Alice in Wonderland --Chasing Rabbits, and Who are You?

I know I've written about it before, but once again, I had a song threading through my mind before my eyes even opened up this morning. Today, it's "White Rabbit," and I have no clue why (this one is the Grace Potter cover). Sometimes it's hymns, or old pop tunes from the 60s and 70s. Today, it's the haunting guitar and the puzzling lyrics.

I have an odd obsession with the stories of Alice and her journey into Wonderland. I'm really drawn to the Tim Burton version, because it honors the anxiety and unease in the original texts. The Disney version is cute, but those singing flowers and the general goofiness are not (I think) what Lewis Carroll envisioned. The stories were created to entertain a little girl, made up initially almost off the cuff-- which, to me, lends credence to my idea that since they were coming somewhat unedited from the mind of a troubled adult, the Burton version mirrors that better. There's just something about going down a rabbit hole and having to reorient oneself that resonates with me deeply.

Unless one is leading a very charmed/sheltered life, adulting is one big rabbit hole. It takes a lot of stamina and mental fortitude to look at the unending challenges and merely proclaim, "curiouser and curiouser." Often, I feel too small to be of use. Or too large, and I can't maneuver around. I'm listening at keyholes and following paths that promise to lead me to good results, only to find out I need to wield a vorpal blade sooner or later. And more often. 

There's little relief in the stories of Alice: think, for a moment, about the Walrus and the Carpenter and all those trusting little oysters that got invited to dinner-- to be dinner. There was no sugar-coating of the duplicity involved. No oysters were miraculously saved-- "they'd eaten every one." That story reads like a metaphor for rapacious capitalism, in my mind. Not a children's story at all.

The Caterpillar's existential question Who are you? is the central theme of the text, and one that, hookah in hand, gets dismissed too often, per the Disney version. Alice's musings that she is not the same person she was before--even just hours before-- is so true. We keep running into the Caterpillar. 

In the Burton version, there is an ongoing debate among the residents of Underland about whether Alice is the right Alice; this one has "lost her muchness." Again, I connect with that feeling very deeply. Society tells us that when we become adults, we are fully formed humans with explicit and implicit agency. I say, bullshit. In my experience, after battling our own series of jabberwocks, we lose a little "muchness" each time, unless, of course, we are given a space of time to reflect and regroup. How do we marshal our resources, both physically and emotionally, when the hits keep coming? We can, but it takes real strength, and often, sacrifice. Alice manages to find her "muchness" in the Burton film, and we cheer for her: too often, the lead female character needs to be saved by some male character. But not this time. Alice emerges as a strong person, able to fight her battle-- she's learned a lot, she's discarded a lot of social norms that hold her back, and then she is able to become truly Alice. 

But she is not unscathed; the journey in Underland has changed or, more, refined Alice, and has helped her to hone her skills and find her inner strengths. No thanks to most of the characters along her way; the Cheshire Cat is unreliable, and Bayard  wants to help, but is compromised. The others, like the Mad Hatter and so on, are too worried and they really need Alice. Perhaps that's how women find their strength-- knowing that others depend on them, and thus, they can and will dig deeper than they would for their own sake. 

That's it, isn't it? I'm Alice. 

Hm.

Have a good day,

C