I don’t know how to germinate, I’m simply not in possession of that vegetable capacity.” I’ve tried, a number of times, but my roots have always been shallow the littlest breeze could always blow me right over. Clearly I did not inherit whatever gene it is that makes it so that when you linger in a place you start to put down roots.
And they were relieved when they got back, with a sense of having fulfilled an obligation.”īy contrast she observes “That life is not for me. There are some wonderful comparisons the Polish river Oder is likened to a kind of country viscountess at the court of the Amazon queen. The author is somewhat rootless, but sees her parents as not “ real travelers: they left in order to return. The book is in many parts, some short stories, some random thoughts.
This is a fragmentary “novel”, like a body that has been taken apart and exhibited in various pieces, there are a lot of plastinated organs on display. Like the turtle in Zeno’s paradox, we’re heading nowhere, if anything we’re simply wandering into the interior of a moment, and there is no end, nor any destination.Įarly in “Flights,” the author tells us that she is “ drawn to all things spoiled, flawed, defective, broken,” a wabi-sabi view of the world. Unsurprisingly for a book entitled “ Flights“, this book deals a lot with travel and airports.
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