The Catch Newsletter

February 2021

This month, Talon Review is celebrating the release of its first newsletter! This is Talon’s venture into a combined newsletter/blog project that we hope to keep evolving in the future. This month’s newsletter is created by Newsletter Editor Harper Warner and Fiction Editor Hadley Hendrix. In it, you’ll find introductions on our two wonderful staff members, updates on the Talon Review, and a book review for The Queen’s Gambit. Enjoy!

Talon Update

Talon Update is a section in which the editorial leadership will provide readers with an insight into what the Talon Review is currently working on. 

The Talon Review is hard at work reading your submissions for our Spring 2021 Issue. We are accepting submissions for Poetry, Fiction, Creative Nonfiction, Art, and Audio/Video pieces until April 1st. For more information, please check out the “Submit” section of our website. We hope to see your work!

In addition to working on our Spring 2021 Issue, we here at the Talon Review are also looking into hosting another virtual open mic night around early or mid-April. We hope to give you all more details soon along with an official date for the virtual event. 

That is all for this month’s Talon Update. We hope you enjoy the rest of the content in this month’s newsletter!

— Giancarlo Laboy,

Editor-in-Chief

Stripping Away the Many Layers of The Queen’s Gambit by Walter Tevis

            Walter Tevis’ The Queen’s Gambit is immaculate in its sensory details, its complex layering, and its psychology. My suggestion to you is to stop reading this review right now and simply begin reading his book, but if you must continue on to see my attempt at slaying his brilliance out before you, I hope I have done his writing justice.

            Tevis’ writing is raw with emotion simply because he tells it like it is, reminding us of the electricity in living and the uncensored emotions that come with it. He pushes us through the story, entrenching us in scenes, shuffling through time, and summarizing several months or years before settling into the present moment. We anxiously flit through the pages, vicariously craving the same thrill the protagonist, Elizabeth Harmon, is constantly in search of.

            Beth chases after equality both on and off the chessboard. Being a woman is a constant spectacle throughout the novel and makes men all the more intrusive when observing her surroundings. Beth notices everything, aiding her in plucking weaknesses from her opponents to use to her advantage, her every move calculated and precise. Her observations also serve as intrusions, interrupting her concentrations through bulbs flashing, Borgov coughing and blowing his nose, and heavy laughter rolling under her doorway. And sometimes, she uses her surroundings as a distraction when she cannot grieve yet another loss.

            All of these minute observations effortlessly provide the sensory detail necessary to immerse readers in Beth’s perspective. It puts us in her state of mind: “Beth was careful not to let the shadow of her head fall on the board” (p. 6). She also performs a sort of mental status exam on every opponent she plays, analyzing their body language, behaviors, appearances, etc.: “…she saw, shocked, that his beautiful manicure of yesterday had been chewed ragged” (p. 230) and “He had curly black hair and wore an old-fashioned white sport shirt, so neatly ironed that its creases stood out from his thin arms” (p. 123). We feel the tension in her setting by being perpetually alert, a vigilant state of fight-or-flight propelling us forward.

            Beth’s need to expect every possible outcome seems to stem from the losses she’s grieved at such a young age, and when the unexpected presents itself, it incites a bracing sequence of events. Much like how the story is told, Beth strips away every layer of a problem until feeling confident she’s figured it out. With the persistent theme of craving the relief of perfection one could argue her last name, Harmon, is a subtle hint at the harmonious nature of the novel—Tevis’ writing flows just like her thoughts, giving us tiny spurts of relief, then gripping us with the desire to untangle the ever-present tension of acting on a new obsession. In orgasmic diction (“When she tasted it, it stung her upper lip, then stung her throat with a sweet tease as it went down” p. 183), the readers feel the fulfillment of Beth’s lusts as their own, causing them to keep turning the pages, aching for this sweet feeling again.

            Not only is this book about addiction, obsessions, and equality, it is also about the piercing fear of being alone. As an orphan, Beth has been abandoned and alone for the majority of her life. She knows chess, pills, and alcohol will always be there. She knows what she can depend on, and through chess, she finds the closeness she yearns for. Compared to dance throughout the novel, chess reveals the vulnerabilities between two people, breaks down impenetrable barriers that they themselves wish to tuck away, and trades self-conscious glances, much as one would with a new love. It relishes in the excitement of something absolutely terrifying, and it is all grounded within the chessboard. Best said by Tevis himself on page 242, “He pressed her hand with both of his. ‘All this,’ he said. ‘It’s not like chess at all.’ She smiled, ‘That’s right.’”

            Even Tevis’ writing changes with Beth’s state of mind. When she feels trapped, her mind runs rampant, desperately seeking a solution, and the writing unravels in long sentences compared to when she is in control and the syntax is tightly composed. The majority of the book is told in short, clipped sentences that cut right to the bone of the piece. It is explicit, honest, and chilling. The Queen’s Gambit is a masterpiece and can be read simply for the sheer thrill, or it can be stripped away layer by layer to expose the complex artistry tangled in the details; it reads just like a game of chess.