Forget the tea parties. Forget the singing flowers and the whimsical logic puzzles that Lewis Carroll used to charm Victorian England. When you pick up Alice by Christina Henry, you aren’t falling down a rabbit hole; you’re being shoved into a meat grinder. It’s gritty. It’s dark. Honestly, it’s one of the most polarizing takes on a classic ever written because it strips away the "nonsense" and replaces it with trauma, blood, and a very literal kind of madness.
Most people coming to this book expect a "dark" fairy tale—maybe something along the lines of Tim Burton or American McGee’s video games. But Henry goes deeper into the gutter.
The Hospital and the Rabbit
The story starts in a place that feels uncomfortably real despite the supernatural undertones. Alice is in a mental hospital. She’s been there for years, her hair matted, her mind fractured by a "Rabbit" who wasn't a cute woodland creature but a man who did horrific things to her. This isn't a spoiler; it’s the foundation of the entire narrative. The "White Rabbit" is a human monster with a penchant for young girls.
It’s a tough read.
A fire breaks out, providing a chaotic exit for Alice and her neighbor, Hatcher. Hatcher is a massive, axe-wielding murderer who lives in the cell next door. Together, they navigate the "Old City," a sprawling urban nightmare controlled by crime lords who represent twisted versions of Carroll’s characters. You’ve got the Caterpillar as a drug kingpin. The Walrus and the Carpenter are flesh-peddling thugs. It’s a literal underworld.
Why the Gore Actually Matters
Some critics argue that the violence in Alice by Christina Henry is gratuitous. I get that. There are scenes involving human trafficking and visceral mutilation that make you want to put the book down and take a long walk in the sun. However, if you look at the subtext, Henry is using the horror to talk about agency.
Alice starts the book as a victim. She’s "crazy" because the world told her she was. She’s weak because she’s been starved and drugged. Her journey through the Old City is essentially a bloody reclamation of her own mind. She has to stop seeing herself as a victim of the Rabbit and start seeing herself as a survivor capable of wielding her own power—which, in this universe, is a very tangible, magical sort of power.
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It’s about the scars we carry. Hatcher, for instance, is a man literally broken by his past, searching for a lost daughter and a lost identity. The dynamic between Alice and Hatcher isn't some sappy romance. It’s a gritty, "we’re the only two people who aren't trying to eat each other" kind of alliance.
Breaking Down the World-Building
The "Old City" is separated from the "New City" by a wall. This is a classic trope, sure, but Henry makes it feel claustrophobic. The New City is where the "civilized" people live—the ones who pretend the horrors of the Old City don't exist. It’s a sharp commentary on class and how society discards the people it finds "broken" or "inconvenient."
Christina Henry's writing style is deceptively simple. She doesn't waste time on flowery descriptions of the scenery unless that scenery is covered in something gross.
- The Jabberwock: In this version, it's a terrifying, ancient entity that feeds on fear and shadows. It’s not a beast you slay with a vorpal sword in a field; it’s a psychological parasite.
- The Cheshire Cat: Think less "mischievous feline" and more "elusive information broker with a terrifying grin." He doesn't help because he's nice. He helps because it amuses him to watch the chaos unfold.
The pacing is relentless. Once they leave the hospital, the book rarely breathes. This works for some, but if you’re looking for the whimsical philosophical debates of the original Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, you are going to be disappointed. This is a survival horror novel wearing a blue dress.
The Problem With Modern Retellings
We see a lot of these "dark" versions of Disney properties or classic literature. Often, they feel cheap. They add leather jackets and cigarettes and call it "edgy."
What makes Alice by Christina Henry stand out—and why it stayed on the bestseller lists for so long—is that it doesn't just change the aesthetic. It changes the stakes. In Carroll’s world, Alice could always wake up. In Henry’s world, there is no waking up. This is the reality. If Alice dies in the Old City, she’s just another body in the gutter. That sense of permanence gives the book a weight that many other retellings lack.
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The Magical System and Alice’s Evolution
Let’s talk about the "Magicians." In this world, magic is rare, dangerous, and usually tied to some form of mental instability or extreme trauma. Alice discovers she has a "darkness" inside her—a magical ability that allows her to influence reality and perceive things others can't.
This is where the book shifts from a survival story to a dark fantasy.
As Alice gains control over her magic, her personality shifts. She becomes colder. More calculated. You start to wonder if she’s becoming just as dangerous as the monsters she’s hunting. It’s a brilliant move by Henry because it forces the reader to confront a hard truth: to survive a monster, you often have to become one.
The relationship between Alice and her magic is fraught. It’s not a gift; it’s a burden. It’s a reminder of what was done to her. Every time she uses it, she risks losing the small part of herself that is still "Alice."
Fact vs. Fiction: What to Expect
If you’re planning on reading this, or if you’re a fan looking for more context, keep these points in mind:
- It is the first of a series. While it works as a standalone, the story continues in Red Queen. If you want the full arc of Alice's transformation, you have to keep going.
- Trigger Warnings are necessary. This isn't a joke. Henry deals with sexual assault, child abuse, and extreme gore. If those are deal-breakers, stay away.
- The Lewis Carroll Connection. You don't need to know the original books to enjoy this, but it helps. The way Henry subverts specific lines or motifs is clever. For example, the concept of "Muchness" from the original is twisted into something far more physical and painful here.
The Role of Hatcher
Hatcher is arguably the most complex character in the book. He’s a "monster" who chooses to be a protector. He’s essentially a high-functioning berserker. His backstory—which is teased out slowly through the narrative—is just as tragic as Alice’s.
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He represents the physical toll of the Old City. While Alice represents the psychological toll, Hatcher is the walking personification of the scars, the missing memories, and the sheer brutality required to stay alive. Their partnership is the emotional core of the book. Without Hatcher, Alice would have been killed in the first twenty pages. Without Alice, Hatcher would have remained a mindless beast in a cage.
They save each other, but not in a "happily ever after" way. They save each other so they can keep fighting.
Is It Actually Good?
Honestly? It depends on what you want from your fiction.
If you want a book that makes you feel safe, this is not it. If you want a book that explores the darkest corners of the human psyche through the lens of a familiar myth, then it’s a masterpiece. Henry is a master of atmosphere. She makes the Old City feel damp, smelling of smoke and rot.
One thing she gets right is the ending. It’s not neat. It doesn't solve all the problems of the world. It leaves Alice in a place where she is empowered but permanently changed. She can never go back to being the girl she was before the Rabbit.
Actionable Takeaways for Readers
If you’ve finished the book or are about to start, here is how to get the most out of the "Chronicles of Alice" experience:
- Read "Red Queen" immediately after. The two books are essentially two halves of one long character study. The growth Alice shows in the second book makes the suffering of the first book feel more purposeful.
- Look for the literary mirrors. Pay attention to how Henry uses Carroll’s original "rules" of Wonderland. In Carroll's book, Alice is constantly told she's "wrong" or "too big" or "too small." In Henry's book, Alice is told she's "mad." Both are about the world trying to define a girl who doesn't fit into its boxes.
- Explore the "Lost Boy" perspective. If you like Henry’s style, check out her take on Peter Pan. It uses a similar "deconstruction of a hero" approach that helps you understand her overarching theme: that legends are usually just sanitized versions of horrific events.
Ultimately, Alice by Christina Henry isn't just a horror novel. It’s a book about the resilience of the human spirit when it’s been pushed past the breaking point. It’s ugly, it’s violent, and it’s deeply uncomfortable. But it’s also undeniably powerful.
To dive deeper into this world, start by mapping out the "Old City" hierarchy in your mind—the Rabbit, the Caterpillar, and the Walrus. Understanding that these aren't just characters, but metaphors for different types of systemic corruption, changes how you view Alice’s "madness." Instead of a symptom of a broken mind, her visions become a survival mechanism for a broken world.