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Not worthy of his sacrifice:
An overview of The Kite Runner
  By Arley Loewen
June 2004


US cover of The Kite Runner


The Kite Runner is an Afghan novel that is one of its kind. Like no other, it reads like a confessional, yet laced with thrills and emotion. Or is it an Afghan novel? Many would say that since, it is written in English, and by an Afghan who has spent over 20 years in the United States, it cannot be Afghan. The author is too vulnerable and self-reflective. And, moreover, he is living in America, so what can he write about Afghanistan?

The novel has received great reviews by literary editors around the world. One Afghan says, "As I read it, I thought I was reliving my childhood." This novel is clearly about Afghanistan and the story of an Afghan who finds his way out of a personal, guilty past, or as the author says, "my past of un-atoned sins".

It should be welcomed by the Afghan people and definitely deserves to be translated into Dari and Pashto. Whether or not the novel is based on true experience - the annual kite-flying contest, on which the entire story is built, is fictional - it is a self-analyzing confession of personal failure. Written in the first person, makes it all the more reflective. At the same time, it is exciting reading, and filled with emotions.

In some ways, The Kite Runner is a reversal of Akram Osman's short story, "The Hero and the Coward", a standard story where the main character is presented as a hero - as the title itself reflects. In The Kite Runner, Amir, the main character, tells his own story, a story of how he has been a coward all his life. Ironically, he comes from the dominating heroic tribe, but he gradually begins to realize the weaknesses and flaws in himself. In contrast, the hair-lipped, Hazara servant-friend turns out to be not only a courageous hero, but also a true 'jawanmard' who dispenses kindness even to those who are not worthy of it.

CHILDHOOD IN KABUL

The first section of the novel reflects Amir's childhood in Kabul during the 1960's and 70's. Although his relationship with Hassan is far from noble, yet the two spend many wonderful days together. Amir's greatest pain is trying to find approval from his wealthy, patronizing father. These two motifs - his friendship with Hassan and his detached relationship with his father - come to a climax at the annual kite-flying contest in Kabul. This would be his day of salvation, when he could prove to his father that he is worthy of recognition. But it would also be the day when his friendship with Hassan changes forever.

Almost unexpectedly, Amir emerges as the champion in the kite-flying contest, but the victory is bittersweet. He has to produce the fallen kite. If not, his father will not acknowledge him as the champion. Hassan, an expert kite runner, knows how important the kite is and so heedlessly pursues it. He finds it in a lonely alley, but here the villain, Aseef - who is a caricature of crass evil - catches up with Hassan. Aseef hates Hassan because of his background. Also, earlier Hassan had threatened Aseef with his slingshot when Aseef was about to beat up Amir. But rather than running for his life, Hassan clings to the kite for Amir's sake. When Amir finds Hassan being helplessly abused by Aseef, he remains in hiding less Aseef notices him. He must produce that kite for his father. And here is the terrible irony. As Hassan is sacrificing himself for Amir, Amir secretly betrays his friendship with Hassan simply by ignoring him. It pains him as he does so, and he recalls the helpless lambs on Eid-i Qurban, who have to die "for a higher purpose" (67). Now, he too "hands Hassan over to the slaughter", so that he can emerge as a hero in his father's eyes. He rationalizes, "Maybe Hassan was the price I had to pay, the lamb I had to slay, to win Baba" (68).

But Amir knows he is no champion. He is fully aware of his shameful betrayal but he cannot confess it. He denies it, and he suddenly realizes he will get away with it. "'I watched Hassan get raped,' I said to no one. A part of me was hoping that 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" (75). To his horror, he realizes he can sin with impunity, and this is the damning truth that will haunt him for the rest of his life - the curse of un-forgiven sin.

Amir knows he needs to cover his guilt and shame. He cannot expose it, and it will totally deface and shame him. Yet, Hassan's presence is a constant reminder of his deed. Hassan is always there, before his eyes, reminding him of his shame, screaming at his conscience. Amir longs for forgiveness, but he doesn't know how he can be forgiven. He wants Hassan to punish him, thinking that through some kind of penitence he can earn forgiveness. He yells at Hassan to hit him. He throws a blood-red pomegranate at Hassan and then what reads almost like a crucifixion story, Amir begins to torture his best friend, wishing that Hassan would punish him.

"I hit him with another pomegranate … the juice splattered in his face. 'Hit me back!' I spat. 'Hit me back!' …I wish he would. I wished he'd give me the punishment I craved, so maybe I'd finally sleep at night. … But Hassan did nothing as I pelted him again and again. 'You're a coward!' I said. 'Nothing but a … coward!'"

I don't know how many times I hit him. All I know is that, when I finally stopped, exhausted and panting, Hassan was smeared in red like he'd been shot by a firing squad. I fell to my knees, tired, spent, frustrated.

Then Hassan did pick up a pomegranate. He walked toward me. He opened it and crushed it against his own forehead. 'There,' he croaked, red dripping down his face like blood. 'Are you satisfied? Do you feel better?"' (80-81).

Hassan's face drips as if it were bleeding. He stands, with enduring pain for Amir's sake, absorbing Amir's shame in order to absolve his self-condemning evil. Yet, Amir still cannot confess or reveal anything. He knows what he must do. In order to make up for his shame and to suffer less, "one of us had to go." (89). He will impute his evil on the very one who has sacrificed so much for him.

And so he commits one more act of treason, which he "hoped would be the last in a long line of shameful lies" (91). Amir senses that his father all along likes Hassan and treats him favorably, so he plants evidence in Hassan's bed to prove that he is a thief. In this way Amir forces his father to dismiss Hassan and his father, Ali. What makes this scene so emotional is that Hassan actually admits he is the thief so Amir will not be incriminated.

"This was Hassan's final sacrifice for me. If he'd said no, Baba would have believed him because we all knew Hassan never lied. And if Baba believed him, then I'd be the accused; I would have to explain and I would be revealed for what I really was. Baba would never, ever forgive me. And that led to another understanding: Hassan knew. He knew I'd seen everything in that alley, that I'd stood there and done nothing. He knew I had betrayed him and yet he was rescuing me once again, maybe for the last time. I loved him in that moment, loved him more than I'd ever loved anyone, and I wanted to tell them all that I was the snake in the grass, the monster in the lake. I wasn't worthy of this sacrifice; I was a liar, a cheat, and a thief. And I would have told, except that a part of me was glad. Glad that this would all be over soon …" (91-92)

The author shows how sinister evil is, that in his worst act of betrayal and in Hassan's greatest hour of sacrifice, he experiences a sense of delight that he will go scot-free.

In a culture of shame and betrayal, Hassan becomes a metaphor of sacrificial grace. Throughout the novel, Hassan extends grace to all, including his wayward mother. Is Hassan too much a caricature of goodness, too perfect? Later in the novel, Sohrab, Hassan's son describes his father's good heart, "Father used to say it's wrong to hurt even bad people. Because they don't know any better, and because bad people sometimes become good." (277). It is this service of grace, and not revenge, which will eventually redeem Amir.

LIFE IN AMERICA

After Hassan leaves Amir's home, the story briefly touches on the Soviet invasion, whereupon Amir and his wealthy father escape to Pakistan and then to America. Here, in America, Amir begins a new life and a place where he could finally bury his shameful memories. "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." (119).

He meets Soraya at the Afghan flea market in Fremont, California, where Amir's father and Soraya's parents run small shops. With his father's blessing, Amir proposes to Soraya, but before she agrees to marry him, she confesses her own sinful past to him. She will not hide this from Amir and he sees how her confession has freed her, "I envied her. Her secret was out. Spoken. Dealt with. I opened my mouth and almost told her how I'd betrayed Hassan, lied, driven him out, and destroyed a 40-year relationship between Baba and Ali. But I didn't." (144)

Amir accepts Soraya as she is because he knows he too has committed shameful deeds. He thinks perhaps he can somehow accept himself with all his own faults. Like her, he too must live with regret. Yet, Amir continues to torture himself.

RETURN TO AFGHANISTAN

After years in America, where Amir begins a successful writing career, his father's bosom friend, Rahim, urges him to return to Pakistan to see him one more time. Upon return the two visit and exchange stories of their past separate 20 years. When Rahim mentions the name, Hassan, it is as if Amir is again confronted with the "Other". He has buried his shameful past, but with the sound of that name, it is as if he is face to face with reality. Hassan, the sacrificial lamb, stands before him again. "Those thorny old barbs of guilt bore into me once more, as if speaking his name had broken a spell, set them free to torment me anew." (176)

In his conversation with Rahim Khan he discovers another painful truth; the Taliban have killed Hassan and his young wife, leaving their son, Sohrab an orphan. He wonders if he has not been responsible for Hassan's sad demise. Amir sees that that there is one final way to redeem himself. He must rescue Hassan's son.

The story of Sohrab's rescue from the hands of a cruel Taliban soldier is overly sensational and unrealistic, but that is the way of a novel. Amir is again confronted with a caricature of evil. To his horror, this evil man is his childhood enemy, Aseef! A bloody and gory fight between Aseef and Amir ensures, and were it not for Sohrab's excellent slingshot, Amir's would have lost his life. He is badly hurt, left with a scar on his upper lip, which ironically, characterized Hassan when he was a little boy. Deep in his heart, Amir knows he deserved this bashing. He is finally being justly punished for his sins.

"I was that monster!" - AMIR'S SELF-REVELATION

What makes the novel so unique is Amir ruthless self-revelation. Instead of the perpetual self-justification of greatness and the constant blaming of others for their evils, standard fare in Persian classics, here the main character draws away the veil of his soul. He sees himself and is shocked!

In their innocent childhood days, Hassan dreamt that the two of them were swimming in Qargha Lake north of Kabul. The crowds are screaming at them because a monster is after them. In the dream, there is no monster, only water. Now Amir, in an hour of self-reflection, realizes, "There was a monster in the lake. It had grabbed Hassan by the ankles, dragged him to the murky bottom. I was that monster." (75)

Amir sees that life is much easier if one does not have to face reality and be reminded of one's cycle of lies, betrayals and secrets. He wishes Rahim Khan had "let me live on in my oblivion" (198). The author understands the bliss to live on in forgetfulness and to keep the past covered, but it is superficial and damning, merely a life of role-playing.

A further shocking hour of self-revelation comes in another dream where he watches an execution, "He is tall, dressed in a herringbone vest and a black turban. He looked down at the blindfolded man … He takes a step back and raises the barrel. … The rifle roars with a deafening crack. I follow the barrel on its upward arc. I see the face behind the plume of smoke swirling in the muzzle. I am the man in the herringbone vest I woke up with a scream trapped in my throat." (210). Amir wakes up to the horrifying truth that "the beast is inside all of us".

NEVER AN ENCOURAGING WORD - AMIR AND HIS FATHER

Another motif in the story is Amir's distant relationship with his father, Baba. Baba is portrayed as a great patron who rules the world the way he wants it to be. Described as "a most self-centered man", everything in the world is black or white, no gray areas. Amir knows that he never dare challenge his father because his father is always right. And so he is forced to love him, yet he fears and even loathes him. He says, "Baba and I lived in the same house, but in different spheres of existence." Kites were only thing that would bring their lives together (43).

Amir longs for approval from his father, and always feels that father never has accepted him, "I always felt Baba hated me a little" (17). It is very much a psychological theme, as the young son struggles just to hear the word "bravo" from his father, the word that would give him a sense of significance. But that word never comes. As a child he wrote a short story, which he showed it to his father for approval. His father look of boredom filled Amir with contempt. That evening Rahim Khan read the story and "added a single word that did more to encourage me to pursue writing than any compliment any editor had ever paid me. That word was bravo (afarin)." (28)

Baba sees himself as a winner. He wins at everything he sets his mind to, and so he expects his son to be winner too. This is not a wish, but an order. Amir has no other option but to win. "I was going to win, and was going to run that last kite. Then I'd bring it home and show it to Baba. Show him once and for all that his son was worthy" (49).

When the day of the kite tournament arrives, Amir knows that if he looses, it will mean utter defeat for him before Baba. Here is Amir's debut, his public arena where he can prove himself. Finally, he can be noticed, looked at, listened to and loved. The author has portrayed the unspoken desires of every man and woman in a common kite-flying event. Yet, sadly, when Amir wins the championship, he still has not achieved what he longs for. Both Baba and Amir deceive themselves in the illusion that they are now intimate with each other. What an illusion, Amir realizes, that kite championship would win Baba's favor.

The two sub-motifs come together when Amir learns of his own father's pathetic past, which is introduced rather awkwardly. Amir finds out that Hassan is actually his father's son, and so, his half-brother. This explains why Baba always treated Hassan so kindly. Amir is outraged that his honorable father had lived a lie before him all his life and kept it completely hidden. Then, however, it dawns on him, as the saying goes, 'like father, like son'. "We had both betrayed the people who were truest to them" (197). And he understands that he has come back to Afghanistan not only to atone for his sins, but for his father's as well.

Amir sees why his father had filled his life with deeds of kindness - as a way of redemption. Rahim Khan says, "I think everything he did, feeding the poor on the streets, building the orphanage, giving money to friends in need, it was all his way of redeeming himself. And that, I believe, is what true redemption is, Amir Jan, when guilt leads to good" (263).

Amir realizes that he and his father had "both sinned and betrayed. But Baba had found a way to create good out of his remorse. What had I done, other than take my guilt out on the very same people I had betrayed, and then try to forget it all. … What had I ever done to right things?" (264). And now he had returned to Afghanistan to end the cycle of lies and betrayal by doing good.

MANY OTHER THEMES

The novel is laced with many other sub-themes that could become studies in themselves. The novel is not a satire of Afghan culture; however, the author challenges many cultural taboos. Amir learns the freedom of honesty, openness and being vulnerable, which may be shocking to many. He admits his own weaknesses, writes about his wife shameful past, yet he never indulges in the sensual.

The greatest shock comes when the general, Amir's father-in-law, wants to know about Sohrab's whereabouts. Amir is fed up with pretension and fabricating stories in order to cover up someone's so-called honor. And so, he simply states the facts, "You see, General Sahib, my father slept with his servant's wife. She bore him a son named Hassan. Hassan is dead now. The boy sleeping on the couch is Hassan's son. He's my nephew. That's what you tell people when they ask." (315).

The author pokes fun at his culture without being overly sarcastic. He alludes to the habit of exaggeration. "lauf - that Afghan tendency to exaggerate-sadly, almost a national affliction; if someone bragged that his son was a doctor, chances were the kid had once passed a biology test in high school (11)."

He hints at the cultural phenomenon of despondency and self-pity, especially in light of the last 25 years of disaster and suffering, "we're a melancholic people, we Afghans, aren't we? Often we wallow too much in ghamkori and self-pity. We give in to loss, to suffering accepting it as a fact of life, even see it as necessary. Zindagi migzara, we say, life goes on" (176).

In contrast to the daring openness in this novel, the author satirizes the pretension of his culture, which is best portrayed by the general who is now working in the flea market in Fremont. He is the prototype of superficial arrogance. He will not stoop down to do any kind of labor because it is below his dignity. His habits and behavior are crafted into an art form, in order to make a good impression on people. The general "laughed like a man used to attending formal parties where he'd laugh on cue at the minor jokes of important people" (121). The general's deportment and speech are manufactured, which, as Amir says, "sounded to me the way his suit looked: often used and unnaturally shiny" (123).

The author criticizes himself when he disapproves of the arrogant, westernized Afghans who never were really part of Afghanistan and are only returning now to make dollars. The taxi driver who takes Amir to Kabul accuses him of being a tourist in Afghanistan because he and his family lived aloof from the real Afghanistan.

The author exposes the double standard where young men are free to sleep around, but girls carry the burden of honor for the family. Soraya has experienced this first hand, "Their sons go out to nightclubs looking for meat and get their girlfriends pregnant, they have kids out of wedlock and no one says a …thing. Oh, they're just men having fun! I make one mistake and suddenly everyone is talking about nang and namoos, and I have to have my face rubbed in it for the rest of my life."

CONCLUSION

If the author has one clarion message it is this: You overcome evil by doing good. One could easily slip into the simplistic conclusion that atonement comes through performing a list of good works. In other words, one can cover up evil, or make up for it by good deeds. Indeed, without the presence of the sacrificing figure of grace, Hassan, it would make light of the cost of making up for evil.

The reader who is looking for political symbolism in the novel will be disappointed. In my view, this is not a political novel. Nor is it the regular dribble of someone struggling for identity, nor the typical, rather predictable story of heroes fighting outside evil forces who have destroyed the country. Yet, it would be unrealistic if the author had not placed his story in the context of the last 25 years of war and civil strife. A statement like "my countrymen were destroying their own land" (280) is true and fits the novel, but it is not belabored.

Having said it is not a political statement, we can, however, interpret the novel as a clear social statement. It is not only a confessional of one person, but it reads as a didactic call to society to become honestly aware of their past and see how they can atone for their sins. It is, indeed, a very moralistic and intentionally pedagogical novel. The reader is called to seek redemption from whatever his past may have been and experience grace, which can lead him to overcome his own evil by being spurred to true goodness.

References


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About the author
Arley Loewen
Related links
» Dialogue with Khaled Hosseini
(June 2004)
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