"That was a long time ago, but it's wrong what they say about the past, I've learned, about how you can bury it. Because the past claws its way out."
This devastating novel is as difficult to come to terms with as any book I've encountered.
Khaled Hosseini's work is a series of gut-wrenching blows, an unflinching look at war-torn Afghanistan, the struggles inherent in the caste system and religious schisms, and the yin-yang of guilt and redemption.
The lead character, Amir, is unlikeable outside of the context of his upbringing, with his life becoming a decades-long pursuit of worthiness and identity. The ramp up to the incident with his friend Hassan was like a slow-motion train wreck, lending a lot of intensity to the early part of the book.
"I opened my mouth, almost said something. Almost. The rest of my life might have turned out differently if I had. But I didn't. I just watched. Paralyzed."
"A part of me was hoping someone would wake up and hear, so I wouldn't have to live with this lie anymore. But no one woke up and in the silence that followed, I understood the nature of my new curse: I was going to get away with it."
The usage of a glossary was nearly essential to understand some of the terms, and the novel suffers when characters are rendered one-dimensionally and skips in chronology abbreviate important moments. However, the power of the story itself easily steamrolls these moments, keeping the reader awash in layers of emotion.
"The Kite Runner" is a stunning read -- not for the faint of heart, but essential for those with a healthy respect for revelatory literature.
"There are a lot of children in Afghanistan, but little childhood."
"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."
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