In Flights, a journey is almost a natural bodily process. As if peaking through the pressurised glass of an air plane you cannot leave, looking down at lands you may know or not, wondering what’s to be seen closer to the ground. Reading Flights during a time when it is forbidden, taboo, dangerous to travel, when a life-threatening ‘thing’ is free to travel in and out of our bodies, feels voyeuristic. In Olga Tokarczuk’s Flights, each short story - which run from a few economical paragraphs to long passages of rich narrative- finds romance in the ritualistic ways we travel and the influence it has on our bodies which contain histories, geographies, politics of their own. It can be heard or rather, not heard in the empty skies, the clear roads and the absence of commute chatter.
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