I’ve been revisiting Dick Francis this week. It started with Bonecrack and then I moved on to Rat Race, Longshot and Break In. Now I think I’ll do the Sid Halleys, which I’ve never read in the right order.
I first discovered Dick Francis in Chennai – I remember Navin suggesting I test the waters with Nerve. I loved it and it still is among my three most-favourites. I went to Beaver’s library on Monteith Road and brought home Odds Against. Which was so stomach-churningly sadistic, I didn’t read another Francis for months.
I went back however and read the lot, although I confess, I still skip the violent confrontations that abound his pages.
Why do I like this author? He writes in the first person. All but all his heroes are the same character with different names and professions. He’s got a silly thing about being macho and stoic and never, never letting pain show. He’s got a rather dim view of human nature and seems to know some pretty horrible people. There are some pretty rotten women cast as the romantic interest. Why do I like him?
There must be something, or I wouldn’t be fretting that I don’t own a copy of Decider.