Customer Reviews

The Downhill Lie: A Hacker's Return to a Ruinous Sport (Vintage)

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Returning to golf thirty-two years after he gave it up, Carl Hiaasen, author of hilarious mysteries, shares his struggles to relearn the game of golf and maybe, even, learn to have fun with it. Golf is not a natural "fit" for Hiaasen--"I was just as restless, consumed, unreflective, fatalistic, and emotionally unequipped to play golf in my fifties as I was in my teens," he admits. He starts "on the path to perdition" in November, 2002, when Sports Illustrated asks him to go to Barbados to write a humorous piece about the photo shoot for the swimsuit issue, and he ends up playing golf with his editor during the downtime.

Unfortunately, for Hiaasen, he plays well enough that he decides to play golf (with second-hand clubs) back home with friends, and soon gets caught up in the golf-mania of finding the perfect equipment, reading books by gurus like Bob Rotella, David Leadbetter, and legend Harvey Penick, subscribing to golf magazines, and buying anything that may improve his game--from pendants to wear around his neck (to reduce stress) to capsules of herbal supplements (to improve concentration).

Describing himself as a "reclusive, neurotic, doubt-plagued duffer," he keeps a diary for almost six hundred days, obsessively recording, often in salty language and off-the-wall imagery, the rounds he plays with his friends, including Mike Lupica and CBS's David Feherty. Admitting that he suffers from "Wildly Unrealistic Expectations," he reflects the fears and frustrations of all beginning golfers when he 1) has to play in front of strangers, 2) has to play a new course for the first time, and 3) agrees to play in his first tournament.

On a more universal note, he continues his mockery of politicians for failing to protect the environment in Florida, a theme of many of his mysteries, and he talks about the growth of golf communities and the loss of animal habitats. He reminds the reader, however, that golf courses are not all bad--they could have been "two thousand, zero lot-line houses." Hilarious in his descriptions of his efforts to learn the game, he is also serious about his frustrations with it. He suffers, he tells us from "the most corrosive fundamental of golf, the S*ck Factor." When his wife and seven-year-old son take lessons and love the game, Hiaasen is reminded of his own golf experiences with his father, and despite his "own foolish and overwrought tribulations," he begins to see "warmer days ahead." Perhaps he might grow to love the game and share it with his family. n Mary Whipple

Skin Tight
Native Tongue
Stormy Weather
Basket Case
Skinny Dip
Lucky You

Carl Hiaasen's wild and witty novels about Florida lowlifes have provided plenty of entertainment for both my wife and me over the years. I eagerly anticipated the arrival of "The Downhill Lie." I'm a lapsed golfer myself and thought that this story might rekindle interest in the sport. It didn't.

As expected, Hiaasen provides some witty observations, but these are much too rare. This book is little more than the diary of hacker over two years, and there is little entertainment value in that, unless one finds "I had three pars in the first five holes but then had three triples on the back nine and wound up shooting 97" to be engrossing reading.

Hiaasen tries to build some tension as he describes the preparation for his first club tournament, but the redundant episodes that lead to this climax had me frequently checking how many pages I had left before I reached the end of the story. That's not a good sign: it's like checking your watch in the middle of a movie to see when your liberation will arrive.

This book could easily have been written by a CPA ("True Adventures in Accounting?") and provide about the same amount of interest.

Downhill Lie has some very funny parts to it: Hiaasen has a wonderful self-deprecating sense of humor. You'll find tales of toad-wedging: golf practice that consists of chipping toads onto neighbors' houses. You'll find that golf clubs make effective rat bashers. I suspect that the ASPCA wil find some things to offend them here. You'll read about the time he lost a golf cart--it slipped into a pond.

But I founf myself scratching my head in wonderment at times. Hiaasen is not, to be sure, a scratch golfer, but he has a voracious appetite to improve his game--as most golfers do. But we see him resorting to buying things--pendants with wonder powers to hang around your neck (only 75% as effective if kept in your pocket), herbal pills to improve "muscle memory", RadarGolf devices to help you locate lost balls, and the like. I'm at a loss here. Didn't we see Hiaasen regularly poking fun at the people who bought such devices in many of his novels? In Double Whammy, for instance, there's the unforgettable image of a cheap skiff hauled by a garbage truck to a tournament, and fishing with cheap equipment, when everyone else arrives with massive gadgetry--fish radar, gimmicks galore, etc. Hiaasen had always seemed to be fond of satirizing those who shell out large amounts of money for the kinds of devices he happily buys in Downhill Lie. There's almost an element of Eliot Spitzer here.

I would guess that Hiaasen describes parts of perhaps 200 rounds of golf. Some of this is a pleasure and a delight to read. Some of it is, well....have you ever heard a golfer tell you about one of his rounds, shot by shot, hole by hole? It's never actually that bad or that detailed--but there are times when you feel as if half your mind was on other things. This is also an instructive book--if you're lucky, you'll begin to get the idea that spending lots of money--lots and lots of money--will not guarantee that you'll reduce your handicap. Another element of the book, which you should learn in an indirect fashion, is that the crucial thing is that you should enjoy the game: Hiaasen almost seems too driven, that perhaps he should understand that some people are destined to remain 15-18 handicap golfers, and that you can accept your limitations. When I played golf, I had about a 30 handicap: a duck hook or a topped ball--well, so what's new? Enjoy the occasional decent shot. I often played with a colleague who had about a 3 handicap--when he mishit a shot, he'd go into a blue funk for several holes. I think I enjoyed the game more than he did. So the lesson from this book is--have fun, and don't make such a big deal about improving your handicap by 5 strokes. Hiaasen, at least, can make fun of himself--which too many golfers cannot do.

While the subject's different (golf, versus corrupt Floridians), Carl Hiaassen writes with the same shredding abandon as always. Here, he is taking up golf after a 32-year absence and documenting his "progress" with amusement and vitriol. As an 18-handicap golfer, I enjoyed and empathized with his misadventures.

Now, how about another novel with Skink in it?

Carl Hiaasen was introduced to the game of golf by his father, who, to Carl's nearly life-long disappointment, was a very good golfer. On a whim that could be argued to be both mature and immature, he gave up the game in his early twenties because he wasn't able to improve. The Downhill Lie is the window through which we see his return to the game.

Hiaasen goes to many extremes to improve his game. He reads every piece of literature on the game and buys some hilarious info-mercial products that make lofty promises. He joins a golf course, buys new clubs (and more new clubs), takes lessons, re-engineers his swing, and ultimately enters a tournament.

For many reasons, which include his disposable income; his available free time; and that this became an assignment from his publisher, Hiaasen is able to go to greater lengths than most golfers who want to get better. But that doesn't mean those golfers, a category into which I fit, haven't thought about trying any or all of the things he did in the book. That contributes to the hilarious, but humbling nature of the book. We can laugh at his exploits as he does, and maybe we can learn some of the lessons he does as well.

This book is more than a diary of Carl Hiaasen's golf rounds. The Downhill Lie is a poignant commentary on why so many of us endure the constant frustrations associated with the game of golf. The author uses the comedy of his situation to show exactly why, when this game keeps knocking us down, we get right back up and make another tee time.

I recommend this book if you struggle with golf, or know someone who does (which I think is just about everyone, right?). This book will probably not help you be a better golfer, but at least you'll see you're not alone. If you aren't into the game yourself, and you've wondered why we torture ourselves the way we do, The Downhill Lie offers great insight. It was both funny and right-on-target portraying the mind of a golfer...or most golfers anyway. I really liked this book.

I am one of those people who have "fun" playing golf. I am married to a golfer like Mr. Hiaasen, who can't see the fun in it. I found his accounts of coming back to the game hilarious and insightful.

This is a great audio book - and I don't even play golf. Some of it is way over my head but the author is a wonderful writer, has a great sense of humor and is a most enjoyable narrator. I've read or listened to almost all of his books and he is one of favorites.

As a golfer, I could relate to the trials and tribulations of the writer as he suffered though his game but Hiassen's whining about his golf started to get boring and the book never really satisfied; it was like a sketch on Saturday Night Live that it went on too long.

It is delightful to encounter a book that, in addition to being an excellent read, strikes an especially responsive chord in the reader's mind. Such was the experience with Carl Hiaasen's THE DOWNHILL LIE, an entertaining and enjoyable saga about the midlife return to the frustrating and fascinating game of golf that many readers may have gone through in their lives. As one who gave up the sport in my late 20s, when spending hours on the golf course became difficult and I found time to return to the game in my mid-40s, the Hiaasen narrative brought back many memories and nods of recognition. Perhaps more important, it offers many laugh-out-loud observations that a wise and humorous writer shares with his audience.

Many will recognize the Hiaasen name as a newspaper columnist for the Miami Herald and the author of bawdy and entertaining novels set in the State of Florida that poke fun at contemporary issues of American life. A Hiaasen novel skewers politicians, businessmen, retirees, rednecks and countless other denizens of the "Sunshine State." He has applied this formula to more than a dozen bestselling fictional works.

Now the celebrated author has turned his wry humor inward. After a 32-year absence from the game that he first played with his father, Hiaasen, now a grandfather with bad hips and other equally bad appendages, decides it's time to return to the game he abandoned in his youth. Why? Because, as he ruefully acknowledges, "I am one sick bastard."

While he may be "sick," he is wonderfully funny. Any golfer will appreciate his observation about a fine-looking new set of irons, too beautiful to throw in anger after a bad shot. As he attempts to explain the golf handicap system, most golfers will nod in approval. But, just like Hiaasen, they really have no idea how that tell-tale number that appears after their name bears any relation to golfing reality. Reading THE DOWNHILL LIE is a reminder to every golfer of the various circles of the inferno that constitutes golf, from lessons to gadgets to ecstasy and occasional humiliation. He experiences it all and shares it with readers in a fashion that every golfer will understand.

Hiaasen, of course, is not just an average guy returning to the game of his youth. Indeed, his book allows him extravagances that the average golfer can only dream about. One day, in a moment of deep depression, he emails his friend, professional golfer and television commentator David Feherty. His tale of woe and torment results in Feherty sending him the latest model Cobra Driver and ultimately a second model after the first is not quite the correct club for Hiaasen's swing. For his effort, Feherty gets the back page of THE DOWNHILL LIE in the form of a complimentary blurb.

Every gadget purchased, every club and indeed some of the most expensive lessons in golf from the prestigious David Leadbetter Academy are chalked up to research for Hiaasen's book. I must admit to pangs of jealousy that he has really come up with the perfect scam to have someone else pay the price for satisfying his every golfing whim. That envy is assuaged by two facts: unlike Hiaasen I can't write, and nothing he does seems to help his golf game. Frustration fills the pages of THE DOWNHILL LIE, and because it is a golfer other than me suffering ignoble fate, I have to admit it is pretty funny.

I know Hiaasen will never read this review, but perhaps a friend will call it to his attention. Patience, Carl. Several years ago, just like you, I returned to the game I had abandoned. I struggled for a few years, but now at age 60 I am playing the best golf of my life. True, it is mostly attributable to equipment and the humility of moving up a set of tees, but it is improvement nonetheless and I am enjoying every minute of it!

THE DOWNHILL LIE is a perfect Father's Day gift for your golfing dad, or the book to take along on your next golfing trip. Those who have never suffered through golf hell will not understand Hiaasen's anguish, but the rest of us have a wonderful reminder that there are many out there equally frustrated and tortured by the game invented by drunken Scotsmen.

--- Reviewed by Stuart Shiffman

Carl Hiaasen is one of the funniest writers ever. Given that both he and Dave Barry are South Floridians, one wonders if there's not something in the water that warped their DNA in a gut-splitting way. It's not possible to read "Lucky You" without constantly laughing, and marvelling at his ability to create weirder-than-life (or are they?) characters who parade through highly improbable (or are they?) sequences of events and relationships. He is also able to shift gears and write a masterpiece like "Hoot".

Having thoroughly enjoyed each of these, and a few others of his works, and having taken up golf late in life, I bought "Downhill Lie" looking forward to seeing myself skewered in it and having some good laughs.....but that was not to be. This book is a dreary explication of a diary he kept, and has all the earmarks of something written to pay the rent.

It's not an outright bad book, just deadly dull. His passionate concern over what is happening to Florida comes through loud and clear. His description of "The Villages", the place shown over and over again on the Golf Channel ads, brings home the reality of what a monstrous overdevelopment it is, and the dirty little secret that "free golf for life" does NOT include the good courses at The Villages, only the ho-hum courses.

RECOMMENDATION: Save it for when you've read every other book on your list. Read it at a library; buy it only if you are insistent on owning every book in the Hiaasen canon, and then only when it's on the books-for-a-buck remainder table.