About illness and love, to start over, to try to find the secret spaces that are hidden in all the stories, even what’s written down and then deleted. In his new autobiographical novel Days among shadows, trees and water Kristian Lundberg asks; who owns the lies, and who owns the truth about another human being.
One day there is a letter on the hall floor. A handwritten letter with a number of color photographs, depicting a boy, a child and a woman dressed in nurse’s clean, tight dress. The person suddenly one day decided to tell is precisely the nurse on the color images.
Can you give away a child like setting aside a bag, hanging up an overcoat? What happens to the baby? What happens to the person who would have received the child? And why didn’t it happen?
There are a number of cross-roads in every human life. There are a number of break points – for each person – then suddenly other paths are revealed. Who decides what is true for another human being? The lie is easier to endure, and maybe even more humane? Can you heal after a betrayal when you from one day to another has become a kind of item?