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The underlying themes of this debut novel could hardly be more relevant. Marissa is working as a travel writer without leaving her desk, coining gleaming descriptions of untouched beaches for tourists. But as she does so, her mind runs on darker paths. She is living in New York while it braces for Hurricane Sandy, and as the wind rises she remembers being caught up in the horrors of the 2004 tsunami in Thailand. She grieves for the beauty of the ocean that she knew then, and the fate of her beloved friend Arielle.

Loss, love, environmental fragility, female friendship: I was ready to plunge into the waves of this novel, to swim with its currents of grief and longing. But while I found myself at times drawn in to the narrative, at others I was distanced by Menon’s style, which is deliberately fragmented but also disappointingly uneven.

The book’s emotional centre lies with Marissa’s past relationship with Arielle. Who is Arielle, the girl whom Marissa loves and grieves so fiercely? She is Marissa’s perfect friend from her very first day at school in Thailand: a wonderful diver, spectacular at football, incredibly brave, perfectly beautiful. The problem with perfect people is that they can become a little boring, particularly if they repeat themselves. This is a short book, so the repetitions are noticeable. “She rolls her eyes at me,” when Marissa tells Arielle not to scratch a bite; “Arielle rolled her eyes at me, and I tried not to laugh,” when she is communicating her scepticism about a stranger’s joke; Arielle “rolls her eyes” again when a man tries to pick her up; indeed, at their very first meeting, when they are seven, Arielle “rolled her eyes with the practice of a teenager”.

Other characters similarly signal their emotions with gasps, nods, shrugs and sighs; they grind their teeth, shake their heads, tilt their chins. Indeed, physical performance is key to the way Menon depicts character. To show their independence Arielle and Marissa drop insects on the stomachs of sunbathing tourists or serve up flaming hot chillies to harassing men; to display their love of nature they dive, they swim; to communicate their joy they dance, they run. They wear their hearts on their sleeves, but sometimes the narrative could do with more suggestion and less semaphore. Even Arielle’s mermaid name is an unnecessary underlining of her link to the ocean.

When it comes to the tsunami itself Menon’s emphatic style pays off, and the details of physical pain and destruction are memorable. But a key problem in the arc of the novel is that Menon reveals the fate of Arielle as if it is meant to come as a surprise – and so I will give no spoilers – while it could hardly be more clearly signposted.

The other emotional centre of the book is the relationship that Marissa has with nature. It is vital that her connection with the biodiverse environment in Thailand should feel different from the relationships tourists have with the kind of landscapes she describes for the travel magazine. This is often well communicated: Arielle and Marissa are so close to the ocean that they can name individual manta rays. But at other times their love for nature becomes more performative. When Arielle finds a turtle that has been strangled with a plastic bag, they carefully bury it. They get matching turtle tattoos on their ankles. And here and there it feels as if Menon runs out of steam and simply enumerates lists of species around them: “The reef is busy with colour: fiery scorpion fish, yellow frog-fish, red snappers, white-and-orange clown fish, a shoal of electric-blue angelfish, fat black sea cucumbers, powder-blue surgeonfish.”

Menon is clear about the destruction faced by the natural world given the pressures of tourism and the climate crisis, but finishes with the suggestion that humans can still rely on it for consolation. At the end of the novel Marissa flies back to Thailand, to the ocean she loves, and in a reprise of an earlier scene, she dives and is surrounded by rays: “The mantas come so close that I can look into their eyes. They take turns swimming in circles around me.” Here is nature offering solace to the grieving human; but the moment is too neat to be entirely convincing.

• Under Water by Tara Menon is published by Summit (£16.99). To support the Guardian, order your copy at guardianbookshop.com. Delivery charges may apply.