I Knew a Real Victorian Adventurer

A Dedication

Once upon a time, I knew a real Victorian Girl Adventurer. Janet Parish-Whittaker was an incredibly bright, creative, funny, adventuresome, gutsy and possibly most importantly, caring and giving woman. She was also my best friend, collaborator and wife.

I lost her on May 10th, 2011 to her fourth round of cancer in her all too brief life.

But she would be the first to eschew the role of the wan girl who passes daintily away so the Heroic Lead can look all mopey afterwards. Despite having had four cancers, chronic rheumatoid arthritis, uncontrolled seizures for a year, complete heartblock requiring a pacemaker, and various other maladies like hypothyroidism, she had a successful music and teaching career. Her work with Harry Castle (who also passed far too early) was one of the honorees at the ’97 International Council on Computer Music, which found her traveling to Thessaloniki during the middle of a crippling arthritis attack.

Sure, she wasn’t well. But she didn’t just sit at home, either. Among other things, we journeyed across the USA in a fabric and wood plane, hacked our way up an ice slope on Mt. Whitney, explored Denali park, flew the Yukon, and stalked the night time streets of Paris, where she found an old homeless Greek guitarist to sing with. She took every second of life, perhaps because she knew she probably wouldn’t have a full life span.

But she would never, ever allow herself to be labeled as “that poor sick girl.” “Don’t call me a survivor!” she’d say. “I’m just muddling along!”

Annabelle Somerset would recognize a kindred spirit, I like to think.

Janet was also a complete and utter geek. Cute and cuddly geek, mind you. Her father tells me that when a little girl, she would hack his Apple IIe in order to get all the high scores on Star Trek. Her geekdom was an eclectic one that stretched from Dr. Who to Victorian romances. Like all geek newlyweds, we combined our libraries and traded our favorite books. I introduced her to Ellison and Niven, and she in kind introduced me to the Brontes and Austen.

So, when the day came that we discovered Space: 1889, we both fell in love. Years before steampunk became a “thing,” we’d sit around the gaming table spinning tales of journeys into space with the appropriate amount of Victorian panache. She played many characters, but our mutual favorite was Miss Prudence Postlethwaite, a governess given the duty of keeping her wayward charge from throwing herself at every eligible set of muttonchops in the solar system. Janet would pin her hair up in a bun and wear her very best cameo broach for her “performances.” She couldn’t escape her cuteness, though, no matter how sternly she tried to look over her glasses.

She would have loved the notion of actually working on the series. Certainly, she was often the one who drove me to write, not in some ethereal sense of her being a “muse,” but in the very real sense of coming up with story ideas, finding markets, and poking me with a knitting needle as necessary. To be honest, some years ago, I’d just about given up on the notion of ever writing professionally. Some wives would have said supportive things, sure. Janet, on the other hand, simply went onto my computer, picked a story she thought was decent enough and submitted it for me to an international contest. She didn’t tell me about what she’d done until she handed me the phone with the contest director on the other end offering congratulations.

That contest was where I had the fortune to meet Steve Savile, whose friendship and mentoring I’ve cherished over the last few years. And that led to the chance to work with the man himself in one of my favorite fictional universes. It doesn’t get better than that. I just wish Janet could be part of it, too.

But then again, in a very real sense, she is.

Good night Miss Postlethwaite, wherever you are.