Revisiting The Kite Runner.
At lunch today, I finished rereading The Kite Runner - my book discussion group is talking about it next week, so I had to brush up. I remembered the bare bones stuff, the overall plot, that it’s sad and somewhat violent, but I didn’t remember that it’s so good it hurts. I think that, when I read it before, I was focused more on the plot and less on the structure of the plot. This time, I finished it, walked up to a coworker, and said, “The structure of this book is so good that it makes me want to cry.” I did cry this time through, even though the book didn’t seem as bleak as it did last summer. When my mom read it a few months ago, she talked about the hopeful ending, and I said, “I think the book lost me before that.” This time I could see more of what she meant. My coworker said that it’s worth reading again like a textbook - “This is how you structure a really good novel.”
I don’t think The Kite Runner is for everybody - like I said, it’s sad and kind of violent, but the picture of redemption that it paints is pretty amazing. The first time I read it, our house was flooded and I was being grumpy about it, and the message I got from it was that I needed to remember how good my life actually is. With that lesson already learned, this time I sat back and marveled at the way Amir found himself again, the way that he was finally able to atone for the wrongs of his childhood, the parallels that built up to the wonderful last scene, which I did see as hopeful this time. It’s a painful story, but it was freeing to watch him free himself, to make the right decisions instead of the wrong ones.
Sometimes you read a book and you don’t want it to end, because it’s so wonderful. I don’t feel like that with this book - I’m happy to escape the difficult life of an immigrant and the war-torn streets of Kabul and return to my regular life. When I read it last summer, I never would have thought I’d read it again. I’m really glad I was “forced” to, because reading it this time . . . while I wouldn’t call it a pleasure, it helped me appreciate the book on a deeper level than I did last summer.
June 24th, 2006 at
“…I wondered if that was how forgiveness budded, not with the fanfare of epiphany, but with pain gathering its things, packing up, and slipping away unannounced in the middle of the night.”
I really liked this book. I ‘read’ it (listened to it on audio on my commute to work). What I love about audio books is the true accents and place-name and proper-name pronunciation. In this case, the author read his own work. It was beautiful to listen to.
The first time I read this book, I stopped after the awful alley scene. It was too much for me. Then I read the above quote in a book review, and thought I should finish the book. I’m so glad I did. To a westerner, it’s so easy to dismiss what’s happening in the middle east, just because it’s so foreign, and it’s also so… ‘other’. But it’s really not. And that’s what this book brought home for me. No matter where you are, or how you worship, we all want essentially the same things. Health and happiness and stability for ourselves, and especially for our children.
I loved the father, just you were left to guess at so much about his character, and yet there was so much in the subtext, that in spite of his apparent coldness, it was easy to admire him. And then even greater complexities to his character were later revealed. This book just kept giving and giving. I think I’ll read this one again.
June 24th, 2006 at
That quote really stuck out to me, too. And I said the same thing about the story - it could have been set in the South. There would not have been the same violence, perhaps, but the family theme, the plot of betrayal and ultimately redemption - that could have been set here. I think that is one of the reasons it resonated so deeply with me this time through.
And it made me think a lot about parenting - how just a good example is not enough. Amir’s father was a good example of bravery, of standing up for what’s right (there were some exceptions, but overall), but Amir needed more than that. He needed his father to believe in him and support him for who he was. I enjoyed that part of the story the most this time.