My Racing Heart: The Passionate World of Thoroughbreds and the Track

When Nan Mooney was seven years old, she sat in her grandmother May-May's living room to watch her first horse race ... And so began a turbulent romance between a woman and a sport.

Part memoir, part journey into the compelling world of Thoroughbred horse racing, My Racing Heart gallops headlong into the wild culture and fabulous creatures that rise up around a racetrack. Nan Mooney looks at the horses, jockeys, and trainers; the gambling and corruption; and racing's age-old history and forever offbeat society. From the dusty backstretch at a small-town track to the stands at magnificent Churchill Downs, Nan Mooney captures the risks and the glory, the excitement and the passion, for horse lovers, sports fans, and anyone who has ever craved a place to run wild.

Nan Mooney loves horses. Specifically, Thoroughbreds, the ones who hit the track, dust it up with six to twelve of their closest friends, and make humans gape in awe at the process. This odd amalgam of personal-memoir-cum-treatise-on-track-life is not an unfamiliar breed to the horse fan; the measuring stick against which all such books are brought is Bill Barich's stunning Laughing in the Hills. I'm sure one day, another book that good in that genre will arrive. While My Racing Heart has its good points, to be simple about it, this ain't it.

Where Barich succeeds as so many others (Michael Klein, Mooney, Liz Mitchell, and many others) fail is in his ability to take two different things that have inherently different paces and make them merge together into one book whose readability is consistent across chapters on differing subjects (in Barich's case, handicapping the races at Golden Gate while dealing with his mother's cancer). He meshes the two in such a way that, despite being parallel narratives happening a country apart from one another, the whole thing flows. Seamless, like an egg, as Stephen King once said. In Mooney's case the two main threads are a basic nuts-and-bolts look at the Thoroughbred industry from someone with enough clout to get inside the lines but not enough cynicism to keep pumping out the same old platitudes and a memoir about her grandmother, who introduced her to horse racing at an age tender enough that I suspect her parents weren't very happy. Either of these two things on their own would have stood as a book in itself; the slow, meandering passages about her grandmother and how the two of them interacted and the snappy, sometimes sarcastic looks at track life. It is when the two are entwined with one another that things break down to the extent they do, with the reader finding himself transported with no warning from the high of making friends with a Kentucky Derby contender to a lazy meditation on what life must have been like in the early twenties in Alaska.

Not to say it isn't worth reading; that's not it at all. There is some fine stuff here. It just could have used a little tuning. **


Avoid this book   January 16, 2004
 8 out of 13 found this review helpful

I bought this book hoping for some real insight into the world of Thoroughbred racing from the history and allure of the breed to the off limits world of the backstretch. Given the authors credentials, one might think that that's what you'd get. This book, however, is the most self indulgent, cloying piece of pap ever put to paper. This book reads more like a teenage drama queen's diary than a satisfying chronicle of The Sport of Kings. The only reason to buy this book would be the picture on the cover; it's phenomenal. Unfortunately, the photographer wasn't involved with writing the book.


I had to put it down...   January 15, 2004
 8 out of 14 found this review helpful

This book is so full of useless, flowery writing that I just couldn't take it anymore. Her method of description is simply annoying. Not only that... every chapter begins with lame stories of May May, Nan's grandmother, that just about drove me crazy.


i cannot read this book...   November 7, 2003
 2 out of 33 found this review helpful

simply because the author's name is 'nan'. so sorry, but when i see the name 'nan mooney' it makes me want to vomit, or at least pass on reading this. anyone who walks around and authors books and attaches the name 'nan' screams overweight housewife to me. please pass on this because it really is wrong to read a book by an author with sch a name. if i wrote a book, and signed 'little danny o'malley' would you read it? hell no. or heck, which i'm sure amazon will put in the previous sentence.