Teahupo’o, the mythical wave, the heroine of Ingrid Astir’s latest novel

Teahupo’o, Tahiti. Where the road ends is where the adventure begins. Beyond lies the thicket of Fenua ´Aihere – and the most beautiful wave in the world. The holy grail of every surfer. She makes a man a demigod or a shadow. Hiro knows this, and he risks death by caressing this wall of water. When her sister Moea returns after seven years, she must learn about their past. A wave that is harder to tame. As for Crystal Paradise, it is threatened by a powerful drug, ice. Who is Taj, this mercenary from the sea? What is he looking for? Everyone carries his own wave. A wave that can destroy everything. Family, reason, identity.

This is a wave, even if it’s small, even if it’s five feet high, it’s a wave that can be deadly. This is the perfect heroine.

Ingrid Astier, an extreme swimmer in her own right, has stopped in Polynesia five times, spending several months at the Teahupo’o site to immerse herself in it all. She’s heard about it from the big names in surfing (Kauli Vaast, Aelan Vaast, Vetea David, Raimana van Bastolaer, etc.), but also from fishermen, tattoo artists and drug dealers.

This field work nourishes Breath of the Waves and gave it power and accuracy, which was praised by critics upon its release and rediscovered ahead of the 2024 Teahupo’o Olympics.

Ingrid Astier is an island writer (Ireland, Polynesia), a teacher and graduate in literature. In 2010, she received the Paul-Féval Prize from the French Literature Association and in 2021 the Huré-Bastendorff Prize from the French Academy. She loves to build immersive worlds. Breath of the Waves It is his fifth novel.

“The guy came on board almost without a word, and the first thing Laska noticed was the lycra top that matched the shorts. Stars and stripes.

No one had ever done this to him before. The man had just told him he wanted to go surfing at Teahupo’o, vaguely expressed concern about the weather, and asked about the price. Laska hesitated.

The voice was commanding, arrogant, and the man he was looking at now matched it. A jerk. It would all be over without so much as a glance at a few crumpled bills. Unless Teahupo’o decided otherwise.

To be honest, the waves have a humility detector. One that never lies. Laska opened the throttle and left the dock.

The palm trees were silvery in the sunlight. The man on the bow was finishing a cigarette. His discolored ears hung from the board he was waxing. As the waves approached, he threw the butt of his cigarette into the water. Above the mountains, the clouds still hung in the sky, indifferent to the fate that was unfolding. The wind was offshore.

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