As one would expect from a tough nut like Jenny Pitman, her autobiography does not skirt around the difficult parts of her life: her first marriage to jump jockey (now broadcaster), Richard Pitman; her application to become one of the first female trainers to be recognised as such (previously women had to use their husband's names); the ups and downs of a trainer's life; and the cancer which nearly claimed her life.
All through it, the main quality she displays is what some would called a focussed attitude, others would call stubbornness. Although I feel she labours the point somewhat, it is fair to say that were she, say, Martin Pipe (champion jumps trainer for most of the past decade) or any other successful male trainer, nobody would ever have called her stubborn.
However, what also comes across is someone who passionately loves horses. Perhaps it is due to Thelwell's cartoons that we in Britain have such a clichéd idea of the little girl in love with her pony, but people whose lives revolve around equestrian sports do genuinely lavish extraordinary amounts of love and attention on their charges, bordering on obsession. Jenny Pitman successfully puts this across.
Two criticisms: Jenny has so often talked of her love of horses that she can sometimes come across as holier than all other trainers. All trainers, in my experience as a race-goer, whilst wanting to win and recognising that racehorses are bred to race, want their horses back in one piece. It is fashionable to knock any pursuit that involves animals so obviously stretching themselves to the limit (usually by people whose only experience of horses is catching sight of the odd police horse), but nobody should delude themselves that grown men and women do not feel the pain of loss when a horse dies, particularly on the race track. If anything, Jenny Pitman's moments of loss have perhaps been so painful as to render her almost incapable of fully expressing how awful it is.
The other criticism would be of the opening chapters exploring her childhood. She does not actually use the words "We were poor but happy", but the general drift is there. It is all rather 'Darling Buds Of May', which is sad because it is obvious that so much of her common sense and knowledge of horses was passed down from her grandfather and father. It is also clear that her parents never stood in her way. I have long held the theory that the people who most obstruct talented young women are usually their parents, chipping away at their confidence. It is a fitting tribute to both Jenny Pitman's parents that they were always there for her (even if they did manage to leave her kid sister behind at the family home as everyone else went off to Jenny's wedding!).
In style, the book tends to jump from one incident to another, sometimes with little warning, such that it only vaguely gives an idea of the cyclical, seasonal nature of horse training. The text could probably have done with some more ruthless editing or perhaps even a literary collaborator, but then that would have involved a deal of compromise, which really isn't Jenny's style. Which is why we racing fans like her!