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Born at the turn of the 20th century, Helle Nice, nee Helene Delangle, was a woman who lost friends and gained enemies, a woman you either loved or despised. There was not much middle ground with her. Between her less-than-impressive beginnings and her lackluster end, Helle Nice had one wild ride of a lifetime. Her thirst for daredevilry led her into a host of risky pursuits: mountain climbing in the Alps, skiing, horseback riding --- and car racing. Whatever involved speed gave her joy.
Racy in more ways than one, Helle surrounded herself with men --- many of them great men. She dallied with the likes of a married count, a famous wine baron, well-known actors and popular drivers. Maybe they were a means to an end, or perhaps they simply amused her. Whatever the case, she could rarely be seen without one. While women admired her courage, they figured sparsely into her friendships.
The audacious racer’s beauty and guile did not go unnoticed, along with her easy way with the cameras. She never hesitated to pose shamelessly for the press. But she made many enemies along the way. By their very nature, racers thrive on adulation. And egos recklessly crushed are likely to fight back. By the time Helle’s career waned, she had accumulated a large contingent of those who disliked her. Forty years after Helle’s death, an aging rival still remembered her unkindly: “I don’t believe she ever thought about anything but sex and showing off.” Two things she seems to have done plenty of.
One finds it hard to believe that seeing her first race at age three could have paved the way for her, but it most certainly did not scare her off. Nor did the loss of many of her racing companions. Nearly every year saw another one dead. The cars did not hold up as well as the machines of today. Spectators perished along with their heroes. No one seemed to care about the safety; the sheer thrill of speed --- watching it or driving it --- was paramount.
Helle Nice’s appetites ran toward the outlandishly daring. Even when she embarked on a campaign to become a great dancer, she hungered for the biggest spotlight, using nudity as her draw. Then, when her dancing career came to an end, she renewed her interest in her greatest love --- racing --- a career that was interrupted by the Second World War. It was an interruption that proved permanent.
The reader gets to rub shoulders with auto pioneers like Renault, Ferrari and, as the title suggests, Bugatti, while being transported to some of France’s loveliest countryside. Following Helle’s career takes us to scores of exotic places, like Monte Carlo, Rio and Casablanca, and to some of the world’s most famous racetracks. But after decades of excitement and adventure, Helle Nice fell into obscurity. Having once lived in a fashionable residence in Paris boasting an enviable view, she died broken and penniless. Her last address was the top floor of an attic apartment, looking out onto a seedy part of Nice. Did her alliances during the War have anything to do with it, or did her compatriots simply turn their backs on a woman they viewed as selfish, ruthless and past her prime?
Miranda Seymour does an admirable job of presenting a huge amount of information in a way that is fascinating and highly entertaining.
--- Reviewed by Kate Ayers
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