Jacob Flanders died in the First World War. The life he left behind wasn't just unfinished, but unresolved: he'd never been able to reconcile his passsion for classical culture with the jarring reality of the world around him; never been able to comne to terms with lonelieness; never, in the end, been able to complete what passes for a rite of massage in a world still coming to grips with the reality of modernity (as, in the end, we still are today). All that remains of Jacob's life he bits of clutter that he left behind him -- and those who loved him must come to terms with those. If they can. If we can.