Book review

Two Weeks With the Queen Review

Morris Gleitzman's 1990 novel sends Australian schoolboy Colin Mudford to London, where his plan to enlist the Queen in saving his brother leads to friendship with Ted, a gay man living with AIDS.

Author
Morris Gleitzman
First published
1990
Cover image for Two Weeks With the Queen
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Two Weeks with the Queen review: a child's impossible plan against illness

This Two Weeks with the Queen review argues that Morris Gleitzman's short 1990 novel earns its emotional force by giving Colin Mudford an impossible objective and never mocking the love behind it. When Colin's younger brother Luke is diagnosed with cancer, adults respond with fear, medical limits, and an attempt to protect Colin by sending him from Australia to relatives in London. Colin interprets distance as a task: if ordinary doctors cannot save Luke, he will ask the Queen to find the best one.

The comic plan carries grief before Colin can name it. His search also brings him into friendship with Ted, a gay man living with AIDS. The parallel does not equate different illnesses. It teaches Colin that love cannot always produce cure and that abandonment is a social choice even when death is not.

Colin's logic: absurd, practical, and emotionally exact

Colin does not accept adult explanations because their finality feels like surrender. He looks for rank, access, and expertise. The Queen appears to stand at the top of every hierarchy, so reaching her seems rational within a child's model of power. Gleitzman builds comedy from the gap between that model and British institutions.

The plan never makes Colin foolish. His refusal to remain passive expresses loyalty and panic. Each failed approach tests whether hope means guaranteeing an outcome or continuing to care when control is impossible. That distinction develops gradually through action rather than a moral delivered at the beginning.

Australia, London, and being sent away from crisis

The journey to London is supposed to remove Colin from distress. Instead, geographic distance intensifies his sense that decisions are happening without him. Relatives can offer housing and rules but cannot replace participation in Luke's life. The city becomes a landscape of offices, ceremonial barriers, and adults who do not share his urgency.

Gleitzman uses the contrast without turning either country into a stereotype. London is simultaneously the seat of imagined authority and a place where Colin encounters people overlooked by authority. His quest moves from grand institutions toward personal accompaniment.

Ted and friendship under AIDS stigma

Ted is not simply a wise dying adult placed to educate a child. His humor, anger, illness, relationships, and vulnerability create another center of experience. Colin's friendship with him expands the novel's moral world beyond the Mudford family.

The late-1980s and 1990 context matters. People living with AIDS faced fear, misinformation, homophobia, and abandonment as well as severe illness. Colin's relative lack of learned prejudice lets him see some cruelty plainly, but the novel does not claim that childhood innocence solves structural stigma. Care requires presence when other people withdraw.

Modern readers should supplement the novel with accurate histories of HIV/AIDS, treatment advances, activism, and queer communities. Ted's story belongs to a particular crisis period, not to current medical expectations.

Comedy as a way to carry unbearable knowledge

The book moves quickly, and Colin's schemes create misunderstandings and practical obstacles. Humor gives young readers breathing room without making cancer or AIDS trivial. The funniest moments often expose bureaucracy: a child's urgent need enters a system designed to sort ordinary requests.

Gleitzman's tonal control is crucial. A joke may protect Colin from recognizing grief for a few pages, but consequences return. Comedy becomes an honest coping method rather than proof that everything will improve. Adults reading aloud should allow the tonal turns instead of announcing in advance when a lesson begins.

Luke, sibling love, and the limits of rescue

Luke remains emotionally present even while Colin is abroad. The brotherhood is grounded in shared routines and irritation, not idealized sainthood. Colin wants to restore that ordinary relationship, which makes the prospect of loss more painful than an abstract statement about family love.

The rescue mission also reveals a danger: Colin begins measuring love by whether he can produce a cure. Ted helps change the question. Care can include advocacy and hope, but a child is not responsible for defeating disease. The novel's mature insight is that accepting limits need not mean abandoning the person.

Adults, institutions, and uneven compassion

Adults in the story range from defensive to generous. Some try to protect children through silence or removal; others listen more carefully. Institutions appear impersonal because rules distribute attention, yet individual people can choose how they behave within them.

The Queen functions less as a political character than as Colin's symbol of maximum authority. Readers should not treat the plot as a literal account of monarchy or health systems. It is a child's moral geography. The important shift occurs when Colin recognizes value outside the top of the hierarchy.

Strengths and cautions

The central strength is compression. Gleitzman introduces cancer, AIDS, homophobia, grief, family avoidance, and classed authority without losing Colin's particular voice. A second strength is the refusal to make Ted meaningful only through service to Colin. A third is humor that keeps sorrow readable without denying it.

Cautions include serious childhood illness, death anxiety, bereavement, homophobia, AIDS stigma, family conflict, and adults withholding information. Language around HIV/AIDS reflects its publication period. The book is not medical guidance, and the outcomes of fictional characters should not be generalized.

Some readers may find the rapid movement between comedy and grief abrupt. Others will recognize that instability as faithful to how children encounter crises adults cannot organize for them.

Reader fit and alternatives

The book suits upper-middle-grade readers ready for death, illness, and prejudice within an accessible comic voice. It is especially useful for family or classroom discussion when adults provide historical context and do not demand one approved emotional response.

The Fault in Our Stars offers another Gleitzman child narrator whose limited understanding meets historical danger, at a much darker scale. The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time provides a different first-person quest through adult systems. Browse Young Adult and Literary Fiction for related routes.

The Queen as symbol rather than solution

Colin's imagined appeal to the Queen gives the story a useful contradiction. Monarchy represents supreme access in his mind, yet ceremonial prominence does not equal medical power. His pursuit gradually reveals that institutions cannot promise what grief demands. The book does not need to settle a constitutional argument for the device to work. A child organizes authority vertically because adults have presented it that way; experience teaches him that compassion travels horizontally among people with limited power. Ted's friendship carries more moral weight than the fantasy of a command from above. This shift does not mock Colin's hope. It changes hope from expectation of rescue into willingness to remain connected when rescue is unavailable.

The short form intensifies this education because Colin has little time to become a different person. What changes is the question he asks of love, not his entire temperament. He remains stubborn and practical, but those qualities turn from impossible rescue toward companionship.

Final assessment

Two Weeks with the Queen begins with a fantasy of access: reach the most powerful person and make illness reversible. It ends with a more difficult account of love. Colin cannot guarantee cure, but he can refuse the social abandonment that makes suffering lonelier.

The novel's humor, period AIDS context, and serious illness require careful framing. Its compassion remains durable because Gleitzman never confuses helplessness with uselessness. A child who cannot repair the world can still learn how to stay beside another person.

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