Honestly this book always reminds me of Alice in Wonderland, a movie I watched years back. Reading this book was like taking a walk down memory lane.
Let me gist you about Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, because honestly, reading it again as an adult hit me in a completely different way. You know how some stories feel like dreams you once had but can’t fully remember? That’s how this one feels—like being dragged into a wild dream you didn’t plan for, and suddenly everything is both funny and a little unsettling.
It kicks off so casually, Alice just sitting there bored while her sister’s reading some book with no pictures. And then—bam—this white rabbit runs by, all dressed up with a waistcoat and muttering about being late. I don’t know about you, but that’s the kind of moment where I’d blink and go, did I really just see that? But Alice doesn’t even hesitate. She follows him. That’s the first thing I noticed: this girl has such a curious, fearless streak. I think I would’ve stayed put, but she literally dives headfirst into a rabbit hole.
And this rabbit hole? It’s not just a drop. It is as though it were falling without end, cupboards and bookshelves and marmalade jars flying about. I had this weird stomach drop feeling when reading it, as you feel half asleep and dream that you are falling. It’s exciting and somewhat frightening. That is what caught me off guard with the book, as it seemed to me that Wonderland was not going to follow any rules.
It only gets stranger when Alice lands. The entire thing with the small key and the Drink Me bottle- ugh, that scene was the most stressful funny thing. She is shrinking, expanding, weeping buckets of tears, at one point actually swimming in her own tears. I laughed, but, also, something struck me: is that not just like life sometimes? You weep so much you drown in the self-created thing. That was a strangely familiar scene, as though Carroll was making a dig at the idea that emotions overtake us.
Then follows the procession of characters. The white bunny, ever fretful. The Mouse, attempting to impart a history lesson to her in the midst of all the din. And what about the Caterpillar on his mushroom--man, that was like sitting with a surly elder cousin who answers all questions by another question. When he questions her about who she is, she sincerely does not know anymore as she continuously goes up and down in size. It struck me personally then. At some time, as kids grow up, are we not all like that? Like, “Who am I really?” I promise I felt the frustration that Alice felt since I have been there.
But nothing prepared me for the Mad Tea Party. That scene is pure chaos—nonsensical riddles, cups being moved around, everyone sliding down the table, the Dormouse dozing off mid-story. I was laughing, but deep down it made me uneasy too, because it’s like being stuck at a table with people who won’t let you get a word in, and you’re just trying to make sense of nonsense. The “Why is a raven like a writing desk?” riddle still bugs me, and I think that’s the point—sometimes there isn’t an answer.
And then the Queen of Hearts… oh my God. The way she just shouts “Off with their heads!” at the drop of a hat—it was hilarious and terrifying at the same time. She’s like every authority figure who abuses power, someone you laugh at because she’s ridiculous but also fear because she does have control. Watching Alice stand up to her later was satisfying, like finally seeing the shy kid at school talk back to the bully. I actually cheered for her in my head.
The croquet and flamingos and hedgehogs game? Pure chaos again. I could not help thinking how exasperating it must be to play when your ball and mallet are animate and move independently. It is such a ridiculous thing, yet another great metaphor to explain how sometimes life is like a game that is stacked against you.
And that trial scene at the end - the ridiculousness of the whole thing, the King and Queen playing courtroom, and Alice finally understanding that she no longer has to play the role. That bit sent me chills since I could feel the change in her. No longer was she a curious girl, she discovered her voice. When she swells up once more and screams them off, I nearly felt proud, as though I were seeing a younger brother or sister at last assert himself.
And just like that it stops. She awakens and it was just a dream. That was the part that exposed me to some vulnerabilities, since I had to wonder about childhood, imagination and how fast it is gone. It brought me back to the days of my youth, when I was creating entire worlds in my imagination, and then becoming a grown-up and understanding how short-lived it all was. Wonderland was comical and bizarre, and even a little sad, as Carroll was telling me, not to forget this part of yourself, even in the waking up.
At the end of reading the book I was both overjoyed, bewildered, and nostalgic, at the same time, as though I had just come out of a dream myself. And, frankly, this is why I like the adventures of Alice in Wonderland. It’s not just a story. It is sort of a mirror, reminding you how you used to be like as a kid, how much you struggle with the nonsensical as an adult, and how you should never stop being curious even when nothing in the world makes sense.
