Author: JJ Pengilly

Publisher: BookRix

Published: 2015-04-24

Total Pages: 433

ISBN-13: 3736823398

Horse racing is the Sport of Kings, but also the historical workplace of the underclass. Jockeys may inhabit both worlds and can rise, if talented and lucky, from pauper to feted royalty. Duncan Pengilly is at the peak of his powers and anointed at the top of his profession - a prince in silks. Following a fall Duncan now finds his murky past inhabiting the safe and confident place of his present. He fears for his safety - his sanity and his future - after he suffers a series of visions or hallucinations that render sitting atop a thoroughbred at full speed even more fraught with danger than it otherwise might be. At the same time his personal relationships also face the same prospects of imminent fracture. Risk and reflex are stock in trade for any successful jockey and Duncan responds to the threat by undertaking a reckless quest to find the source; to find a cure. In doing so he will be forced to confront his past in kaleidoscopic episodes and painful detail. Memories and dreams, imagination and truth. Blinkered offers a journey of discovery through the quagmire of the stable yard and glory of the racetrack, with observations and insight seen through both binoculars and Through the Looking-Glass. "Thomas Mann sat on a sumptuous black leather armchair on the business side of the desk. The only device or aid atop his desk was a cream telephone. Duncan sat uncomfortably on a chair of more humble expectations; a rigid frame perched upon a rigid frame. Duncan’s eyes darted about the room. It was sparsely decorated; a certificate of accreditation framed and set conspicuously on the wall behind the desk; a framed photograph of Mr Mann shaking hands with an unsmiling ex-Prime Minister (most widely remembered not for policy but for the manner in which he was to gain power) hung at an angle on the wall to the right. Duncan had expected a better show, piles of slow burnt ash and ample displays of flash-trash, objet d’tective: a gun, warm, though not still smoking, courtesy of Messers Smith and Wesson; knuckledusters, spotted with blood and tarnished with wear and abuse; handcuffs on the desk to be jingled and jangled at flat spots in the conversation; and there would be mug shots of criminals most vile, poor haircuts, bent and broken noses and distinguishing tattoos; a coffee crusted mug and food scraps, potato chips and various fluorescent colours of pizza toppings would brighten the desktop and floor; and where were the pornographic photographs, open files and fingerprint kits, the magnifying glass, the fucking detective stuff!? Duncan sat disillusioned and disappointed. A waste of time, he thought, preparing some excuse to leave before further embarrassing himself."