This book started off like a barnburner but it sputtered out badly in the last third, becoming a fairy tale instead of a novel. The resemblances to Tiger Woods are, of course, obvious but the characterizations of some of the other golfers are absurd. Jack Nicklaus who is idolized as some kind of God in this book is anything but in real life. Phil Mickelson, thinly disguised here as Will Martinsen, is also assumed to have saintlike qualities. While the golf lore is entertaining, the plot is not. The Tree character is not remotely believable either in his darkest state nor in his angelic state, achieved at the end of the story. If you take any of the characterizations as remotely connected to their real life persona, you would be making a big mistake. On the other hand, when they are so thinly disguised, or, as in the case of Nicklaus and Palmer, not disguised at all, what are you supposed to do. I did love the allusions to past championships and to great quotes from Hogan etc but you can get this kind of nostalgia from many other books without slogging through this ridiculously plotted novel.