But even that seems inadequate several of the stories are mere stubs, and their connections are loose and liquid. The obvious summary would be that Flights is not a novel, but a series of loosely interconnected stories about the human body and movement. Yet Flights manages to baffle, to make you scratch your head and try to find the proper words for it. In an era in which many books are summarized as X meets Y ( Game of Thrones meets The Cat in the Hat!), it is rare to be genuinely baffled by a description. I do not necessarily subscribe to the mantra of no spoilers - how else are you supposed to perform a critical analysis of certain texts? - but in the case of Olga Tokarczuk's Flights, translated by Jennifer Croft, the hard part is coming up with any spoilers. This was long before reviews appeared with the word "spoilers" at the top the age of ink on paper.
When I began reviewing books and movies many years ago, I recall the editor at the magazine where I freelanced telling me that the rule of thumb was not to say too much about any given title.
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