I read the unabridged Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland last week for the first time.
This isn’t to say that I don’t know the story, or haven’t read, for example, Ladybird versions of simplified language (not that the original is all that difficult) in the past; I have, and I played the part of the White Rabbit in a school play (hated every second: I’m not a natural performer). But I hadn’t read the original, for some reason or another, I don’t know why.
What I like about Alice is that it reminds me of all the nonsense poems from my childhood – all of Edward Lear’s poetry, for example: The Owl and the Pussycat, or Hey Diddle Diddle. Frankly, anything could happen.
Something else I quite liked was the lack of obvious moralising, as is so often the case with children’s fiction of a certain age. Unless I missed something; as the Duchess says “Everything’s got a moral, if only you can find it”.
By and large, though, this seemed to be, simply, a weird and wacky story, with an array of interesting characters.
But it did bring back memories I’d rather remained dead and buried.