Flights is a very strange book. In fact, I’m certain the author intended it that way. It is concerned with all manner of odd things: the psychology of restlessness, missing and broken people and the anatomy of our bodies, to name a few. An eccentric narrator leads the reader through a series of stories, notes and observations, all focussed on the theme of travel. We are taken with her through airports and on trains, as she roams the globe, observing and documenting people and places. She has an interest in the dark and gruesome, visiting museums and describing in detail the deformed bones and skulls she sees there. Sometimes she’s philosophical and insightful. For instance, she tells us there’s too much in the world, and that it’s always expanding. Her tip is to always be selective, like a fellow traveller she met who, she explains, continually travels back to the Louvre to visit the one painting he has deemed worthwhile. She is clever with a dry wit, and I began to warm to her. There were beautiful black-and-white maps throughout the book, which added to the feeling that reading it was like stepping into a museum.

However, there wasn’t enough in this book to keep my interest. Or, to the contrary, perhaps there was too much. The author is clearly very talented, but I tired of the novelty in this book quickly. It changed so rapidly I struggled to feel invested. I had to strain to concentrate, even though when I did I mostly enjoyed the writing. I’m aware that this was, to some degree, the author’s point that, like travel, the book is chaotic and the scenes are brief. But I was craving a more cohesive plotline that I could sink my teeth into. This book wasn’t bad, it just simply wasn’t for me. If you like something really out of the box, I’d suggest giving it a go.

Reviewed by Alexandra Irving