Quick Post: a review of When Revelation Comes
Jim Hartsell's intimate self-portrait of grief is a beautiful guide to golf in Scotland
I’ll fully admit to not knowing who Jim Hartsell was until listening to a recent interview with him promoting this book on the Cookie Jar Golf podcast. He is the author of The Secret Home of Golf, which was vaguely in my orbit, but I had never read it. However, as soon as the Cookie Jar interview turned to his preference for remote, single-greenskeeper courses over prestige or pedigree, I knew I would order the book if only for the detailed information it held on so many courses I’d never heard of. By the time I finished the book, I was already recommending it to anyone who would listen.
The book is a tough sell, and most of the reviews you’ll read will couch it in between “this is a story of tragedy” or “this is a wonderful guide to Scotland'' and both of these are true, but I don’t think this communicates why one ought to read the book.
The book is essentially the story of a trip Hartsell takes to Scotland after the tragic and sudden death of his youngest son Jordan. The trip is a desperate attempt taken by a man paralyzed by grief, to find some way forward. And, honestly, with this simple framing, the book seems like a real downer. In fact, while reading the book, I constantly found myself at a loss as to how to communicate why I thought that it was so compelling. The best, if awkward, way to explain why I loved the book is to compare it to a Wes Anderson film.
The setting is an idealized version of Scotland, describing an idealized version of golf. Within this setting, the author recounts a shocking amount of intricate detail. Lunch after a round at the Isle of Skye GC isn’t just lunch; it’s a Hebridean smoked salmon sandwich at Deli Gasta in Broadford, on the recommendation of John Marshall, a member of the course who the author meets in a chance encounter at the 4th tee box. The gas station outside of Glasgow isn’t a gas station; it’s the Esso Lomondgate petrol station on the A82 at Dumbarton, recommended by a Scot specifically for its good sausage rolls and coffee. The inn outside of Gullane isn't just a place to stay, it’s the Ducks Inn with its own golf bar, run by Malcolm Duck, who at the time of my research, still lives onsite.
The characters in the book are also ideally charming. From the cherished friend Robbie, who facilitates the trip, to wise caddies who have worked with champions, to quaint and interesting brief encounters with a ferry captain who is happy to remind us of modernity on an archaic passenger ferry, or a Louisianian waitress who somehow found herself living in one of the farthest north regions of Scotland.
Throughout the book I found myself lost in these characters and details, attentively marking location after location of locally recommended spots on Google Maps and dutifully adding each course to the wiki, thinking I should just map out the route to follow before suddenly being wrenched back to the narrative when the author gets a text message from home or someone asks why he is in Scotland, where I was plunged back into how overwhelming it is that this man has just lost his son and is barely hanging on. After these moments, any ideas I had of following his route suddenly felt wrong.
Through the book one is taken to these surreal places with quirky and lovable characters, who distract from the fact that the main character is only here for genuinely existential and tragic reasons. This theme is why I am reminded films like The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou or The Darjeeling Limited. They are all delightful stories about fantastical people and places, all ultimately based on some deep tragedy that has befallen the main character. The parallels go as far as the structure of the writing; I think of Zissou’s “let me tell you about my boat” scene as Hartsell describes every aspect of his favorite golf courses, like his beloved Dunaverty GC. Each is a beautiful scene for golf enthusiasts to lose themselves in, and a subtle distraction from the deep suffering underlying the plot. Still, the moments of joy found in these locations make the shared experience genuinely exceptional.
I understand that the country isn’t all kindness and rainbows. Scottish courses aren’t all shockingly beautiful seaside links run on unbelievably inexpensive fees placed in honesty boxes. I’ve had less than pleasant times with some folks during my time living in Edinburgh, where I’ve saw enough fights in the Cowgate to know what hours to tread carefully there. Still, the idyllic setting works well to balance the dark narrative. We are following a man in the place he loves, and it’s only reasonable that the stunning beauty and friendly culture are the focus.
At times When Revelation Comes is a guide that takes you through the golf in Scotland that many locals don’t even know. At other times it’s a heartbreaking story of loss. I don't know if triumph is the right word, but it’s without a doubt one of the most interesting pieces of golf media I've ever consumed.