61 pages • 2-hour read
A modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
Content Warning: This section of the guide includes discussion of illness and death.
Bo’s narration is a prolonged attempt to remain in control of a life that seems increasingly determined by others. His introduction to the reader is his announced desire to cut Hans out of his will to ensure that his own son “doesn’t get a penny” (7). While Bo never does disinherit Hans, the tensions between them immediately introduce the novel’s exploration of the need to preserve agency in old age.
Bo’s narration is addressed to Fredrika, his wife who is now living in a care home due to her dementia. Bo’s visits with Fredrika intensify his own sadness and fear that, as he grows older and frailer himself, he may also lose his agency—and his memories—just as she did. In narrating his daily experiences and recalling memories from his past, Bo attempts to assert a degree of control over his life and remind himself of who he is. His first-person account insists that he is still the subject of his days, while the carers’ notes register him as an object of routine. “[T]he home help” feel both invasive and unhelpful (12), yet there is little that Bo can do to keep them away—a fact that he often resents.
Bo and Hans clash most frequently over Sixten, whom Hans wants to rehome in spite of Bo’s repeated insistence that he can still care for the dog. The refrain of “we need to talk about Sixten” weighs heavily on Bo as a reminder of his fading agency (25). He has always had dogs in his life, so to take away Sixten is to take away a familiar part of himself. At the same time, the parallel narrative of the carers’ logbook suggests that this erosion of identity is already underway, as the carers document events that Bo cannot remember, undermining his assertion of agency.
The novel’s resolution reframes agency rather than abandoning it. Bo discovers that the freedom left to him is not mainly about movement or the right to keep Sixten; it is the freedom to say the necessary words while he still can. He puts aside his “stubbornness” to tell Hans that he is proud of him (235), giving both himself and his son a moment of true intimacy and emotional vulnerability. Even the carers’ record yields a final dignity, acknowledging how “peaceful” Bo seemed in his final moments (242). Agency, in that last moment, is no longer the power to prevent decline; it is the disciplined choice to make peace, speak, and receive the loving ministrations of others without reading them as defeat.
When the Cranes Fly South is driven by the paradox that memory both consoles and wounds. As Bo reviews his most cherished memories, he knows that he will never be able to return to those times, places, and emotional states. Through Bo’s flashbacks and emotions, the novel explores the interplay of painful recollection and longing.
Bo writes with one person in mind—the one person who cannot read what he writes. When he addresses Fredrika and speaks of their shared memories, even the happiest recollections have a subtext of pain. She cannot hear him or acknowledge him because her own illness has turned her into a “void” (9). In this way, recollection becomes a way of holding onto who Fredrika was during their many decades together, helping to keep their love alive. The more vividly a scene returns, the more pointed the present deprivation of her company becomes. Bo therefore invents rituals that let him approach pain without being consumed by it. The most significant of these is olfactory: He admits to feeling that “keeping [his] dementia-addled wife’s scarf in a jar just to be able to remember her scent is fundamentally pathetic” (13), but it is still important. In the care home, Fredrika smells “so different” (14), so the scarf allows him to cling to his memory of her and recollect and long for a time that is now gone forever.
Bo’s recollections also illuminate important aspects of his past and characterization. Sixten’s threatened removal ignites a childhood memory of when his father decided that it was necessary to shoot the family dog, as Bo’s present helplessness reminds him of when he felt helpless over a beloved animal in the past. Bo’s recollections of his cold, demanding father likewise add important context for Bo’s own struggles to be emotionally open and affectionate with Hans: While Bo does love his son, he struggles to express himself since his father never modeled how to do so. Bo’s reflection that he ceased to show any physical affection toward Hans once Hans went to high school also suggests that, as Bo recollects his own parenting experiences, he starts to realize his own flaws and regrets. These recollections help Bo gradually recognize how he could repair their relationship in the present.
As Bo’s body begins to slow down, so does his narration. Touch, scent, and breath replace argument as his own world drifts between dreams of his loved ones and his waking life. He forgives Hans, having acted upon the pain that his memories of his father brought back to him. He feels for Sixten, returned to him in his final moments, and he yearns for his wife, imagining Fredrika as her younger, healthier self. Outside, the cranes are flying south in another reminder of Bo’s younger days. This blending of the past and present brings Bo peace in his final moments.
In the novel, rural time measures itself by weather, growth, and migration. As someone who grew up in the countryside and spent most of his life in the same place, Bo’s prose is tuned in to these cycles. As the seasons change during Bo’s final months of life, the parallels between the changes in nature and the changes in Bo reveal the comforting cycles of the natural world.
Even when Bo is burning the wood from the forest around him, he is taking part in a familiar, comforting pattern that connects him to his ancestors and his youth. The carers cannot understand why he insists on always lighting a fire. As well as his physical needs changing in old age, the fire is a nostalgic connection to the world that was. The cutting of the logs and the burning of the fire signify connection to the natural world in a way that the carers do not comprehend. In a similar vein, Bo loves to return to the meadow, which he associates with his youth and with Fredrika, who loved flowers. These connections to nature are particularly vital as Bo feels himself getting older and finds himself increasingly out of sync with the world around him. Nature provides the metronome for a life that otherwise threatens to fall out of tempo.
The same cadence that once guaranteed renewal also begins to speak of ends. The double edge surfaces when Bo steps outside in May. He observes that “the last of the snow only melted a few days ago, and it strikes [him] that it might have been the last snow” that he will ever see (35). On the steps after Ture’s funeral, Bo steadies himself by looking outward, focusing on “the golden yellow birches down by the lake” (225). The color, the species, and the water do their quiet work, hinting toward a cycle of which Ture and Bo are both a part and setting the stage for Bo’s own exit.
At the novel’s close, the significance of the novel’s title becomes clear, reinforcing the importance of natural cycles. The cranes, whose departures and returns have long punctuated the year, pass from background token to terminal sign. In the final lines of his narration, “a window opens, and [Bo hears] the cranes gathering to fly south” (241). The departure of the cranes mirrors Bo’s departure from his earthly life, suggesting that human lifespans parallel the changing of the seasons and the cycles of the natural world.



Unlock every key theme and why it matters
Get in-depth breakdowns of the book’s main ideas and how they connect and evolve.