I started this the very day we got the news of the passing of Sir Stirling Miss, unfortunately it wasn’t the insightful biography I was hoping for, as Moss is almost a peripheral figure in the story. What could have been an insightful account into the birth of modern Grand Prix racing is let down by the author’s own detailed knowledge that surfaces in unexplained asides, and references to the sport and culture of the period that are meaningless without context. Edwards rambling, almost chatty, style means the central narrative meanders to a frustrating degree. And that’s the word I’d use to describe the act of reading this volume - frustrating. ( )