Top Five Novels #2: The Kite Runner

NOTE: I've decided to review my top five favorite contemporary novels. Given my absence, I've currently posted, completely out of order, number two: The Kite Runner.

I originally had no interest whatsoever in reading this novel despite its obvious popularity; it seemed to me just another half-rate book whose otherwise meager readership was artifically swollen because of its topical setting: Afghanistan. Since 9/11 and the start of President Bush's War on Terror, countless novels have been written about life in the Middle East, and Americans have flocked to them - perhaps out of a sense of curiousity, a need to have their suspicions confirmed, or maybe even in an attempt to understand the people whose leaders had caused so much physical and emotional distress as of late.

The Kite Runner, upon first glance, seemed to fit into this category; although written by a man who had actually grown up in Afganistan, the story about two young boys - Amir and Hassan - whose childhood is interrupted by the invasion of the Taliban seemed just so quasi-political that I remained skeptical. As a result, I completely ignored the book until its, for lack of a better word, "sequel," A Thousand Splendid Suns, was released last spring. The week the book was to go on sale, at least twenty people a day came in begging to know if they could purchase it yet; the day it was put on the shelves it sold out in a matter of hours. The fervor of The Kite Runner fans sparked my curiosity; perhaps there was something more about this particular novel that I had missed. Intrigued, I picked up a copy of The Kite Runner and threw it onto my summer reading pile. When I finally opened it up on the beach some time in mid-August, not only could I not put it down - I didn't want it to end.

Rarely do I enjoy the process of reading a book so much that my desire to prolong the experience overrides my more basic need to find out what happens in the story. But a good story, like a good meal, is something to be savored, and The Kite Runner is a three-course entree. Told from Amir's point-of-view, the story follows the boy as he transitions from childhood to emotional maturity. Intrinsic to the novel is Amir's relationship with two men: his father, Babba, and his best friend/servant boy, Hassan. The Amir/Babba relationship is interesting but not unique; Amir idolizes his father and fears he is consistently a dissapointment to him. Amir is, by nature, undeniably his father's opposite in personality and talent, and fears Hassan, who is more like his father, is the son Babba wished he had. This dual role Hassan plays - at once Amir's most loyal companion and his arch rival for his father's affections - sets up a much more complex relationship. Added to this dynamic is the fact that Hassan is ethnically of a lower class than Amir and is considered his servant (he makes Amir's breakfast for him, for instance) which complicates their friendship further as Amir struggles with his own concept of Hassan's role in his life - a role Hassan never thinks to question.

The Amir/Hassan relationship and Amir's inherent personality flaws bring me to the thing which amazed me most about The Kite Runner as a story: how much the author allowed his audience to HATE his main character. Since the entire story is narrated by Amir, the novel's success practically hinges on the reader's ability to empathize with the Afghani boy. As a writer, I can't imagine taking a bigger risk than by making my main character a loathsome individual... but that's exactly what author Khaled Hosseini does. Had I been Amir's mother I would have slapped him saying, "What is WRONG with you?!"; I can't count the number of times I was so mad at Amir that I threw the book away from me and nearly howled in frustration. Amir is the antithesis of everything we expect from our children, especially our sons. He's meek, he's cowardly, he's selfish, he's cruel, he lies, he cheats, he steals, he blames others rather than take responsibility for his own actions, he refuses to stand up for himself, and he abandons the friends who stand up for him in their own times of need. To steal a line from J.K. Rowling, creator of children's hero Harry Potter, when given the choice between doing what is right and what is easy, Amir picks what is easy every single time.

However, the billiance of Amir is that he hates himself for all of his weaknesses even more than we do. He doesn't commit reprehensable acts with relish; rather, he knows exactly how wrong the things he does are, and tortures himself relentlessly over them to the extent that his self-punishment causes him to make the situation worse. The result is that as a reader I couldn't completely condemn Amir; not only is it difficult to kick a boy who's already beaten himself to death, but the situations which Amir finds himself in are such that I can't honestly say I would have acted differently. Instead, as readers we are waiting for his redemption even as we wonder what Amir could possibly do to make up for the pain he's caused. His quest for forgiveness keeps us reading, but its the heartfelt and honest way which the book describes the responsibilities of brotherhood which make us fall in love. It's a man's story that even women can appreciate.