Jeg læser Robert Douglas-Fairhursts The Story of Alice. Lewis Carroll and the Secret History of Wonderland, netop udkommet og straks e-bogs-indkøbt af mig efter læsning af New Yorker-anmeldelse, og den flyder over med al mulig og umulig, nyttig og unyttig information om Verdens Bedste Bog (Adventures + Looking Glass)
Carrolls far var en notorisk stivstikker af en anglikansk præst, med nonsens i hjertet. Her er hans svar på en indkøbsliste, 8-årige Carroll havde skrevet:
"As soon as I get to Leeds i shall scream out in the middle of the street, Ironmongers - Ironmongers - Six hundred men will rush out of their shops in a moment - fly, fly, in all directions - ring the bells, call the constables - set the town on fire, I will have a file & screwdriver, & a ring & if they are not brought directly, in forty seconds I will leave nothing but one small cat alive in the whole town of Leeds ... Then what a bawling & a tearing of hair there will be! Pigs & babies, camels & butterflies, rolling in the gutter together - old women rushing up the chimneys & cows after them - ducks hiding themselves in coffee cups, 6 fat geese trying to squezze themselves into pencil cases - at last the Mayor of Leeds will be found in a soup plate covered up with custard & stuck full of almonds to make look like a sponge cake thet he may escape the dreadful destruction of the Town ..."
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