What do you suppose is going through the mind of writer Zadie Smith as she finds herself in the midst of this earnest male entourage—of chess players?
What’s that empty bag of popcorn doing on the table with all those formally attired champagne drinkers? Why does that glass (or candle holder?) control the center of the board? And are we to infer from the way Ms. Smith has casually brushed aside several of the White pieces with her purse that they are playing some hitherto unknown chess variant in which moves are made with sartorial accessories?
What’s going on here? And who are these yahoos?