"I didn't like the Alice books because I found them creepy and horribly unfunny in a nasty, plonking, Victorian way. Oh, here's Mr Christmas Pudding On Legs, hohohoho, here's a Caterpillar Smoking A Pipe, hohohoho. When I was a kid the books created in me about the same revulsion as you get when, aged seven, you're invited to kiss your great-grandmother." - Terry Pratchett
Thankfully someone phrased it better than me. In speaking with a friend yesterday about the notion of narrative and plot, Alice in Wonderland came up. With it too came a quick realisation that I'm not a fan, and secondly that I don't understand one thing that happens in it.
Further investigation revealed that I was never a fan of the book as a child although Mother did read it to me. Apparently I didn't like the falling down a rabbit hole idea nor cakes and drinks that proclaimed 'eat me' and 'drink me'. I objected to the book so much that Mother donated it to charity and we never watched the movie, although I'm sure I've seen it parts of it at some point. This is course coming from someone who loves the Gene Wilder movie version of Willy Wonka, so no problems with the child on an adventure, makes choices good and bad and meets weirdos genre at all for me. Oh well...time to rediscover it and face those fears of rabbit holes?
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