- Lorsqu'on tue un homme, on vole une vie. On vole le droit de sa femme à un mari, on prive ses enfants de leur père. Lorsqu'on raconte un mensonge, on dépossède quelqu'un de son droit à la vérité. Lorsqu'on triche, on dérobe le droit d'un autre à l'équité. Tu comprends?

"C'est dur à admettre, avait-il ajouté, mais il vaut mieux être blessé par la vérité que réconforté par un mensonge."

Hassan a accusé le choc - perdre ce que l'on a connu est plus dur que d'en avoir toujours été privé.

"Rahim, un gamin qui se laisse marcher sur les pieds devient un homme incapable d'affronter la moindre épreuve."

 

"La vie ne vous accorde un bonheur aussi intense que lorsqu'elle s'apprête à vous retirer quelque chose."

DNF at 61% (Chapter 19)

I tried to like this book. I really did. In fact, throughout the first quarter of the book, I truly *did* enjoy it. Hosseini's not a bad writer, and his prose flourishes when describing the vibrance and culture of prewar Kabul. He captures childhood nostalgia so perfectly, and the relationship between young Amir and Hassan is heartbreaking and bittersweet.

But after the first time skip, this book failed to hold my attention. Amir is an absolutely miserable, deplorable character - not in an anti-hero way like Walter White, where I was just waiting for his inevitable downfall. I wanted Amir to shut up about how much he hates himself, go away forever, and stop letting bad things happen to good people. Unfortunately, he is *The Kite Runner*'s protagonist.

By the halfway mark, all the characters who brought charisma and interest to the story are dead (Hassan, Baba, Rahim Kahn) and I'm left with boring, useless, self-hating Amir. This is where I chose to quit the story. Also after the weird reveal that Amir and Hassan are half-brothers.

I understand why people like this book, but I can't bring myself to enjoy pointless torture porn like this. 2 stars for how much I enjoyed the first quarter of the book.

Okay, so I am completely dragging my feet these last 2 months, and I finally realized part of the reason why. I have been off my anxiety meds since the end of February because my new pharmacy doesn't do autorefills and they are inept morons. They couldn't "get in contact with my doctor" to get the authorization for my Lexapro. Usually I'm okay for a few weeks without it, but I will become progressively more distracted and find it hard to focus on thing I usually enjoy. After about the 5th time of these people saying they hadn't heard back from my doctor, I fired off an email to him and within SECONDS he had them on the phone with my refill instructions. Somehow, the man wasn't dead on the other end of the line. Weird, right? When they send faxes to his designated refill line they claim they get nothing but all I do is send an email and he resurrected from the grave. I'm finding a new pharmacy with this next refill. I used to use Target because they did the autorefill and would even call in when I ran out of refills so I didn't have to do anything but show up once a month. Then Tricare dropped them. Maybe I will go back to Walgreens? Target is CVS so I can't use them. Ugh. But I have my pills again to get my brain back in line.

 

It's terrible to be trapped inside your head. I had to install an app on my phone to remind me to put it down because I was so obsessive about checking posts and just wasting time. The app pops up with a notification that says "isn't there something else you can be doing?" Hahaha, uh, yeah, I think so. I've backed off social media, and I'm forcing myself to read.

 

I should be back to myself in a month, once the Lex gets back into my system and makes the spinning thoughts slow down. I told my husband "I literally cannot read. I pick up the book and I can't focus on the words." He went and picked up the pills for me. I have a good hubby. If any of you have this problem, you understand it is not joke. It's exhausting. 

 

 

So I'm going to do my best to finish last month's books, then read all the comics I got from Free Comic Book Day. And maybe knock out some of my piles up Humble Bundle graphic novels.

 

Well, this month was going to be April Showers, so it was supposed to be dedicated to sad and emotional books. But then we had the Great Bedroom Flood of 2018, which ruined SOOOOOO MANY of my books. The bottoms of most of my graphic novels and several unread novels were soaked, causing the pages to warp, discolor and stick together. I wasn't too upset about the ones I had already read, but some of these books were brand new or just purchased at the Metro Book Sale. 

 

So, now April Showers means floods and water in the literal sense. I'm going to read the few books I salvaged that needed reading. Hopefully the pages aren't too stuck together. 

 

Before I read these I swear I will get through Envy and Splendor. I SWEAR. 

 

Also, Oklahoma teachers on strike. And I am behind them all the way. Teachers need better pay and our schools need more money! Oklahoma ranks 49th in the country in education. 

 

P.S. Friday was a terrible day. Saturday wasn't. Sunday was even better. Hope you guys are having a pretty good go of things. 

 

The Kite Runner is simply the most American foreign novel I've ever read. For those who aren't clear on this, that's not a good thing. We'll come back to this...

As a story, The Kite Runner starts a bit slow. I wasn't engaged as a reader until eighty to a hundred pages in. There was just considerable information to process and not much emotional weight to the story. The narrative jumped around quite a bit and it was difficult to follow. Then the tension began to rise. Amir, Hassan, and Baba became real. I was pulled into the narrative and I began to see how this story might actually warrant all the praise it has received. The characters were interesting and the plot was riveting.

For a chunk of this book somewhere in the middle, the story is quite good. There's the divisive heartrending story of the past that haunts our protagonist. His journey into adulthood, marriage, and immigration is insightful and honest. When the time comes for Amir to go back to Afghanistan, I expected the book to reach a satisfying conclusion, quietly observing Amir's past from his new position and providing Amir an opportunity to redeem himself for his past mistakes.

Then Khaled Hosseini did two things to crap all over any hopes I had for this book.

First, he found the cutest little ribbon he could, wrapped it around his story and tied it up so prettily. No, it doesn't end there. He found another cute ribbon. And he wrapped it around the story and the first bow. Then he found another. And another. There are no bloody kite strings in this novel. Those are the most ornate, gaudy ribbons the author could find because he wants you to see all of them. See this pretty ribbon here? Here's how I tie it all together. See this plot line here? Here's how I conveniently finish it off? Didn't see it? Well, let me explain it to you. There's redemption and there's soap opera drama needlessly orchestrated from page one. The Kite Runner is very much the second.

Second, and this is what really offends me, the intention of The Kite Runner is clear: to be a foreign novel that makes Americans happy that they're Americans. It justifies the superiority complex while convincing the reader that they're culturally aware. The western belief that Muslim nations are evil and that they need our salvation is abundant in the later half of this book. The Taliban is painted as a childish, hypocritical caricature with no need for sympathy. The only redeemable Muslim characters are those who reject any expression of faith and embrace western ideas and imagery. But it's all written by an Afghan, so it must be the way things are, right? Yes, The Kite Runner is a book that lets you feel cultured and entirely justified in bombing those bastards overseas.

I know many people love this book. I know that I've probably just stepped on many of their toes. They may think I'm calling them out as an “ignorant westerner.” I'm not. This book perpetuates these ideas, but falling for a good story while missing the underlying colonial notions can happen to the best of us, especially when the author is “one of them.” I do wish I'd read a book from Afghanistan that better represented the nation and its people. Hopefully, someday I'll get back around to it.