I couldn't help reading this and thinking that I might have a reasonable chance of making a living as a ghost-writer/editor. Two Formula 1 drivers of the 1990s have published their autobiographies recently and suffice to say that this is not the one which was written by a man who decided to spend his retirement doing an English Lit. degree and coming away with 1st class honours. It is not a particularly well-written book: something of a concatenation of sporting cliches and jokes that maybe were funny if you were there, but don't quite land on the page.
All the same, for all that the writing is not great, I found it easy enough to overlook this once I'd got immersed in his story. Probably this book is only going to be of interest to people who, like me, spent their early years at Silverstone, Oulton Park and Brands Hatch, watching Johnny Herbert and his contemporaries coming up through the ranks (in contrast, with, say Richard Williams' 'The Death of Ayrton Senna', which I think might work even for readers who can't think of anything more deathly dull than being forced to watch the Grand Prix on a Sunday afternoon).
It helps that his story is more interesting than I had at first realised. As I remembered it, he'd been a rising star of the junior formulae who, when he finally reached the top of the sport, was found slightly wanting, but nonetheless came away with a few lucky wins. I'd not appreciated the full impact of his 1988 accident that saw him laid up in hospital for months and where he narrowly escaped having his foot amputated and was told that he would probably never walk again, let alone race. Nor that when he first returned to the sport, he simply didn't have the strength to use the brakes properly, and that throughout the whole of his career, he continued to be in considerably pain when driving. He describes himself as the sport's first disabled driver (not strictly true, though as Archie Scott Brown only ever competed in one race, I'll let that slide) and there remains the question of how good he might have been had he not been seriously injured. His description of his first run in a go kart after his accident (he was still wheel-chair bound) is wince-inducing (it took place at Buckmore Park, a place I've been to myself and remember mainly for throwing up inside a full face helmet, free tip: if you can help it, don't...) That said, as he acknowledges at the end, he came out of the sport more or less intact, unlike a number of those he raced with: Nannini, his team mate at Benetton, who lost his arm in a helicopter accident; Zanardi, his Lotus team mate who lost both his legs in a race accident (though he went on to be a very successful paralympian) or his Formula Ford rival Roland Ratzenberger who died the day before Ayrton Senna.
The story of his complex relationship with the man who had single-handedly rescued his career after his accident, retaining him at Benetton for 1989 against the wishes of more or less everyone else in the team, finding him work in Japan the following year while he tried to continue his recovery and then hiring him at Lotus in 1991 notwithstanding that he had no backers and the team were desperate for money, but whose refusal to let him out of his contract to go to one of the big teams as Lotus teetered on the edge of bankruptcy arguably sabotaged his career (Herbert says he heard later that he had asked Ron Dennis for £21m to release him from his contract – a ludicrous figure even in the make-believe-money world of F1).
Despite his/his ghost-writer's limitations, he's good too on describing the feeling of exhilaration that he first got from racing karts at the age of 8, and which he experienced again when he stepped into a 1,000 brake horse power F1 car for the first time some 15 years later. And the description of his time as team mate to Michael Schumacher in 1995 was illuminating not least in that it showed that even now, he doesn't quite know why Schumacher was so much faster than him. The perhaps justified paranoia is all too obvious (it is notable that a whole string of highly rated young talents went up against Schumacher at Benetton and every one of them came away with their reputation severely dented. Whether it was because Schumacher was simply other-wordly fast or that he was good at ensuring his team mates did not get equal equipment was never entirely clear).
So, no work of great literature, but if like me you have fond memories of watching the Formula 1 on the telly a quarter century back, it's a diverting read.