Jan Timman (1951-2026)

News reached me this week that Jan Timman had passed away on Wednesday at the age of 74 after a period of serious illness. For many, he was “The Best of the West”, the strongest non-Soviet player in an era dominated by Moscow. For me, he will always be the Dutch grandmaster who once sat across me at the dinner table in a hotel suite in Kuala Lumpur. 

It was a pretty exciting time in 1990 when Malaysians learnt that the Candidates Final between Anatoly Karpov and Timman would be played in Kuala Lumpur. The Malaysian Chess Federation, then led by Sabbaruddin Chik, had won the bid to host the match. For local chess enthusiasts, this was nothing short of historic. A world class chess match was coming to our doorstep.

The venue was the Dewan Bandaraya auditorium, a vast hall with rows of seats descending towards the stage. At the centre stood a single table with a chess board, flanked by two rather luxurious chairs reserved for the players. At one end sat the arbiters, watchful and impassive. At the other, a large two-dimensional demonstration board displayed the moves for the audience.

From where we sat in the darkness, the players looked almost minute. Two figures bent over 64 squares under the stage lights. Our eyes moved constantly between the stage and the demo board as a tournament assistant carefully duplicated each move. The soft click of pieces being set down did not reach us, yet we felt every tension in the position.

We sat quietly in the dim hall, trying to second-guess the moves before they were played. Occasionally a suppressed murmur would ripple through our section when our calculations proved wrong, which was more often than we cared to admit. There was no live streaming, no chess engines on mobile phones, no instant commentary from across the world. The Internet had not yet entered our lives in any commercial sense.

Now, when I think of Jan Timman and realise that he is no longer with us, that hall returns to me with unexpected clarity. The positions have long since been analysed and archived, the match result preserved in tournament records, yet what lingers is the memory of those quiet hours in Kuala Lumpur, and of a time when chess felt at once distant from us on the stage and yet intensely personal in the darkened auditorium.

By then Timman was already a towering figure in world chess. Born in 1951, he had risen rapidly through the ranks. He became a grandmaster in 1974, only the third in Dutch history after Max Euwe and Jan Hein Donner. Through the late 70s and 80s he amassed tournament victories at Wijk aan Zee, Linares and Amsterdam. In 1982 he was ranked second in the world, behind only Karpov. His style was fearless and combative, willing to enter complications even when a quieter path was available. That courage won him brilliant victories and painful defeats in equal measure.

The 1990 Candidates Final was a stern test. Timman had fought his way through the cycle, defeating formidable opponents to earn the right to challenge Karpov. Yet in Kuala Lumpur he was outplayed. Karpov’s precision and experience proved decisive. Timman was eliminated, his dream of challenging for the world title postponed once again. He would later face Karpov again for the FIDE World Championship in 1993, and lose that match as well.

During the course of the Kuala Lumpur match, I had the rare privilege of attending a private dinner with Timman. It was hosted by Tan Chin Nam at his Micasa Hotel suite. Away from the board and the bright lights of the auditorium, he was reflective and unassuming. We spoke of chess, but also of travel and books. He was one of the chief editors of New In Chess magazine, a publication that serious players around the world read with respect, He was also a prolific author and his The Art of Chess Analysis remains a modern classic. In later years he would write Timman’s Titans and several other thoughtful works on the history of the game.

After his defeat, he took some consolation in a holiday at Pangkor Laut. I remember thinking how different that tranquil island must have felt compared to the tense atmosphere of the match hall. Perhaps the sea breeze offered some healing after weeks of mental combat.

Timman represented the Netherlands in 13 Chess Olympiads, often on the top board, and won the Dutch Championship nine times. He challenged opponents in their areas of strength, a fighter in the mould of Emanuel Lasker, as Raymond Keene once observed. That fighting spirit defined his career.

His passing marks the end of an era. For those of us who witnessed that 1990 match in Kuala Lumpur, his memory is woven into our own chess history. The moves played on that stage have long since been analysed and archived, but the image of him leaning over the board remains vivid.

In remembering Jan Timman, I am reminded that chess careers, like life itself, are measured not only by titles won but by battles fought with courage. On that count, he stood among the very best.

#timman #newinchess