It’s been a great year for literary books about sports. Joseph O’Neill’s Netherland, a novel about cricket, is one of the most highly lauded works of fiction so far this year. Garth Stein’s The Art Of Racing In The Rain deals with race car driving. And two weeks ago, Haruki Murakami, of all people, weighed in with a memoir on running.

But make room on the shelf for Tim Winton’s Breath, which is a contender for the great surfing novel. This author has long garnered praise for his vivid evocations of the Australian landscape, but now he moves offshore and shows he is equally skilled at probing the ocean and what it conveys, either cresting on its waves or hidden beneath its beguiling surface.

Perhaps Winton aims to cover all four of the ancient elements. After his Dirt Music, a 2002 effort short-listed for the Booker Prize, and this new celebration of water, what is left? Clearly a novel about air and another about fire to complete the tetralogy. (And, no, Winton’s novel Cloudstreet did not take place on a cloud, so it doesn’t count.)

The waves here are as memorable as the characters in other books. Here we encounter the enticing but precarious surf at Barney’s Beach – Barney is the name of the 14-foot great white shark who patrols the waters. Or we learn of Old Smoky, massive white waves that break off coast in a location so inaccessible that surfers need to scale cliffs to reach them. But the return trip is even more hazardous. Best of all is the Nautilus, where a devastating wave breaks on a huge lump of rock far offshore, and even the most skilled surfer can only ride it for a few seconds.

We soon begin to realize that Breath is not so much about surfing, as it is about risk-taking. Two youngsters, the narrator Pikelet and his friend the aptly-named Loonie, fall under the influence of an aging surfer. The trio get caught up in a crazy spiral of trying to prove themselves and test each other with greater and greater dangers. Not all of the risks, however, take place in the waters. We learn that every setting, from the woodshed to the bedroom, can serve as a makeshift arena where a thrill-seeker can push things to the edge, and beyond.