Perhaps, like the March Hare (a.k.a. Haigha) of Lewis Carroll’s beloved Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking-Glass, we should all be wearing straw on our heads these days. For, during the Victorian times when these stories were originally published (1865 and 1871, respectively), this was a primary way of portraying a character’s madness. And, in case you hadn’t noticed lately, “We’re all mad here” (especially if the “here” being referred to is the U.S.). In any event, apart from the March Hare, whose so-called antics were only further propelled by the equally-as-batty stylings of the Mad Hatter, there’s another famed lapin in the story: the White Rabbit.

And, in contrast to the March Hare, the White Rabbit is depicted with much more, shall we say, “dignity,” grace and overall “goodness” than the March Hare. The White Rabbit, instead, has a “wild-eyed” look of a very different variety. One that doesn’t scream “madness!” so much as it does “busy!” Such a distinction, of course, makes all the difference in how each rabbit comes across in both the book and film versions of the tale. Even by choosing to distinguish what is inherently the same animal (with the same “fertility” symbolism), an insidious kind of statement is being made. Namely, while hares are “too clever for their own good,” rabbits are “soldiers” willing to go forth and multiply without too many “antics.”

So it is that the White Rabbit (as immortalized in the original animated Disney adaptation renamed to Alice in Wonderland) Alice first encounters is presented as frantic to get somewhere—presumably to complete some “instrumental” task. Because the only reason any being could ever be so frantic in this capitalistic society (regardless of being “a creature of nature” or not) is because he’s “late for a very important (read: money-making) date.” Or, as the White Rabbit says it in the book, “Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be late!”

While the White Rabbit might not ultimately be getting “paid,” per se, for his work and time, he is gaining a type of currency via the favor of the Queen of Hearts. That favor, of course, comes in the form of the Queen not opting to holler out to her henchmen, “Off with his head!” on account of the White Rabbit being late to announce her. In fact, he does make it by the skin of his (wabbit) teeth to herald her with his horn, showing up in the nick of time to avoid embarrassment and catastrophe. For what is more embarrassing and catastrophic than shattering the illusion of a “regal being’s” Importance? However, before Alice learns the full extent of the White Rabbit’s identity, she is given a more biased introduction to the March Hare and his cohort, the Mad Hatter.

Naturally, it’s the notorious (and frequently disappearing) Cheshire Cat who imbues Alice with a few harsh preconceived notions about the March Hare, telling her, “‘In that direction,’ the Cat said, waving its right paw round, ‘lives a Hatter: and in that direction,’ waving the other paw, ‘lives a March Hare. Visit either you like: they’re both mad.’” Scandalized (as many a Victorian woman usually was at the drop of a [mad] hat) by such “shit sandwich or shit cereal” options, Alice replies, “But I don’t want to go among mad people.” Without missing a beat, the Cheshire Cat returns, “Oh, you can’t help that… we’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad.” “‘How do you know I’m mad?’ said Alice.” “‘You must be,’ said the Cat, ‘or you wouldn’t have come here.’” (Again, suddenly, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland is starting to feel a lot like an unwitting allegory for traveling to the U.S.).

The anti-logic of Wonderland’s “logic” quickly starts to do Alice’s head in, particularly when she makes her way to the March Hare’s house. Or rather, “…she thought it must be the right house, because the chimneys were shaped like ears and the roof was thatched with fur. It was so large a house, that she did not like to go nearer till she had nibbled some more of the lefthand bit of mushroom, and raised herself to about two feet high: even then she walked up towards it rather timidly, saying to herself ‘Suppose it should be raving mad after all! I almost wish I’d gone to see the Hatter instead!’”

“Fortunately,” Alice doesn’t need to feel any sense of “regret” about choosing between the two since both turn out to be present (even if only in body) at the endless tea party detailed in the following chapter (VII). It’s here that the presentation of the March Hare as “crazy” very clearly becomes about the fact that he’s a “layabout.” Someone who delights in drinking tea all day and shooting the shit with a “like-minded” (billed as a “no-minded”) individual such as the Mad Hatter. And yet, the exchange between Alice, the March Hare and the Mad Hatter makes her come across like the proverbial “dodo bird” of the situation, for her normie tendencies render her a fundamental subject of boredom (and annoyance) to the duo.

The notable contention between the March Hare and Alice is present from the get-go, with the following dialogue transpiring:

“Have some wine,” the March Hare said in an encouraging tone.
Alice looked all round the table, but there was nothing on it but tea. “I don’t see any wine,” she remarked.
“There isn’t any,” said the March Hare.
“Then it wasn’t very civil of you to offer it,” said Alice angrily.
“It wasn’t very civil of you to sit down without being invited,” said the March Hare.

In short, Alice making assumptions about her welcomeness to the table because she’s a “nice,” “clean-cut” sort of girl who “anyone” would want to have as company is yet another indication of why she’s so overtly Team White Rabbit. The White Rabbit embodies, to her, the same values that she does. Which is to say, an earnest anxiousness and desire to please that stems almost entirely from being indoctrinated with capitalist “ideals” and notions of always bending to power. Respecting and fearing it rather than ever trying to buck it, the way that the March Hare does merely by his anarchic form of existence. So “unbusy” compared to the White Rabbit’s grand performance of “being busy.”