150 years ago was an auspicious period for Victorian England. We were celebrating Thomas Crapper’s promotion of the first flushing toilet, impressed with Mendeleev’s groundbreaking development of the periodic table and wondering, bemused, at the first ever weather forecasts (presumably even more dubious than their modern equivalents). We were also reading Alice in Wonderland for the very first time, following the eponymous heroine as she led us through the nonsensical world of Wonderland, taking us on her bizarre journey down the rabbit hole.

“Curiouser and curiouser!”

“We’re all mad here.”

“Twas brillig, and the slithy toves...”

150 years on, while the flushing toilet, periodic table and weather forecasts have become the mute staples of our everyday life – necessary but quietly ignored – Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland has retained its capacity to enthral. Its popularity has not only endured but grown exponentially, as evidenced by the great scope of the celebrations organised to celebrate this anniversary: the 150-year grip on our cultural imagination of one of the most recognisable and iconic fantasy stories in the history of English literature, which has inspired artists from the Beatles to the Royal Ballet. More than a century on, the topsy-turvy classic still has us paying homage to the White Rabbit, continuing to laugh with (and at) the tea-party-fanatic Mad Hatter, and still standing aback slightly scared at the Cheshire Cat with his sinister grin.

The capital is unsurprisingly the hub of the commemorative carousing. Surrounded by dodos, flamingos and mock turtles, Alice-enthusiasts can lose themselves this autumn in the vaults of Waterloo Station in an immersive atmosphere of theatre, storytelling, dance and puppetry put on by Les Enfants Terribles. Exhibitions are also in abundance – the V&A’s ‘The Alice Look’ for example, showcases the clothes, photographs and illustrations that have defined Alice across the decades. Most unexpected, perhaps, is the opening of a specially designed Looking Glass cocktail experience – although Carroll’s caterpillar, with his enthusiasm for narcotics, would almost certainly approve.

Cambridge, not to be outdone, is providing its own take on the anniversary. Homerton, led by the enthusiasm of college fellow Dr Zoe Jaques, is hosting ‘Wonderland Week’ in September: a screening of the earliest Alice film; an exhibition at the Fitzwilliam Museum; a banquet; a one-man-show exploring the mysteries of Carroll’s own life; and, capping it all off, a quintessentially Carrollian Tea Party – complete with appropriately curious food and drink, croquet (sadly without the flamingos) and a very important guest: Cuthbert, the college caterpillar.

What is striking about the Cambridge festivities is their strongly academic flavour: the programme is centred around a scholarly conference which will debate different theoretical approaches to the text, while a Teachers’ Workshop is also on the agenda. Dr Jaques herself emphasises that her vision for the celebrations is "to combine an academic conference with the most up-to-date scholarship". Perhaps this scholastic bias is not surprising – of course, any Cantabrigian event will reflect its inherent intellectualism. On the other hand, the books at the heart of these celebrations are children’s books. They are read and loved by children worldwide for their playfulness, enchanting riddles and compelling, entertaining characters. Is examining such books as literature, explorations of complex philosophical dilemmas, relevant and appropriate? Should we analyse them with the same academic rigour with which you would take apart a Shakespearean play? Or are they better enjoyed as stories – still celebrated for their imagination, inventiveness and vivid characters, but not submitted to prac crit?

It’s a debate that has been central to the history and continuing intrigue of the Alice books: whether we consider the books as books written for children, or as books ‘actually’ written for adults. From the fantastical surface to the sophistication of their aesthetic and linguistic riddling, the books insistently question a universal preoccupation: "Who in the world am I?"

Going back to the Alice books, however, we need not opt for one extreme or the other. I enjoyed them as a child, fascinated by their word games and teasingly nonsensical logic, and as a student approaching adulthood, I enjoy and appreciate them still, recognising their clever parodying and comment on the nonsenses of Victorian England. Asked by Varsity on her thoughts as to the underlying 'message' of Alice, Dr Jaques comments that:

"Being irreverent is sometimes the only way to deal with the nonsense of everyday life. Alice constantly and unintentionally offends the… people around her, and Carroll is at pains to highlight how such offence is largely ridiculous. So a simple 'moral' of the story is: 'be yourself' (within reason)."

As is evident from the celebrations, which aim to engage both adults and children, the Alice books challenge and appeal to readers young and old, and that seems to be why we’re still excited by them 150 years on. There’s nothing ambiguous about a flushing toilet or the periodic table; Carroll’s works are, by contrast, highly enigmatic. It is because of their potential for supporting so many alternative theories of meaning and intention that they continue to spark reinterpretation – why they have, in Dr Jaques’ words, ‘remained so relevant’.

W. H. Auden said perceptively that "there are good books which are only for adults ... but there are no good books which are only for children." Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland books firmly prove his point.