Francis Delivers Excitement
02/03/10 06:49 Filed in: Reading
It's now been a month since British thriller writer
Dick Francis passed away at age 89. In honour of his
death, I have decided to re-read his entire
collection of novels (more than 40 in total) from
first to last. Though I've read every one of them
before, often several times, I am trying this time to
read them more slowly and more thoroughly, to
appreciate the writing rather than simply getting
caught up in the action.
I'm now on the third novel, For Kicks, and I have to admit: I haven't been very successful on the whole slowing down bit.
Dead Cert, Francis' first novel published in 1962, blew me away. The first ten pages are practically perfect —Francis launches the book in the middle of an intense steeple chase, adds a mysterious and deadly fall, introduces evidence of nefarious deeds, then manages to leave our mild-mannered hero all on his own to sort things out — and the rest of the book gallops along unrelentingly from there.
I can't imagine a more perfect opening salvo for a thriller writer and am in awe that this was Francis' first attempt at writing a novel. Amazing. Effortless. Perfect.
His second novel, Nerve, is almost as good. With a more complicated plot, it suffers only from the fact that the main character solves the mystery early and much of the second half of the book focuses on his campaign to bring the villain to justice. Here, Francis introduces his life-long interest in the psychology of evil while continuing to set first-rate thrillers against the background of the British horse racing industry.
I read and re-read the first part of Dead Cert, just to get clear in my mind what impressed me about it, but then got caught up in the plot and raced through the rest of the book. It took me longer to get into Nerve, mainly because I had a strong recollection of the intense suffering the hero endures and simply couldn't face it, but, once I was hooked, the pages flew past.
I have now stepped into the third novel, For Kicks, and am, once again, trying to force myself to go slow. In this book, Francis introduces his first protagonist who is not actually a jockey. Daniel Roke, an Australian horse breeder, agrees to take on an investigation on behalf of the English racing authorities simply for a change of scenery, going undercover as a stable lad to look into a new kind of doping.
With For Kicks, Francis delivers his third straight "cracker" of a novel. I wonder when I'll come across a weak link in his chain of mysteries.
I'm now on the third novel, For Kicks, and I have to admit: I haven't been very successful on the whole slowing down bit.
Dead Cert, Francis' first novel published in 1962, blew me away. The first ten pages are practically perfect —Francis launches the book in the middle of an intense steeple chase, adds a mysterious and deadly fall, introduces evidence of nefarious deeds, then manages to leave our mild-mannered hero all on his own to sort things out — and the rest of the book gallops along unrelentingly from there.
I can't imagine a more perfect opening salvo for a thriller writer and am in awe that this was Francis' first attempt at writing a novel. Amazing. Effortless. Perfect.
His second novel, Nerve, is almost as good. With a more complicated plot, it suffers only from the fact that the main character solves the mystery early and much of the second half of the book focuses on his campaign to bring the villain to justice. Here, Francis introduces his life-long interest in the psychology of evil while continuing to set first-rate thrillers against the background of the British horse racing industry.
I read and re-read the first part of Dead Cert, just to get clear in my mind what impressed me about it, but then got caught up in the plot and raced through the rest of the book. It took me longer to get into Nerve, mainly because I had a strong recollection of the intense suffering the hero endures and simply couldn't face it, but, once I was hooked, the pages flew past.
I have now stepped into the third novel, For Kicks, and am, once again, trying to force myself to go slow. In this book, Francis introduces his first protagonist who is not actually a jockey. Daniel Roke, an Australian horse breeder, agrees to take on an investigation on behalf of the English racing authorities simply for a change of scenery, going undercover as a stable lad to look into a new kind of doping.
With For Kicks, Francis delivers his third straight "cracker" of a novel. I wonder when I'll come across a weak link in his chain of mysteries.