The tiny and sickly Pilar introduces her parents to her game. Every evening they observe the strange zigzag movement of a family of tourists from Germany up the cliff opposite their home in Tenerife. This inspires her father to write the novel "The Third Rock" about "the family of tourists who live on the cliff." The story ends with the accidental death of one of the tourists' children.
A family of four from Berlin spends a month in the Canary Islands. The father is a writer, and he enthusiastically describes the Canarian landscape, the architecture of Tenerife, "the house in the valley where little Pilar lives."
Are there really two writers and two narratives or is it all a fragmented internal conversation of one person? Who writes and for whom, and is anyone writing at all? On the one hand, there is love that overflows (polyamory) and the force of life that tirelessly breaks through the narrowest crevices of the ocean of still life around us. On the other, there is the constant lurking of death, which does not choose, does not moralize, simply takes away. How can one live on when death “without any explanation” takes away a life that has just begun?
