Alfred, an author, has injured his hand, and requires the services of a typist, Zelda.
She finds his manner stiff and abrasive and, as the sessions of dictation proceed, feels that he is cannibalising elements of her persona for his novel.
When it becomes apparent that the novel is essentially a paean to his hatred for his mother, Zelda herself becomes a participant in the back-and-forth of the writing process.
Incrementally, the layers are pared back until, finally, the truth emerges.