The Kite Runner carries one hell of a story that speaks volumes of remorse, deeply rooted in sands of time. It rips you apart beyond reparation. You can’t empathize enough with the memories of a little boy scarred for life.
The book is more of a sojourn that struggles to right the wrongs, a remission that tries to make amends with all the wrongdoings the protagonist does as a child.
It is interlaced with a lot of sadistic pleasure in the beginning that shows how wrong the protagonist was as a child, how he mistreated his best friend and how things end up getting out of hand.
There are a lot of junctures wherein he makes you want to smack the little brute he was, for doing despicable things. He portrays himself as an immoral critter even though innocence is supposed to hide his misdeeds.
But then the later half tries to comb itself out on its own. It deals with self-acceptance, of him trying to walk that deadly serpentine path one would dread to walk on. The protagonist wasn’t a good man but he ventures out to become one. The things he has to deal with are like righteous mini-missions that make a man out of him.
The way Khaled Hosseini describes streets of Kabul carries a vivid description of little things. What amazes me is how observant he is of his surroundings, just like a true introvert would be. Slapping it all in a book descriptively in a way that veers you right at the center of it – it is a skill that Khaled aces.
The Kite Runner is an imprint of a memory of Khaled, about his leaving home. Most of it commandeered from his own friends and family that had to live through the Soviet-Afghan war. It is a reflection of his very own empathy where he tries to put Ali, the main character of The Kite Runner, through the pits of war.
It draws out beautifully on the whole father-son relationship, wildly reflective of how Khaled’s very own father was like. A little boy trying to chase his father’s love.
The backdrop constitutes of another memory of kite flying and running that Khaled tacks beautifully making it a competition that his portraits perfected. For those who are into kite flying could instantly relate with everything that his diary sketches.
It is a book that invokes empathy. Forces you to walk into the shoes of the protagonist. See the injustice first hand, and be a silent witness to the inequity. It torments your soul just as much as it torments the protagonist.
Towards the latter end of the book, however, you find the story steer toward some implausible zones, where you realize the book is trying to pull off a film. The protagonist has to deal with a villain as a part of his absolution.
It becomes a tad predictable too for some parts, but the energy and the fluidity in which the writer keeps painting the whole picture remains the same throughout.
When you are not finding a story, you are observing the surroundings and being able to rope in a reader by just that is, I believe, an acumen per se.
An absolute must-read!