There are good books which are only for adults, because their comprehension presupposes adult experiences, but there are no good books which are only for children. A child who enjoys the Alice books will continue to enjoy them when he or she is grown up, though his ‘reading’ of what they mean will probably change.
W. H. AUDEN: ‘Lewis Carroll’, in Forewords and Afterwords (1973)
Lewis Carroll was the pseudonym of Charles Lutwidge Dodgson, the son of a country parson, who was born at Daresbury in Cheshire, and educated at Rugby School. At Christ Church, Oxford, he studied mathematics and, having taken a degree, was invited by the university to teach and lecture – something he found difficult with his shyness and bad stammer. He was ordained in 1861 but preached only seldom – again because of his stammer. He had started writing as a child in the school holidays, producing a magazine which consisted to a great extent of his own verse. As an adult he began to publish mathematical text-books and, occasionally, comic verse. Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland (1865) met with immediate success, although the title was arrived at only with difficulty. In a letter to Tom Taylor a year before publication, he wrote:
I should be very glad if you could help me in fixing on a name for my fairy-tale […] Here are […] names I have thought of:
Alice among the elves/goblins
Alice’s hour/doings/adventures
in elf-land/wonderland.
The fairy tale was inspired by a boat trip that Dodgson made with Alice Liddell, the daughter of the dean of his college, and her two sisters, ‘all in the golden afternoon’ of 4 July 1862. His best-seller was followed by Through the Looking-Glass (1871) and The Hunting of the Snark (1876). Carroll was a keen amateur photographer, and his penchant for photographing semi-clad young girls has led to much recent psychological speculation.
Beautiful Soup, so rich and green,
Waiting in a hot tureen!
Who for such dainties would not stoop?
Soup of the evening, beautiful Soup!
Soup of the evening, beautiful Soup!
Beau–ootiful Soo–oop!
Beau–ootiful Soo–oop!
Soo–oop of the e–e–evening,
Beautiful, beautiful Soup!
Beautiful Soup! Who cares for fish,
Game, or any other dish?
Who would not give all else for two p
ennyworth only of beautiful Soup?
Pennyworth only of beautiful Soup?
Beau–ootiful Soo–oop!
Beau–ootiful Soo–oop!
Soo–oop of the e–e–evening,
Beautiful, beauti–FUL SOUP!
’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
‘Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!’
He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought –
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.
And as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!
One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
‘And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!’
He chortled in his joy.
’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.