| Title | : | Dead Cert |
| Author | : | |
| Rating | : | |
| ISBN | : | 0425194973 |
| ISBN-10 | : | 9780425194973 |
| Language | : | English |
| Format Type | : | Paperback |
| Number of Pages | : | 277 |
| Publication | : | First published January 1, 1962 |
"The best thriller writer going."
THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY
Dead Cert Reviews
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First published in 1962, this is the book that started Dick Francis on his career as a novelist.
Francis was forty-two at the time, a veteran of World War II, and a former steeplechase jockey himself. Virtually all of his novels take place in and around the world of British horseracing. While he repeats the same character only a couple of times, virtually all of his protagonists are the same sort of man--relatively young, intelligent, determined, courageous, and somewhat aloof--at least until the point where they might the right woman and then, often as not, it's love at first sight.
Early on in the course of each novel, the protagonist discovers some glaring injustice and determines to investigate. Inevitably, he antagonizes the wrong person and finds his own health and well-being in grave jeopardy. Often there is some powerful, sinister force, directing events from behind the scene, and our hero must root him out.
In this case, the protagonist is Alan York, an amateur steeplechase rider. He comes from a moneyed family in Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe), and when he's not riding, he works in this father's shipping firm in London.
As the book opens, York is riding in a race alongside his best friend, Bill Davidson, who is riding a horse called Admiral. Davidson and Admiral are the heavy favorites in the race, a "dead cert" to win. But then, at the back of the course, Admiral trips over a fence. The horse goes down on top of Davidson, who will die as the result of the injury. York, riding right behind Davidson, saw something suspicious just before his friend fell. After the race, York goes back to the jump where Davidson fell and discovers that someone had stretched a wire across the top of the jump, causing the horse to fall and Davidson to be fatally injured.
By the time York can get someone in authority to examine the scene, the wire has been removed and there is no evidence that the horse was deliberately tripped. York knows this to be the case, however, and begins his own investigation. He discovers that someone has been attempting to fix races and the deeper he gets into the investigation, the more trouble he finds himself in. Before long, he discovers that he's in a contest of wills against a very dangerous adversary who will stop at nothing to preserve his criminal enterprise.
All in all, it's a good story. As in all of these books, one learns a great deal about the world of British horse racing, and the novel should appeal to anyone who enjoys classic British crime fiction. -
Rainy weather and hailstorms knocked out the power more than once and interrupted our over the phone reading of this book, but Marco and I finally have finished this Dick Francis mystery from 1962.
Alan York is an amateur steeplechase rider. We first meet him during a race, one in which a good friend of his is the only rider ahead of him. But in one awful moment, Bill Davidson and his horse fell while going over a jump. The horse was all right afterwards, but Bill died in hospital a few hours later.
Was it a freak accident caused by the foggy conditions on the course?
Or was there something more sinister behind the fall?
I will give you three guesses and two do not count!
Here is what the back cover of my edition has to say:
"In this chilling novel of vice and vengeance, a man suspects that his best friend was murdered ~~ and joins a manhunt in which he himself is the quarry."
I read this book many many years ago (like so many others in my bookcases) but I could not remember who was who or how it all turned out, so I was just as surprised as Marco was when we learned the identity of not only the main bad guy but a secondary figure neither of us had suspected at all.
We still have about six or seven books in our current Zapata Reading Club pile, but when it is time to create another one, I think I will include a second Dick Francis title. I have tons of them, I made an effort to find as many as possible back during my El Paso library book sale years. I did like the earlier ones the best, though. I will have to remember that when the time comes! -
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D1RWb...
Horse racing can be a dangerous sport, but it becomes a deadly one when a champion is killed.
The film doesn't build the suspense in the same way at all - the book was a corker! -
Dick Francis may not have been trying to earn literary awards, or communicating any life-changing truths with his writing, or pick apart the general public and/or it's attitudes/ideas/lifestyles. But he sure did know how to tell a great mystery story. His heroes are always kind, tough, clever, and very good, in a very basic, old-fashioned way. His plots are always engaging, with plenty of actual knowledge from the sport involved, since he was a jockey in a former life. His romances are very old-fashioned at times, but they are sweet, and with none of the extensive sex scenes that most books these days insist on having. (It sure is nice to get back to a time when that wasn't not only completely necessary to sell a book, but also the entire reason for the storyline in the first place!) And I find the world of British horse racing he describes to be a fascinating and exciting one.
I also rather like Francis's writing style. His spare prose never draws attention to itself; he writes in his genre very eloquently, very plainly, and very much like the gentleman I expect he was in his lifetime. After every book I read of his, I wish I could have met him, all over again. I expect there were not many men like Dick Francis around, either here or in England.
Dead Cert happens to be the first of Francis's many mysteries. One thing that Francis got better at over time was romance -- this one could probably be called cheesy, in someone else view. But the basic plot was great and I quite enjoyed this book as well as the others I've read. Also, I found it very refreshing to read a mystery that was written before the age of computers, cell phones, and DNA testing. Crime sleuthing was quite a different game back then. -
This was Dick Francis’s first novel written in 1962. I liked it but the story in places was repetitive. Alan York a Rhodesian steeplechase jockey see’s his friend Bill killed in a fall on the dead cert Admiral. He discovers it was not an accident and embarks on an investigation.
He meets Kate the love of his life and her Uncle George with his macabre collection of violent artifacts. Alan is then threatened to stop investigating Bill’s death which he ignores. A world of no cell phones, radio aerial taxis, protection rackets and very unappetizing food! Great to read about the racing of horses from an expert and the tricks jockeys do to lose races or nobble someone.
Encounters a gang who try to kill him part of a Brighton based taxi company called Macaronicars. There is a murder, a chase with a horse and overall an entertaining read worthy of a 3.5. -
A re-read as a palate cleaner. Still love it as much. Wonderful language, great characterisation and perfect racing lore.
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Dick Francis: What a great writer. Now and then I'll reread one. I try to wait a long time because they're so memorable. Dead Cert is more than half a century old, and shows its age. Would you believe a fleet of taxis directed by radio from a central location being described as a brilliant innovation? But terrific characters, terrific suspense, and the wonderful world of steeplechase horse racing in England add up as usual to an eagerly read novel -- even the second or third time around.
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A reliable Dick Francis. This is his first novel of about 40, where he establishes what will become the outline of his recurring protagonist. Clever, calm, talented, distant family, insta- love interest, bad bad guys, physical danger, satisfying resolution. Yum!
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What is there to say about Dick Francis? As I think about all of his books (yes, this review covers all of his books, and yes I've read them all) I think about a moral ethical hero, steeped in intelligence and goodness embroiled in evil machinations within British horse racing society - either directly or indirectly. The heroes aren't always horse jockies, they can be film producers, or involve heroes engaged in peripheral professions that somehow always touch the horse racing world.
But more than that, Francis's heroes are rational human beings. The choices made are rational choices directed by a firm objective philosophy that belies all of Francis's novels. The dialogue is clear and touched with humor no matter the intensity of evil that the hero faces. The hero's thoughts reveal a vulnerability that is touching, while his actions are always based on doing the right thing to achieve justice.
Causing the reader to deeply care about the characters in a novel is a difficult thing to do. No such worries in a Francis novel. The point of view is first person, you are the main character as you read the story (usually the character of Mr. Douglas). The hero is personable, like able, non-violent but delivering swift justice with his mind rather than through physical means. This is not to say that violence is a stranger to our hero. Some of it staggering and often delivered by what we would think of normal persons living in British society.
You will come to love the world of Steeple Chase racing, you will grow a fondness for horses, stables, trainers and the people who live in that world. You will read the books, devouring one after the other and trust me Dick Francis has a lot of novels (over 40 by my last count).
There are several series woven into the fabric of Francis's work: notably the Sid Halley and Kit Fielding series.
Assessment: Dick Francis is one of my favorite writers. I read his books with a fierce hunger that remains insatiable and I mourn his death. -
I love all of Dick Francis books, well written and always has an interesting story. Highly recommend!
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When I was growing up, certain names were part of the book landscape. In the library, those book-of-the-month club ads, magazines, I'd always see the same names: Christie, Simenon, Francis...but for some reason I never picked one up. Which is weird, because the horse thing started earlier and lasted longer for me than for some kids. I'm sure if I'd actually checked Francis out then I'd have devoured them all, just as I did all the ones I could find in the 1980s.
I decided to begin at the beginning, and as this book was written the year I was born, it felt like "fate." Nah...not really. But I've always wanted to say that. It was a decent read, as all of the earlier Francis novels are: cleancut heroes, pretty girls, rubbing shoulders with and sometimes being one of the very rich. Upper middle class wishfulfillment stuff, but at least in the earlier novels not too much in the way of sex and violence. Later though...but we'll get to that. Right now I just need some mental popcorn, as insomnia has again reared its ugly head in my life.
If I'm not mistaken, this is the first racing thriller Francis, and while the foreshadowing clunks a bit in spots, it is a decent read. The "chase scene" was at least original, and in Francis' world, of course a killer (even a bespoke one) has to be insane. There's been some debate in the past few years as to "who wrote them, Francis or his wife" but whoever did, they made a decent job of it. -
Dead Cert is the first of Dick Francis’ published novels and is a brilliant read with a good mix of suspense, mystery and enough keys to the puzzle to intrigue the mind without giving it all away. It is statements such as these, at the end of chapter 6, that make Dick Francis such an amazing writer.
“And how could I guess, as I cut the cards for Polly and helped William straighten up his leaning tower of chips, that Henry already held in his sharp eight-year-old brain the key to the puzzle of his father’s death. He didn’t know it himself.”
One would think this could make the story predictable, but in fact the opposite is true and makes the reader even more confused and intrigued to find out what is happening. Francis has such a gift for story telling and giving just enough detail so as to keep readers engaged, and yet not enough to spoil what will happen next.
Predictability wise I did hazard a guess at one of the main culprits by about half way through the book. However there were also enough other red herrings to make it a far from certain conclusion.
Sadly, for me, the ending of the novel left much to be desired and I couldn’t quite believe as I turned the page that in fact that was the end of the book and there were no more pages. Still, if that is the worst I can say of Francis’ first novel it says a great deal about the excellence of this book and what a good author Dick Francis was. I look forward to reading more of his writing. -
Dick Francis may not be trying to earn literary awards, or communicate any life-changing truths with his writing, but he does know how to tell a great mystery story. His heroes are always kind, tough, clever, and good. His plots are always engaging. His romances (there is almost always a romance) do border on overly-cheesy at times, but they are sweet. And I find the world of British horse racing he describes (all of his characters are jockeys or involved in racing in some way or another) to be a fascinating and exciting one.
I also rather like Francis's writing style. His spare prose never draws attention to itself; he writes in his genre very competently and never annoyingly.
Dead Cert happens to be the first of Francis's many mysteries. One thing that Francis got better at over time was romance -- this one was really cheesy. But the basic plot was great and I quite enjoyed the book. Also, I actually found it very fascinating and a bit refreshing to read a mystery that was written before the age of computers, cell phones, and DNA testing. Crime sleuthing was quite a different game back then. -
Corruption, conspiracy, protection and murder is uncovered in the world of racing by millionaire jockey Alan York. After awhile these books just become clones of each other. 3 out of 12. My love of horse racing at this point in my life didn't bleed over to horse racing literature.
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The very first racing thriller penned by Dick Francis,which launched him on his bestselling career.A horse,which is heavily fancied to win,falls during a race and its jockey is killed.His friend investigates and finds himself in mortal danger.
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This book was a turning point in my life, although I didn't know it at the time. I was just 14 when I read it and 'on the run' from school again (I was a frequent truant). I've never forgotten the first line ..."The mingled smells of hot horse and cold river mist filled my nostrils." It drew me in immediately and I read it in one sitting.
If you'll forgive me for not summarizing the plot, as a normal reviewer would - others have done that well enough - I'll tell you what Dick Francis and Dead Cert did for me.
The following weeks just seemed to slip out of my life as I spent them reading all the Dick Francis I could get hold of. When I'd consumed everything, I found that it had consumed me. Horse racing consumed me, and I began searching for anything to do with the sport. The fascination even led me to haunt the doors of my local betting shop, still five years short of legal age.
I skipped school even more often to go and work (unpaid) as a 'lad' in my local racing stable. The outcome was expulsion from school aged 14 without a qualification to my name. All I knew was how to read and to calculate winnings on bets.
There is so much to tell of what Dead Cert led me to, and it's probably best laid out by pasting here a blog article I wrote a couple of years ago.
Seventeen years ago today I was having breakfast in Winterborne Cottage where I was living at the time. It was the shortest commute I’d ever had, nestled in the trees about a hundred yards west of the winner’s enclosure at Aintree racecourse. Aintree’s 270 enclosed acres held a few properties and I was fortunate to live in one, at a peppercorn rent. I’d left SiS the year before to become Aintree’s first marketing manager.
At 8.20 my mobile rang. Aintree MD Charles Barnett, perfect diction unruffled as ever said, ‘Joe, Red Rum died this morning. He’s on his way here. We want him under the ground before telling the press. Can you meet me by the winning post in half an hour?’
It was a job. I didn’t stop to reflect on my life or the part Red Rum had played in it, or the path that had led me from a pit village in Lanarkshire to the best racecourse in the world. I was a mongrel working class boy whose habitual truancy led to a note from the headmaster to my father eight weeks short of my fifteenth birthday: “If your son dislikes school so much, tell him not to come back.” (Oh those pre-politically correct days!).
And I never went back, considering myself expelled at 14. I rejoiced and headed out into the world without a qualification to my name but armed with a twenty-two carat romantic view of life gained from all the books I’d read, huddled in the corner of warm libraries when I should have been at school.
The only teacher I ever paid attention to was one I’d never met, Dick Francis. I’d got through a book of his a day.
On a patch of old farm land behind St Pat’s school in my village, an optimistic farmer called Jim Barrett trained a dozen horses. I never thought then how incongruous it was, these ten acres or so, surrounded by steelworks and abandoned pits. I never noticed the smoky industry; I saw Uplands, Saxon House, Seven Barrows. But no Lanzarote or Bula was housed there.
Still, third-rate thoroughbreds were racehorses, creatures of unlimited potential and I’d be there in many frozen dawns to groom and muck out and sometimes ride and watch the stable jockey, three years my senior and better known in the village as the son of the owner of the fish and chip shop. His name was Len Lungo and a couple of years later he headed south to ride Martin Pipe’s first ever winner, Hit Parade.
The Guv’nor (oh, how I loved calling him that) used to weigh me once a week and I’d starve in the previous twenty four hours hoping that next day he’d tell me I’d make it as a jockey. But he never did and I never stopped growing. Jim Barrett died a relatively young man and I was cast adrift looking for some way to stay in ‘the sport’.
The best I could manage was a job with Ladbrokes the bookmakers. By the time of Red Rum’s first National I was nineteen and managing a busy betting shop in Hamilton and cursing Red Rum not just for catching the magnificent Crisp in the dying strides of that wonderful race, but for being the best bet for many at 9/1 joint-fav with the runner-up.
Those were the days when settling was done without machines. We worked furiously through around 5,000 betting slips as the queues of happy punters snaked around the shop and out the door.
That was the first of Rummy’s Nationals. It was the first of mine as a bona fide worker in the betting industry. That race, that finish, the participants were to play a huge part in my life - unplanned, never knowingly sought. Had someone told me that day how it would all pan out, even at my most romantic and optimistic, I’d never have believed it.
Twenty two years later, breakfast abandoned, I sat in Winterborne Cottage drafting the press release to fax to my great friend Nigel Payne who had recruited me to SiS and had been instrumental in me getting the job at Aintree. The plan was to give the old horse a quiet burial without the media swarming all over the track. One of the reasons for the secrecy was, I suppose, the fact that it is almost impossible to bury half a ton of thoroughbred in a dignified manner.
Walking toward the winning post on that fine dry morning, I passed the place where I’d stood with Red Rum on the day of his 30th birthday, five months before.
May 3rd was to be just another meeting at Aintree. We were down to five meetings a year. In the 60s, Aintree had staged about 17 meetings a year, flat and jumps, but as the course fell further into disrepair, Mrs Topham gradually surrendered meetings till we were left with just a handful.
Anyway, preparing for that May meeting, I noticed in Red Rum’s Timeform essay that he’d been born on May 3rd 1965. I suggested to Charles Barnett that we call our meeting Red Rum’s 30th Birthday Meeting. Charles, always open to ideas said “Crack on.”
I rang Ginger to see if the horse would be well enough to attend and, cheery and helpful as ever, he said. “Of course he will, old son.” It didn’t take long to get a buzz going. The BBC and ITV asked if they could send news teams. We were getting calls from the international media and I got kind of carried away and told Charles I was going to create a special racecard and order 10,000 of them. That May meeting had seldom attracted more than 3,000 racegoers.
“You won’t sell them, Joe.”
“We will. Trust me. I’ve got an interview with Ginger in there, a special portrait of Red Rum on the cover. Timeform have agreed to let me publish their full essay on him from Chasers and Hurdlers!”
“There’s no way, you’ll sell close to ten thousand.”
“Trust me, Charles!”
He smiled and gave one of his shrugs (think Hooper in Jaws trying to dissuade the men in the overcrowded boat “They’re all gonna die!”)
When the track emptied after the meeting I was left staring at a stack of unopened boxes holding about 7,000 racecards. But CB never ever said “I told you so,” and the fact that he didn’t meant a lot to me.
Anyway, on that May evening, I’d walked out with Red Rum and his handler from the old stables. We came across behind the stands, Rummy looking splendid in his coat in the fading sun, ambling along quietly. But just as we came around the end of the Queen Mother stand, about thirty yards beyond the winning post, Rummy raised his head quickly and pricked his ears. His eyes became brighter and he stood very still for what seemed a long time, just watching. Lord knows what he was remembering but I will never forget that image.
Twenty four weeks later he was back close to the winning post he loved so well. This time he was lying on his left side, head toward the red and white disk above him, eyes closed, breath gone. No pallbearers, no coffin, no shroud.
Ginger was on my left, Charles on my right beside the only other man there, Bob Dixon, head groundsman whose precious turf had been gouged by the shovel of a yellow JCB which scooped out more than enough earth to make sure there’d be no embarrassing ‘rehearsal’.
Charles turned toward Ginger. Ginger looked at his oldest equine friend one final time and nodded. Charles raised a thumb to the JCB driver and the shovel was lowered to slip slowly below the spine of the finest Grand National horse that had ever galloped those acres since the first National in 1839. Slowly, slowly, slowly, Rummy was pushed toward the edge of his grave until gravity took over. Ginger walked forward and threw in a handful of fresh earth. I turned and went to my office to place an order for his headstone and to write his epitaph for it.
It didn’t take long for me to figure out that a square yard of marble was never going to be enough on which to do credit to a true equine legend and I settled for the simplest of words. I showed them to Charles and to Ginger and they agreed there was nothing more to say.
A couple of weeks ago, on a beautiful morning, another player in that 1973 National sat with me on Fred Winter’s memorial bench outside his old yard Uplands, the place I’d dreamed of as a teenager. Richard Pitman and I published our first novel 20 years after Rummy’s first win and Richard’s heart-rending defeat on Crisp.
I’d wanted to go there with Richard. Next year is the 40th anniversary of the great race. From that famous yard behind us, Crisp had been driven north to Liverpool. He came back having endeared himself to anyone who had a heart. His jockey came back with the memory of an experience no other human being would ever have. Richard never claimed to be a great jockey. He wasn’t, but he has always been too modest. There were few who could get a horse jumping the way he could and even fewer who would blame themselves for losing the most famous race in the world when giving 23lbs to what turned out to be the greatest Grand National horse in history.
Sitting on that bench Richard explained to me, “It wasn’t so much picking up my stick before the Elbow that was the mistake, it was taking my hand off the reins to use it.” He has had almost 40 years of being tough on himself. I have had 40 years in a sport I love. I never knew the touchstone for me would turn out to be the 1973 Grand National. I helped bury the winning horse. I wrote novels with the man who rode Crisp. I have not sat on a racehorse these past 40 years but it has turned out a great ride through life for me - no skill required from the pilot, carried safely round the course by Lady Luck.
Joe McNally -
DAME AGATHA CHRISTIE AND HER PEERS
Book #47
Francis has a go-to formula that I believe he returns to often, but the thing is there is SO MUCH about the sport of horse racing for me to learn that it seems Francis has an endless supply of good stories.
CAST = 3 stars: Bill Davidson is a young jockey hot on the track, but is killed in the opening chapter. His best friend, Alan York, is also a jockey and in the same race, and thinks he sees how the accident/murder takes place. Alan is out for justice...oh, and for Kate (instantaneous love: Francis does not write of lovers pining away), of course. His friends, Sandy and Dane, may or may not stick with Alan, especially given that all the jockeys are head over heels in love with the miraculous Kate (whose Uncle George and Aunt Deb are a bit on the suspicious side). But this novel is more about atmosphere (and a full throttle finish) than characters.
ATMOSPHERE = 3: Chock full of info about horse racing/steeple-chasing: Francis shows us the rules instead of telling us. That said, there are some comments/terms I had to research to get a full understanding of the on-and-off track shenanigans.
CRIME = 3 stars: I've read 4 novels by this author and I found this crime/murder the ugliest and most intense thus far. I'd never have thought such a thing could happen, so there is originality, but it's a bit dark for me. I like this genre more on the cozy side - the crime is relatively unseen.
INVESTIGATION = 3: Alan is very young and has no idea what kind of people he is up against. People who kill people - and horses - for a few bucks. And he is on his own for most of the story. I kept thinking "Alan, call the cops. Call them RIGHT NOW. Call anyone!" But Alan is too much of a hot shot to listen to me.
RESOLUTION = 5: A master class double-climax beautifully rendered. Here are the kind of final chapters that can make an author famous overnight. And did.
SUMMARY = 3.4. I can't believe I passed up this author for over 50 years. 1960's Francis is definitely as good as Dame Christie in the 1960s, although they are about impossible to compare. Still, a 'who-done-it' is a 'who-done-it', whether in a country house manor or on a racetrack as we have a victim(s), villains, and a cast ready to come to the rescue, if needed. -
Dead Cert, the title of this Dick Francis novel, refers to a sure thing in the racing world as much as that can be possible when enormous horses and the men riding them, are dashing around a steeplechase course consisting of a variety of jumps, different terrains and water barriers to cross. When a highly respected jockey dies from a fall that occurs while riding Admiral, in a ride which had been touted as a dead cert by those in the know, fellow amateur jockey Alan York realizes that foul play was involved. He finds a wire coiled beside one end of the jump where the terrible fall occurred, and knows that someone meant for his friend to fall. He decides to investigate, and the tightly woven plot begins to unravel, doled out by Francis, a bit at a time. Alan is a likeable main character, and not many pages pass before you begin to root for him to win his races, win the heart of the young lady he desires, and come safely through the ever growing dangers posed by a mysterious man who is pulling criminal strings from the shadows. I know nothing about horses, steeplechase, or racing. This is not a problem, since Francis adroitly spins all of the necessary information needed into the plot as required, in an interesting and dexterous manner. No heavy handed dumping of facts here! There is plenty of skulduggery, a little romance, some humour, and the actions of a dedicated, principled young man, who is determined to do right by his deceased friend and his family. A pleasure to read, and a great way to enjoy all things equine without triggering an allergic reaction. Like Archie Bunker, I have always wanted to ride a pony or a horse. It will not happen, due to allergies and asthma, but reading a Dick Francis gem satisfies the need quite nicely. Only thirty some odd books left to go-what a pleasant thought, and it is a dead cert that I will enjoy them as much as I did this one.
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Wealthy Rhodesian (and narrator) Alan York, rides in England for fun until his best friend, family man Bill Davidson fulfills a "dead certain" win on Admiral, ignoring a warning to lose, and dies from a wire across the last jump, then cheating Joe Nantwich is knifed. Another pal, poor but honest and handsome Dane, competes romantically, for novice owner hot Kate. An angry whisper masterminds racetrack fraud, and a protection racket conducted by Marconicar radio taxis. Blue Duck's new innkeeper Thomkins was a soldier, now organizing local resistance, including guard dogs. Who is leaking secrets?
Typical Francis hero with pluck, physical and moral strength, gets beaten up cracked ribs and collarbone p223, walks into the lion's mouth, not a believable move to me, despite his motives to shield typically innocent female. Subtle romance and humor, he does not want a sisterly kiss p192, is better than crude. Maybe tough-guys are as dated as pennies for the phone p330.
He knows the criminal from the first. Teasers vary in importance, but effectively hang us over a cliff at the end of chapters, such as "a lot of things became clear to me. But not enough" p208 Eight-year old Henry Davidson, son of Davidson, does not hold the answer p115 in either his habit of overheard phone calls p237, or betting slip collection, so why the wide-eyes? Stopping for lunch at the Blue Duck p172 provides a clue early, but the mass countryside chase would have given the cabs involvement away eventually.
(Spoilers:
Especially when expecting an attack, I did not need to recognize a stolen custom tie to know the pickup police were fake p287. When Alan remembers who kicked him unconscious, and takes revenge, the step outside the law is troubling; the reunited friendship with romantic competitor hopefully permanent.) -
Started: December 1, 2007
Finished: December 3, 2007
***
This is another re-read by one of my favourite authors. Dick Francis was a highly successful jockey, and he used to ride the Queen Mother's horses. When he retired, he started writing books*, and I think they're brilliant. They all involve horse racing in some way (though some of them very peripherally), and with few exceptions, the protagonist (of which very few are repeated) is forced into the role of amateur detective, usually out of self-defense (or defense of his loved ones).
His books are almost all quite thin, and thus a quick read, and they are a capital example of how to pack a lot of story into a short book. He wastes no words, and has a deft hand at both characterization and story craft. There are no tricks, though the reader doesn't always know everything the protagonist knows, especially as all threads start coming together, but the denouement always makes spectacular sense. He ramps up the stakes for his characters by steady turns, and his protagonists are, to a man, well-rounded, interesting, flawed, human, and heroic.
It's been a long time since I read this particular volume, and I'd forgotten how much I liked it.
***
*Yes, I know that people have said it's his wife who wrote the books. Who cares? The books say "Dick Francis"; makes no difference to me if it's a pseudonym for his wife; the books are just as brilliant. -
Book on CD read by Simon Prebble
Alan York is a wealthy man and an amateur jockey. He is riding well in this race but still a close second to his good friend Bill Davidson … until Bill’s horse falls and Alan finishes first. The victory is a hollow one because Bill is so seriously injured he dies in hospital. As Alan thinks over the race he is certain that there was something unnatural about the way Admiral took that jump. So, he goes back to the course to look at the jump where Bill’s horse fell. He finds a coil of wire – proof that the course was sabotaged. But by the time he gets a race official to take a look the wire is gone. Trying to figure out why someone would want to hurt his friend, Alan begins investigating and finds a network of corruption that involves much more than racing.
I am late to the party when it comes to reading Dick Francis, and I’m sorry I missed his work for all these years. He writes a good thriller. His plot is well-crafted and moves quickly. There are plenty of red herrings as well as legitimate clues. I thought I had it figured out, and was happy when I was proved wrong. A great ride!
Simon Prebble does a fine job on the audio version. He has good diction, great pacing and does a particularly good job on the thrilling chase scene. -
I read this because one of the Penguin 60 books (
Racing Classics) I read recently contained, instead of a short story, the first chapter of this book. It was a very well written first chapter, which built suspense and set up a great story. I was pretty annoyed at that, and had whetted my appetite to finish the novel, which I picked up for a couple of dollars a few days later.
Dick Francis is a former steeple-chase jockey, so is writing well within his sphere of knowledge, and that comes across in this book. To a person with little knowledge in the racing industry, and less interest, it reads as a technically correct book.
The story involves a number of steeple-chase race 'accidents', which of course are not accidents at all, and I would expect that without the technical precision of the writing, a book like this would fail to convince. Also wrapped in are organist crime in the form of race fixing, bet fixing and general intimidation tactics.
I enjoyed it for what it is - a fast paced murder mystery thriller, where the main character is cleverer that the police and all others. I don't read a lot of these types of books, probably one or two a year usually, so this one sits ok with me.
Three and a half stars, rounded down to 3. -
Dead Cert is the first Dick Francis novel, originally published in 1962. These mysteries centered around the world of horse racing, has no trouble standing the test of time.
Alan York, steeplechaser, loses his best friend in what looks like a tragic accident. But, Alan discovers that someone engineered the accident, killing his friend and leaving behind a widow and several children. When Alan begins asking questions, he becomes a target himself.
A good solid mystery that deals with the underbelly of horse racing and gambling. There is also a touch of romance involved.
Although this book was published many years ago, it is written in such a way that you would never know it.
Overall this one is a A+ all the way. -
I've only read one other book by Dick Francis, and although I enjoyed the story, I wasn't sure if I'd really be that anxious to read another. I'm not sure if it was the violence, the horse racing and gambling, or what, but it just didn't pull me in as other series have done.
But then I came across this book - the first by Dick Francis and I figured I'd give it another try. All of my previous grievances still hold true, but I will admit that he is adept at writing an exciting, suspenseful story. I liked it and may read more by this author, but he's still not my favorite. -
I love Dick Francis; his stories always seem familiar and comforting. I enjoy listening to audio books while I commute and his books are often read by Simon Prebble, who is quite enjoyable. Although it's not great literature and it's sometimes predictable, Dead Cert is a great read/listen.
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Dick Francis knows how to start a novel with a bang—in this case the murder of Alan York’s best friend in the middle of a steeplechase. It didn’t look like murder, but York sees more than he’s supposed to and sets himself on a path to find out who killed his friend—a decision that almost results in his own death.
The mystery is a good one and there are several tense actions scenes both on and off the track, but for me the standout element of the book was Alan York. I would have liked to have learned a lot more about him—his past growing up in Africa and the teacher who helped form so much of his character. The love interest in this one never worked for me, but they are rarely the strong point of Dick Francis novels. In this case, he did a little more poorly than usual with what I thought was a wholly unbelievable ending to that particular subplot. Fortunately, that’s not enough to derail this story of murder at the races.
If you liked this review, you can find more at
www.gilbertstack.com/reviews. -
The main guy is supposed to be an amateur Sherlock Holmes, but he does too many stupid things to be enjoyable.
STORY BRIEF:
Alan has a good relationship with his father who is extremely wealthy, so Alan doesn’t need to work. He spends his time as a jockey riding steeple chase horses. He lives with his friend Bill and Bill’s wife and children. The book opens with Bill riding the lead horse in a race. A bad guy strings wire over a jumping fence which causes Bill’s horse to fall, killing Bill. Alan is right behind Bill and sees the wire, not knowing what it is at that time. Alan investigates Bill’s murder. Someone wants Alan to stop investigating and threatens him.
REVIEWER’S OPINION:
The cover of the book says “Dick Francis The Grand Master of Crime Fiction.” Sorry, but I disagree. Too much illogic and stupidity. Alan’s father tells others “Alan has a Sherlock-Holmes-type nature. He is good at sniffing out trouble and bad guys.” Well, I don’t recall Sherlock Holmes doing stupid things. Sure Alan figures out who the bad guys are and causes them to get caught, but he does stupid things along the way.
Stupidity examples:
1. Alan sees the wire that killed Bill. At the time he’s not sure what it is. Does he immediately go to the authorities to investigate? No. He spends hours at the hospital with Bill’s wife, and then later goes to the race course to investigate. He sees the wire. Does he take a picture of it or take someone with him as a witness? No. He goes away and brings someone back later, and by that time it’s gone. The local policeman questions a few race course employees, but he doesn’t do any more investigating. The reason is there is no second witness to the wire. Also, why did the bad guy wait hours before removing the wire? Not logical.
2. Thugs attack Alan telling him to stop investigating. He receives more threats. He is about to run another race, and he expects the bad guys will put up a wire to take him down. His thinking is “I don’t want the other jockeys to get hurt, so I’ll stay in front and take the wire.” STUPID!!!! He is wealthy. He could easily hire some private investigator or body guard types to hide near the various jumping fences with cameras. They could take pictures of bad things happening and probably prevent it. Did he do anything like that? No. Instead, his horse hit the wire, he fell on the ground, got tromped by other horses, and then a bad guy walks up and kicks him in the head and ribs, giving him amnesia, a concussion, and broken ribs on top of the other injuries. Would Sherlock Holmes do that? No.
3. Alan knows a bad guy is sitting in his office, has a gun, and wants Alan dead. Alan’s weapon is a roll of coins in a bag. Alan goes to the bad guy, plans to sneak up on him and hit him before he can be shot. Why doesn’t Alan take a better weapon or someone with him?
Incomplete ending:
Alan has a scuffle with a bad guy. The bad guy gets injured, but the book ends without saying what the injury is. Is the guy dead or alive? Will there be evidence to put him away? We don’t know. The happy ending is “Alan didn’t get injured in that scuffle.”
Unsupported romance thrown in:
This felt like the author threw in a romance without paying attention. It wasn’t realistic. Alan meets Kate. He thinks she is beautiful. They have two dates: one out to dinner and one at her home. He kisses her once. She kisses like a sister. He looks forward to awakening her passionate nature later. He tells her he loves her and wants to marry her. He proposes more than once. There was no character development about her. Does she have anything upstairs? She never said anything of interest. I don’t know what they talked about. What made him love her? This needed some dialogue.
No cell phones:
This was published in 1962, before cell phones. Frequently I thought how different this story would be if Alan had a cell phone. I suppose it is interesting to be reminded of what life was like without them.
My favorite part:
I really liked the story about Tompkins who owned a local bar. Thugs beat him up and destroyed his property. They wanted weekly extortion money. I liked what he did to protect himself and what he did with other local shop owners. He did smart things that worked. He was my hero. But his story wasn’t big enough. It was a minor side story.
NARRATOR:
I will probably avoid the narrator Tony Britton if I can. I think he would be ok for British people, but his British accent was hard for me to understand. I had to concentrate and pay careful attention. It took energy. Hearing American speak is easier and more enjoyable for me. Some reviewers complained about his voice for the drunk character Joe. I didn’t like it either, but it was only a few scenes. My problem was his narration of the whole book. Don’t get me wrong. I love to hear people speak with a British accent in conversation, but for some unknown reason it didn't work for me in this book.
DATA:
Unabridged audiobook reading time: 8 hrs and 9 mins. Swearing language: none that I recall. Sexual content: none. Setting: around 1960 England. Book copyright: 1962. Genre: mystery suspense. Ending: happy although incomplete. -
Dick Francis' first novel.
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Another of the old Francis books, not as good as High Stakes, but well worth the read. Even a little romance thrown in which is unusual for his books.
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Bill Davidson has everything--a doting wife, three adoring children, the best hunter 'chaser in the country, a reputation as the best amateur steeplechase jockey going, and more than enough money to finance it all. Then one day, his prize horse Admiral takes a nasty fall during a race, and Bill Davidson winds up dead. Everyone shrugs it off as an unfortunate accident--everyone, that is, except Alan York, best friend to the dearly departed. Alan's convinced there was something not quite right about Bill's fall, and he's determined to get to the bottom of it. But Alan finds out the hard way that asking questions can have unpleasant consequences, and could end up costing him everything . . .
Once again, Dick Francis brings his considerable racing experience to bear in this excellent mystery. Or perhaps I shouldn't say 'once again', since this is actually the first of Francis's horse-racing mysteries. It is easily one of his best. This is due at least in part to the fact that the bad guy ends up having a fairly normal, believable motive. Many of his other mysteries rely rather heavily on psycho killers who are motivated by little more than madness or pure evil--a lazy solution, to my way of thinking. A more complex villain--one with whom the reader can, at least in some sense, identify, is a much stronger choice. I'm pleased to report that we get just such a villain here, though there are certainly hints of Francis's coming predilection for crazy villains. But fortunately, it doesn't come to full fruition here.
As always, the story intersects with the racing world in some way--in this case both the victim and the hero are amateur jockeys, and much of the action centers around their racing activities. However, we do get a bit of a glimpse into the intricacies of protection rackets, bookmaking, and taxicab companies along the way.
Every time I read a Dick Francis mystery, I find myself wondering why more of his works haven't been adapted for film or television. Turns out, this one has (though I've no idea how it turned out). Still, Francis's books seem ready made for a more visual medium--they're action packed, with just the right blend of romance and thrills, and the leading men always seem like plum Hollywood roles.
In this case, our hero is Alan York, the likable son of a successful trader. He's ridiculously wealthy, but his unconventional upbringing in Africa prevented him from becoming spoiled or pampered--and in fact equipped him with courage, sleuthing skills, and a certain amount of physical prowess which he will most definitely need before the story's done. It's a wonder that such a matrimonial catch hasn't been snapped up. Enter Kate--vibrant, innocent, and newly gifted with a horse of her own. Alan falls for her but hard; she, on the other hand, is in no hurry to rush into anything. And unfortunately, Alan's got his hands full trying to solve the mystery of his best friend's death, which is something of a challenge when everyone else thinks it was anything other than a tragic accident. Still, he's not deterred. One way or another, he'll figure out whodunit.
If you love a good mystery, Francis is your man. And if you're new to Francis, this isn't a bad place to start.
