For a long time I have wanted to pick up a Carl Hiaasen book given his reputation as an excellent -- and funny -- novelist. Unfortunately, it appears that I checked out the wrong book, for I found this story to be incredibly dull. In this sports memoir, Hiaasen recounts how he started playing golf after years away from the game. To my chagrin, this plot turned out to be as boring as it sounds. To be fair, there are flashes of brilliant humour scattered across the book, as well as interesting insights. It is also clear that Hiaasen is a strong writer. (Despite my strong dislike for this work I still intend to read his other novels). That being said, all to often I found this book to be the literary equivalent of hearing nails scratching across a blackboard. In short, if you like golf, you might appreciate this book more than I did. For the rest of us, however, this is really, really boring story.
1 1/2 out of 5 stars
