Through the Outlooking Glass — Text and Context

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In Category - Science Fiction Utopias

Authors: Strunsky, Simeon, 1879-1948 Digital Source: Project Gutenberg Gutenberg Release Year: 2012 First Publication Year: Not confirmed

Key Word: Roosevelt, Theodore, 1858-1919 -- Humor; Campaign literature, 1912 -- Republican; Carroll, Lewis, 1832-1898 -- Parodies, imitations, etc. Target Reader: Readers of public-domain and historical texts

Book Edition: Project Gutenberg digital edition Book Language: en

Edition facts

Words 12,123

Reading time 53 min

Text sections 2

For Through the Outlooking Glass — Text and Context, the stored edition analysis reports 12,123 words, 53 min estimated reading time, and 2 detected text sections.

The text analysis averages about 14.2 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.

Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Roosevelt, Theodore, 1858-1919 -- Humor,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.

Source: Project Gutenberg record #39657

A political parody casting Theodore Roosevelt as the Red Knight in a Lewis Carroll-inspired satire. Through absurd dialogues and malapropisms, Strunsky lampoons Roosevelt's 1912 campaign, tariff policies, and the 'third term' controversy, using Alice as a bemused observer.

Editorial Edition Score 4.5/5

★★★★★ ★★★★★

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Description quality20 pts
Title & short description10 pts
Source metadata20 pts
Text length15 pts
Chapters / structure15 pts
EPUB file integrity20 pts

Total of 100 points, scaled to a 2.5-5.0 range. Editions with an empty description or a missing EPUB file are not scored.

Edition quality

File: pg39657

Read the Text

Alice was half-way through her cereal when the Red Knight came in and picked out a place at the same table facing her. He flung his coat over two hooks on the wall upside down. He then took a piece of chalk from his pocket and drew a ring on the floor and threw his hat into it.

"Good morning, sir," said Alice, who never forgot her manners under any circumstances.

"Good evening," said the Red Knight, as he opened his newspaper and began reading the last paragraph in the last column on the last page.

"But it isn't evening," said Alice. "Why, I am just having my breakfast before going to school."

"If you were a friend of mine, you'd know what I mean," said the Red Knight, and turned to the Mad Waiter, who was holding out the bill of fare for him to read. The Mad Waiter was a progressive waiter. He was so progressive that he would always be serving people with their supper before they had finished ordering lunch.

"I'll begin with a third cup of coffee," said the Red Knight. "Then you can bring me a second cup if it's not too cold. I am sure I don't want the first cup at all today."

"Thank you, sir," said the Mad Waiter. "The ham and eggs is very fine today."

"That just suits me," said the Red Knight.

"Too bad," said the Mad Waiter. "Perhaps you'll have a chop, with pickles and a boiled potato."

"Bully!" said the Red Knight.

"Why, then, there's the cold salmon as many people likes to have a taste of in the morning," said the waiter.

"Under no circumstances will I eat cold salmon," said the Red Knight, bringing his fist down on the table with such force that Alice let her spoon fall to the floor. The Mad Waiter disappeared, and almost immediately returned with a plate of cold salmon, of which the Red Knight partook heartily, washing it down with two steaming cups of coffee. As Alice was gathering up her books before setting out for school, the Red Knight turned to the waiter and said, "Now bring me the first cup."

"But you said you were sure you didn't want a first cup," cried Alice, with some show of spirit.

"That doesn't mean I can't have a first cup without sugar in it, does it?" said the Red Knight, as he picked up the sugar-bowl and threw it at the Mad Waiter.

Soon they came to the top of the hill and Alice saw a large, heavy man with a genial smile standing on the lawn of the White House.

"That," said the Red Knight with a frown, "is a deceptive candidate for the Presidency."

"Why do you call him deceptive?" said Alice.

"Because he always says what he means," replied the Red Knight.

"But that isn't deceiving at all," said Alice.

"Yes, it is," said the Red Knight angrily. "A man like that deceives people's hopes for novelty and excitement. Now _I_ am a receptive candidate."

"I don't know what that means, either," said Alice.

"It means," said the Red Knight, "a candidate who receives his views and his principles as he moves along. I am also a perceptive candidate because I am as quick as lightning at perceiving which way the wind blows. Furthermore, I am an inceptive candidate and a susceptive candidate, and an acceptive candidate. That big man you see over there is my friend. But he has queer notions about some things. For instance, he says he'd rather be white than be President."

"Aren't you going to say 'Good morning' to him, if he is your friend?" said Alice.

"Oh, no," said the Red Knight. "I never do things like other people. I treat my friends and my enemies alike. I give them all a square deal."

"It seems to me, then," said Alice, "that what you want to do is to walk over and shake hands and say 'I hope you are feeling quite well, and here is a square deal for you.'"

"That would never do," said the Red Knight. "When I give a friend a square deal I give it to him between his shoulder blades, especially if he has broad shoulders like this man in front of us."

"I don't see that the size of the man's shoulders has anything to do with it," said Alice.

"That is because you have forgotten your geometry," said the Red Knight. "If you hadn't you'd know that a square deal on the hypothenuse is equal to the sum of the square deals on the other two sides."

Continue Reading →

From its first scene, Through the Outlooking Glass announces itself as a political burlesque built on linguistic play. The Red Knight—a transparent stand-in for Theodore Roosevelt—orders breakfast in a sequence that defies logic: he demands a third cup of coffee first, then a second cup, and finally a first cup without sugar, throwing the sugar bowl at the waiter. This absurd ordering mirrors the campaign rhetoric of 1912, where consistency was often sacrificed for effect. Strunsky’s prose mimics the cadence of Lewis Carroll’s Through the Looking-Glass, but replaces Wonderland’s dreamlike illogic with the deliberate contradictions of political speech. The Mad Waiter, described as “progressive,” serves cold salmon after being told it is unwanted, a small joke about Progressive Party platform promises that seem to change before they are fulfilled.

The Red Knight’s Contradictory Voice

The Red Knight speaks in a distinctive register that Strunsky builds from Roosevelt’s public persona: bluff, self-assured, and fond of the word “bully.” Yet his dialogue is riddled with logical inversions. When Alice points out that he said he did not want a first cup, he replies, “That doesn’t mean I can’t have a first cup without sugar in it, does it?” This is not mere nonsense; it parodies the way political figures redefine their own statements. The Knight also carries a “rule of the people”—a pocket measure that stops at five feet ten inches, exactly his height. He explains that it “works only one way,” a pointed comment on how campaign promises are tailored to fit the candidate. Strunsky rarely lets the Knight speak without undercutting his authority through Alice’s literal-minded questions or the waiter’s non sequiturs.

Malapropisms as Political Commentary

In Chapter XIII, Strunsky introduces Mrs. Malaprop, a character whose name signals her function. She congratulates the Red Knight on his “spontaneous consumption of public interest” and hopes he will keep his “Southern renegades.” Alice corrects her: “Delega—” but the Knight rebukes her, asking, “who shall make the rules of language, the plain people or the bosses who write the dictionaries?” This exchange turns malapropism into a political argument. Mrs. Malaprop’s errors—calling “philanthropic” as “Flinnathropic,” “Malmsey” as “Munsey”—are not random; they evoke real names (Flinn, Munsey) from Roosevelt’s political world. Strunsky suggests that the “plain people” have a right to reshape language, just as they might reshape policy. The humor depends on recognizing the original words and the substitutions, rewarding readers familiar with 1912 political figures.

Pace Shifts Between Dialogue and Description

The narrative alternates between rapid-fire dialogue and slower descriptive passages that ground the satire. Breakfast scenes move quickly, with short exchanges and physical comedy (the sugar bowl thrown at the waiter). But when Alice and the Knight travel—to the White House lawn, to Chicago—the pace slackens. In Chapter XIV, Alice remarks on the landscape flashing by, and a gentleman in a bathing suit eating olives with a spoon offers a surreal interjection. These moments of stillness allow Strunsky to insert political observations without the frenetic energy of the restaurant scenes. The train journey, for instance, becomes a frame for the Knight’s refusal to go to Chicago (the site of the 1912 Republican convention), and his preference for a lower berth “makes no difference” to him—a small joke about indecision. The shifts in tempo mirror the rhythm of a campaign: bursts of activity followed by reflective travel.

Readers will find that Strunsky’s satire rewards attention to word choice and timing. The malapropisms are not random; they echo contemporary names and slogans. The Red Knight’s contradictions are not mere silliness but pointed jabs at campaign rhetoric. For full effect, read the dialogue aloud to catch the rhythm of the Knight’s bluster and Alice’s polite corrections. The book is short—about 12,000 words—and its chapters function like sketches, best enjoyed in sequence to track the recurring motifs of rules, measures, and misused language.

Sometimes a book stays with you less for its plot than for its strange mirror of its own time. I felt that with the Roosevelt satire, that odd ache of seeing someone’s convictions played out as farce. It reminded me, quietly, of Brother Jacques (Novels of Paul de Kock, Volume XVII) — Background and Themes, where the fool’s perspective similarly softens into something almost tender.