Edith is a sculptor of vast pieces of art. She is approaching the end of her life, slowly killed by a virus you cannot heal from. She goes back into her memories, talking about her childhood with her mother, that suffered from a massive cerebral haemorrhage and never fully recovered, and her love for Halit. When the virus hit years ago, she lives in a warehouse on the edge of a British town and does so with Halit, whom she barely knows. In confinement, their love builds itself, intense and unreal, until both catch the virus. Reflexions on art, illness, sexuality and the three entangled make a beautiful and touching story.
“The world doesn’t come back as it was before. The seas and mountains remain, the cities slowly fill up again, jets take off over ochre and turquoise aprons. Finance begins to move. Children are allowed to play together. Humanity is reestablished. There is grief, its long cortège; the whole world joins and walks. Such shock is both disabling and enlivening; everything before was a mistake. We will do it differently; we’ll repent. Consume less, conserve more, and make sense of our punishment. It’s been said the virus reached levels of superiority other pathogens never have. Like the vastation of ice ages, and condensed gene pools, language, blood and milk, it will evolve us. Of course, the old ways return. Our substance is the same; even with improving agents. We are our worst tendencies. We remain in our cast.”