BREATH: A BOOK REVIEW

Aussie author Tim Winton sucks us in like a literary riptide with Breath—an intense story of youth, surfing and autoerotic asphyxiation (FSG, $23). The narrator, Pikelet, transports the reader into the backwoods Western Australia of the 1970s. Together with his aptly named pal Loonie, their surf guru teacher Sando and his troubled wife, Eva, these searchers are constantly looking to push past their natural limits. And who can blame them? The west coast of Oz is even today a fairly desolate stretch, so one can only imagine how little there was to do 30 years ago in the days before Internet porn and Halo. The kids were obviously in search of something to shake them out of their isolation and boredom, and pissing on death’s thongs by riding nigh-unsurfable waves fit the bill nicely. Everyone in this book is basically mainlining endorphins. Even Eva, a former snow-junkie freestyle skier who had to retire due to injury now gets her fix by getting naked and sticking a bag over her head, natch. Don’t be surprised if you find yourself finished with this briny bildungsroman in one or two sittings. Winton falters slightly when introducing Eva’s questionable new “hobby” into the narrative, but the book is otherwise pretty flawless.