Character Analysis
Go Ask Alice? Not Possible
It is almost impossible to do an in-depth character analysis of Alice without first deciding whether to read Go Ask Alice as a real diary, or as a clever ruse to educate unsuspecting teens about the dangers of drug abuse. We Shmoopologists have unilaterally decided that we need to go with the latter. To take the diary at face value would be to totally neglect the fact that this book was written with a hidden purpose and thus, all of the decisions about what the character does and who she is have an agenda underlying them.
Alice is, above all, a construct, a carefully engineered character crafted so generically anyone could find something about her to relate to. Heck, we're not even sure what her name is—people just call her Alice because of the book's title (for more on that, be sure to check out the "What's Up With the Title" section). Sure, characters are always a construct of some author's imagination, but in this case, the fact that she is used more as a tool than a character is pretty hard not to notice.
In the early pages of the diary, for instance, Alice doesn't express any particular interests or passions that would serve to individualize her, which is pretty weird. The last time we checked, teenagers are a passionate lot. Whether they are obsessing over vampire love triangles, sports teams, or the latest Taylor Swift album, the thing that links people between the ages of thirteen and eighteen is the (sometimes misguided) emotional investment they make in what they love. By contrast, Alice displays an alarming lack of this adolescent trait.
It seems like the author(s) just didn't want to dilly-dally with the trivialities of everyday life (which let's face it, is the bulk of most diaries) because it could distract from the true story line, which is drugs are bad and scary. So we get through the whole book without really getting the sense that we know Alice as a fleshed-out character… because she isn't one.
Instead, Alice is bland and impressionable, generic to an almost painful degree. She is merely a poorly crafted instrument, so the authors can play us like a fiddle. In their effort to make her every teen in America, she becomes no teen in America. If you're still not picking up what we're putting down, though, compare this book to the Diary of Anne Frank, and see how much more human Anne feels.
Self Esteem So Low, She Makes Eeyore Look Confident
One of Alice's more obvious character traits is her overwhelming insecurity and lack of self-esteem. She can barely get up in the morning without worrying what the other kids will think about her: Should she lead with the left foot, or right? Which one is cooler? Would someone please tell her what to do? Seriously—it's a good thing she's a literary construct instead of a real person, because she's so insecure it's hard to envision her functioning at all in the world.
When the supposed love of her life Roger stands her up for a date in the very beginning of the book, she is more worried about what the other kids will say rather than what it means that he didn't show. She frets:
How can I face Sharon and Debbie and the rest of the kids? How can I? By now the word has gotten around the whole school, I know it has! (1.1)
Okay, so she adores Roger, but instead of focusing on her wounded little heart, Alice has already shifted into mortification mode. She is so insecure that she can't even hang out with her own sadness, and immediately turns to the fall-out she anticipates in her social life—to what other people will think of her.
In fairness, Alice seems to think that everyone is as invested in her social life as she is, which is a pretty typical teenage misconception. This phenomenon is kind of like when you wake up with a pimple, and when you look in the mirror, feel certain this is the only thing anyone could possibly notice about your face. After all, how could they miss the fact that Mt. Vesuvius has decided to take up residence right on your forehead? You might as well wear a paper bag over your head to save everyone from having to look at such a monstrosity.
You suck it up, though, and head out into public. And what happens? No one notices, or if they do, they don't say anything because it's actually not a big deal to them. This is because no one pays as much attention (or cares as much) about your face as you do—they're just not that into you. Same rule generally applies to social misfires and dating blunders, but Alice hasn't learned yet that the whole world doesn't revolve around her.
This crippling insecurity is a major factor in Alice's drug abuse. When she is high, she isn't worrying about what other people think; her inhibitions are eradicated, and it is a freeing sensation that is pretty addictive. "For the first time that I could remember in my whole life, I was completely uninhibited. I was dancing before the whole group, performing, showing off, and enjoying every second of it" (45.10), she notes. Sober Alice would never have been able to do that; she would be way too worried that the other people were judging her.
This insecurity wouldn't be so problematic if, after the passage of two pretty major years, Alice showed some growth in her ability to have some faith in herself. You would think after going through what she does she might learn to shrug off the small stuff and take some pride in her accomplishments. But nope. At the end of the book she is chosen to be a star soloist in a piano recital and all she can think about is if the other kids will think it's cool:
I really didn't realize I was that good. I wonder if the kids will think it's a stupid thing to do. I certainly don't want to screw things up with them, particularly now when we're starting to develop such a great relationship. (284.2)
Really? How great of a relationship can it be when you can't even share your personal triumphs for fear of social retribution? The answer: not great. Not great at all.
Let's Check All the Boxes
Did you pick up on the not-so-subtle ways the authors set Alice up for her fall into addiction? It's almost like they had bullet points with a list of common traits drug abusers possess and made sure they hit every single one. Insecure? Check. Naïve? Yup. Suffers from depression? Most likely. Seeks validation from unreliable outside sources? You betcha. Tendency toward self-harm? Bingo—we've got a winner.
Although you might think Alice's problems begin the summer her "friends" spike her soda, in truth she begins her descent long before that. The first sign of trouble in paradise is when she's really depressed after Roger stands her up on their date. She begins gaining weight, stops bathing regularly, and loses interest in things she used to love. Check it:
I seem to be kind of losing interest in everything. At first I thought high school would be fun but it's just dull. Everything's dull. […] I've put on seven ugly, fat, sloppy, slobby pounds and I don't have anything I can wear. I'm beginning to look as slobby as I feel. (5.2)
The authors are laying it on pretty thick at this point. But then she learns that her family is moving for her father's job and she pulls a quick turn around—nothing cheers Alice up more than the prospect of a clean slate.
She starts to change her negative attitude, exercising and dieting to prepare for her new glamorous life. Sounds good, right? It would be, except the way she goes about transforming herself into the new and improved Alice actually qualifies as an eating disorder. She goes on such an extreme crash diet that she starts to get sick because her body doesn't have the resources to fight off infection, and her mom even starts to notice something isn't right. The worst part is, by the time her mother says something Alice is in full-fledged anorexic mode:
Mama won't let me diet anymore. Just between us, I don't really know why it's any of her business. It's true I have had a cold for the last couple of weeks, but I know it's not the diet that is causing it. How can she be so stupid and irrational? This morning I was having my usual half grapefruit for breakfast and she made me eat a slice of whole wheat bread and a scrambled egg and a piece of bacon. That's probably at least 400 calories, maybe even five or six or seven hundred. I don't know why she can't let me live my own life. She doesn't like it when I look like a cow, neither does anybody else, I don't even like myself. I wonder if I could go stick my finger down my throat and throw up after every meal? She says I'm going to have to start eating dinner again too, and just when I'm getting down where I want to be and I've quit fighting the hunger pangs. (14.2)
Umm… there is so much wrong in that entry, including that Alice is proud of herself for finally getting past the hunger pang stage of starvation. How does this connect to drug addiction, you ask? Well, there are those (such as the authors of the book) who believe substance abuse can be tied to a history of other methods of self-harm—you know, like eating disorders. So, consider that box checked with a giant X.
Somebody Call the Whambulance
We're not saying this is a bad thing, but Alice is pretty melodramatic. When she gets stood up by a date (which stinks, totally, we've been there), Alice writes: "And now the whole world is cold and gray and unfeeling and my mother is nagging me to clean up my room. How can she nag me to clean up my room when I feel like dying? Can't I even have the privacy of my own soul?" (1.2). Sure, you can have the privacy of your own soul… while vacuuming. Not really an either/or situation, Alice.
When she is cruelly forced to separate from her friend Beth for six weeks she writes: "It is over! At noon Beth is leaving. Last night we said our goodbyes and we both cried and clung to each other like frightened children. Beth is alone as am I" (41.1). Come on, Alice, get a grip—she's going to summer camp, not outer space.
Being a teen is hard, guys, we know; we've been there. And we remember how everything that ever happened felt huge and important. But Alice takes it to a whole new level, don't you think? Maintaining this level of drama in her life must be exhausting, it's no wonder she turned to drugs. She writes:
Actually I don't need the sleep as much as I need the escape. It's a wonderful way to escape. I think I can't stand it and then I just take a pill and wait for sweet nothingness to take over. At this stage in my life nothingness is a lot better than somethingness. (63.1)
Pro tip: The best way to get a grip on things in your life is to tune in, buck up, and find your way through. As we see over and over again with Alice, escaping doesn't help you develop the tools you need to deal with things—so when the going gets tough, the escapists get, er, escaping. And in case we somehow miss this message during the course of Alice's repeated drug-related crises, it's hammered into us at the end when we're told she's died of an overdose. RIP, Alice, we hardly knew ye.
Alice's Timeline