
The summer of 1972 is a golden one for writers seeking a tumultuous background to their fiction. Kicking off with the breaking of the Watergate scandal, continuing through "Hanoi" Jane Fonda's tour of North Vietnam and ending with the massacre at the Munich Olympics, that summer is stuffed with so many huge international events that a humble game of chess seems rather a distraction. But this was the match between Boris Spassky and Bobby Fischer - and the whole of the cold war world was watching.

The central character in David Szalay's second novel, The Innocent, however, has to content himself with listening on the radio. A former hardliner and former member of the nascent KGB, Aleksandr sets up his battered and broken chess set and moves his little chess pieces according to the increasingly tired voice calling the action from Reykjavik. It's just four pages long, this scene, but Szalay imbues it with a stillness and a tension that is taut and increasingly expressive.

The broken board, the chessmen wrapped in a newspaper reporting a decade-old east v west crisis, the frown on Aleksandr's face as he fails to spot Fischer's error: all of these images, when taken together, perfectly articulate the internal combat waging in Aleksandr's head. His faith in the great experiment is failing, yet chess is there to remind him where his allegiance lies. The section ends with a simple, yet effective, conclusion: Aleksandr is looking at the board, staring at the "silent little pieces of wood whose significant positions are tonight transfixing the world."

Even without the backdrop of political schisms and the spectre of mutually assured destruction, chess is a transfixing game in its own right - especially for writers. It has been the inspiration for countless novels, plays and pieces of short fiction, many of which are collected in a wonderful anthology called The 64-Square Looking Glass. What is it that makes chess such a consistently fascinating subject?

Chess, by its very nature, is a battle between two different thought processes; it gives the novelist the opportunity to go into the players' minds, while retaining an element of plot at the same time. This approach is brilliantly explored in Carl Haffner's Love of the Draw by Thomas Glavnic, a novel as strikingly good as its title. Here, 10 games of chess - which become ever more gripping as Haffner tries desperately to avoid losing - are the springboard to a familial history and an elegy for a disappearing Vienna. It's one of chess's finest novels, sitting comfortably alongside Nabokov's The Luzhin Defense and Paulo Maurensig's The Lüneburg Variation.

More abstractly, chess is attractive to writers as it mirrors the very act of writing itself. Planning ahead, tactics, manipulation are both part of fiction's palate as well as chess's. In both his fiction and his plays, Beckett used the imagery of the chess set, moving his characters around like lowly, articulate pawns. The conclusion of Murphy may be the finest expression of the game's intrinsic link to both art and humanity - "The ingenuity of despair" indeed.

Taking Beckett to its postmodern conclusion, Martin Amis's Money featured a chess game between the central character, the plumply odious John Self, and the spitty, roll-up smoking "Martin Amis". It's an extraordinary scene and one that despite my general loathing of his style and subject matter, I must concede is brilliantly written, controlled and executed. It's the only time where I could see what the fuss was all about, especially at the game's close when "Amis" apologises, as much for creating him as for beating Self at the board.

While Szalay's novel is far from the glitzy literary chicanery of Amis, The Innocent does, like Money, pivot around its respective chess scene. And while Self is playing his creator, Aleksandr is playing out other people's moves as well as his own personal demons. Neither are chess men, yet this is the game they play - for no other has the weight and heft to support such an important part of a novel.

---

guardian.co.uk Copyright (c) Guardian News and Media Limited. 2009

Why chess is a perfect game for fiction - KGB chess!

Stuart Evers
Friday August 28 2009
The Guardian
---
The summer of 1972 is a golden one for writers seeking a tumultuous background to their fiction. Kicking off with the breaking of the Watergate scandal, continuing through "Hanoi" Jane Fonda's tour of North Vietnam and ending with the massacre at the Munich Olympics, that summer is stuffed with so many huge international events that a humble game of chess seems rather a distraction. But this was the match between Boris Spassky and Bobby Fischer - and the whole of the cold war world was watching.

The central character in David Szalay's second novel, The Innocent, however, has to content himself with listening on the radio. A former hardliner and former member of the nascent KGB, Aleksandr sets up his battered and broken chess set and moves his little chess pieces according to the increasingly tired voice calling the action from Reykjavik. It's just four pages long, this scene, but Szalay imbues it with a stillness and a tension that is taut and increasingly expressive.

The broken board, the chessmen wrapped in a newspaper reporting a decade-old east v west crisis, the frown on Aleksandr's face as he fails to spot Fischer's error: all of these images, when taken together, perfectly articulate the internal combat waging in Aleksandr's head. His faith in the great experiment is failing, yet chess is there to remind him where his allegiance lies. The section ends with a simple, yet effective, conclusion: Aleksandr is looking at the board, staring at the "silent little pieces of wood whose significant positions are tonight transfixing the world."

Even without the backdrop of political schisms and the spectre of mutually assured destruction, chess is a transfixing game in its own right - especially for writers. It has been the inspiration for countless novels, plays and pieces of short fiction, many of which are collected in a wonderful anthology called The 64-Square Looking Glass. What is it that makes chess such a consistently fascinating subject?

Chess, by its very nature, is a battle between two different thought processes; it gives the novelist the opportunity to go into the players' minds, while retaining an element of plot at the same time. This approach is brilliantly explored in Carl Haffner's Love of the Draw by Thomas Glavnic, a novel as strikingly good as its title. Here, 10 games of chess - which become ever more gripping as Haffner tries desperately to avoid losing - are the springboard to a familial history and an elegy for a disappearing Vienna. It's one of chess's finest novels, sitting comfortably alongside Nabokov's The Luzhin Defense and Paulo Maurensig's The Lüneburg Variation.

More abstractly, chess is attractive to writers as it mirrors the very act of writing itself. Planning ahead, tactics, manipulation are both part of fiction's palate as well as chess's. In both his fiction and his plays, Beckett used the imagery of the chess set, moving his characters around like lowly, articulate pawns. The conclusion of Murphy may be the finest expression of the game's intrinsic link to both art and humanity - "The ingenuity of despair" indeed.

Taking Beckett to its postmodern conclusion, Martin Amis's Money featured a chess game between the central character, the plumply odious John Self, and the spitty, roll-up smoking "Martin Amis". It's an extraordinary scene and one that despite my general loathing of his style and subject matter, I must concede is brilliantly written, controlled and executed. It's the only time where I could see what the fuss was all about, especially at the game's close when "Amis" apologises, as much for creating him as for beating Self at the board.

While Szalay's novel is far from the glitzy literary chicanery of Amis, The Innocent does, like Money, pivot around its respective chess scene. And while Self is playing his creator, Aleksandr is playing out other people's moves as well as his own personal demons. Neither are chess men, yet this is the game they play - for no other has the weight and heft to support such an important part of a novel.

---

guardian.co.uk Copyright (c) Guardian News and Media Limited. 2009

Chess and the KGB novel - "an exciting and memorable read"!

Viv Groskop
Sunday August 23 2009
The Observer
---
Spring 1948 and Aleksandr, a KGB major, is sent to an isolated psychiatric clinic in the Urals to investigate Anatoly Yudin. A famous pianist in the 1930s, Yudin disappeared during the Second World War and was presumed dead. Now he has resurfaced and has a strange form of amnesia. Or does he? Aleksandr suspects Yudin may be writing anti-Soviet tracts. Does Lozovsky, Yudin's doctor, know something? The story is told by Aleksandr, looking back from 1972 as he begins to see the whole of Soviet history - and the role he has himself played - in a different light.

With Aleksandr, David Szalay, winner of the Betty Trask Prize 2008 for his debut London and the South-East, has created an extraordinary character, a KGB man you can imagine knowing or even being. Aleksandr is an idealist, a "real" communist, who truly believes in the system and wants to do the right thing. Anyone who has seen the German film The Lives of Others will recognise the type: he's a cousin of Stasi Captain Gerd Wiesler, another Everyman who suddenly finds himself questioning everything he has ever believed.

This, then, is a similar situation in Soviet form. Szalay's trick is to make us feel for Aleksandr and sympathise with his dilemmas, while inserting the odd chilling clue as to what's really going on. ("Turn off his light," he says to the officer guarding a man under interrogation and we suddenly realise the conditions the prisoner has been kept in.) Aleksandr's journalist brother, Ivan, offers a foil to the ideological purity; he is prepared to take risks and sees the flaws in the system - until he becomes a beneficiary of it himself. Over the course of the book, the two brothers swap roles, with Aleksandr becoming more disillusioned and Ivan happily riding the gravy train.

The novel's focus swings dramatically between the two brothers' changing relationship and the fate of Yudin and Lozovsky, until we, like Aleksandr, are no longer sure who's in the right, who is supposedly guilty and who really has done something wrong. The result is not so much a critique of the Soviet system - or of totalitarianism - as a comment on the uncertainty of life, how little we know others or even ourselves.

Woven into the narrative are fascinating accounts of historical moments, seen through the eyes of ordinary Soviets, which gradually affect Aleksandr's mindset: losing to the Germans 3-0 at football in the 1972 European Championship final; Bobby Fischer beating Boris Spassky at the Reykjavik chess championships. When Aleksandr's KGB mentor, a man whom he considers to be as trustworthy and "pure" as himself, is targeted, his world implodes. Meanwhile, there are scenes of quiet, comic desperation from everyday Soviet life. The KGB officer supposed to be intercepting Lozovsky falls asleep at his post. In a communal flat, people find themselves involuntarily registering what their neighbours last had to eat and when they last smoked a cigarette.

This is an exciting and memorable read. Expertly researched, it feels authentic, but wears its learning reassuringly lightly. Anyone who appreciated Martin Amis's Koba the Dread and Orlando Figes's The Whisperers will love it, as will fans of The Lives of Others or Burnt by the Sun. As with both films, the theme of silent, regret-filled horror is beautifully, chillingly captured.

---

guardian.co.uk Copyright (c) Guardian News and Media Limited. 2009

Chess and the KGB novel - "an exciting and memorable read"!

Viv Groskop
Sunday August 23 2009
The Observer
---
Spring 1948 and Aleksandr, a KGB major, is sent to an isolated psychiatric clinic in the Urals to investigate Anatoly Yudin. A famous pianist in the 1930s, Yudin disappeared during the Second World War and was presumed dead. Now he has resurfaced and has a strange form of amnesia. Or does he? Aleksandr suspects Yudin may be writing anti-Soviet tracts. Does Lozovsky, Yudin's doctor, know something? The story is told by Aleksandr, looking back from 1972 as he begins to see the whole of Soviet history - and the role he has himself played - in a different light.

With Aleksandr, David Szalay, winner of the Betty Trask Prize 2008 for his debut London and the South-East, has created an extraordinary character, a KGB man you can imagine knowing or even being. Aleksandr is an idealist, a "real" communist, who truly believes in the system and wants to do the right thing. Anyone who has seen the German film The Lives of Others will recognise the type: he's a cousin of Stasi Captain Gerd Wiesler, another Everyman who suddenly finds himself questioning everything he has ever believed.

This, then, is a similar situation in Soviet form. Szalay's trick is to make us feel for Aleksandr and sympathise with his dilemmas, while inserting the odd chilling clue as to what's really going on. ("Turn off his light," he says to the officer guarding a man under interrogation and we suddenly realise the conditions the prisoner has been kept in.) Aleksandr's journalist brother, Ivan, offers a foil to the ideological purity; he is prepared to take risks and sees the flaws in the system - until he becomes a beneficiary of it himself. Over the course of the book, the two brothers swap roles, with Aleksandr becoming more disillusioned and Ivan happily riding the gravy train.

The novel's focus swings dramatically between the two brothers' changing relationship and the fate of Yudin and Lozovsky, until we, like Aleksandr, are no longer sure who's in the right, who is supposedly guilty and who really has done something wrong. The result is not so much a critique of the Soviet system - or of totalitarianism - as a comment on the uncertainty of life, how little we know others or even ourselves.

Woven into the narrative are fascinating accounts of historical moments, seen through the eyes of ordinary Soviets, which gradually affect Aleksandr's mindset: losing to the Germans 3-0 at football in the 1972 European Championship final; Bobby Fischer beating Boris Spassky at the Reykjavik chess championships. When Aleksandr's KGB mentor, a man whom he considers to be as trustworthy and "pure" as himself, is targeted, his world implodes. Meanwhile, there are scenes of quiet, comic desperation from everyday Soviet life. The KGB officer supposed to be intercepting Lozovsky falls asleep at his post. In a communal flat, people find themselves involuntarily registering what their neighbours last had to eat and when they last smoked a cigarette.

This is an exciting and memorable read. Expertly researched, it feels authentic, but wears its learning reassuringly lightly. Anyone who appreciated Martin Amis's Koba the Dread and Orlando Figes's The Whisperers will love it, as will fans of The Lives of Others or Burnt by the Sun. As with both films, the theme of silent, regret-filled horror is beautifully, chillingly captured.

---

guardian.co.uk Copyright (c) Guardian News and Media Limited. 2009

David Howell wins British Chess Championship - aged 18!

Leonard Barden
Saturday August 8 2009
The Guardian
---
David Howell, 18, triumphed with an unbeaten 9/11, seven wins and four draws, in the British Championship at Torquay. The teenager from East Sussex is already the youngest ever UK grandmaster and is now the second youngest British champion after Michael Adams, who won the title at 17.

Howell rode his luck in some games, notably in round two when Mark Hebden missed an instant win, but overall his total was an impressive performance which suggests he can improve to join Adams and Nigel Short at the top of the game.

Howell first hit the headlines at the age of eight when he beat the grandmaster John Nunn in a speed game, a world age record. At nine, he became the youngest to qualify for the British Championship final tournament and three years later, he drew a speed game against the then world champion Vladimir Kramnik. He took his A levels early and has improved rapidly for the past year. In 2008 he was beaten in the final round of the world junior (U20) championship and he will try again for the title at Mar del Plata, Argentina, in October.

Today, Howell joins England's optimum team, led by Adams and Short, for a 10-round match against the Netherlands at Simpsons in the Strand, London. Play is every afternoon until 17 August and spectators can watch for free. The legendary Viktor Korchnoi, 78, competes in an individual event.

Below the game was complex but level until Black blundered by 21...Rd8? (Bb5+ 22 c4 Bc6) and had to resign three moves later faced with heavy material loss.

D Howell v R Palliser

1 d4 Nf6 2 Bg5 d5 3 Bxf6 gxf6 4 e3 c5 5 dxc5 e6 6 Nd2 Bxc5 7 g3 Nc6 8 Ne2 d4 9 exd4 Qd5 10 dxc5 Qxh1 11 Nc3 Qxh2 12 Nde4 O-O 13 Qd2 Rd8 14 Nxf6+ Kh8 15 Qg5 h6 16 Qg4 Qh1 17 Rd1 Rxd1+ 18 Nxd1 Bd7 19 Ne3 Ne5 20 Qf4 Nf3+ 21 Ke2 Rd8? 22 Bg2 Ng1+ 23 Kf1 Qh2 24 Nfg4 1-0

Lower down the table the rising Durham expert Jonathan Hawkins, 26, scored an IM result as he did in 2008. Here his sharp 12 Kf1 varies from 12 Bd2. Black should have tried 15...Bxd4 16 Nxd4 Nxd4 when the N stops the deadly Qf3. Black's Rd7? fell for mate when 19...Rf8 20 Bh6 Bd7 held out longer.

J Hawkins v S Sen

1 d4 Nf6 2 c4 g6 3 Nc3 d5 4 cxd5 Nxd5 5 e4 Nxc3 6 bxc3 Bg7 7 Bc4 c5 8 Be3 O-O 9 Ne2 Nc6 10 Rc1 cxd4 11 cxd4 Qa5+ 12 Kf1!? Qa3 13 Rc3 Qd6 14 h4 Rd8 15 h5 Nxd4? 16 Nxd4 Bxd4 17 hxg6 hxg6 18 Rd3 e5 19 Qf3 Rd7? 20 Bg5 Kg7 21 Qh3 1-0

3099 1...Rf4! 2 Rxc7 Qh6! and White resigned due to 3 Rxd7 Rh4 and Rxh2+.

---
guardian.co.uk Copyright (c) Guardian News and Media Limited. 2009

David Howell wins British Chess Championship - aged 18!

Leonard Barden
Saturday August 8 2009
The Guardian
---
David Howell, 18, triumphed with an unbeaten 9/11, seven wins and four draws, in the British Championship at Torquay. The teenager from East Sussex is already the youngest ever UK grandmaster and is now the second youngest British champion after Michael Adams, who won the title at 17.

Howell rode his luck in some games, notably in round two when Mark Hebden missed an instant win, but overall his total was an impressive performance which suggests he can improve to join Adams and Nigel Short at the top of the game.

Howell first hit the headlines at the age of eight when he beat the grandmaster John Nunn in a speed game, a world age record. At nine, he became the youngest to qualify for the British Championship final tournament and three years later, he drew a speed game against the then world champion Vladimir Kramnik. He took his A levels early and has improved rapidly for the past year. In 2008 he was beaten in the final round of the world junior (U20) championship and he will try again for the title at Mar del Plata, Argentina, in October.

Today, Howell joins England's optimum team, led by Adams and Short, for a 10-round match against the Netherlands at Simpsons in the Strand, London. Play is every afternoon until 17 August and spectators can watch for free. The legendary Viktor Korchnoi, 78, competes in an individual event.

Below the game was complex but level until Black blundered by 21...Rd8? (Bb5+ 22 c4 Bc6) and had to resign three moves later faced with heavy material loss.

D Howell v R Palliser

1 d4 Nf6 2 Bg5 d5 3 Bxf6 gxf6 4 e3 c5 5 dxc5 e6 6 Nd2 Bxc5 7 g3 Nc6 8 Ne2 d4 9 exd4 Qd5 10 dxc5 Qxh1 11 Nc3 Qxh2 12 Nde4 O-O 13 Qd2 Rd8 14 Nxf6+ Kh8 15 Qg5 h6 16 Qg4 Qh1 17 Rd1 Rxd1+ 18 Nxd1 Bd7 19 Ne3 Ne5 20 Qf4 Nf3+ 21 Ke2 Rd8? 22 Bg2 Ng1+ 23 Kf1 Qh2 24 Nfg4 1-0

Lower down the table the rising Durham expert Jonathan Hawkins, 26, scored an IM result as he did in 2008. Here his sharp 12 Kf1 varies from 12 Bd2. Black should have tried 15...Bxd4 16 Nxd4 Nxd4 when the N stops the deadly Qf3. Black's Rd7? fell for mate when 19...Rf8 20 Bh6 Bd7 held out longer.

J Hawkins v S Sen

1 d4 Nf6 2 c4 g6 3 Nc3 d5 4 cxd5 Nxd5 5 e4 Nxc3 6 bxc3 Bg7 7 Bc4 c5 8 Be3 O-O 9 Ne2 Nc6 10 Rc1 cxd4 11 cxd4 Qa5+ 12 Kf1!? Qa3 13 Rc3 Qd6 14 h4 Rd8 15 h5 Nxd4? 16 Nxd4 Bxd4 17 hxg6 hxg6 18 Rd3 e5 19 Qf3 Rd7? 20 Bg5 Kg7 21 Qh3 1-0

3099 1...Rf4! 2 Rxc7 Qh6! and White resigned due to 3 Rxd7 Rh4 and Rxh2+.

---
guardian.co.uk Copyright (c) Guardian News and Media Limited. 2009