I've been a Dick Francis fan for 25 years and have read and re-read everything he's written with glee and delight: even when the basic plots and what happened to the hero seem formulaic, the background research and the sparkling dialogue, and the quick way in which the author taught you about the new area of knowledge the book was dealing with always shone out against much less accomplished writers.
Sadly, the recent efforts lack that polish and clarity and Silks is even more longwinded than Dead Heat was. Perhaps some of the fault lies in the main character, a rather staid and straight-laced barrister who takes most of the book to be jolted out of his rather complacent life, but the dialogue seemed stilted, whole pages were devoted to complex backstory that previous books would have dashed off in a few succinct paragraphs, and overall I felt what was needed most was a good editor.
Once the story got going I did enjoy it, but getting to that point was a chore, no devouring page after page with gusto as in previous works.
Its great that Dick Francis is still writing, and I'm glad his son Felix is able to work with him but I suspect what we're really lacking here is the fine and sure touch of his wife Mary; it must be hard to change a writing team that had honed its skills to perfection. This is readable, and somewhat fun, but I hope the next book sees Dick and Felix getting into their stride.
Not one I'll be re-reading, sad to say and three stars mainly because even a poor Dick Francis is still a Dick Francis
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