It seems odd at first that William Finnegan, when writing his memoir, chose to center it upon surfing. Finnegan’s work as a war correspondent flung him to fascinating and perilous corners of the world. Yet, Barbarian Days: A Surfing Life, which won a Pulitzer Prize in 2016, is about his experience in—and connection to—water.

For Finnegan, the dedicated study of one simple thing—the way a body and a board move across the face of a wave—lends itself to the study of much more complicated, even maddening, things: wars, apartheid, uprisings, human nature, and above all else, change.

Born in California, Finnegan’s story begins with his family’s relocation to Hawai‘i in 1966. At age 13, beneath the shadow of O‘ahu’s Diamond Head Crater, he began a lifelong surfing practice. In the mornings, before catching the bus to school, he would walk down the path fronting his house to surf Cliffs, where he’d hone his skills while studying the older, better, cooler local guys in the line-up. His recollection is enough to trigger a lingering nostalgia even in those born in an entirely different era of Hawai‘i’s history.

Finnegan left Hawai‘i with his family and traveled the world, first as a young man in search of undiscovered waves, then as a reporter, and later, as a seasoned surfer on holiday from his stable, professional life. Over the course of this time, surfing became an industry; breaks were commercialized, empty line- ups filled, and quiet towns and villages developed into tourist destinations. A pattern emerged. As much as anyone else, Finnegan was altering the very landscape he longed for.

In one particularly moving passage, Finnegan mourns the death of a beautiful break in Madeira, off the coast of Portugal, ruined by the construction of a seaside roadway along the town of Jardim do Mar. “Beyond the loss or gain,” Finnegan writes, “I found these sudden changes to established surf spots profoundly unsettling.” As he ages, the author accedes that even his body has begun to change without his permission. Still, there is solace in an expertly ridden wave, a hollow barrel, and the constant movement of the sea. For all its painstakingly detailed accounts of encountering surf breaks in Fiji, South Africa, or Honolua Bay on Maui, Barbarian Days is about much more than just surfing. It’s about a life molded by time, physics, and the force of deep-water energy crashing into land.—tina grandinetti

It starts with a near perfect barrel ride at a Salvadoran surf break, closed out in a heap of whitewash and a heavy dose of foreshadowing. With short chapters that pile on quickly and often end with a cliffhanger, Kilometer 99 is a fast-paced read about a young Peace Corps engineer from Honolulu. The no-fuss writing suggests a charming beach read; however, it is no delightful traveler’s escape to El Salvador, no feel-good Eat, Pray, Love. Local writer Tyler McMahon’s prose instead swiftly builds the setup for an adventure that tragically devolves shortly after the scene is set.

The plot centers on Malia, nicknamed “Chinita,” a Peace Corps volunteer who headed to El Salvador for a chance to see the world. Instead, she finds herself faced with widespread destruction after an earthquake racks the country, her nearly completed water project destroyed. She and her boyfriend decide to cash out and take a surf trip around South America, only to get waylaid by a mysterious bumbling foreigner who pulls them into increasingly shady deals.

It’s in McMahon’s descriptions of the surf sessions, the vividness of El Salvador, and the intense moments when things get progressively worse that McMahon’s writing shines. When a second earthquake hits El Salvador after Malia’s passport and money have been stolen, she picks up a surfboard and heads for the ocean. “I realize then, or remember perhaps, that the surfer’s idea of perfection is different from everyone else’s,” Malia narrates. “It isn’t abstract or inscrutable, some shadow on the wall of a cave. We know what it feels like—perfection—how it looks and the sound it makes.”

McMahon, a professor of English at Hawai‘i Pacific University who was a Peace Corps volunteer in El Salvador, creates an engaging narrative spiced with convincing details, from local Salvadoran food and architecture to the types of characters found in a seaside town awash in cocaine. In this quick read, El Salvador flashes by the window. Kilometer 99 is more destination than escape—it’s a novel, after all—and one worth visiting.—anna harmon