Arthur walks quick­ly through the crowd­ed streets of Pic­cadil­ly on a warm June day in 1871, his mind con­sumed by the com­plex­i­ties of his life. Clutched in his hand is a scent­ed silk hand­ker­chief, a sym­bol of his attempt to con­trol the details of his appear­ance, now that he has decid­ed to grow a beard. In his pock­et, he car­ries a per­fume he metic­u­lous­ly for­mu­lat­ed using an ancient Mesopotami­an recipe cre­at­ed by Tap­puti, a renowned female par­fumi­er. This scent not only speaks to his ded­i­ca­tion to his work but also to his per­son­al desire for ele­gance, though he knows the steep cost of such indul­gence. Despite his long years at the British Muse­um study­ing ancient arti­facts, includ­ing Mesopotami­an tablets, Arthur has yet to receive a pro­mo­tion, which only fuels his sense of frus­tra­tion with his stag­nant career.

Arthur often finds his thoughts drift­ing toward feel­ings of deep lone­li­ness, inten­si­fied by the phys­i­cal dis­tance between him and his fam­i­ly. His younger broth­er, who now resides in York­shire, has com­plete­ly sep­a­rat­ed him­self from Lon­don life, and Arthur has not seen his moth­er in over four years, after she was placed in an insti­tu­tion due to her ongo­ing men­tal dis­tress. The frac­tured nature of his per­son­al life weighs heav­i­ly on him, mak­ing him feel dis­con­nect­ed from both his fam­i­ly and his pro­fes­sion­al achieve­ments. This inter­nal dis­so­nance between his aspi­ra­tions and his famil­ial iso­la­tion high­lights his strug­gle with iden­ti­ty, both in the per­son­al and pro­fes­sion­al realms. The con­trast between his aspi­ra­tions in the aca­d­e­m­ic world and the iso­la­tion he expe­ri­ences in his own life seems to echo in every aspect of his exis­tence.

As Arthur walks past St. James’s Church, the hus­tle and bus­tle of the city inten­si­fies. He is star­tled by a news­pa­per boy’s shout, announc­ing the death of Charles Dick­ens: “The author is dead! Mr. Dick­ens has gone to meet his Mak­er!” Arthur, deeply moved, buys the paper, con­tem­plat­ing the inevitable pass­ing of great men and the fleet­ing nature of life. The jux­ta­po­si­tion between Dickens’s death and the joy­ous news from the Lon­don Zoo—a new hip­popota­mus calf born—is strik­ing. While one moment marks the end of an era, the oth­er cel­e­brates the con­ti­nu­ity of life, offer­ing Arthur a somber reflec­tion on the del­i­cate bal­ance between life and death, as well as the inevitable pas­sage of time.

Arthur reach­es the British Muse­um, where he finds solace in his research, lock­ing him­self away in his study, deter­mined to dive deep­er into the secrets hid­den with­in the ancient tablets. The iso­la­tion he seeks through his work pro­vides a tem­po­rary escape from the emo­tion­al tur­moil he faces. But the fol­low­ing day, he expe­ri­ences a shift in ener­gy and, for the first time, takes a bold step by call­ing for a meet­ing with the museum’s trustees and col­leagues. Dur­ing the meet­ing, Arthur excit­ed­ly reveals a ground­break­ing dis­cov­ery from the Epic of Gil­gamesh, where he uncov­ers an account of a great flood that bears a strik­ing resem­blance to the bib­li­cal sto­ry of Noah’s Ark. His rev­e­la­tion ignites excite­ment and pas­sion in those present, and for the first time, Arthur feels tru­ly seen and val­ued for his intel­lect and deter­mi­na­tion.

Arthur’s dis­cov­ery cre­ates a rip­ple of excite­ment in the aca­d­e­m­ic world, bring­ing him into the public’s eye. The prime min­is­ter, William Ewart Glad­stone, per­son­al­ly invites Arthur to lec­ture at the pres­ti­gious Soci­ety of Bib­li­cal Archae­ol­o­gy, an invi­ta­tion that fills Arthur with both pride and trep­i­da­tion. Though the hon­or is great, Arthur is over­whelmed by the pres­sure of speak­ing before such an esteemed audi­ence. The night before the lec­ture, he lies awake, anx­ious and uncer­tain, doubt­ing his readi­ness despite the recog­ni­tion he’s receiv­ing.

Dur­ing his lec­ture, Arthur pas­sion­ate­ly presents his find­ings on the Epic of Gil­gamesh, offer­ing his inter­pre­ta­tion of the Flood Tablet and its sig­nif­i­cance. His pre­sen­ta­tion is met with enthu­si­as­tic applause and admi­ra­tion, but Arthur is left reel­ing from the weight of the pub­lic atten­tion. The media begins to cov­er his achieve­ments, some arti­cles flat­ter­ing him, while oth­ers dis­tort and sen­sa­tion­al­ize his life. This new­found vis­i­bil­i­ty leaves Arthur feel­ing vul­ner­a­ble, espe­cial­ly as he strug­gles with the dis­par­i­ty between his hum­ble ori­gins and the high expec­ta­tions placed upon him. The con­stant scruti­ny forces him to reck­on with his iden­ti­ty in ways he had not antic­i­pat­ed, and he finds him­self ques­tion­ing the price of fame and suc­cess in an ever-watch­ful world.