When you think of Alice in Wonderland, you might recall whimsical characters, nonsensical dialogue, and a dreamlike journey. However, a deeper look at Chapter 6 reveals a profound and subliminal commentary on the struggle of growing from a girl to a woman, especially regarding the roles of motherhood and homemaker.
Buckle up, buttercups, because we’re about to dive headfirst into the chaos that makes this chapter of the book the ultimate trip down the rabbit hole, where this infamous dream sequence becomes a nightmare.
Alice’s journey through this scene reflects a deeper internal struggle about growing up and the societal expectations placed on women. While her conscious mind navigates the absurdities of Wonderland, her subconscious absorbs and processes these darker themes, leaving an indelible mark on both her and the reader’s perception of adulthood and domesticity.
This post is all about the two very different ways your mind interprets the same chapter from one of the most iconic and timeless stories in literature.
The Conscious Perception
The Butler
Let’s set the scene: Alice, our favorite wanderer, stumbles upon this tiny house—cute, right? Wrong. It’s Wonderland, so obviously, things are about to get super weird, super fast. Enter our first contestant in this episode of “Wonderland’s Got Talent”: a fish-headed courier. Yes, you heard that right. A fish head. On a human body. And he’s not there to deliver sushi; he’s got an invitation to the queen’s croquet match. Talk about fish out of water.
But wait, it gets better. Who answers the door but a frog-faced butler. Because, of course, in Wonderland, why wouldn’t your butler have a frog face? It’s like the casting call was for “Animal Planet” and “Downton Abbey” at the same time. And the fashion? Honey, it’s a disaster. They’re both rocking these ridiculous curly wigs that look like they’ve been stolen straight from a colonial cosplay event. It’s a hot mess, and honestly, I’m here for it.
Now, imagine this: the fish hands over the envelope, and in a move that’s straight out of a slapstick comedy, they bow—because manners—and get their wigs tangled. Yes, tangled. It’s like watching two toddlers in a tug-of-war with a spaghetti noodle. Except it’s not pasta; it’s their dignity they’re playing with. Alice can’t even handle it and bursts into laughter, which, same. It’s the kind of scene that makes you wonder if Wonderland is just a fever dream of haute couture and animal hybrids.
But here’s the kicker: Alice has to sneak away before they see her. Because, obviously, in Wonderland, the only thing worse than being caught in a bad wig is being caught laughing at one. When she peeks back, the fish dude has bounced, leaving froggy looking lost and probably contemplating his life choices.
Alice, sauntered up to the door and gave it the most half-hearted knock ever. “Um, hello? Knocking is so last season,” the frog butler was like, totally not having it. “For two totally obvious reasons. First, because I’m right here, duh. And second, because inside it’s like, a major drama fest. No one’s gonna hear you over that mess inside.” The noise coming from within was just beyond – I’m talking a mix of constant wailing, and sneezing, interrupted every so often by a loud crash of dinner plates shattering into a million pieces.
“Sooo, how do I even-” Alice started to ask, totally at a loss and trying to make her voice heard. The frog butler responds, in all his blasé glory, “Knocking might work if we had some common sense. Like, if you were inside wanting out. But no.” Before going back to staring off at the sky, completely ignoring Alice. Rude much?
Our girl tried to give him the benefit of the doubt, “Maybe he can’t help being so spacey,” she thought. “His eyes are practically on his forehead. But like, a little politeness wouldn’t kill him.” Then she tried again, a little louder this time, “Hellooo, how do I get in?”
This is when Mr. Froggy starts thinking out loud, “I might just sit here, like, forever.” At this point, the door swings open and wham! A plate flies out, nearly decapitating him, and shatters on a tree nearby. “Or maybe not,” he shrugged, clearly unbothered by the near-death experience.
Alice, still trying to get a straight answer, asks one more time, “Seriously, how do I get in?” And the butler’s all, “The real question is, do you even belong here?” Totally not the vibe Alice was going for, and she was not about to let it slide. “This is just the worst,” she snapped, “It’s like arguing with a brick wall. So not fetch.”
The butler saw an opening to repeat his earlier stand-offish mantra, “I could sit here for like, ever.” Completely ignoring poor Alice, who was this close to losing it. “What’s a girl to do!?” she asked, already knowing it was a lost cause.
“Whatever,” he said, starting to whistle, which was basically like saying, “I couldn’t care less.”
Alice, at her wit’s end, was like, “Talking to you is literally a waste of my breath!” And with that, she just opened the door and let herself in. Because sometimes, you just have to do things yourself.
The Cook
So, Alice steps into what’s basically a disaster zone masquerading as a kitchen – I mean, smoke everywhere, like they’re trying to signal a rescue plane or something. And smack in the center, the Duchess is there doing the whole ‘mother of the year’ act on a stool that barely has enough legs to stand on, with a baby that’s probably wondering where it all went wrong.
Then there’s the cook – a total vision in a chef’s hat, if you’re into the whole ‘I haven’t seen daylight in years’ look – hunched over the fire like she’s concocting a witch’s brew. And let me tell you, it’s soup on the menu, but with a pepper kick that could probably knock out an ox. Alice is over there nearly sneezing her brains out, thinking, “Wow, easy on the pepper, lady.” But, of course, she’s not about to say that out loud. In this kitchen, voicing your opinion is like asking to be the cook’s next target for flying kitchenware.
And believe me, there’s way too much pepper going on, not just in the soup but basically seasoning the air at this point. Even the Duchess gets in on the sneeze fest now and then. The baby? Oh, it’s living its best life, alternating between sneezing and crying without missing a beat. A real party animal.
Amidst this chaos, there are exactly two chill beings – the cook, somehow immune to her own pepper apocalypse, and this huge cat just sitting there with a grin that’s way too smug, probably enjoying the show a bit too much. Honestly, the only thing missing is a reality TV crew to capture this hot mess.
The Duchess
Let’s talk about the Duchess. She’s nursing her baby, who’s basically in a non-stop howling competition with the cook’s pepper-induced sneezing and dish-throwing antics. Yes, you heard right. The cook is hurling kitchenware like it’s her job (which, in Wonderland, it might as well be), and there’s so much pepper in the air it’s like they’re prepping for a sneeze marathon. And the Duchess? Completely unfazed. It’s like she’s immune to the chaos that’s her life, or maybe she’s just mastered the art of ignoring problems until they go away. #Relatable
Enter Alice, our dear protagonist, who’s got the audacity to ask about the cat. Yes, amidst flying pans and a pepper pandemic, she wants to know why the cat’s grinning. Priorities, Alice. The Duchess, in between throwing shade and possibly other objects, casually mentions it’s a Cheshire Cat, as if that explains the perpetual smile. I mean, if I lived in that house, I’d probably be grinning too, just out of sheer nervousness.
And the cat? Oh, it’s just chilling, grinning away, probably amused by the absurdity of its surroundings. It’s like the only sane character in a sitcom where everyone else has lost the plot. Alice, bless her, is trying to engage in what passes for polite conversation in Wonderland, but between the baby’s cries and the cook’s culinary projectiles, it’s more like a verbal obstacle course.
Now, here’s where it gets really good. Alice, in a moment of pure sass, questions the logistics of grinning cats and gets a schooling in Wonderland logic from the Duchess. It’s like watching a tennis match of wits, and honestly, I’m living for it. The Duchess, with all the charm of a brick, retorts with the kind of condescending wisdom only Wonderland can provide, leaving Alice (and us) to ponder the mysteries of smiling felines and the etiquette of talking to royals while dodging kitchenware.
In summary, this whole encounter is a blend of absurdity, sass, and the kind of drama that would make even the Plastics pause. The Duchess’s house is like a masterclass in how not to host a get-together, unless, of course, your goal is to confuse and possibly concuss your guests. So, next time you’re stressing about your own domestic dilemmas, just remember: at least you’re not trying to have a conversation in a pepper storm while dishes fly past your head. Wonderland might be full of wonders, but it’s the characters and their chaotic lives that truly steal the show.
The Baby
So, there’s the Duchess, right? She’s holding her baby, and when I say ‘holding,’ I mean more like juggling as she sings a so-called lullaby. And this lullaby, guys, it’s not your typical “Rock-a-bye Baby.” No, it’s more “Rock-a-bye Baby in a madhouse.” The lyrics go something like, “Speak roughly to your little boy, and beat him when he sneezes: He only does it to annoy, because he knows it teases.” Um, excuse me? What kind of twisted nursery rhyme is that? It’s like Mother Goose went through a goth phase.
Every time she belts out a line of this nightmare lullaby, the Duchess gives the baby a shake. Not the gentle, rhythmic rocking you might expect, but a full-on, cocktail bartender shake. It’s like she’s trying to mix a baby martini,
The poor little guy is being tossed around like a rag doll, sneezing from all the pepper in the air (because, of course, the cook is on a pepper frenzy), and the Duchess is just adding insult to injury with her rough handling and even rougher singing. Then, deciding she’s had enough of motherhood for the day, tosses the baby to Alice like she’s passing off a hot potato. “Here, you deal with this,” she seems to say, before waltzing off to get ready for her “playdate” with the queen.
The Cat
Done with the house of horrors, Alice is back to her solo trip, where she spots the Cheshire Cat lounging on a tree branch. When he quizzed her about the baby’s fate, Alice begins to explain her heroic, albeit failed, attempt to save him from what can only be described as a unique approach to parenting by the Duchess. However, the hangup? This baby transformed into a pig. Yes, you read that right—a pig. So she set him down to run off into the woods.
Unsurprised and pretty amused by the situation, judging by his giant grin. The Cheshire cat takes his turn to play with her mind, disappearing and reappearing, popping in and out like a bad Wi-Fi connection and peppering Alice with questions about her evening plans. Pun intended. Ultimately spilling the tea on his own plans, “I’m headed to the Queen’s croquet match- you should join.” However, Alice knows the Duchess will be there And she’s not in a hurry to explain how the babysitting went. So she asked about the local scene and the Cheshire cat pointed her in the direction of the mad hatter’s tea party before disappearing one last time. Leaving only his grin behind.
In any other world, this would be cause for alarm, confusion, or at the very least, a double-take. But in Wonderland, it’s just another Tuesday.
The Subliminal Message
The House of Expectations
In Chapter 6, Alice stumbles upon a peculiar house that symbolizes the societal expectation of a homemaker. Right from the start, a fish deliveryman hands an invitation to a lavish party to the frog butler, who then refuses to go back inside. This simple act sets the stage for the internal conflict between duty and fun that Alice—and many girls—experience as they grow up.
The frog butler’s refusal to re-enter the house and his indifference to helping Alice get inside underscores the subliminal message that home duties are to be avoided. This mirrors the subconscious struggle in Alice’s dream and sends a subtle signal to readers: the domestic sphere is something to be shunned.
The Chaotic Interior
When Alice finally gains entry, she is met with a chaotic scene. The disgruntled cook is over-seasoning the soup with one hand while hurling dishes at the Duchess with the other. On the surface, this might seem humorous, but it holds a deeper, more troubling implication. The aggressive overuse of pepper and the dish-throwing are symbolic of hostility toward cooking and domestic chores, portraying them as acts of frustration and resentment.
The Overwhelmed Duchess
In the midst of the kitchen chaos sits the Duchess, holding a screaming baby who only stops crying to sneeze. The Duchess’s hostile lullaby and the baby’s incessant crying paint a bleak picture of motherhood. To Alice’s subconscious, and thus to the reader’s, this scene conveys that being a mother is taxing and overwhelming. The responsibilities associated with caring for a child are depicted as an assault on one’s well-being and personal space.
As Alice tries to care for the baby, it transforms into a pig, symbolizing that children can turn a once tidy and manageable life into a chaotic and messy one. This transformation reinforces the notion that children are a burden that disrupts personal order and peace.
The Desertion of Duty
The chapter further paints a grim picture of domestic responsibilities through the actions of the house’s inhabitants. The only male figure, the butler, leaves and never returns. The Duchess, too, abandons her baby and her duties, tossing the child to Alice as she rushes off to prepare for the party. This act of desertion highlights the desire to escape the confinements of home life in favor of personal enjoyment.
The cook, forced to stay in the kitchen, lashes out by filling the air with pepper and throwing objects. Her actions symbolize the frustration and resentment that can stem from being confined to domestic duties.
The Sole Smiling Creature
Amidst the chaos, the only creature with a smile is the Cheshire Cat. This stark contrast emphasizes the overall dissatisfaction and turmoil felt by the other characters who are entangled in domestic roles. The cat’s smile represents an alternative—a life free from the constraints of homemaking and child-rearing.
The subliminal message of Chapter 6 is clear: the roles of mother and homemaker are depicted as toxic and unappealing. Through the chaotic household, aggressive behavior, and the transformation of the baby into a pig, the chapter conveys a subconscious warning about the burdens of domestic life.
Anyway, time for this Byrd to fly. Until next time... XOXO Virginia