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The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini

The Kite Runner is set initially in Afghanistan, and it’s a tale of father and son and of betrayal and forgiveness. Amir, the protagonist and narrator, is the son of a wealthy Afghan businessman, while his best friend, Hassan, is a Hazara and a servant. I learned from reading the book that the Hazaras are an ethnic group within Afghanistan and that they are looked down upon because they are Shi’ite Muslims rather than Sunni and because of their ethnicity and poverty. Because Amir and his father do not understand one another and because family secrets poison the atmosphere in their home, Amir escapes into a world of books. He also spends a lot of time playing with his servant/friend Hassan, and it is Hassan who defends Amir when the two encounter bullies or other difficulties. Amir, writing this story from the vantage point of adulthood, is ashamed of the way he used and depended upon Hassan, and he is especially ashamed of one incident that happened when Amir was twelve years old and that, he says, changed his life forever.

“I became what I am today at the age of twelve, on a frigid overcast day in the winter of 1975.” So Amir begins his story. The rest of the novel is a sort of quest for atonement and forgiveness. Even though others forgive Amir for his weakness and cowardice as a twelve year old boy, Amir canot forgive himself until he is called upon to do something dangerous to atone for his sin. Even when he gets himself almost killed in a Taliban-ruled Afghanistan, Amir cannot remove all the consequences of his misdeeds. He can only live with what he has done and try to see glimpses of hope.

This novel is Dr. Khaled Hosseini’s first, and it was number seven at Amazon when I checked tonight. Pretty good for a first time novelist. His description of growing up in Afghanistan before the Soviet invasion and before the Taliban features boys running the streets freely, hurling pebbles at passing goats, and kite-fighting. Kite-fighting was a popular sport in prewar Afghanistan, and Amir and Hassan work together to become the best kite flyers in the city. Hassan has a further talent: he is the best kite runner, hence the title of the novel. A kite runner retrieves the fallen kite of an opponent, and his reward is to hang the kite, or perhaps many kites, on a wall as a trophy, a reminder of his triumph. Hassan runs the kites–and gives them to Amir, and then he is called upon to give much more than just kites. Later, Amir must repay Hassan’s courage and selflessness with matching courage.

Another significant role reversal takes place in the novel, too. In Afghanistan, Amir’s father, Baba, is a strong man, respected, even beloved. Amir feels he can never live up to his father’s reputation nor his expectations. When the two men immigrate to the United States, Amir slowly becomes the strong one. He says of his father that he liked the idea of living in America, but actually living there gave him an ulcer. Amir seems not to realize that his strong, self-sufficient father is now dependent on him. Such changes do happen so slowly that we are surprised by them. Hosseini does a good job of showing this transition from boy to man as it occurs—in fits and starts, almost imperceptibly.

Excellent novel, highly recommended. This one and Acts of Faith are both on my A list for this year. I’ve been blessed to read several good recently published fiction books lately. Are the selections from the publishers improving? This book would make a great movie, but it may be too politically incorrect for Hollywood. The Muslims in the book are a mixed lot, some good, some bad, and the Taliban-types are totally evil.

Acts of Faith, Part 2

I wrote something about my initial impressions of this book a few days ago, and lo, and behold, the WORLD magazine that came in the mail today has an interview with Philip Caputo, the author. To continue my thoughts on the book, as I promised, here’s another quote:

The successful capitalist is successful because he has no love in his heart, Fitzhugh, thought, returning to his hut from a volleyball game. He has only the love of success. He devotes himself to work work work instead of to a woman loved with all his soul. He attempts to fill the hollow in his heart with the accumulation of wealth and what it buys, whether things or power or both; but wealth, things, and power fill it only for the moment, as water does the belly of a hungry man. The heart is empty once again, and its cravings drive him to acquire more; yet he is never gratified.

Sounds very Biblical, doesn’t it? Fitzhugh is the flawed hero of the book, and he does see the emptiness of unprincipled blind belief in a Cause and hypocrisy in the name of humanitarianism. However, his salvation is, of course, found in the love of a good woman and in the creation of a family. In the WORLD interview, Caputo says that “the theme in Acts of Faith is how faith, whether it is religious or a belief in some secular ideology or cause, can curdle into fanaticism.” This being the chosen theme, all the believers in the book do “curdle”, turn into the antithesis of believers in goodness and righteousness. And there but for the grace of God go I. What the book doesn’t show is any real hope for redemption and forgiveness.

But what we become, Fitzhugh thinks, is what we have been all along. To outward appearances, each of us is a half truth. The self we present to the world conceals a clandestine self that awaits its time to come out. Africa had not changed Quinette. It had merely provided the right circumstances and the right climate for her pretty chrysalis to pop open and reveal the creature within. To see the whole truth of oneself is also a redemption of sorts. . . . Again, he knew only what he wanted to believe, and he wanted to believe redemption was possible.

Acts of Faith reveals human sinfulness in a particularly intriguing and relevant story. However, seeing one’s own depravity is only the beginning of salvation, and by itself that kind of self-revelation can lead to despair instead of redemption.

Let us hear the conclusion of the whole matter: Fear God and keep His commandments, for this is man’s all. For God will bring every work into judgement, including every secret thing, whether good or evil. Ecclesiastes 12:13-14

Two Books

I stayed up late last night reading Cut and Run by Ridley Pearson, the same author who collaborated with Dave Barry to write Peter and the Starcatchers, a prequel to Peter Pan by J.M. Barrie. I don’t recommend Cut and Run; it’s an absorbing thriller about a heroine in the witness protection program running from a Mafia family hit man. However, it’s predictably bloody, and the descriptions of violent perversion are unnecessary and unpalatable. Why do modern-day writers feel that they must describe everything in such nasty, graphic detail?

The other book I finished yesterday erred, if it did err, in the other direction. Testimonies was Patrick O’Brian’s first novel, published in 1952. O’Brian is the author of the series of Aubrey-Maturin seafaring novels. Testimonies takes places on land, in Wales, and although the plot turns on a particular instance of sexual perversion committted by a man against his wife, the description is suitably vague. The wife testifies in such a way as to confuse the most careful reader, and the novel’s ending and the purpose and setting of the testimonies that make up the bulk of the novel are all rather confusing, too. The story begins:

“Mr. Pugh, I came to ask you some questions about your life in Cwm Bugail and about Mrs. Vaughan of Gelli, Bronwen Vaughan. But now I think it would be better if you were to let me have a written account.”

It’s not ever clear to me who is doing the questioning nor what the purpose of the written testimony is. Later on Bronwen tells her part of the story:

“Bronwen folded her hands and prepared to answer the questions. Her heart was beating high, quick strokes, but her hands lay calm and folded.”

Again I never did figure out who was doing the asking nor why whoever it was felt a need to ask for testimony. Nevertheless, when it comes to telling how the characters felt about one another and how their relationships changed and fell into tragedy, the author describes these aspects of the story in exquisite detail. The story tells of each nuance of emotion, decision, and indecision using subtle and beautiful language. Unfortunately, subtlety was the novel’s strength and its weakness. The ending eluded my understanding, and I don’t think an explanation from another reader would be very satisfying. Maybe I’ll be satisfied to wonder what really happened. If you can live with ambiguity, you may enjoy this rather mysterious tragedy.

Nectar in a Sieve by Kamala Markandaya

Work without hope draws nectar in a sieve,
And hope without an object cannot live.
–Coleridge

I read this book last week and thought it gave a beautiful, but very sad, picture of life in India for many people. It’s the story of a poor family, a fourth daughter who, because she has no dowry, cannot marry well but must settle for marriage to a landless tenant farmer who brings her home to a mud hut he built himself. Fortunately for the girl, Rukmani, her husband Nathan is “poor in everything but in love and care for me, his wife, whom he took at the age of twelve.”
Rukmani narrates the story in first person, telling of the birth of her daughter, the long wait during which the couple think they will have no more children, and then the birth of her five sons. The village where the family lives is on the edge of poverty and starvation; a bad year with too much rain or too little rain will push Rukmani’s family over the edge. Change and new economic oportunities come to the village; however, these new ideas and possibilities are full of danger too, for peasants who have nothing in reserve and are unable or unwilling to move with the times.
I wrote about a month ago about some of my favorite fantasy worlds. These fantasy worlds were first encountered on the pages of books. Then, there are historical and sociological worlds that I visit mostly in books, too. Finally, there is the actual world. I’ve never been to India or China or South America, but I have a picture of what life in those lands is (or was) like–again, from books. I think that Nectar in a Sieve, first published in 1954, will become a large part of my picture of India, along with missionary stories, the young man I met a few years ago at Baptist World Alliance Youth Conference, and other sources, such as the women I see at the grocery store here in Clear Lake dressed in saris.
Warning: The book has a bittersweet ending, but it’s realistic without being hopeless and depressing. Excellent.
These are some of my favorite books that have given me a picture of the world. Most of them are fiction.
Around the world in books:
South Africa: Cry, the Beloved Country and Too Late the Phalarope both by Alan Paton
India: Homeless Bird by Gloria Whelan
China: Imperial Woman by Pearl S.Buck, The Importance of Living by Lin Yutang
Antarctica: Troubling a Star by Madeleine L’Engle
The Netherlands: The Hiding Place by Corrie Ten Boom
England (Yorkshire): All Creatures Great and Small by James Herriot
Lebanon: Alice by ? Doerr
Russia: The Endless Steppe by Esther Hautzig (And, of course, Tolstoy and Dostoyevski, although they’re more historical)
Israel: Exodus by Leon Uris
Hawaii: Hawaii by James Michener

For some of these places, all my ideas about the culture come from the book I listed. For others, I am certainly indebted to the book for most of my information. Can you suggest any books that capture the culture and living conditions of a country in either fiction or biography? I do prefer and learn more from stories.

Hemingway, Product of a Christian Home???

Did you know this?

Ernest Hemingway was born on 21st July 1899 in Oak Park, a suburb of Chicago, Illinois. He was one of six children. His father, Dr Clarence Edmonds Hemingway was a fervent member of the First Congregational church, his mother, Grace Hall, sang in the church choir.

Or this?
In 1928 Hemingway received word of his father’s death by suicide. Clarence Hemingway had begun to suffer from a number of physical ailments that would exacerbate an already fragile mental state. He had developed diabetes, endured painful angina and extreme headaches. On top of these physical problems he also suffered from a dismal financial situation after speculative real estate purchases in Florida never panned out. His problems seemingly insurmountable, Clarence Hemingway shot himself in the head.

Or this?
In the fall of 1960 Hemingway flew to Rochester, Minnesota and was admitted to the Mayo Clinic, ostensibly for treatment of high blood pressure but really for help with the severe depression his wife Mary could no longer handle alone. On the morning of July 2, 1961 Hemingway rose early, as he had his entire adult life, selected a shotgun from a closet in the basement, went upstairs to a spot near the entrance-way of the house and shot himself in the head. It was little more than two weeks until his 62nd birthday.

I always liked Hemingway better than I liked the other guy that I associate with mid-1900’s American literature, Steinbeck. At least Hemingway’s plots are sort of interesting; Steinbeck is just depressing. Everybody drinks a lot in Hemingway’s novels, and for a young Southern Baptist that was also somewhat interesting. I remember wondering if anybody really did drink that much alcohol. I have since learned that, yes, some people do.
Information is from The Hemingway Resource Center.

Age of Innocence

We watched Age of Innocence tonight, and I realized that one theme of the book and the movie is the same as this post I wrote a few days ago. Isn’t there something to be said for living in a society guarded by rules and conventions? How many people might be saved from a life of regret and misery if, at the moment when they were about to make a really stupid decision. they were reminded that society or their family or someone would not approve? Now there are no rules. Society accepts any and everything. Does this “freedom” make it possible for people to live happier, more abundant lives? I think not. We need boundaries. Biblical boundaries are best; however, if we are determined to discard those, then some sort of societal norms are better than nothing. I agree that the rules that a given society imposes may be stifling, but life without any rules and expectations is likely to hurt the weakest and those least able to protect themselves. In Age of Innocence, the characters all seem to give up passion for the sake of safety. I would argue that within the boundaries of Biblical law it is possible to live a romantic and passionate life. It truly is possible “to delight in the law of the Lord.” In fact, discarding that law brings despair, not delight.

Edith Wharton and House of Mirth

I finished reading The House of Mirth by Edith Wharton. I’m still trying to figure out what the title means. If you know, don’t tell me. I’d like to figure it out myself.

I found this information about Edith Wharton:
She did not go to school, but educated herself by reading in her father’s “gentleman’s library,” and was given lessons by a governess
Another homeschooled genius.

I liked the book very much although it was sad. I was reminded of a professor I had in college who said something to the effect that every time he read Romeo and Juliet he hoped against hope that somehow the story would turn out differently, that Romeo would arrive at the right time or that Juliet would wake up just a little sooner. In The House of Mirth, the main character, Lily Bart, is always just a little too late or a little too trusting or a little too scrupulous or a little too unsure of herself. She’s trapped in a society that pushes her toward a materialistic and loveless marriage of convenience, and she tries to fight against the pressure. However, she never fights hard enough or soon enough, and of course, it’s obvious from the beginning that the novel must end in tragedy. Romeo and Juliet, Lily and Selden, neither couple can live happily ever after. At least, Juliet knows she wants Romeo. They’re just “star-crossed lovers.” Lily Bart knows how to get what she wants; unfortunately, she never does figure out exactly what it is she wants. May we, unlike Lily, figure out what is really important in life before it’s too late.

The Sand-Reckoner by Gillian Bradshaw

It’s not The Wind in the Willows, but I just finished this book about Archimedes. It’s fiction, about Archimedes’ young adulthood. In the book he builds catapults, does geometry, and courts a princess. I liked the depiction of a genius trying to fit into society and remain true to the gifts God had given him.
Bradshaw has written some other historical fiction about ancient Rome that I’ll have to look into.

The King’s Cavalier by Samuel Shellabarger

I finished reading The King’s Cavalier by Samuel Shellabarger, and I must say I enjoyed it immensely. I then proceeded to look up some information about the author on the web and found out that he was a professor at Princeton and then the headmaster of a private girl’s school. He said that the girls’ school provided more scope for the imagination than teaching at Princeton. He wrote four historical novels: Prince of Foxes (the one I read long ago and loved), The King’s Cavalier (set in Rennaissance France), Captains from Castile ( with Cortez in Mexico) and Lord Vanity. His books were very popular when they were first published in the 1940’s, and Captains from Castile was made into a movie. He might have written more if he had not died of a heart attack in March 1954.