The Looking Glass House by Vanessa Tait has a beautiful cover, very reminiscent of the surrealism and magical, mysterious paradoxes found in Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland — the source text for this novel. Vanessa Tait is Alice Liddell’s great-granddaughter and as such has had exclusive access to Alice’s memorabilia about the book which made her a household name.

According to the blurb, Tait has extensively researched the time period during which her great-grandmother became the bona fide muse of Charles Dodgson (better known by his nom de plume, Lewis Carroll) and has collated her research in the form of fiction; to document how Alice Liddell became ‘Alice in Wonderland’, and also to conduct an exploration of the characters: Charles Dodgson, the oddball mathematics tutor at Oxford with a stammer; Mrs Liddell — Alice’s mother and a ‘kingfisher’ as she is very aptly referred to in the text; and of course the protagonist of the novel — Mary Prickett, the plain, pedantic governess of the young Liddell girls, and perhaps one of the most dreary characters I have had the misfortune of coming across in any piece of fiction.

There is much that can be done in writing historical fiction, especially with a subject as beloved as Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland; and honestly, who doesn’t like a bit of back story? Unfortunately, while Tait’s writing style is like fresh breathable cotton on a hot summer day, the actual content of her novel pours down over it, soaking it with oppressive heaviness which the reader has to painfully plod through. It is based in Oxford in 1862, a kind of ballpark year for when Alice’s and Mr Dodgson’s friendship began to peak. The Victorian backdrop is relayed in all the small details — the descriptions of layers of women’s clothing, starched collars and drawers; bleak rainy days; a rather prickly governess whose notions are governed by a phrenology chart and what can and cannot be construed as “moral”; dainty children being fussed between strictly allotted playtime and extended nursery/class time (with some examples of corporal punishment thrown in) and so on. While, for instance, Dickens’s descriptions of Victorian England are dark, damp, and sodden, Tait’s Oxford is heartening and quite bright — with smatterings of strawberry jam and boat rides on rivers, photography experiments on many fine sunny days, and just a touch of stifling restraint with some sexual repression thrown in for good measure.

Despite somewhat dreary content, Vanessa Tait’s writing style is contemporary and refreshing in The Looking Glass House

Tait chose to make Alice’s governess the protagonist — a hitherto completely unknown character, one we never think about while imagining charming little Alice (who wasn’t blonde at all, by the way). In one sense it may work; Mary works as a foil to Mr Dodgson and even to Alice’s childish innocence. She represents the stagnancy and stifling nature of the Victorian era, especially with reference to religious beliefs, and treatment and expectations of women and children, as well as the general ignorance of the working class, which came from moral and social indoctrination of a very coarse kind.

Unfortunately, the meandering of the novel into Mary’s consciousness is so detailed and drawn-out that the usefulness of this literary device is completely obliterated, leaving us to suffer through Mary’s (extremely trying) singular focus on herself: about her love life (will Mr Wilton marry me or will Mr Dodgson?); her resentment of her charges (Alice is a complete brat and why does everyone like her more than me?); her interest in moving up in life (my life will now begin, now that I work for the most important family in Oxford); and her slow realisation of her sexuality and immediate consequent self-shaming. The last of these is actually relevant, given that the main reason Alice’s and Dodgson’s relationship was brought to an abrupt end was due to the suspicion of sexual intimacy between them, and as such there are hints of sexual references strewn about the novel. Unfortunately again, the potential is so mishandled that what could have been a very interesting exploration of sexuality in the Victorian era is instead turned into the vendetta story of a scorned bitter woman.

“The party was still exhaling gusts of laughter as Mary lay upstairs in her bedroom. Her head was spinning. She put a hand on her forehead — burning, as she thought. It was all the excitement most likely, or perhaps she had a fever. Thoughts hit the inside edges of Mary’s skull with a heavy brightness. The Queen, but even as she saw her again in all her power the word dumpy sprinted across the upper part of her forehead. Mary closed her eyes and faces immediately came bursting through the darkness. The Queen’s soft jowls, so shockingly familiar, Mrs Liddell’s mass of dark hair, Mr Dodgson’s uneven smile, Alice’s eyes beneath her fringe. All began to jiggle up and down and then follow each other in a figure of eight. Ah well, plenty more chances. As Mary began to review it to herself she told herself that the party had, in fact, gone very well. She had not made a fool of herself. She had not lost control of the children. And most importantly, she had been there.” — Excerpt from the book

Another glaring glitch in the novel is the characterisation. Every single character — perhaps because they are seen from such an unimaginative character’s eyes — lacks dimension, depth and any semblance of warmth that could draw a reader in. Certainly, villains in fiction are meant to be like that, but here it is simply lacklustre and lazy character-building across the board. Alice, while deliberately not painted as a heroine, is shown as a spoilt and annoying little girl who carries little or no resemblance to her fictional counterpart (in fact, this book could put the uninitiated off Carroll’s story). Mr Dodgson, who is objectively an extremely intriguing character, goes from being a very likeable, eccentric young teacher to a pathetic loner whose fascination with young girls comes off as creepy rather than classically romantic. Similarly Mr Wilton, Mary’s suitor, is all sinewy and smouldering until Mary also writes him off, after which he starts resembling more beast than man.

There are, however, little chinks in the awfulness of this novel’s armour, tiny little spaces from which shine some examples of enthralling writing. For all the tedium of the Victorian setting, the novel’s writing style is distinctly modern. The absorption of the narrative into Mary’s consciousness — language that is fresh and crisp and bravely tries to move along the dull story, and descriptions that aren’t too verbose or burdened with meaning but eloquently evocative — all point to a delightful flouting of unspoken rules about writing Victorian period fiction. The description of Mary’s visit to a Pentecostal church and her unravelling into a passionate frenzy where she finds herself speaking in tongues and embracing Jesus (as it were) is remarkable. The fact that she does this with the otherwise bland Mr Wilton on a bright summer day is even more so.

The novel is entirely historical fiction; readers looking for insight into Carroll’s stories or even his muse will be disappointed. Having said that, the epilogue (which is narrated from the point of view of Mr Dodgson) is a much needed relief. It makes one wonder why the whole book, or at least some part of it, couldn’t have been that. The epilogue shines with warmth and immediately engages the weary reader; whereas one is inclined to dismiss Mary, the governess, as summarily as does Dodgson —“pedantic to a fault”, he calls her — and gives her no further thought. One wishes the author could have done the same and not wasted a subject so beloved and full of potential.

The reviewer is a Lahore-based freelance writer.

The Looking Glass House
(NOVEL)
By Vanessa Tait
Atlantic Books, United Kingdom
ISBN 978-1782396543
304pp.