Alan Bennett’s The Uncommon Reader is one of those books that seemed to be everywhere at once. Everywhere except the library, obviously, where the wait for the book was over a month. After reading it, I completely understood why it took so long to be returned: if the previous library-users have the same impulses I do, they waited to return the library copy until they had a copy of their own–because after reading this book once, I just knew it had to live in the house permanently.
Bennett’s Uncommon Reader is separated from the common man by years of breeding, tradition, and training. She is, in fact, so far away from the common man that she rarely notices the emotions or reactions of those around her. Of course, when you are Queen of England, it must be easy to lose sight of what may happen to regular people so confusion about the rest of the world is perhaps to be expected. Confusion about libraries, though, and reading is a universal trait, I think, and one that Bennett mines with aplomb to create what is basically a love story about books and words. Continue reading


