The Adventures of Mary Darling

A cracking read, a virtuoso act of gender jiu-jitsu, a Sherlock story like no other, a rough trip to fairyland, and the real, true story of Peter Pan. What a book!

Cory Doctorow
5 min read6 days ago
The cover of the Tachyon edition of ‘The Adventures of Mary Darling.’

I’m on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel Picks and Shovels. Catch me at PITTSBURGH’S White Whale Books on May 15 and in PDX at Barnes and Noble with BUNNIE HUANG on June 20. More tour stops (London, Manchester) here.

Science fiction great Pat Murphy has written some classics — including books that were viciously suppressed by the heirs of JRR Tolkien! — but with The Adventures of Mary Darling, she’s outdone even her own impressive self:

https://tachyonpublications.com/product/the-adventures-of-mary-darling/

The titular Mary Darling here is the mother of Wendy, John and and Michael Darling, the three children who are taken by Peter Pan to Neverland in JM Barrie’s 1902 book The Little White Bird, which later became Peter Pan. If you recall your Barrie, you’ll remember that it ends with the revelation that Wendy, John and Michael weren’t the first Darlings to go to Neverland: when Mary Darling was a girl, she, too, made the journey.

Murphy’s novel opens with Mary Darling and her husband George coming home from a dinner party to discover their three children missing, the window open, and their nanny, a dog called Nana, barking frantically in the yard. John is frightened, but Mary is practically petrified, inconsolable and rigid with fear.

Soon, Mary’s beloved uncle, John Watson, is summoned to the house, along with his famous roommate, the detective Sherlock Holmes. With Holmes on the case, surely the children will be found?

Of course not. Holmes is incapable of understanding where the Darling children have gone, because to do so would be to admit the existence of the irrational and fantastic, and, more importantly, to accept the testimony of women, lower-class people, and pirates. Holmes has all the confidence of the greatest detective alive, which means he is of no help at all.

Neither is George Darling, who, as a kind of act of penance for letting his children be stolen away, takes to Nana’s doghouse, and insists that he will not emerge from it until the children are returned. He takes his meals in the doghouse, and is carried in it to and from the taxis that bring him to work and home again.

Only Mary can rescue her children. John Watson discovers her consorting with Sam, a one-legged Pacific Islander who is a known fence and the finest rat-leather glovemaker in London, these being much prized by London’s worst criminal gangs. Horrified that Mary is keeping such ill company, Watson confronts her and Sam (and Sam’s parrot, who screeches nonstop piratical nonsense), only to be told that Mary knows what she is doing, and that she is determined to see her children home safe.

Mary, meanwhile, is boning up on her swordplay and self-defense (taught by a Suffragist swordmaster in a room above an Aerated Bread Company tearoom, these being the only public place in Victorian London where a respectable woman can enjoy herself without a male escort). She’s acquiring nautical maps. She’s going to Neverland.

What follows is a very rough guide to fairyland. It’s a story that recovers the dark asides from Barrie’s original Pan stories, which were soaked with blood, cruelty and death. The mermaids want to laugh as you drown. The fairies hate you and want you to die. And Peter Pan doesn’t care how many starveling, poorly trained Lost Boys die in his sorties against pirates, because he knows where there are plenty more Lost Boys to be found in the alienated nurseries of Victorian London, an ocean away.

More importantly, it’s a story that revolves around the women in Barrie’s world, who are otherwise confined to the edges and shadows of the action. In Barrie’s Pan, Wendy is a “mother,” Tiger Lily is a “princess,” and Mary is a barely-there adult whose main role is to smile wistfully at the memory of when she was a girl and got to serve as Peter’s “mother.”

And Holmes? Apart from one love interest and a stalwart housekeeper, Holmes has very little time or regard for women. This is so central to the Holmes cannon that the Arthur Conan Doyle estate actually sued over Netflix’s Enola Holmes movie, arguing that Enola displayed basic respect for women, a feature that doesn’t appear until the very end of the Holmes canon, and — the estate argued — those final stories were still in copyright:

https://www.cbr.com/why-enola-holmes-has-nice-version-sherlock/

Murphy’s woman’s-eye-view of Peter Pan, Neverland and the Lost Boys dilates the narrow aperture through which Peter Pan plays out, revealing a great deal of exciting, fun, frightening stuff that was always off in the wings. She gives flesh and substance to characters like Tiger Lily, by giving her the semi-fictionalized identity of one of the many American First Nations people who toured Europe and Africa, putting on Wild West shows that won eternal fame and cultural currency for the “American Indian,” even as the USA was seeking to exterminate them and their memory.

Likewise, Murphy’s pirates are grounded in the reality of pirate ships: democratic, anarchic, and far more fun than Robert Louis Stevenson would have you believe. While Murphy’s pirates are about a century too late (as are Barrie’s), they are in other regards pretty rigorous, which makes them extraordinarily great literary figures.

If you read David Graeber’s posthumous Pirate Enlightenment, you’ll know about the Zana-Malata of Madagascar, the descendants of anarchist pirates and matriarchal Malagasy women, who pranked and hoaxed British merchant sailors for generations, deliberately creating a mythology of south seas pirate kings:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/24/zana-malata/#libertalia

This hybrid culture of bold, fierce matriarchal Malagasy women and their anarchist pirate husbands play a central role in the book’s resolution, and Murphy’s pirate utopia is so well drawn and homely that I found myself wanting to move there.

This is a profoundly political book, but it’s such a romp, too! Murphy has a real flair for this kind of thing. Back in 1999, she published the brilliant There and Back Again, an all-female retelling of The Hobbit (in spaaaaace!) that was widely celebrated…right up to the moment that Christopher Tolkien used baseless copyright threats to get the book withdrawn from sale:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/There_and_Back_Again_(novel)

Billionaire failsons of long-dead writers notwithstanding, you can still read There and Back Again by borrowing a copy of the book from the Internet Archive’s Open Library:

https://openlibrary.org/works/OL15436385W/There_and_back_again

Murphy’s mashup of Holmes, Pan, South Seas pirate anarchists, and other salutary and exciting personages, milieux, furniture and tropes of the Victorian adventure story is an unmissable triumph, a romp, a delight.

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/05/06/nevereverland/#lesser-ormond-street

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Cory Doctorow
Cory Doctorow

Written by Cory Doctorow

Writer, blogger, activist. Blog: https://pluralistic.net; Mailing list: https://pluralistic.net/plura-list; Mastodon: @pluralistic@mamot.fr

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