What I have to tell you about The Night Circus

Read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it

*long inhalation*

Read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it read it

Kate Winslet, being illiterate, has her lover do the reading in The Reader, (2008).

Winslet is the reason to see the sombre, understated, literary film. Impressive is the way she peels away layer after layer of her character. There’s shame and defiance here, sexual voraciousness and vulnerability, and a lack of self-pity about the way she refuses to apologise for having, as she sees it, done her duty.

I believed I was doing something civic-minded by opening a bookstore. I never stopped to think about all the ways it would improve my life. I didn’t consider all the authors, many of them my friends, who would come to town to read. I never anticipated that I would grow to love the people who worked there. I didn’t remember what fun it was to encounter great books just because I was walking by them, picking them up, reading their flap copy. I had even failed to consider the very best part of owning a bookstore — that is, that I would get to make people read the books that I love.
—  Ann Patchett, A Day at the Beach