- 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.

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.

So, what do you do when the guilt over something that happened in your childhood eats you up and prevents you from really living your life? You'll unconsciously look for a chance to redeem yourself.

 

"A man who has no conscience, no goodness, does not suffer."

 

Amir and Hassan practically grow up in the same household in Kabul, Amir, the son of a philanthropist who's revered in the community, and Hassan, the servant's son. They are close, and Hassan endlessly loyal, even throughout Amir's disparaging comments, until one winter's day the idyllic world is ripped apart when Hassan's assaulted and Amir doesn't interfere - and later on even drives Hassan and his father from the only home they've known. Years later, Amir's now married in the US, an old family friend calls him to Pakistan, uncovers the lies his childhood was built on, and offers a chance of redemption: go back to Kabul and save Hassan's son.

 

Usually, I'm not too fond of 1st person narratives. But they can, as in this case, work astonishingly well. As Amir grows up, so does his view on the world: from the arrogant, inwardly insecure boy always striving for his father's reluctant approval, always seeking out Hassan's presence but just maybe only to have someone to look down upon, to someone who hates himself for what he's failed to do and whose whole life changes because of one single event before it changes even more when he and his father are forced to flee to the US and start anew selling junk at flea markets. At least he finally gets to know the man his father is... even if still only partly because one revelation changes his entire perception. The focus falls on one little boy, left alone in Kabul and fallen into the same hands that ripped Hassan and Amir's childhood from them. And Hassan's reply to every of his demands during his childhood becomes his own after finally seeing a little smile on the face of that world-weary child:

 

"For you, a thousand times over."

 

This novel is an amazing journey into the aftermath of tragedy, into guilt and redemption, and into forgiveness given freely, even if you yourself don't feel you deserve it. But most of all it's a story about love, loyalty, friendship and family. Hosseini has the great gift of weaving a story tapestry with his words that sucks you in and leaves you grasping at every ray of hope that is offered... and those are few and far inbetween. And every time you think there's finally some good on the horizon he throws you right back into the darkness and despair that has you on the edge of your seat and a lump down your throat. An emotional tour de force that leaves you enriched, yet deeply humbled.

This book left me emotionally drained. I just can't even deal with it right now. I mean, it was amazing, but I need to take a break before talking about it...