Dick Francis (1920–2010)

I enjoyed this very much indeed, though it’s hard to say whether the book really merits that much enjoyment. The thing is, I read a fair few Francis novels in my early teens, so reading them again is an experience infused with nostalgia (this will probably be thematic throughout the 1980s and 90s).
Like most Francis novels, this is set in the world of horse racing. Francis was himself a jockey before turning to fiction, and knows the horsey stuff intimately. The protagonist is Sid Halley, show more an ex-jockey with an artificial hand who now works as a sort of specialised private eye for equine matters. The plot involves a trio of investigations: dodgy ownership syndicates, possible nobbling of runners, and a conman who’s swindled Sid’s ex-wife (he’s still best buddies with his father-in-law).
A fair amount of this is objectively silly (not least the artificial hand), and there are some ridiculous episodes in the book—an extended escape scene involving a hot-air balloon, for example. Also, that trio of investigations, plus all the stuff about Sid’s own feelings concerning his change of career and a bit of love life stuff, ought to amount to more plot plates than anyone can reasonably keep spinning. And yet Francis manages it. Setting aside the nostalgia and all, I think this is genuinely superbly done. There’s nothing flashy about the writing, nothing profound about the novel’s themes, and this is all to the good—it’s just a masterful, fun, pacey thriller, if you don’t think about it too hard and enjoy being taken for a ride.
As I said, I think I enjoyed the ride all the more for the fact that I used to read these things a lot (I’m genuinely unsure if I read this one all those years ago). One thing that struck me on re-reading is that young teen me had confused two alien worlds. As in many Francis novels, the milieu is upper-middle to genuine upper class. The father-in-law is a retired admiral, who Sid meets for regular drinks in a London club. There are various characters with titles, money is made in offhand ways that require wealth to start with, and everyone drinks champagne all the time and eats food with French names. There’s also a lot of casual bed-hopping. This was all completely foreign to young me, but I think I mistook its unfamiliarity for the unfamiliarity of adulthood. I somehow implicitly thought that all of this was what grown-ups do, not what poshos do. It’s weird to sort of reconstruct the contents and origins of a muddled way of thinking which was never properly conscious, and yet in retrospect was clearly present.
Now, you’re probably not going to get the same second-rate Proustian rush from this novel, but there is a sense of nostalgia or perhaps archaism available to all here. It has two sources. First, the novel somehow stinks of 1980s England. I can’t quite put my finger on why, but it’s just the atmosphere, the environment, the faint sense that all of these people would have voted Thatcher (and yet aren’t eminently dislikeable). Second, the horse stuff. Racing’s popularity has dwindled markedly since 1979, and it’s hard to imagine that a series of novels set in stables and racecourses, heavily featuring the arcana of training and betting and all, would ever get off the ground today. I suspect that this is going to mean that Francis disappears into relative unread obscurity, despite having been an absolute book-selling machine at his height. And that’s a shame, because nostalgia aside, I think at his best (as here) he really is a first-rate writer of a fun thriller. Well worth picking up cheap second-hand and gobbling down over a long train journey or a day in a deckchair. show less

Wine merchant, Tony Beach, is delivering wine to a party of racing enthusiasts when a horse trailer breaks loose and kills several people in the party tent. The police question him about who he saw around the trailer and they are impressed with his ability to remember things. Eventually the police ask for his expert help in following up on complaints about false labeling on some of the Scotches and wines provided to local bars and restaurants. That then leads to him being asked to assist show more private detective Gerard McGregor in finding out who is responsible for a series of whiskey bottling trucks being hijacked.

I've never been much of a Dick Francis fan because I just don't have any interest in horses and that's normally what he writes about. I'm still nursing a grudge from a nasty horse I met about forty years ago. I do love wine and this book is filled with interesting tidbits about wine, as well as Scotch whiskey. I also loved the characters in this story. Tony Beach is a widower who is devastated by grief for his recently deceased wife. He's also the son of a military hero and knows he doesn't live up to the expectations his family had for him.

There were plenty of twists and turns and the ending was incredibly tense. It definitely wasn't predictable and even though the villain was already known to the reader, it was a very compelling novel. I really enjoyed this book, especially the character of Tony Beach and his slow realization of what sort of man he really is. I may have to reconsider Dick Francis books, even the ones that deal with horses. show less

An old favorite, being re-read now as part of an LT shared read of Dick Francis' horsey mysteries. This one spotlights junior merchant banker Tim Ekaterin, who convinces his firm to lend millions of pounds to buy a champion racehorse to be put out to stud. When potential disaster looms, Ekaterin has to turn detective to solve the mystery and save his firm and the stallion's owner from financial disaster.

One of the reasons I've always enjoyed Dick Francis is the glimpse he gives into another show more world — in this case that of merchant banking. (I think the equivalent US term is investment banking, though there may be subtle differences between the two that I'm unaware of.) And on the horse side, we get a look at how a stud farm works — or in other words where all those lovely racehorses featured in other Francis books come from.

And as always with Francis, the characters are perhaps even more compelling than the mystery. Oliver Knowles, the stud farm owner, and his teenage daughter, Ginnie, are sympathetic characters who are easy to root for. And the range of secondary characters are unique enough to have fully formed personas for the reader, even if we don't spend a lot of time with them. Tim himself is the usual Francis prototype protagonist: Stoic, practical, mostly unemotional in that stereotypical "stiff upper lip" British way. And true to form for Francis, our hero is put into great physical danger and does not come out unscathed.

Just as in real life, Francis never guarantees a happy ending, though most readers will find it more than satisfactory. Even knowing who the villain was, I never get bored re-reading this book because the characters and the world-building are first-rate. Many thanks to Karen for choosing this as our first read of the year. show less

It seems odd to me that Dick Francis, who normally sticks to standalones, has won two of his three Edgars for Best Novel with books in his all-too-brief Sid Halley series. Come to Grief is the last of them, an unusually-structured book which, while losing none of the suspense Francis excels at, also adds new depth to the character of steeplechase-jockey-turned-private-eye Halley.

I would have loved this novel to be longer. I would have adored there to be much more Sid Halley novels. There are show more not. I spent the entirety of this novel very happy for a new Francis read, while very sad that my 'new Francis reads' were dwindling ever smaller.

From page one we know the perpetrator. Suspense depends on unfolding details tantalizingly, slowly - questioning motivation why, revelation of how discovered, and resenting harsh treatment of the hero. If I hate the cruel sadistic deed, the frustration and denial knowing who, the nightmares..... why read on? Because Francis is a genius at his craft, that's why. And I always, literally jump at the chance to read a Dick Francis novel I have not read yet.

Dick Francis compels my curiosity, draws me into strange new worlds. The world of horses, racing, and jockeys is completely foreign to me, but Francis, as usual, makes it all very accessible, likeable, and new, while revisiting this same world again. The character travels through most of Britain, high and low, to find his answers, and this is like a mini-vacation to me. Francis really knows how to write a novel that while straddling new technological advancements, they still retain the 1950's style of living/writing/being. A man's world of physicality, where women are peripheral criers, or hard-edged and cold-seeming, objects of beauty & admiration, and men willingly break and bloody bodies in fights. Stories told in the first person enable us to identify with the protagonist, who has physical and moral courage, then needs to demonstrate those qualities. But Halley gets little praise, as usual. No accolades.

As the book opens, a trial is about to begin -- the trial of Halley's longtime friend and fellow jockey Ellis Quint, now a TV presenter, for a series of horrifying and unusual crimes. Sid Halley is one of the chief witnesses for the prosecution. In the rest of the book, we see how Halley reached his conclusions, and we learn along with him why there is more to the story than he at first realized.

Come to Grief has several elements that suggest Francis may have planned to continue the series with some new twists and some new continuing characters, but he has passed on sadly, and is no longer able to do so. (I sincerely hope it's not because the main character had a prosthetic arm, but who knows?)

4 stars. Highly recommended. show less