By Alan Bennett (120 pages)
Published by Farrar, Straus and GirouxBookish rating: 4.5
Where has Alan Bennett been all my literary life?
Queen Elizabeth (the second) discovers the joy of reading when her dogs run into a mobile library. When asked what sort of book she’d like, Her Majesty is stumped: “She’d never taken much interest in reading. She read, of course, as one did, but liking books was something she left to other people” (p. 6)
As a doer, the Queen ponders the nature of literature and what kind of truth it reflects—is there something to it, or is reading really just a passive thing? “Few people, after all, had seen more of the world than she had. There was scarcely a country she had not visited, a notability she had not met. Herself part of the panoply of the world, why now was she intrigued by books, which, whatever else they might be, were just a reflection of the world or a version of it? Books? She had seen the real thing” (p. 29). Regardless, the Queen starts sneaking books into her royal duties, perfecting a smile-and-wave that allows her to continue reading.
The Queen, ever so proper and dutiful, finds that she can be common as she reads, as she is really just any other reader (“Books did not defer. All readers were equal…” [p. 31]). She begins developing tastes and opinions, and this absolutely freaks out her staff, irritates the Prime Minister, and sort of amuses Parliament. When she decides that perhaps, as a doer, she should write instead of read, well, the empire comes crashing down. (Metaphorically. Sort of.)
Bennett brilliantly satirizes the British monarchy while also paying homage to literature (purely tongue-in-cheek, but homage nonetheless). The entire tone of the novella is deliciously ironic, but the Queen’s voice is the most pronounced, the most hil-AR-ious, as “one” always ensures the utmost propriety by referring to one in the third-person, despite one simultaneously developing a new sense of self at one’s ripe young age of 80. Absolutely delightful, and highly recommended.
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