There are infelicities. Nors occasionally uses bloodless phrases like “went to the dogs” and “stifling heat” (casualties, perhaps, of translation), and her predilection for gnomically portentous endings can feel formulaic. But these are minor complaints. Wild Swims is an enchanting work whose brief, almost fugitive stories achieve multitudes in a gesture. Maximalism does not require copiousness. Just look at the elephant in its chair.