Apparently my memory has a Penelope Fitzgerald-shaped hole. As I read the description of Offshore, it sounded vaguely familiar. I did read it, years ago. I remember a pervasive feeling of soft melancholy, but nothing much about the characters or plot. I would be less unhappy about the diminished memory that advancing age brings if I could retain more of the high-quality literature and forget, instead, things like the terrible performance evaluation that I received from my first boss, in 1982. Looking on the bright side, at least I can have the pleasure of discovery again.