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407 pages, Paperback
First published March 20, 2012
On the Offshore Lights you can live any story you want to tell yourself, and no one will say you鈥檙e wrong: not the seagulls, not the prisms, not the wind.There's this married couple, their names are Tom and Isabel. For the purposes of this review, Tom = Doormat and Isabel = Batshit Crazy but we'll shorten it to Batshit. It's 1926 Australia, we're on a rock (it's actually called Janus Rock) in the ocean in the middle of nowhere, and considering we're in Australia, it's even middle-of-nowhere-er.
So Isabel floats further and further into her world of divine benevolence, where prayers are answered, where babies arrive by the will of God and the working of currents.
...he wondered what other secrets lay behind her playful smile.8 years later, we know what secret lies behind that "playful smile." Pure, unadulterated lunacy.
鈥淚zzy,鈥� Tom called. 鈥淚zzy, wait! Don鈥檛 do your 鈥檔ana, love. He鈥檚 not鈥︹€� But she was already too far off to hear the rest of his words.But in this lawless land, in this lawless time, there are still regulations and shit to be followed. That's why Tom's there, working as the lighthouse keeper. So when a dead man and a living baby washes ashore, Tom's got a whole lot of fucking paperwork to fill out.
鈥淪he鈥︹€� Tom considered whether to explain. 鈥淪he got the wrong end of the stick about it. Sorry. She鈥檚 chucked a wobbly. Once she does that, all you can do is batten down the hatches and wait for it to pass. Means I鈥檒l be making sandwiches for lunch, I鈥檓 afraid.鈥�
鈥淚t鈥檚 all got to go in the log, pet. You know I鈥檝e got to report everything straightaway,鈥� Tom said, for his duties included noting every significant event at or near the light station, from passing ships and weather, to problems with the apparatus.Only he doesn't. Because his beloved Batshit insists on keeping the baby, for just a little bit longer, the way a 4-year old child says "Please, daddy, I'll go to bed in just 5 minutes!" It ain't gonna happen. It's never going to be just five fucking minutes, and Batshit isn't just planning to keep the poor half-dead baby just oooooooooone more day. Despite what Doormat tells her, against all fucking common sense to just, you know turn the baby in to proper authorities, Batshit doesn't fucking listen.
鈥淭hen the baby鈥檚 probably got a mother waiting for it somewhere onshore, tearing her hair out. How would you feel if it was yours?鈥�-_- Oh, logic, you really fucking got it, eh, Batshit? Sure, the baby's mother isn't there. She must be dead. Somehow. Her body must be on the bottom of the ocean floor. The baby can't POSSIBLY have another relative on land.
鈥淵ou saw the cardigan. The mother must have fallen out of the boat and drowned.鈥�
鈥淪weetheart, we don鈥檛 have any idea about the mother. Or about who the man was.鈥�
鈥淚t鈥檚 the most likely explanation, isn鈥檛 it? Infants don鈥檛 just wander off from their parents.鈥�
鈥淚zzy, anything鈥檚 possible. We just don鈥檛 know.鈥�
鈥淲hen did you ever hear of a tiny baby setting off in a boat without its mother?鈥� She held the child a fraction closer.
鈥淚 suppose, at a pinch鈥︹€� he conceded, the words coming with great difficulty, 鈥淚 could鈥攍eave the signal until the morning. First thing, though. As soon as the light鈥檚 out.鈥�Yeah, so they wait one day to turn the baby in. And the next thing you know Batshit's breast-feeding the baby! Well, that escalated quickly!
鈥淥h, little sweetheart,鈥� she murmured, and slowly unbuttoned her blouse. Seconds later, the child had latched on fast, sucking contentedly, though only a few drops of milk came.Uh, ok. So the baby can bottle feed, it's just more convenient to breastfeed her. -____________-;
They had been like that for a good while when Tom entered the kitchen. 鈥淗ow鈥檚 the鈥斺€� He stopped in mid-sentence, arrested at the sight.
Isabel looked up at him, her face a mixture of innocence and guilt. 鈥淚t was the only way I could get her to settle.鈥�
鈥淏ut鈥� Well鈥︹€� Alarmed, Tom couldn鈥檛 even frame his questions.
鈥淪he was desperate. Wouldn鈥檛 take the bottle鈥︹€�
鈥淏ut鈥攂ut she took it earlier, I saw her鈥︹€�
鈥淲e need to welcome Lucy, and say a prayer for her poor father.鈥�Seriously, what the fuck? Now all thought of turning the baby in to the authorities is out the window, because how the fuck is poor Doormat going to explain the fact that they kept the baby for weeks, gave her a name, breastfed her, didn't notify the authorities right away, and didn't notify the authorities that they found a dead body that might be her father. Clearly, they're in some deep fucking doodoo.
鈥淚f that鈥檚 who he was,鈥� said Tom. 鈥淎nd Lucy?鈥�
鈥淲ell she needs a name. Lucy means 鈥榣ight,鈥� so it鈥檚 perfect, isn鈥檛 it?鈥�
鈥淚zzy, Izzy! You know I鈥檇 do anything for you, darl, but鈥攚hoever that man is and whatever he鈥檚 done, he deserves to be dealt with properly. And lawfully, for that matter. What if the mother鈥檚 not dead, and he鈥檚 got a wife fretting, waiting for them both?鈥�What woman would let her baby out of her sight? Maybe a desperate one? Maybe one who gave her to a nanny while she was away? Guh!
鈥淲hat woman would let her baby out of her sight? Face it, Tom: she must have drowned.鈥�
鈥淔unny how lives turn out, isn鈥檛 it? Born to more money than you can shake a stick at; went all the way to Sydney University to get a degree in something or other; married the love of her life鈥攁nd you see her now sometimes, wandering about, like she鈥檚 got no home to go to.鈥�So as it turned out, the baby's mother is alive and breathing. And wealthy. And scared, and lost, and lonely, because she's lost her husband AND her child. Poor Hannah may be rich, but she's had to fight for her love. She fought to marry a German, and this was pretty bad, considering this is post-WWI. Her father disinherited her, she had to work menial labor, she had to suffer a lot to marry the love of her life. And now her husband may be dead somewhere, she doesn't know (because Batshit and Doormat never reported the dead body) and her daughter may be dead somewhere, she doesn't know (because Batshit and Doormat never reported FINDING A FUCKING BABY).
鈥淗annah had a terrible tragedy a few years ago. Family lost at sea鈥攈er husband, and a daughter who would have been about your girl鈥檚 age by now. She鈥檚 always asking that sort of thing. Seeing little ones sets her off.鈥�Understatement of the fucking century.
鈥淒readful,鈥� Isabel managed to mutter.
鈥淗ow can you be so hard-hearted? All you care about is your rules and your ships and your bloody light.鈥� These were accusations Tom had heard before, when, wild with grief after her miscarriages, Isabel had let loose her rage against the only person there鈥攖he man who continued to do his duty, who comforted her as best he could, but kept his own grieving to himself.Doormat's mad devotion to his wife will eventually be his own downfall, and as we will learn towards the climax of the book, that love is truly a one-way street.
鈥�...or I can forgive and forget...Oh, but my treasure, it is so much less exhausting. You only have to forgive once. To resent, you have to do it all day, every day. You have to keep remembering all the bad things...we always have a choice.鈥�
鈥淚t鈥檚 like a whole鈥� a whole galaxy waiting for you to find out about. And I want to find out about yours.鈥�
鈥淪o marry me!鈥�
He blinked. 鈥淚zz鈥擨 hardly know you! And besides, I鈥檝e never even鈥攚ell, I鈥檝e never even kissed you, for crying out loud.鈥�
鈥淎t long last!鈥� She spoke as if the solution were blindingly obvious, and she stood on tiptoes to pull his head down toward her. Before he knew what was happening he was being kissed, inexpertly but with great force. He pulled away from her.
鈥淭hat鈥檚 a dangerous game to play, Isabel. You shouldn鈥檛 go running around kissing blokes out of the blue. Not unless you mean it.鈥�
鈥淏ut I do mean it!鈥�
Tom looked at her, her eyes challenging him, her petite chin set firm. Once he crossed that line, who knew where he would end up? Oh, bugger it. To hell with good behavior. To hell with doing the right thing. Here was a beautiful girl, begging to be kissed, and the sun was gone and the weeks were up and he鈥檇 be out in the middle of bloody nowhere this time tomorrow. He took her face in his hands and bent low as he said, 鈥淭hen this is how you do it,鈥� and kissed her slowly, letting time fade away. And he couldn鈥檛 remember any other kiss that felt quite the same.
Dear Mum and Dad,
Well, God has sent us an angel to keep us company. Baby Lucy has captured our hearts! She鈥檚 a beautiful little girl鈥攁bsolutely perfect. She sleeps well and feeds well. She鈥檚 never any trouble.
鈥淭here are still more days to travel in this life. And he knows that the man who makes the journey has been shaped by every day and every person along the way. Scars are just another kind of memory....Soon enough the days will close over their lives, the grass will grow over their graves, until their story is just an unvisited headstone.鈥�
The town draws a veil over certain events.This is a small community, where everyone knows that sometimes the contract to forget is as important as any promise to remember. Children can grow up having no knowledge of the indiscretion of their father in his youth, or of the illegitimate sibling who lives fifty miles away and bears another man's name. History is that which is agreed upon by mutual consent.Who was to blame for the events at the Lighthouse? If there was a crime committed, who were the real criminals. And was it a crime to begin with?
That's how life goes on--protected by the silence that anesthetizes shame
27th April 1926
On the day of the miracle, Isabel was kneeling at the cliff鈥檚 edge, tending the small, newly made driftwood cross. A single fat cloud snailed across the late-April sky, which stretched above the island in a mirror of the ocean below. Isabel sprinkled more water and patted down the soil around the rosemary bush she had just planted. 鈥溾€� and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil,鈥� she whispered.