Lewis Carroll was weird. Really weird. If you've ever actually sat down and read Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There, you know it isn't just a whimsical romp through a dreamscape; it’s a calculated, mathematical, and often deeply unsettling exploration of Victorian logic and absurdity. At the center of this fever dream sits one of the most debated pieces of nonsense literature ever written: "The Walrus and the Carpenter." People usually just call him the Alice in Wonderland Walrus, but there’s a lot more going on with that blubbery, sobbing predator than most Disney-fied memories suggest.
It’s a story about dinner. Or rather, a story about a massacre disguised as an invitation to dinner.
When Tweedledum and Tweedledee recite this poem to Alice, they aren't just killing time. They are introducing a level of cynicism that feels almost out of place in a children’s book. The poem describes a Walrus and a Carpenter walking along a beach. They see a bed of oysters. They convince these oysters to join them for a pleasant stroll. Then, they eat them. Every single one.
The Problem With the Walrus
The Alice in Wonderland Walrus is a masterclass in performative empathy. While he’s literally shoveling oysters into his mouth, he’s crying. He’s "deeply sympathizing." He uses his oversized handkerchief to hide his face, supposedly because he's so distraught by the fate of the "poor oysters." But here’s the kicker—he’s also the one who ate the most.
While the Carpenter is just a straightforward, hungry laborer who wants more bread and butter, the Walrus is a politician. He’s the guy who tells you he’s "doing this for your own good" while taking everything you own. Literary critics have spent over a hundred years trying to figure out if Carroll was making a specific jab at the clergy, the British Empire, or just the general hypocrisy of human nature. Honestly? It’s probably all of it. Carroll, or Charles Lutwidge Dodgson, was a deacon. He knew exactly how religious rhetoric could be used to mask greed.
There is a coldness to the Walrus that the Carpenter lacks. The Carpenter is blunt. He’s grumpy. He wants the sand cleared away because it’s in his way. But the Walrus? He talks about the "shoes—and ships—and sealing-wax—of cabbages—and kings." He uses a "Gish Gallop" of nonsense to distract the oysters from the fact that he’s already setting the table.
Why Did Carroll Choose a Walrus?
You might think there’s a deep, symbolic reason why a Walrus was chosen to lead this seaside genocide. There isn't. Not a planned one, anyway.
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When Carroll was working on the illustrations with John Tenniel, he gave the artist a choice. He basically said, "Look, I need a word that fits the meter. It can be a Walrus, a Butterfly, or a Baronet." Think about how different the vibe would have been if it were "The Butterfly and the Carpenter." It would have been absurd in a totally different way. Tenniel chose the Walrus because it offered the best visual contrast to the spindly, grumpy Carpenter.
The Alice in Wonderland Walrus became iconic specifically because of those Tenniel drawings. That long, drooping mustache and the oversized, weeping eyes created a visual shorthand for "dishonest mourning." It’s a specific kind of creepiness that stays with you. It’s the "Crocidile tears" trope but with more blubber.
The Oysters: A Lesson in Blind Faith
We can't talk about the Walrus without talking about the victims. The eldest oyster is the only one who smells a rat—or a walrus. He "winked his eye" and "shook his heavy head," refusing to leave his oyster-bed. He knew. He had the institutional memory to know that when a giant mammal starts talking about a "pleasant walk," you stay put.
But the young oysters? They couldn't wait.
"The eldest Oyster looked at him,
But never a word he said:
The eldest Oyster winked his eye,
And shook his heavy head—
Meaning to say he did not choose
To leave the oyster-bed."
This is the tragedy of the poem. The youth and the eager are the ones who get consumed because they want the adventure. They want the "cabbages and kings." Carroll was often obsessed with the innocence of children, but here, he shows the dark side of that innocence: it makes you easy prey.
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Modern Interpretations: From Pop Culture to Politics
The Alice in Wonderland Walrus didn't stay confined to the pages of a 19th-century book. He’s everywhere.
The Beatles famously drew from this for "I Am the Walrus." John Lennon later admitted he didn't realize until much later that the Walrus was actually the "bad guy" in the poem. He thought the Walrus was the hero. When he realized his mistake, he joked that he should have called the song "I Am the Carpenter." It highlights how easily we are charmed by the Walrus's whimsical speech, ignoring the pile of shells at his feet.
In the 1951 Disney film, the Walrus is portrayed as a sort of bumbling aristocrat. He’s got a top hat and a cane. He looks like a cartoon villain, but he still manages to be oddly likable right up until the moment he starts eating. This version solidified the Walrus as a symbol of the "predatory upper class." He represents those who consume the labor and the lives of the lower classes (the oysters) while pretending to have a moral compass.
Is the Walrus Better or Worse Than the Carpenter?
This is the question Alice asks. She’s confused. She wants to know who the "hero" is.
Alice initially thinks the Walrus is better because he "was a little sorry for the poor oysters." But then she realizes he ate more of them. So she switches and says the Carpenter was better because he didn't eat as many. But then Tweedledee points out that the Carpenter ate as many as he could get.
"They were both very unpleasant characters," Alice concludes.
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That’s the real takeaway. Carroll isn't offering a "lesser of two evils" scenario. He’s showing that whether it’s the honest greed of the Carpenter or the hypocritical "sympathy" of the Walrus, the result for the oysters is exactly the same. They’re dead.
The Mathematical Nonsense
Carroll was a mathematician at Oxford. He loved logic puzzles. The poem is structured in a way that feels like a logical progression, but every step is a non-sequitur.
- The sun is shining on the sea at night.
- The moon is angry because the sun is still up.
- The sand is everywhere, and they want it gone.
This sets the stage for the Alice in Wonderland Walrus to use "nonsense logic" to lure the oysters. If the world already doesn't make sense (sun at night), then why shouldn't an oyster go for a walk? The breakdown of natural law makes the unthinkable seem plausible. This is a tactic used in gaslighting and propaganda even today. When the basic facts of the world are put into question, people become much more susceptible to the "Walrus" figures of the world.
Taking Action: How to Spot a Walrus
So, what do we actually do with this information? Beyond just enjoying a creepy Victorian poem, there are actual "takeaways" from the behavior of the Alice in Wonderland Walrus.
- Watch the Handkerchief: In any negotiation or social interaction, look for performative empathy. If someone is telling you how much they "hate to do this" while they are actively doing something that benefits them at your expense, you're dealing with a Walrus.
- Verify the Invitation: The oysters were lured by the promise of talk—"cabbages and kings." When someone offers a vague, "too good to be true" opportunity that lacks a clear structure or end goal, ask yourself if you're the guest or the menu.
- Heed the Eldest Oyster: Experience matters. The eldest oyster didn't need to see the Walrus's teeth to know something was wrong. Skepticism isn't always "cynicism"; sometimes it’s just survival.
- Analyze the "Why": The Walrus and the Carpenter had no reason to walk with the oysters other than to eat them. If there is no logical reason for a "higher-up" to seek your company or "mentorship" out of the blue, look for the hidden motive.
The Alice in Wonderland Walrus remains a haunting figure because he isn't a monster from a myth; he’s a personality type we encounter in boardrooms, politics, and even friend groups. He’s the person who uses charm and "sympathy" as a condiment for their own ambition.
If you find yourself on a beach and a large marine mammal starts talking about the price of sealing wax, just keep swimming. The bread and butter are never worth it.
To really understand the nuance of Carroll's work, it’s worth looking at the original 1871 text. Many modern adaptations soften the ending, but the original poem is unyielding. There is no rescue. There is no lesson learned by the victims. There is only a quiet beach and two full predators. It’s a stark reminder that in the world of the Alice in Wonderland Walrus, the only way to win is to refuse to play the game. Look closer at the people who claim to be crying for you. Their handkerchiefs might be hiding a very different expression.