Mark: Okay, Michelle. You've read the book. Give me your five-word review of The Uncommon Reader. Michelle: The Queen reads. World implodes. Gently. Mark: Perfect. Mine is: Corgis start a literary revolution. Michelle: I love that. Both are completely accurate. It’s such a delightful, sneaky little book. Mark: It really is. Today we're diving into The Uncommon Reader by the brilliant British playwright and author, Alan Bennett. Michelle: And Bennett is a legend, right? He's known for this exact kind of thing—that very specific brand of British wit that’s both incredibly funny and deeply poignant. Mark: Exactly. He's a master of gentle, witty satire, and this novella, which was widely acclaimed for its charm when it came out, is the perfect example. He imagines what would happen if Queen Elizabeth II, a figure defined by duty and public performance, suddenly became a voracious reader. It's a playful 'what if' with surprisingly deep things to say. Michelle: Which is the central puzzle of the book, isn't it? How can something as quiet, as personal, as reading a book become an act of rebellion? In the life of a monarch, apparently, it's practically a declaration of war. Mark: A quiet, polite, very British declaration of war. And it all starts in the most wonderfully absurd, British way imaginable: with her corgis.

Michelle: Of course it does. I had a feeling the dogs were the real masterminds here. So set the scene for us. How does this all kick off? Mark: It's a state banquet at Windsor Castle. The Queen is doing her duty, making polite conversation, when her dogs, who are described as 'snobs', start making an absolute racket outside one of the kitchen yards. She goes to apologize for the noise, and there, parked next to the bins, is the City of Westminster travelling library van. Michelle: A mobile library. At the palace. That already feels like two different worlds colliding. Mark: Completely. And inside are two people: the librarian, Mr. Hutchings, and a young, ginger-haired kitchen worker named Norman Seakins, who is crouched in the aisle reading. They are so startled by the Queen's appearance that Mr. Hutchings bangs his head and Norman sends a pile of books flying. Michelle: Oh, the sheer awkwardness. I can feel it. So she's there, feeling obliged to do something. Mark: Exactly. She feels she has to borrow a book out of politeness. But she admits she doesn't really read. And this is the first crucial insight. She thinks to herself, and this is a key quote: "Hobbies involved preferences and preferences had to be avoided... Her job was to take an interest, not to be interested herself. And besides, reading wasn't doing. She was a doer." Michelle: Wow. That's a fascinating psychological prison. The idea that to be a perfect public figure, you must have no inner life, no personal taste. To be interested is to be partial, to exclude someone. So reading a novel is a political act because it means you chose that novel over another. Mark: Precisely. It's a deviation from neutrality. But, feeling obligated, she borrows a book by Ivy Compton-Burnett, mostly because she sees Norman has chosen a book on Cecil Beaton and feels she should pick something equally... well, literary. Michelle: She's trying to perform the role of a reader before she even is one. Mark: Yes! And she finds the first book a bit dry, but finishes it out of a sense of duty. But then she borrows another, Nancy Mitford's The Pursuit of Love, and it's a revelation. She actually laughs out loud. This is the spark. She discovers that reading isn't just a duty; it can be a joy. Michelle: And this is where Norman, the kitchen boy, comes back in, right? This is one of my favorite parts of the book. Mark: It is. The Queen, now hooked, realizes Norman is a reader and is therefore intelligent. So, in a meeting about 'human resources,' she just plucks him out of the kitchens and has him promoted to be her page. He becomes her unofficial literary advisor, her amanuensis. Michelle: I love that. It's her first real act of exercising personal preference. She's not just choosing a book; she's choosing a person based on a shared, private passion. It’s a total breach of protocol, and it completely bypasses the rigid class structure of the palace. She saw a mind she valued, and she just took it. Mark: And it's the first sign of the disruption to come. Her staff is baffled. But for her, it's simple. She's found a fellow citizen in what she later calls the 'republic of letters.' Her world is already starting to expand beyond the palace walls, all because her dogs barked at a van. Michelle: It’s amazing. A simple hobby, a quiet act of curiosity, is already starting to redraw the map of her own kingdom. But okay, a private passion is one thing. It can't stay private for long, can it? When does the institution start to notice, and more importantly, when does it start to push back?

Mark: It happens almost immediately. The pushback is personified by her private secretary, Sir Kevin Scatchard. He's described as a 'new broom,' a modernizer from New Zealand, obsessed with optics, efficiency, and public image. Michelle: Ah, the PR guy. The brand manager for the monarchy. I can already see where this is going. Mark: Exactly. He doesn't see reading as a virtue; he sees it as a problem. He calls it 'selfish' and 'solipsistic.' He thinks it sends the wrong message, that it's 'elitist' and 'excluding.' He's worried about how it looks. Michelle: It's like they want her to be a perfectly curated Instagram feed, all smiles and waves, and she's suddenly started writing long, messy, thought-provoking blog posts. Sir Kevin is the panicked social media manager trying to get her back on brand. Mark: That's the perfect analogy. And the Queen has this brilliant response. She explains the difference between the information he gives her and what she gets from books. She says, "Briefing is terse, factual and to the point. Reading is untidy, discursive and perpetually inviting. Briefing closes down a subject, reading opens it up." Michelle: That’s such a powerful distinction. One is about control and answers; the other is about curiosity and questions. The establishment wants her briefed. She wants to read. Mark: And this conflict comes to a head in the most wonderfully absurd story in the whole book: the opening of Parliament. The Queen now finds these long ceremonies incredibly tedious, so she plans to bring a book to read in the state coach. Michelle: As one does. I mean, who hasn't tried to sneak a book into a boring meeting? Mark: But she forgets it! The whole procession is delayed for two minutes while Norman frantically runs to fetch it. The royal couple is described as 'ill-tempered' and waving listlessly to the crowds. Then, on the way back, she gets into the coach and her book is gone. Michelle: Oh no. Don't tell me the Duke sat on it. Mark: She asks him, but he denies it. Back at the palace, she questions a young footman, Gerald, who confesses. Security found the book. They thought it was a 'device' and had it taken away to be 'exploded.' Michelle: You are kidding me. They thought a novel was a BOMB? That is the most perfect, hilarious, and terrifying metaphor for how a rigid institution sees a new idea. It's a dangerous, unpredictable device that might go off. Mark: And the Queen’s response is legendary. She doesn't get angry. She just looks at the footman and says, with perfect calm, "A book is a device to ignite the imagination." Michelle: Chills. That is an all-time great line. She completely reclaims the word. She’s saying, 'You're right, it IS a device. But you've fundamentally misunderstood its function.' Mark: It's her becoming intellectually assertive. She's not just a passive reader anymore. She's starting to articulate the philosophy of reading. And this incident shows just how threatening that philosophy is to a world built on security, predictability, and control. Her reading is no longer just a hobby; it's an ideological challenge. Michelle: And it’s a challenge she is clearly winning, at least in her own mind. But igniting her own imagination is one thing. What happens when she decides that's not enough? What happens when she wants to ignite everyone else's? Mark: Exactly. And that clash, that realization that the institution sees her intellectual life as a threat, pushes her to an even more radical place. She's not content just to consume ideas anymore. She needs to create them.

Michelle: This is the final evolution, isn't it? The bookworm turns. Mark: It's the ultimate transformation. After years of reading, reflecting, and filling notebooks with her thoughts, she decides that being a reader isn't the final step. She reflects, "You don't put your life into your books. You find it there." And now that she's found herself, she needs to do something with that discovery. Michelle: So she decides to become a writer. Which, for anyone else, is a career choice. For the Queen of England, it's something else entirely. Mark: It's a constitutional crisis waiting to happen. And it all culminates at her 80th birthday. She throws a party not for her family, but for her Privy Council—all the current and former prime ministers and senior politicians. Michelle: She gathers the entire political establishment in one room. That's a power move. Mark: A huge one. And after some small talk, she makes her announcement. She tells them, "I think it is time that from being a reader I become, or try to become, a writer." Michelle: I can just imagine the panic in the room. The Prime Minister probably saw his whole career flash before his eyes. Mark: He immediately tries to manage it. He suggests a nice, safe memoir. You know, about the war, her marriage, the coronation. A bestseller! But she shuts him down. She says she envisions a book of a different sort. More 'radical' and 'challenging.' A book of 'analysis and reflection.' She even references Proust. Michelle: Proust! She's not aiming for a coffee table book. She's aiming for the literary canon. And she's telling the political establishment that she intends to analyze them. Mark: And she gets shockingly candid. She talks about the shame she's felt during her reign, about meeting 'unspeakable crooks' in the line of duty. She basically says her role has often been to act as 'government-issue deodorant.' The Prime Minister is horrified and argues that a monarch has never published a book. Michelle: Which is where she lays the trap. Mark: A beautiful, elegant trap. She calmly counters him, listing monarchs who wrote—Henry VIII, Elizabeth I, Queen Victoria. Then the Prime Minister says, yes, but her uncle, the Duke of Windsor, only published his book after he abdicated. And this is the moment the entire novella builds to. The Queen looks at him, feigning innocence, and delivers the final line. Michelle: Say it. I need to hear it. Mark: She says, "'Oh, did I not say that?' said the Queen. 'But . . . why do you think you're all here?'" Michelle: Whoa. That is the coldest, most powerful line in the book. It is an intellectual coup d'état delivered with a cup of tea. It's an absolute mic drop. Mark: The book just ends there. It leaves the entire British establishment, and the reader, hanging in stunned silence. Michelle: So what do you think she really meant? Is she actually abdicating to write this book? Or is she just declaring that the old rules no longer apply to her? That she's sovereign of her own mind now, and they can all just deal with it? Mark: I think it's deliberately ambiguous, which is what makes it so brilliant. It could be either. But in a way, the practical outcome doesn't matter as much as the declaration itself. She has completed the journey. She has moved from being an object of the state to a subject of her own life.

Michelle: It's a progression, isn't it? From accidental reader, to defiant reader, and finally to author and creator. Reading gave her a self, and writing is the ultimate assertion of that self. Mark: That's the whole arc. The book isn't really about the Queen. It's a love letter to reading itself. It shows how literature can give you a perspective, a voice, and ultimately, the courage to write your own story, even if you're the most famous and constrained woman in the world. Alan Bennett uses this very public figure to explore the deeply private and revolutionary act of finding oneself in a book. Michelle: It’s a powerful reminder that no role, no matter how public or rigid, has to be a cage. There's always a path to a richer inner life. It makes you think, what's the 'uncommon' reading in our own lives? The thing we do that helps us find ourselves, even if it disrupts the expectations others have for us? It might not be Proust, it might be a podcast, a documentary, a new skill... Mark: That's a great question. It's about finding that thing that, as the Queen says, opens the world up instead of closing it down. And on that note, we'd love to hear what book, or what idea, sparked a change in you. Find us on our socials and let us know. We love continuing the conversation there. Michelle: We do. For now, this has been a wonderful, witty, and surprisingly profound journey. Mark: It’s what Alan Bennett does best. Michelle: This is Aibrary, signing off.