![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
The Kite Runner
Today I finished The Kite Runner, by Khaled Hosseini, the book my parents foisted on me during my visit with them over Memorial Day Weekend.
Not quite what I expected. It is a popular book though, while reading it in the laundramat the other day - an elderly woman, heavey-set, face a map of wrinkles, hair white and soft as cotton, and spectacles, stated matter-of-factly to her friend - "she's reading one of my favorite books."
I glanced up from the paragraph that I'd escaped inside of, like a turtle poking its head briefly out of its shell, saying who me? "You're reading my favorite book," the woman said, "The Kite Runner - I had heart palpatations all the way through it. My friend who borrowed it from me - was literally sobbing by the end of it, it affected her that deeply."
We had a brief discussion about the writer, whom she assumed was from Afghanistan and who wrote in his native tongue. In reality he's an American Afghani, whose family lives here. He like many of us had written numerous stories in his The Kite Runner had originally been a short story that he'd submitted to a literary magazine/journal as well as to a writer's workshop - he'd been advised to turn it into a novel - expand on it. He did so. And it got picked up - partly because 9/11 happened. Prior to 9/11 - people weren't sure what to do with his story. After it - he got some guidance from editors on how to change it and make it work. Suffice it to say, the lady in the laundramat did not want to hear all this - she preferred her own version of the writer - ie. the idea that it was autobiographical in some way. It's not, but therein lies its magic, the feeling you have that it is. (Oh as an aside - I know all this about the writer, because my mother researched him for her book club and told me all about him prior to giving me the book.) Some families discuss sports, mine discusses books and the writing process.
The Kite Runner is the story of two boys growing up in Afghanistan. One is well-to-do. Wealthy. Privileged. The other is poor, servant boy. The two are friends, yet their friendship has numerous obstacles to it - that cause the two to part. It's difficult to describe the story without spoiling major plot-points. For me it was the tale of how one can unwittingly turn on one's friend out of jealousy and fear - and how that affects you, how you deal with it. How one handles bone crushing guilt? How one redeems oneself? And also, far more gripping to me at least, how we deal with our past - the past that haunts our dreams, the one that we dearly miss and ach to return to - the past of youth, because memory being what it is, that past always appears to be better than it actually was, better than the today that is, and then there's past that haunts our nightmares, the one that we want to forget, that we yearn to fix but cannot, the one that if we have a conscience, haunts it, and we hate ourselves for just a little. That I believe is what lies at the crux of this story. Handling those complex emotions and the choices one makes regarding them.
Before deciding to read the book - I did what I always do - I read the first paragraph and flipped to the center at random and read a paragraph. Here's the first one:
"I became what I am today at the age of twelve, on a frigid overcast day in the winter of 1975. I remember the precise moment, crouching behind a crumbling mud wall, peeking into the alley near the frozen creek. That was a long time ago, but it's wrong what they say about the past, I've learned, about how you can bury it. Because the past claws its way out. Looking back now, I realize I have been peeking into that deserted alley for the last twenty-six years."
The story sets itself up right off the bat to be one about handling a difficult past. It's also about a journey both internal and external - the next paragraph mentions that the protagonist is called to go back to his native land, a war torn country, to redeem himself for something he did long ago.
The story does have a few flaws - narrative short cuts or coincidences that I'm not sure worked for me, I felt they were almost too convienent, but then I admit I'm more aware of these things then most people are at the moment. None of these flaws are fatal however, nor do they detract from the story. You may not even notice them. My mother certainly didn't nor did the woman in the laundramat. Just my overly critical eye. The author uses them to wrap the story up in a neat bow, make it circle in on itself, so that the boy's past ironically echoes the man's present. Only problem is it's almost too neat and the irony comes across as a bit forced and not quite as subtle as it should. The author attempts to push aside the neatness of the coincidences by literally stating at one point something to the effect that -"Afghanistan is a small country and it's perfectly logical for all this to happen here while in the US or elsewhere it might seem a tad circumspect." I'm not sure I buy this, which is why I didn't cry at the end of the novel, although I did tear up a bit.
What the novel did accomplish for me, was taking me inside a culture and world that I was not completely aware of. It starts in 1975, just a few years prior to the Soviet Union's invasion of Afghanistan, up through September 2001 - all from a native Afghani's point of view. Unless you're a news hound/information junkie (which I'm not), you're probably not aware of what was going on in the country during these years - this book makes you aware of it, on an emotional level.
The author also does a splendid job of depicting a difficult and realistic friendship - better I think than Lethem did in Fortress of Solitude. Shows through the metaphor of kite running how joyous and incredibly painful friendship at that age can be as well as why the pitfalls of it are inevitable. Friendship, all friendships much like kite running - involve cutting one's skin again and again against the string.
One of the better and more memorable books that I've read this year.
Not quite what I expected. It is a popular book though, while reading it in the laundramat the other day - an elderly woman, heavey-set, face a map of wrinkles, hair white and soft as cotton, and spectacles, stated matter-of-factly to her friend - "she's reading one of my favorite books."
I glanced up from the paragraph that I'd escaped inside of, like a turtle poking its head briefly out of its shell, saying who me? "You're reading my favorite book," the woman said, "The Kite Runner - I had heart palpatations all the way through it. My friend who borrowed it from me - was literally sobbing by the end of it, it affected her that deeply."
We had a brief discussion about the writer, whom she assumed was from Afghanistan and who wrote in his native tongue. In reality he's an American Afghani, whose family lives here. He like many of us had written numerous stories in his The Kite Runner had originally been a short story that he'd submitted to a literary magazine/journal as well as to a writer's workshop - he'd been advised to turn it into a novel - expand on it. He did so. And it got picked up - partly because 9/11 happened. Prior to 9/11 - people weren't sure what to do with his story. After it - he got some guidance from editors on how to change it and make it work. Suffice it to say, the lady in the laundramat did not want to hear all this - she preferred her own version of the writer - ie. the idea that it was autobiographical in some way. It's not, but therein lies its magic, the feeling you have that it is. (Oh as an aside - I know all this about the writer, because my mother researched him for her book club and told me all about him prior to giving me the book.) Some families discuss sports, mine discusses books and the writing process.
The Kite Runner is the story of two boys growing up in Afghanistan. One is well-to-do. Wealthy. Privileged. The other is poor, servant boy. The two are friends, yet their friendship has numerous obstacles to it - that cause the two to part. It's difficult to describe the story without spoiling major plot-points. For me it was the tale of how one can unwittingly turn on one's friend out of jealousy and fear - and how that affects you, how you deal with it. How one handles bone crushing guilt? How one redeems oneself? And also, far more gripping to me at least, how we deal with our past - the past that haunts our dreams, the one that we dearly miss and ach to return to - the past of youth, because memory being what it is, that past always appears to be better than it actually was, better than the today that is, and then there's past that haunts our nightmares, the one that we want to forget, that we yearn to fix but cannot, the one that if we have a conscience, haunts it, and we hate ourselves for just a little. That I believe is what lies at the crux of this story. Handling those complex emotions and the choices one makes regarding them.
Before deciding to read the book - I did what I always do - I read the first paragraph and flipped to the center at random and read a paragraph. Here's the first one:
"I became what I am today at the age of twelve, on a frigid overcast day in the winter of 1975. I remember the precise moment, crouching behind a crumbling mud wall, peeking into the alley near the frozen creek. That was a long time ago, but it's wrong what they say about the past, I've learned, about how you can bury it. Because the past claws its way out. Looking back now, I realize I have been peeking into that deserted alley for the last twenty-six years."
The story sets itself up right off the bat to be one about handling a difficult past. It's also about a journey both internal and external - the next paragraph mentions that the protagonist is called to go back to his native land, a war torn country, to redeem himself for something he did long ago.
The story does have a few flaws - narrative short cuts or coincidences that I'm not sure worked for me, I felt they were almost too convienent, but then I admit I'm more aware of these things then most people are at the moment. None of these flaws are fatal however, nor do they detract from the story. You may not even notice them. My mother certainly didn't nor did the woman in the laundramat. Just my overly critical eye. The author uses them to wrap the story up in a neat bow, make it circle in on itself, so that the boy's past ironically echoes the man's present. Only problem is it's almost too neat and the irony comes across as a bit forced and not quite as subtle as it should. The author attempts to push aside the neatness of the coincidences by literally stating at one point something to the effect that -"Afghanistan is a small country and it's perfectly logical for all this to happen here while in the US or elsewhere it might seem a tad circumspect." I'm not sure I buy this, which is why I didn't cry at the end of the novel, although I did tear up a bit.
What the novel did accomplish for me, was taking me inside a culture and world that I was not completely aware of. It starts in 1975, just a few years prior to the Soviet Union's invasion of Afghanistan, up through September 2001 - all from a native Afghani's point of view. Unless you're a news hound/information junkie (which I'm not), you're probably not aware of what was going on in the country during these years - this book makes you aware of it, on an emotional level.
The author also does a splendid job of depicting a difficult and realistic friendship - better I think than Lethem did in Fortress of Solitude. Shows through the metaphor of kite running how joyous and incredibly painful friendship at that age can be as well as why the pitfalls of it are inevitable. Friendship, all friendships much like kite running - involve cutting one's skin again and again against the string.
One of the better and more memorable books that I've read this year.