Helm

Can you imagine a novel about wind? British novelist Sarah Hall has, and the book, and said wind, are called Helm. Helm is the only named wind in Britain, a sometimes hurricane-force foehn that can last for days. It got its moniker because the clouds that presage it look somewhat like helmets. Hall imagines what it would be like if this phenomenon were not only sentient, but also curious about the world and humanity and possessed of a bawdy sense of humor. The book follows Helm over millennia through the eyes of different people. They include NaNay, a Paleolithic seer from a herding people whose name for the wind is the Halron. There’s also Michael Lang, a Crusader returning to England to do some weird penance; a Victorian meteorologist; a 1950s teenager; and a modern-day researcher stationed on a hilltop who laments the lack of Cumbrian nightlife. This mighty wind is a different thing to different characters. For NaNay, it’s both an enemy and a bringer of gifts, especially one she’s been searching for since childhood. For the teenage Janni, it’s a companion. For Michael, it’s another burden added to the ordeal he inflicts on himself. Even for the scientifically minded, Helm is not just something to study. When they enter its domain, they gain Helm’s perspective on the others who live there. Hall is a fantastic, scintillating writer. She swings effortlessly between the points of view of a woman who may be a Neanderthal and an innocent but damaged adolescent girl who loves both Helm and Elvis. Hall has a love of arcane but perfectly placed words. Expect to consult your obscurest dictionary to find the meaning of sallet, brinjal, carthen and mazarine. She devotes brief chapters to Helm’s windy relatives, to the ailments blamed on it and to its colorful local names. Yes, Helm is a book about an ancient, sentient, snarky wind—and it’s brilliant.