The Kite Runner

The Kite Runner Reviews

• 
  Britta

  "For you, a thousand times over."

  "Children aren't coloring books. You don't get to fill them with your favorite colors."

  "...attention shifted to him like sunflowers turning to the sun."

  "But even when he wasn't around, he was."

  "When you kill a man, you steal a life. You steal a wife's right to a husband, rob his children of a father. When you tell a lie, you steal someone's right to the truth. When you cheat, you steal the right to fairness. There is no act more wretched than stealing."

  "...she ha

  "For you, a thousand times over."

  "Children aren't coloring books. You don't get to fill them with your favorite colors."

  "...attention shifted to him like sunflowers turning to the sun."

  "But even when he wasn't around, he was."

  "When you kill a man, you steal a life. You steal a wife's right to a husband, rob his children of a father. When you tell a lie, you steal someone's right to the truth. When you cheat, you steal the right to fairness. There is no act more wretched than stealing."

  "...she had a voice that made me think of warm milk and honey."

  "My heart stuttered at the thought of her."

  "...and I would walk by, pretending not to know her, but dying to."

  "It turned out that, like satan, cancer had many names."

  "Every woman needed a husband, even if he did silence the song in her."

  "The first time I saw the Pacific, I almost cried."

  "Proud. His eyes gleamed when he said that and I liked being on the receiving end of that look."

  "Make morning into a key and throw it into the well,

  Go slowly, my lovely moon, go slowly.

  Let the morning sun forget to rise in the East,

  Go slowly, lovely moon, go slowly."

  "Men are easy,... a man's plumbing is like his mind: simple, very few surprises. You ladies, on the other hand... well, God put a lot of thought into making you."

  "All my life, I'd been around men. That night, I discovered the tenderness of a woman."

  "And I could almost feel the emptiness in [her] womb, like it was a living, breathing thing. It had seeped into our marriage, that emptiness, into our laughs, and our lovemaking. And late at night, in the darkness of our room, I'd feel it rising from [her] and settling between us. Sleeping between us. Like a newborn child."

  "America was a river, roaring along unmindful of the past. I could wade into this river, let my sins drown to the bottom, let the waters carry me someplace far. Someplace with no ghosts, no memories, and no sins. If for nothing else, for that I embraced America."

  "...and every day I thank [God] that I am alive, not because I fear death, but because my wife has a husband and my son is not an orphan."

  "...lifting him from the certainty of turmoil and dropping him in a turmoil of uncertainty."

  "...sometimes the dead are luckier."

  "He walked like he was afraid to leave behind footprints. He moved as if not to stir the air around him."

  "...and when she locked her arms around my neck, when I smelled apples in her hair, I realized how much I had missed her. 'You're still the morning sun to me...' I whispered."

  "...there is a God, there always has been. I see him here, in the eys of the people in this [hospital] corridor of desperation. This is the real house of God, this is where those who have lost God will find Him... there is a God, there has to be, and now I will pray, I will pray that He will forgive that I have neglected Him all of these years, forgive that I have betrayed, lied, and sinned with impunity only to turn to Him now in my hour of need. I pray that He is as merciful, benevolent, and gracious as His book says He is."
• 
  Ahmad Sharabiani

  The kite runner, 2003, Khaled Hosseini

  The Kite Runner is the first novel by Afghan-American author Khaled Hosseini. Published in 2003 by Riverhead Books, it tells the story of Amir, a young boy from the Wazir Akbar Khan district of Kabul, whose closest friend is Hassan. The story is set against a backdrop of tumultuous events, from the fall of Afghanistan's monarchy through the Soviet military intervention, the exodus of refugees to Pakistan and the United States, and the rise of the Taliban reg

  The kite runner, 2003, Khaled Hosseini

  The Kite Runner is the first novel by Afghan-American author Khaled Hosseini. Published in 2003 by Riverhead Books, it tells the story of Amir, a young boy from the Wazir Akbar Khan district of Kabul, whose closest friend is Hassan. The story is set against a backdrop of tumultuous events, from the fall of Afghanistan's monarchy through the Soviet military intervention, the exodus of refugees to Pakistan and the United States, and the rise of the Taliban regime.

  عنوانها: بادبادک باز؛ بادبادک پران؛ نویسنده: خالد حسینی؛ تاریخ نخستین خوانش: در ماه مارس سال 2005 میلادی

  عنوان: بادبادک باز؛ نویسنده: خالد حسینی؛ مترجم: زیبا گنجی؛ پریسا سلیمانزاده اردبیلی، مشخصات نشر: تهران، مروارید، 1383، در 422 ص؛ شابک: 9645881927؛ موضوع: داستانهای نویسندگان امریکایی قرن 21 م

  عنوان: بادبادک باز؛ مترجم: مهدی غبرائی؛ مشخصات نشر: تهران، نشر همراه، 1384، در 456 ص؛

  عنوان: بادبادک پران؛ مترجم: منیژه شیخ جوادی؛ مشخصات نشر: تهران، پیکان، 1385، در 383 ص؛ شابک: 9789643284953؛

  عنوان: بادبادک باز؛ مترجم: مهدی غبرائی؛ مشخصات نشر: تهران، نیلوفر، 1386، در 368 ص؛ شابک: 9644482972؛

  عنوان: بادبادک باز؛ مترجم: صدیقه ابراهیمی؛ مشخصات نشر: تهران، دایره، 1387، در 393 ص؛ شابک: 9789646939694؛

  عنوان: بادبادک باز؛ مترجم: مژگان احمدی؛ مشخصات نشر: تهران، بهزاد، 1388، در 331 ص؛ شابک: 9789642569410؛

  عنوان: بادبادک باز؛ مترجم: پیمان اشراقی؛ مشخصات نشر: تهران، نگارستان کتاب، 1389، در 508 ص؛ شابک: 9786005541557؛

  عنوان: بادبادک باز؛ مترجم: سمیه یداللهی؛ مشخصات نشر: تهران، شهرزاد، 1389، در 376 ص؛ شابک: 9786001710421؛

  عنوان: بادبادک باز؛ مترجم: رقیه فیروزی؛ مشخصات نشر: قم، رخ مهتاب راتا، 1392، در 338 ص؛ شابک: 9786007076026؛

  عنوان: بادبادک باز؛ مترجم: حسین بخشی؛ مشخصات نشر: تهران، آوای مکتوب، 1393، در 368 ص؛ شابک: 9786007364055؛

  داستان از زبان امیر روایت می‌شود، امیر نویسنده ای اهل افغانستان و از تبار ایل پشتون و ساکن کالیفرنیا هستند، که برای نجات یک بچه، راهی افغانستان می‌شوند؛ افغانستانی که در تحت حاکمیت طالبان است، و یکی از دشوارترین دورانهای تاریخ چند هزار ساله‌ ی خویش را سپری می‌کند، و به بهانه ی همین سفر امیر به افغانستان، ایشان داستان زندگی‌ خویش را نیز برای خوانشگر می‌گویند

  نقل از متن کتاب: ناراحت شدن از یک حقیقت بهتر از تسکین یافتن با یک دروغ است

  **

  حسن اینطوری بود. لعنتی آن قدر بی غل و غش بود که پیش او آدم همیشه حس میکرد ریاکار است

  **

  بابا گفت: «خوبه.» اما نگاهش حیران بود. «خب هرچی ملا یادت داده ول کن، فقط یک گناه وجود دارد والسلام. آن هم دزدی ست (البته برخی هم آن یک گناه را دروغگویی میدانند). هر گناه دیگری هم نوعی دزدی است. میفهمی چی میگویم؟» مایوسانه آرزو کردم و گفتم: کاش میفهمیدم؛ و گفتم: «نه بابا جون». نمی‌خواستم دوباره ناامیدش کنم. بابا با بی حوصلگی آهی کشید. با این کار دوباره دلم را سوزاند، چون او اصلاً آدم بی حوصله ای نبود. یادم آمد که تا هوا تاریک نمیشد، هیچ وقت به خانه نمیآمد، همیشه ی خدا تنهایی شام میخوردم. وقتی میآمد خانه، از علی میپرسیدم: بابا کجا بوده؟ هرچند خودم خوب میدانستم که سر ساختمان بوده، سرکشی به این، نظارت به آن. مگر این کارها حال و حوصله نمیخواست؟ از تمام آن بچه هایی که داشت برایشان پرورشگاه میساخت متنفر بودم؛ گاهی وقتها آرزو میکردم کاش همه ی آنها با پدر و مادرهایشان مرده بودند. بابا گفت: «اگر مردی را بکشی، یک زندگی را میدزدی. حق زنش را از داشتن شوهر میدزدی، جق بچه هایش را از داشتن پدر میدزدی. وقتی دروغ میگویی، حق کسی را از دانستن حقیقت میدزدی. وقتی تقلب میکنی، حق را از انصاف میدزدی، میفهمی؟ پایان نقل از متن کتاب. ا. شربیانی
• 
  فرشاد

  In 2012, when I was Mathematics teacher at a private high school in Iran, I had an Afghan student in my class. Sometimes, I discussed with my students about literature, and I told them of novels and poem. I found it very strange that my students had no interest in literature and even sometimes looked with hostility to this discussion. Days passed and much time was left to the end of school year. One day I saw Ali, Afghan student, came to me and had a booklet in his hand and I saw in his eyes sev

  In 2012, when I was Mathematics teacher at a private high school in Iran, I had an Afghan student in my class. Sometimes, I discussed with my students about literature, and I told them of novels and poem. I found it very strange that my students had no interest in literature and even sometimes looked with hostility to this discussion. Days passed and much time was left to the end of school year. One day I saw Ali, Afghan student, came to me and had a booklet in his hand and I saw in his eyes several times as if he wanted to say something, but he was quiet. I waited for a little, and after a few moments, I began to speak. He smiled, and with a special Afghan accent, he said " I have written a story, sir " and became quiet again. I said "it's excellent! ", and I asked, "do you read books? ". Yes, sir, he replied. I asked, "what kind of books do you like? ". Mark Twain and John Steinbeck and Jules Verne, he answered. I asked what you have written? He replied I wrote a story about a 13 years old Afghan boy who immigrated to Iran. I got his booklet, and I read it in a week. It was a dark story. A week later, we discussed again after class. Ali invited me to go his house at night for reading books. I was pleased, and I greeted this plan. When night arrived, I took the kite runner and went to Ali's home. When I entered the house, I saw a house with mud walls that has no rooms, except a small hull that there was a table in the middle of it and almost nine children were dining. Of clothes of Ali's father, it was obvious that he was a building worker and he welcomed me very sincerely. I thanked him, and I went to the storehouse in the corner of the yard that Ali had made it, a place to be alone. Ali took the book and with incredible passion began to read. This process was repeated almost every night for a week, and we have read half of the Kite Runner. Among pages of the book, Ali informed me about Afghanistan, explained of how twenty people, entered Iran with a small car, illegally and secretly. Of how his classmates ridiculed him because of his Afghan accent, of how he was forced to work in a brick burner factory all days after the school, of how his dad has forced him to marry at the age of 13 in the summer. Then Ali proceeded to speak that he wants to be a writer and prizes the Nobel award. I saw in his room that he had Ferdowsi, Omar Khayyam, Hafiz and Rumi's book poem. When I looked at his face, I saw an unusual man who was ahead of his time and situation. Ali said, because Afghans have been banned of the registration in public schools in Tehran, he is forced to register in a private school, and now he and his mother must work hard to pay school charges.

  The next week, I went to class, but I didn't see Ali. When I asked the guys about him, they replied that because his father hadn't citizenship card and passport, he was arrested, and all of them have deported to Afghanistan. I was agitated that I couldn't continue reading Kite Runner never. Even I felt so depressed and sad when I saw the book in bookstores. Until this spring, after three years, I got a message in WhatsApp messenger from Ali, that congratulated teachers day to me. He was written that he married to a girl who was in love with her and they have a two months old girl baby. He was written he is working at a bookstore in Kabul and he has read almost thousand books in three years. He was written they have the 4G Internet in Kabul and I replied him, it's supposed to we have 4G in Tehran as well, soon! When I received the message, I could reread the Kite Runner. It was a great book, especially for me, recall nostalgia of tired immigrants and unfavorable circumstances.

  *************************************

  سال 1391 زمانی که معلم ریاضی حق التدریس یه دبیرستان خصوصی شده بودم یه دانش اموز افغان هم سر کلاس داشتم ..هرازگاهی به بهونه های مختلف بحث رو به ادبیات میکشوندم و از رمان و شعر برای بچه ها میگفتم .. برام خیلی عجیب بود که بچه های کلاس هیچ علاقه ای به ادبیات نشون نمیدادن و گاهی حتی با دید تمسخر هم به قضیه نگاه میکردن.. روزها میگذشت و زمان زیادی به پایان سال تحصیلی باقی نمونده بود.. یک روز بعد از پایان کلاس دیدم علی محصل افغان , اومد کنار میز من و تووی دستش یه دفترچه داشت و تووی چشاش دیدم که چندبار انگار میخواست حرفی بزنه اما سکوت کرد.. کمی صبر کردم و بعد از چند لحظه سر صحبت رو باز کردم.. لبخند زد و با لهجه افغانی خاصش گفت "اقا من یه داستان نوشتم ".و سکوت کرد.. گفتم خیلی عالیه.. پرسیدم. کتاب هم میخونی? گفت اقا بله..گفتم چی میخونی? جواب داد مارک تواین و جان اشتاین بک و ژول ورن.. گفتم چی مینویسی ..جواب داد یه رمان نوشتم درباره یه پسر سیزده ساله افغان که به ایران مهاجرت کرده. دفترچه رو از علی گرفتم و تووی یک هفته خوندم. داستان غمگین بود. یک هفته بعد دوباره بعد از کلاس با هم صحبت کردیم. علی من رو دعوت کرد که شبها به خونه شون برم و کتاب بخونیم. خب خیلی از این پیشنهاد خوشحال شدم و استقبال کردم. شب کتاب بادبادک باز رو برداشتم و رفتم . وارد خونه که شدم دیدم یه خونه با دیوارهای کاهگلی که هیچ اتاقی نداره بجز یه پذیرایی که وسطش یه سفره انداخته بودن و هشت نه تا بچه کوچیک داشتن غذا می خوردن. پدر علی که از لباسهاش مشخص بود یه کارگر ساختمونی هست با گرمی خاصی از من استقبال کرد. من تشکر کردم و با علی رفتیم به سمت انباری کوچیکی که گوشه حیاط بود و علی از اون یه جایی برای تنها بودنش درست کرده بود. علی کتاب رو از من گرفت و با شعف خاصی مشغول خوندن شد.. تقریبا یک هفته هر شب این جریان تکرار می شد و ما نیمی از بادبادک باز رو خونده بودیم. علی لابلای صفحه های کتاب برام از افغانستان میگفت از این که چطور بیست نفر با یه سواری وارد ایران شدن ازینکه چطور بچه های کلاس اون رو بخاطر لهجه افغانی مسخره میکنن از این که عصرها بعد از مدرسه مجبوره تووی کارگاه اجر پزی کار کنه. از اینکه پدرش مجبورش میکنه که تابستون تووی سیزده سالگی ازدواج کنه.. بعد علی ادامه داد دلش میخواد نویسنده بشه و جایزه نوبل بگیره. توی اون انباری کوچیک دیدم که شاهنامه و خیام و حافظ و مولوی هم داره.. میگفت حافظ رو از بر داره و خیام رو هم.. و من توی اون نگاهش یه پسر شریف رو می دیدم که خیلی از زمان و محیط خودش جلوتر رفته بود. علی گفت چون توی مدارس دولتی نامنویسی افغانها ممنوعه مجبور شده توی یه دبیرستان خصوصی درس بخونه و حالا خودش و مادرش برای تامین این هزینه مجبورن کار کنن.. هفته بعد که باز سر کلاس رفتم علی رو ندیدم. وقتی پرسیدم بچه ها گفتن که چون پدرش کارت نداشته گرفتنش و همشون رو فرستادن افغانستان. اونقدر ناراحت شدم که دیگه سمت بادبادک باز نرفتم. حتی دیدن کتاب تووی شهرکتابا غمگینم میکرد.. تا اینکه بهار امسال بعد از سه سال پیامی از علی تووی وایبر رسید که روز معلم رو تبریک گفته بود.. نوشته بود با دختری که دوستش داره ازدواج کرده و یک دختر دوماهه داره. نوشته بود حالا در یه کتابفروشی توی کابل کار میکنه و توی این سه سال هزارتا کتاب خونده.نوشته بود ما اینجا تووی کابل اینترنت نسل چهارم داریم. براش نوشتم قراره نسل چهارم بزودی به ایران هم برسه! با رسیدن پیام علی باز تونستم به بادبادک باز نزدیک بشم .کتاب خوبی بود.. مخصوصا برای من یاداور غربت مهاجرای خسته و ناسازگاری روزگار...
• 
  Catriona (LittleBookOwl)

  4.5 stars!

  Oh, my heart. This was heartbreaking and beautifully written!
• 
  J.G. Keely

  This is the sort of book White America reads to feel worldly. Just like the spate of Native American pop fiction in the late eighties, this is overwhelmingly colonized literature, in that it pretends to reveal some aspect of the 'other' culture, but on closer inspection (aside from the occasional tidbit) it is a thoroughly western story, firmly ensconced in the western tradition.

  Even those tidbits Hosseini gives are of such a vague degree that to be impressed by them, one would have to have alm

  This is the sort of book White America reads to feel worldly. Just like the spate of Native American pop fiction in the late eighties, this is overwhelmingly colonized literature, in that it pretends to reveal some aspect of the 'other' culture, but on closer inspection (aside from the occasional tidbit) it is a thoroughly western story, firmly ensconced in the western tradition.

  Even those tidbits Hosseini gives are of such a vague degree that to be impressed by them, one would have to have almost no knowledge of the history of Afghanistan, nor the cultural conflicts raging there between the Shia and Sunni Muslims, or how it formed a

  for Russia and the United States in the Cold War, or for

  in the centuries before. Sadly, for all the daily news reports about Afghanistan, most people know very little of its history.

  Hosseini's story is thickly foreshadowed and wraps up so neatly in the end that the reader will never have to worry about being surprised. Every convenient coincidence that could happen, does happen. He does attempt to bring some excitement to the story with dramatized violence, but that's hardly a replacement for a well-constructed plot. He is also fond of forcing tension by creating a small conflict between two characters and then having them agonize over it for years, despite the fact that it would be easy to fix and the characters have no reason to maintain the conflict. And since the conflict does not grow or change over time, everything is quickly reduced to petty and repetitive reactions.

  He even creates a cliched 'white devil' character, a literal sociopath (and pedophile) as the symbol for the 'evils' of the Taliban. This creates an odd conflict in the narrative, since one of the main themes is that simple inequalities and pointless conflicts stem from Afghan tradition, itself. His indelicate inclusion of wealthy, beautiful, white power as the source of religious turmoil in the mid-east negates his assertion that the conflicts are caused by small-mindedness.

  The fact that this character seems to have the depth of motivation of a Disney villain also means that he does not work as a representation of the fundamental causes of colonial inequality, which tend to be economic, not personal. The various mixed messages about the contributors to the ongoing Afghan conflict suggest that Hosseini does not have anything insightful to say about it.

  Perhaps the worst part about this book is how much it caters to the ignorance of White America. It will allow naive readers to feel better about themselves for feeling sympathy with the larger mid-east conflict, but is also lets them retain a sense of superiority over the Muslims for their 'backwards, classicist, warlike' ways. In short, it supports the condescending, parental view that many Americans already have about the rest of the world. And it does all this without revealing any understanding of the vast and vital economic concerns which make the greater mid-east so vitally important to the future of the world.

  It is unfortunate that nowhere amongst this book's artfully dramatized violence and alternative praising and demonizing of the West is there the underlying sense of why this conflict is happening, of what put it all into place, and of why it will continue to drag us all down. The point where it could turn sympathy into indignation or realization is simply absent.

  There is a bad joke on the internet showing a map of the world with the mid-east replaced by a sea-filled crater with the comment 'problem solved'. What this map fails to represent is that there is a reason the West

  in the affairs of the mid-east, and that every time we do, it creates another conflict--because almost every group who we decry as terrorists now were originally trained and armed by the US and Western powers to serve our economic interests.

  As long as we see extremists as faceless sociopaths, we can do nothing against them. We must recognize that

  , and that everyone sees himself as being 'in the right'. Who is more right: the Westerner whose careless bomb kills a child, or the Muslim's that does?

  The point shouldn't be to separate the 'good Muslims' from the 'bad Muslims', because people aren't fundamentally good or bad. They are fundamentally people. Almost without exception, they are looking out for their future, their children, and their communities. Calling someone 'evil' merely means you have ceased to try understanding their point of view, and decided instead to merely hate because it's easier to remain ignorant than to try to understand.

  This book isn't particularly insightful or well-written, but that is in no way unusual in bestsellers. The problem is that Americans are going to use this book to justify their ignorance about the problems in the east. This book will make people feel better about themselves, instead of helping them to think better about the world.

  For an actually insightful, touching view of the Afghan conflict, I would suggest avoiding this bit of naive melodrama and looking up Emmanuel Guibert's

  .
• 
  Chris

  I became what I am today at the age of twenty-nine, on a frigid overcast day in the winter of 2008.

  What I am about to tell you about what I became is going to be very shocking. It is going to manipulate your emotions. It may include some random words in my native language for no reason whatsoever. It will teach you unnecessary things about my culture. It will not be smarter than a fifth grader. And it will include as many cliches and as much foreshadowing as is humanly possible.

  You are going t

  I became what I am today at the age of twenty-nine, on a frigid overcast day in the winter of 2008.

  What I am about to tell you about what I became is going to be very shocking. It is going to manipulate your emotions. It may include some random words in my native language for no reason whatsoever. It will teach you unnecessary things about my culture. It will not be smarter than a fifth grader. And it will include as many cliches and as much foreshadowing as is humanly possible.

  You are going to be shocked. I, for one, never saw it coming. So I doubt you will. Get ready. Aren't you so ready to be shocked? You're never going to see this coming.

  What comes next is the big revelation, so get ready!

  Wait, I need to ask you something first. Did you know that the Irish like potatoes? Yeah, we really enjoy them. And alcohol too. It's pretty great.

  This means Ireland Forever! Unfortunately, you will be very sad to know that my father just died due to an Irish car bomb. Well, about 15 of them to be exact. All on an empty stomach! It makes me sad and you should feel sad too, kind reader.

  Ok, on to the big reveal. Here it is:

  On that frigid overcast day, which happened to be the day that I decided to quit reading

  , I became a book snob.

  Because

  is adored by most people who read it, I am forced to conclude that most people need to read more. A whole lot more. You should be embarrassed if you like this book. Seriously. The moment I became a book snob (shortly after "The Scene"), I became so embarrassed to be seen reading it that I accused the guy sitting next to me on the subway of putting the book on my lap while I wasn't paying attention. "How dare you, sir! Have you no decency?" I exclaimed excitedly in my native language. Then I noticed a monkey on the platform waiting to board a train. I quickly hopped off my train, ran to him, handed him the book, and said "

  Enjoy!"

  Later that day, I saw that monkey flying a kite in front of the Washington Monument. I noticed that the glass string wasn't making his hands bloody. Do you know why? He was wearing gloves.

  ---------------------------------------------------------------

  Please note that I have absolutely no appreciation for life and reality.*

  *

  , who claims to be "a better person for having read this book,"

  that I make this clarification to my review. Thanks for the suggestion, Bart! Hopefully that clears things up for those who were wondering.
• 
  Linda

  Finished this book about a month ago but it's taken me this long to write a review about it because I have such mixed feelings about it. It was a deeply affecting novel, but mostly not in a good way. I really wanted to like it, but the more I think about what I didn't like about the book, the more it bothers me. I even downgraded this review from two stars to one from the time I started writing it to the time I finished.

  Let's start off with the good, shall we? The writing itself was pretty good

  Finished this book about a month ago but it's taken me this long to write a review about it because I have such mixed feelings about it. It was a deeply affecting novel, but mostly not in a good way. I really wanted to like it, but the more I think about what I didn't like about the book, the more it bothers me. I even downgraded this review from two stars to one from the time I started writing it to the time I finished.

  Let's start off with the good, shall we? The writing itself was pretty good when it comes to description, in that I really felt the author's descriptions of scenes, and in terms of moving the story forward. That said, it's not particularly challenging writing to read.

  The very best part of the novel is its warm depiction of the mixed culture of Afghanistan, and how it conveys the picture of a real Afghanistan as a living place, before the coup, the Soviet invasion, and above all, the Taliban and the aftermath of September 11th created a fossilized image in the US of a failed state, petrified in "backwardness" and locked in the role of a villain from central casting.

  Now for the not so good.

  == Spoiler Alert ==

  ... because I don't think I'm going to be able to complain about what I didn't like about the book without revealing major plot points. (Not to mention, some of what follows will only make sense to someone who has read the book.) So if you don't want to spoil it for yourself, read no further, here be spoilers:

  My overwhelming emotion throughout the book is feeling entirely manipulated. Of course, one major reason for this is that the author's attempts at metaphor, allegory, and forshadowing are utterly ham-fisted. When he wants to make a point, he hits you over the head with it, hard -- Amir's split lip / Hassan's cleft palate comes immediately, resoundingly to mind.

  But I feel manipulated beyond that. The members of the servant class in this story suffer tragic, unspeakable calamities, sometimes at the hands of our fine hero, and yet the novel seems to expect the reader to reserve her sympathies for the "wronged" privileged child, beating his breast over the emotional pain of living with the wounds he has selfishly inflicted upon others. How, why, am I supposed to feel worse for him as he feels bad about what he has done to others? Rather than feeling most sympathy and kinship for those who, through absolutely no fault of their own, must suffer, not just once or twice, but again and again?

  Of course this elevation of / identification with the "wounded"/flawed hero goes hand in hand with an absolutely detestable portrayal of the members of the servant class as being at their utmost happiest when they are being their most servile and utterly subjugating their own needs, wants, desires, pleasures -- their own selves, in fact -- to the needs of their masters. (Even when they are protecting their masters from their own arrogance, heartlessness, or downright stupidity.)

  I don't see how the main character, Amir, could possibly be likeable. Amir's battle with Assef, momentous as it is, is not so much him taking a stand because he feels driven to do so or feels that he must. Rather, he acts with very little self-agency at all -- he is more or less merely carried forward into events. (And, moreover, in the end it is Sohrab (Hassan again) who saves him.)

  I finished the novel resenting Amir, and even more intensely resenting the author for trying to make the reader think she's supposed to care about Amir, more than about anyone else in the story.

  A couple other points: I'm wondering if one theme of the novel is that there are no definitive happy endings, no single immutable moments of epiphany or redemption. Because Amir's moral "triumph", such as it is, over Assef, is so short-lived. He manages to crash horrifically only a week or two later, when he goes back on his word to Sohrab about his promise not to send him to an orphanage.

  And lastly, I don't understand why Baba's hypocrisy is not more of a theme. He makes such a point of drilling into his son's head that a lie is a theft of one's right to the truth. His own hipocrisy there is a profound thing, and it's a shame the author doesn't do more with it.

  Nevertheless, after all the bad things I had to say about it, I do have a couple quotes worth keeping:

  "Every woman needed a husband. Even if he did silence the song in her." (p.178)

  "'That's the real Afghanistan, Agha sahib. That's the Afghanistan I know. You? You've

  been a tourist here, you just didn't know it.'" (p. 232)

  === UPDATE ===

  The Kite Runner

  The Kite Runner.

  There have been many comments to my review since I first wrote it, and I thought it might be about time for me to weigh in for a moment.

  Before I get into my response, I must start off with a great thank you for all those who have felt sufficiently moved (positively or negatively) by my review to comment and respond. I appreciate all the comments, whether I agree with them or not.

  First of all, I'd like to address the question of whether we're "supposed" to like Amir or not. Yes, I do realize that sometimes writers create and/or focus on a character that the reader is not meant to like. Here, though, the story is clearly meant to be about some kind of redemption -- but I found Amir so distasteful, that I simply wasn't interested in his redemption. The focus of the story was entirely on how Amir's life had been corrupted by the despicable things he'd done - when the things he'd done were entirely part and parcel of the position of power and privilege he occupied over Hassan.

  Which brings me to my second point, the insufferable current of paternalism that runs throughout the story. The members of the servant and poorer classes are consistently portrayed as saintly, absurdly self-sacrificing, one-dimensional characters. Regardless of what terrible things befall them, they are shown to have nothing but their masters' interests at heart. Granted, it may be unlikely that the powerless would be overtly talking back and setting their masters straight; however, the novel gives no indication that they even have any private wishes of recrimination, or much of a private life, for that matter. Given this portrayal, it is even more difficult for me to muster any interest in Amir's suffering. But to suggest that perhaps we're misinterpreting the servants' subservient attitudes because we approach the story from a different time, place, or culture, is simply to engage in a cultural relativism borne out of -- and perpetuating -- the very same paternalism.

  To clarify my point, let's look at some comparable examples from US culture. Consider any one of a huge number of films such as

  ,

  ,

  , or

  (all simply continuing a tradition that reaches back to Shirley Temple's days) in which noble servants or similar helpers have absolutely no concern in their lives other than making sure the wealthy people they are serving have happy, fulfilled lives -- while they themselves never seem to have any of their own personal hopes, desires, triumphs, tragedies, or even any hint of a home, family, personal, or romantic life at all. Their total happiness is bound up entirely with serving the lives of their rich counterparts. It is this quality, present throughout Hosseini's book, that bothers me most.

  In the end, however, a beautifully written story could have overcome these criticisms -- or at the very least, I would have been able to temper or counter my points above with lavish praise for the writing. However, here, again, the novel falls flat. It is not particularly well-written. As some other commenters have also pointed out, the storytelling is quite heavy-handed, and the narrative suffers from implausible plot twists and uncanny coincidences, and a writing style that relies far too heavily on cliches and obvious literary devices.

  I wish that I could say I liked the book more. To answer [another commenter's] question, I haven't read

  ; I'm afraid I wasn't particularly motivated to do so after my reaction to this one. However, I do believe, as that commenter also suggests, that there is something to be gained from the debate and discussion that the book has inspired.