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  • Writer's picture Gary Bills

Visions from Wonderland.

This is a snippet of a promotional video for "A Letter For Alice". This novella, by Gary Bills, is due out in the spring. What was it really like, that far away world on the final edge of childhood, which led to the creation of "Alice's Adventures In Wonderland"? There is darkness and well as enchantment in Gary's novella, and he writes: "Heather's animation is marvellous and captures both the charm and menace of a world where magical experiences are taken for granted, although they may come at a price." . Here are are two excerpts..

I have already spoken of my early interest, and also that strange emergent pity which seemed to afflict me, whenever Dodgson’s name was mentioned.

We had viewed him, perhaps, as one might observe a faraway forest. We had heard the forest’s name and had even seen it bathed in sunlight or wreathed in mist, yet always at a distance. How we longed to know that mysterious forest; and yet, when standing at the edge, where the open fields were met by looming trees, and seeing an infinity of shade beyond the path and beyond any map, we were suddenly afraid.

The Tulgey Wood was far too near, and its shadows were far too numerous....


I can hear Dodo speaking, even now: “What a foolish bird he was, the Measuring Bird, for he baffled himself out of comfort and a home, a place he had enjoyed until that very moment, when he became too conceited, or too clever, to squeeze himself back in.”

“And what happened to the Measuring Bird, Mr Dodgson; please tell us, do...”

“Why he got rained on, of course, and he caught a most severe chill and he died of it. It is a very sad story, I am sorry to relate!”

He did not stutter then. He was at peace; and how the ripples flow and merge: first the buttercups of early spring, which overhang the sluicy green water and stain it with dancing yellows; and then the resurgent green, above and below, with summer in full leaf and reflections of the hooded trees, within the reach of fingertips.

The prow glides on through green and shade, and the glimmerings of sunlight from the Isis. The prow glides on, for these are the memories which haunt me still....

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