Alexander Kinloch wants nothing more than to be able to stay at his mountain retreat in Scotland and paint and earn his living. All of which he is doing until the day he returns from a trip to town for mail and supplies and is greeted by 4 thugs who rough him up considerably while demanding "where is it?" Al tells them nothing and they leave after pitching him over a cliff. While on his trip to town, he'd learned that his stepfather had had a heart attack and his mother was requesting his presence. So, banged up, he went and it was there that he began to learn what it was that the thugs were after. Al convinces his stepfather to name him as power of attorney and he begins to investigate to try to save the family brewery. Unfortunately, there are several people who would prefer that he not be looking into the financial trail...
I think this is one of the best ones I've read. As is typical of Dick Francis, horses play a role but this one isn't in and around the stables the way many of the books are. Here he's trying to preserve some family treasures, one of which happens to be a horse, along with a prominent racing cup and a sword hilt. This holds true to formula in that he has to get banged up a bit before it is all sorted out and the bad guys are led off. Even though it follows a general pattern, the twists and turns are unique. In the end you're left with a feeling of satisfaction about this likeable guy who shows his ingenuity and the extent to which he'd go to help the family.

Good but not quite his best

Actually a good Dick Francis this, impressive for his late period, but somehow not quite great. Maybe if this were an early read but there are just a few too many well worn tropes of his.


As for ideology there are a number of slightly scattergun grumbles he decides to fling out, all of them reactionary. The main seems to be a general deference to the rights of the aristocracy to keep hold of historic British items rather than let the likes of the National Trust or museums look after them so the public can see them.


As part of this thesis is the conviction that such institutions make the objects unsafe and easily stolen. Apparently private residences never get burgled...and the solution is to hide these things completely so you can't even look on them.


There's a brief foray into bemoaning that criminals in prison get the chance to have an education for prospects once released rather than (I guess) live in human rights' destroying punishing misery. Obviously this misses the entire point of incarceration (rehabilitation).


Taxation too comes under fire. As ever the most tiresome of moans: all money is already the property the govt, taxation is important not only to allow us to redistribute wealth but to grow the economy because hoarding of wealth in a few small places doesn't run an economy.


Both of these blind spots have an irony given the Francises were constantly learning new things to weave into their plots and are never above a few pages (as we get here regarding acrylic paints) explaining to the readers the intricacies of this process. But apparently learning progressive social notions was never on the agenda.

In downsizing my GR-library, one minor rule : limit of five books per author.
Some exceptional authors might get more :. Michael Connelly ... Dick Francis is another.

If going on a road trip in the old days, took along audios ... For Francis, his readers, Simon and Tony, are exceptional, too.

This one gets a "body of work" fifth star.

quote from Dana Stabenow's review
"I've been rereading all the Dick Francis on the shelf in the Homer Public Library. This one is still my favorite, painter Alexander Kinloch, "

As a teenager I used to read Dick Francis, and I've always remembered feeling good after downing a mystery by him. Now returning after twenty years, it's nice to know my early instincts were on the right track. His characters have character: "I painted pictures. I lived in a broken-down long-deserted shepherd's hut, known as a bothy, out on a windy Scottish mountainside, without electricity. My hair grew to my shoulders. I played the bagpipes. My many and fairly noble relations thought me weird." How could one not fall completely in love with this outlandish artist, who so clearly is going to have his wits about him as he solves a murder. Artistic and brainy? My kind of character.

"To the Hilt" is, I'll be honest, the last in my opinion of Francis's really, really good novels. After that they were just good.

It's also one of the last of his "artist-hero" books, this time about Alexander Kincaid, nephew to the laird (yes, really) and semi-starving artist, who lives in a bothie in the Highlands and paints golf courses (yes, really). He's the family outcast who is called upon to save the family finances and honor when things go awry.

There are more or less three intertwined plots in this book: the story of Al's fight to save his mother from ruin and disgrace when his stepfather passes away, the story of the hunt for the family heirloom, a sword hilt that had once supposedly belonged to Bonnie Prince Charlie, and the story of Al's painting of a portrait that may or may not turn out all right. It's a testament to Francis's technique that all are equally engrossing, and one worries quite a bit over whether or not Al will be satisfied with the result of his latest painting.

It's also a story of the harsh beauty of wilderness and the perfidy of the humans who sometimes populate it, and the spirit of resistance against said harshness and perfidy. A lyrical novel, as befits its subject matter, that is also a gripping thriller.

An enjoyable mystery in the classic Dick Francis style. While horse racing is not center stage in this work, it stands in and around the central story of a painter who is enlisted by his ailing stepfather in hunting down stolen money. For those who like Francis' style, this book is sure to please as it follows the general pattern of many of his books. Yet, it has enough nuance to keep readers interested.

Solid, entertaining story but a little too easy to put down.

What a delight Dick Francis is at any time, but more especially when you're confined to a sick-bed! With heroes like Alexander Kinloch, who wear their curls long, are successful and very profitable artists, who understand the the world of high finance while pretending to be a booby, who seem to win everyone’s trust and just by willing it so, whose sense of ethics and high values are so far above the kindly husband who brings you some chicken soup from a can, that they take you on their death-defying adventures. What does it matter that you are numb with horror afterwards. Fortunately, in this novel, none of those lovely racehorses (or the ordinary work-horses, for that matter) are brutalised or murdered. Other than that, the violence is par for the course, while the suspense and detective work just about saves the book from being totally ho-hum.

This is the one with the guy who is a painter and lives in the middle of nowhere in Scotland. It's a pretty good one. Not much horse-racing in it.

This is one of my all time favorites of Dick Francis!

Characterization and character interaction are strong points of this novel, in which a reclusive artist has to emerge from his hut in Scotland to rescue a brewery (family business) that has been thrown into chaos by a huge embezzlement.

Aside from the often-appearing Dick Francis sadistic villains this is quite a realistic novel, with much attention to what it takes to succeed as a painter--both artistically and financially--as well as insider views of racing and big business/computer crime. Dysfunctional family dynamics are of interest, also.

It's not exactly what one would expect from a Dick Francis novel, but quite a good read with at least three interlocking plot lines.

Dick Francis is quickly becoming my favorite mystery author, and one of my favorite authors in general! Every time I sit down with one of his books (usually hungering for something engrossing and interesting), I almost always have it finished by the next day, because I can't stop reading. Why would I want to? His stories are fast-paced, his characters charming and likeable without being too generic, and his plots intricately and well-constructed. It's just fun to read his stuff. And I almost always learn from them, which is bizarre. From "Shattered" I learned more than I'd ever known before about glasswork. From "Nerve" I learned an immense amount about steeplechase jockeys and the horse-racing world in general. I don't mean to get this information, it's just part of the story!
This book actually deals less with the world of racing than any of the other Dick Francis mysteries I've read. The hero, Alexander Kinloch, is an artist living alone in the wilds of Scotland on land owned by his Earl uncle (referred to in the book as "Himself"), and the only horses in the book are the ones Al paints and the horse he has to hide for his ailing stepfather, whose company has been plundered from within and is heading towards bankruptcy.
The characters in this story are enjoyable and fleshed out, the dialogue is enjoyable as ever, and it's a jem among an already fantastic trove of stories. There should be a catagory for leisure reading that's still intellectual and engaging. This book would fit in that catagory perfectly.