About the book: 1997 / Against the backdrop of the silver disk of the full moon, Marjorie Applebaum slowly spun on a thin rope that wrapped around her ankles, about sixty meters above the beach. Blood was pounding in my temples. My stomach was pressing on my heart. Opening her eyes, she saw the raging sea below her and the clear sky above her feet. Her red hair flew behind her like a banner, her bare buttocks and breasts sparkled in the moonlight. Excitement grew within her. The man on the balcony holds the rope tightly: now he will pull the little woman over the balcony railing into his arms. She will tremble, clinging to him, and allow herself to be carried to bed. Another woman will tie her wrists to the head of the bed with silk scarves, and the man will take possession of her by caressing her. They played so often that the game became a ritual. But on this fateful night, the erotic ritual ended in a terrible tragedy: barely having time to spread her winged arms, a completely naked Marjorie crashed from a great height onto the boardwalk of the promenade... I wonder why real life suddenly turned out to be so similar to the plot of Alison’s new novel?