I love these stories because of Alan Bennett's acute observation of people's little mannerisms, especially mannerisms of thought. The clergyman in 'The Laying on of Hands' who is deciding how to pitch his sermon even as he walks up the aisle; Aunty Kitty in 'Father! Father! Burning Bright' who does her 'I am too upset to speak' act. He opens a door into their minds, and there they are - there we are - self-justifying away. It's a very English trait, slightly guilty, a bit tentative, easily overborne by more confident personalities. But it is a sympathetic gaze, we may judge them, but he does not, or at least not harshly. Familiarity with Bennett's own skills as a actor makes it almost impossible not to hear his voice as one reads, the rhythm and intonation are there in the writing, and his wry emphases float out of the page: it's an indication of the quality of the writing that it would be impossible to put stresses in the wrong places when reading aloud.
'The Lady in the Van' is not a story in the same sense as the others, but a memoir of Miss Shepherd, who parked her van by Bennett's house and ended up on his drive for almost a decade. His kindness to her, mixed with exasperation, is touching and humbling, especially as he writes always with a sense of not having done enough for her.
Bennett is a master of language, no word is ever wasted or misplaced, and he picks through the muddle of human consciousness gently, kindly even, but with a deadly thoroughness.