[9/10]
The train hooted in the distance: one of the most haunting of seductive sounds to a wanderer. That, and the hollow breathy boom of departing ships. If I had any addiction, it was to the setting off, not the arrival.
I have an addiction to Dick Francis mysteries/ racing thrillers. Also one for travels to far away exotic places. Canada, in particular the Rocky Mountains around Lake Louise and Banff National Park, has long been on my bucket list as a photographer.
This might explain why this is the third time I’m reading The Edge and why I gave it such a high rating.
The siren call is heard:
All Aboard!
The Great Transcontinental Mystery Race Train departs from Toronto on its way to Vancouver, a legendary trip organized by the Jockey Club of Canada to promote national events. Owners and horses from local and international stables are invited to participate in three major races and to enjoy a luxury journey across a whole continent.
Every possible extra luxury would be available if requested in advance, and in addition, for entertainment along the way, an intriguing mystery would be enacted on board and at the stop-overs, which passengers would be invited to solve.
Take care, wanderers. All is not what it seems. There will be actors on board, posing as staff and as guests, hired to entertain. There is a criminal on board, and a sleuth sent from England to foil his evil mastermind plans. There might even be romance in the air, as it always blooms on long, romantic voyages under moonlight and majestic landscapes.
Danger! Murder! Mystery! Romance!
The race is on!
>>><<<>>><<<
‘Never mind about him,’ Millington said. ‘He’s part of the scenery.’
Being invisible is a rare but useful talent in a spy. It’s also a solitary lifestyle for Tor Kelsey, a young man of substantial private means, who feels uneasy about a life of privilege and luxury. Tor prefers to be engaged in useful pursuits, such as acting as the secret eyes and ears for the Jockey Club Security Commission.
He is extremely good at blending in and at camouflage in plain view. I was never noticeable. he remarks early in this first person narrative. His superiors at the Jockey Club are frustrated over their inability to catch a smooth operator named Filmer, accused of several crimes but acquitted after the main witnesses are secretly threatened and bullied. After learning that Filmer has inserted himself among the guests aboard the Canadian Mystery Train, Tor Kelsey is sent to keep an eye on him and to stop Filmer from doing anything to sabotage the journey, if possible.
It was all the wrong way round, I thought: it was more usual to know the crime and seek the criminal, than to know the criminal and seek his crime.
I could describe now the events aboard the train, the main players, the method of blending in chosen by Tor, the theatrical mystery that somehow overlaps with the real mystery and more. But this is the actual meat of the story, and I believe it should be revealed only at the pace set by the author.
Even on a third performance, I still enjoy every moment aboard the train and at the several stop-overs. It’s like watching a favorite theatrical performance or a good movie over and over and having more time now to pay attention to the nuts and bolts of how the story is constructed, what motivations are given to the actors and, why not, relax and enjoy the spectacular scenery.
... what a lark! , Fancy that! and Fascinating, I thought are all exclamations I have extracted from the text. Usually they describe the narrator’s enthusiasm about learning more about trains, about Canada, about horses and racing, about actors and about catering, among other things. This is a manifestation of the curiosity bug that I know had also bitten Dick Francis who, in his later novels, has made a habit of choosing a subject or two outside of the racing world, studying it in detail and somehow use the information for plot construction.
The railroad across Canada, I’d learned, was single track for most of the way. Only in towns and at a few other places could trains going in opposite directions pass.
Dick Francis is also a sure bet because he is predictable. Maybe that’s not the best quality you look for in a mystery writer who is supposed to keep coming up with surprising twists in his stories, but I do enjoy my Dick Francis novels because I know what to expect. First of all, there will always be something about horses in it somewhere, and something said about his love for the animals and for the sport:
I loved to watch them: never grew tired of it. I loved the big beautiful animals with their tiny brains and their overwhelming instincts and I’d always, all over the world, felt at home tending them, riding them and watching them wake up and perform.
Then, I know there will be a romantic subplot, treated with understated passion and humour and earnest optimism. Some cynical readers like to see in these chapters the gentle guiding hand of the author’s wife, who is supposed to have actually written his best sellers. I like to think of them as a couple who enjoyed working together, had a lot of fun researching and writing the stories and who were really relaxed about credits.
Light-heartedness was a treasure in a world too full of sorrows, a treasure little regarded and widely forfeited to aggression, greed and horrendous tribal rituals.
Last but not least, I read Dick Francis for his moral compass, one that points reliably to the North of compassion and integrity and fair play. You will always know who the good guys are and who the bad guys are. Look for the self-effacing, quiet but resolute handyman who is good at his job without being assertive or boastful, and then look for the violent bully who thinks he can get away with everything through bluster and violence.
In the context of ten thousand years, I thought, what did Filmer and his sins matter. Yet all we had was here and now, and here and now ... always through time ... was where the struggle towards goodness had to be fought. Towards virtue, morality, uprightness, order: call it what one liked. A long, ever-recurring battle.
‘Why are you bothering?’ he asked.
‘I don’t like frighteners.’
What else can I say about the book without spoilers? It does sometimes feel like a promotional advertisement for the Canadian Bureau of Tourism, but I really want to visit the country myself for real and not through books and picture postcards, so I didn’t mind a bit these parts of the novel.
It is also a bit theatrical, contrived, but this is the whole point of the plot: there is a mystery aboard the train, a play within a play, just like that guy Shakespeare once wrote, and it is finely tuned to the actual events on the trip:
‘The play’s the thing, wherein I’ll catch the conscience of the King? Right? Is that what you were up to?’
The title? you might ask. It is open to interpretation, but the patient reader will be offered a racing simile in one of the last chapters:
‘It seems to have been neck and neck now and then,’ Mercer said.
The Brigadier considered it. ‘Maybe. But our runner had the edge.’