The show traces and follows Lucia Berlin – a master of the short form – in creating a multiple portrait of women on the verge of a nervous breakdown, whose sense of humour or wildness of heart never leaves them. Berlin’s characters, inspired by herself, escape all attempts at discursiveness; they are neither good feminists nor good mothers, they sigh for weak men and their greatest passions turn out to be their own mothers. By eavesdropping and meticulously noting reality, the author creates stories about the celebration of the world, the unrestraint of language, of man and place.

One character states: , “I often exaggerate and mix fiction and reality, but I never really lie”. What does it mean that, according to Lucia Berlin, the only thing that matters is a well-told story? Does every heroine need her narrator? Does every narrator need her listener? Is it possible to tell one’s life in such a way that it still escapes boredom, stagnation and death?