Red Cross

Sasha Filipenko’s novel about a ninety-year-old woman whose memory is going, and the wartime correspondence of the International Red Cross she once typed out at the People’s Commissariat for Foreign Affairs. Serzin dropped the documentary weight of the book for a bare iron platform in the shape of a cross, built in the middle of the main hall with the audience seated around it — some along the flanks, some in the corners of the cross. At one point the cross turns red.