Last
week, I turned thirty-six. The last year or so - perhaps the last two
years - have been filled with events that have given me plenty of food
for thought.
First
of all, I have had three friends, including one near my age, fight
cancer. The husband of another friend has terminal brain cancer, and
will eventually leave behind teenage children. A longtime friend at
church passed on to glory last year in her nineties, while the wife of
another friend died unexpectedly at a relatively young age. Several
colleagues are with us no more, and and already this month, we lost two
more volunteers in senior care that I knew and respected. As I get
older, my parents’ generation has started to have health issues, and
even those of my own age have had increasing signs that we aren’t what
we used to be. I am feeling my own mortality a bit right now. None
of us really know how much time we have left, but that fact is less
apparent when one is a twenty-something. "For all the flesh is as the grass."
I have found myself
re-evaluating a few theological issues as a result. It is easy to be
sure what you believe as a young person with little life experience -
and I probably have been cocky and self assured. Life and death
experiences make much of that seem trivial and counterproductive. My
family spent some time in a highly legalistic cultic organization when I
was in my late teens and early twenties. My wife spent most of her teen years in a similar group. The focus was on searching the scriptures
for an ever increasing number of rules to follow and enforce on others.
If a clear directive couldn’t be found, it was inferred from texts taken
out of context and often in contradiction its own plain meaning. All
this to earn God’s favor, and guarantee some form of material and
spiritual success. What naturally came from this was the attitude of
“Thank God I am not like other men.”
My
journey away from this mess probably started in earnest after September Eleventh, when I realized that these ultra-conservative sects resembled
radical Islam with its crippling rules, emphasis on authority and roles, obsession with women's bodies, and intolerance of other viewpoints. The last couple of years have pushed me
further away as a result of the pain, grief, and tragedy that my friends
have undergone. In the legalistic world, their suffering is the result
of some sin or failure in their lives. If I still followed that path, I
should be blaming those suffering for their own pain, and calling on them to repent. Instead, I believe that I am called
to lend them a hand and try to help ease burdens, rather than increase
them.
On
a much lighter note, my increasing age has been the impetus for me to
take advantage of opportunities while I still can. I have always enjoyed
physical activity, despite my short stature and utter lack of
athleticism. My brother encouraged me to take up soccer at age thirty,
and I have played on his league team since then with enthusiasm, if not
exactly with skill.
More
recently, my lovely wife talked me into running. Our goal was to run
the Volkslauf together. For those unfamiliar with it, the Volkslauf is a
combination run and military style obstacle course race put on by the
Marines each year here in Bakersfield. So, in my thirty-sixth year, we
ran it together.
Other
firsts include my first ten kilometer race back in July, and the hike
to Half Dome. I think it is fair to say that I am in the best physical
condition of my life, despite a few creaky joints. I am grateful for
every day that I am healthy and able to work up a good sweat. And I am
even more grateful for every hike in the wilderness with my children.
I also should mention a few birthday gifts that may later be featured in this blog:
1. The Oregon Trail by Francis Parkman
This
book, written in the 1840s, tells of the young Parkman’s travels on the
first third of the Oregon Trail. My wife found this for me in a used
hardback edition. (This is our favorite way to collect books. We rarely
buy new.)
2. What to Listen For in Music by Aaron Copland
I
am guessing from the description that this book is oriented toward the
avid, but not musically trained listener. It will be interesting to read
Copland’s perspective on the art of listening to classical music.
My
wife found this at the library for all of ten cents. (We love
bargains.) It is the story of the survivors of an airplane crash in the
Pacific Ocean in 1942. It should be an interesting read.
4. Hatchet, The River, Brian’s Winter, Brian’s Return, and Brian’s Hunt by Gary Paulsen
I read Hatchet
some years ago, but have not read the others, which are essentially
sequels. These quality hardback editions were a gift from my in-laws. Since these books are geared toward younger readers, I expect that
I will be reading them with the kids.
Source of book: Recommended by and borrowed from my friends Peter and Patty Wonderly
I don’t read a lot of modern fiction. Perhaps I’m a bit of a reactionary, and perhaps I just prefer that time cull the chaff from the wheat. I have, however, followed the recommendations of a select group of people whose judgment I trust.
I was not disappointed in this book, which is well written, thoughtful, and compelling.
The Book Thief is written by an Australian author about my age. (Does that make him young? I’m not sure anymore.) I was a bit surprised to discover this after I finished the book, as his writing seems rather relaxed and unforced for his age. Many younger authors (and great authors in their youth) try so hard to be profound that they let the profundity get in the way of the story. Not so here.
Liesel Meminger, the protagonist, is a young German girl (and later a teen) who is, for all intents and purposes, orphaned. Her father is a communist, arrested by the Nazis, is never heard from again. Her mother gives her up to the foster care system and likewise disappears. Her younger brother dies on the train to meet their foster parents, the Hubermanns.
Just as Liesel is settling into life with her foster parents, they choose to harbor a Jew, Max, whose father saved Hans Hubermann’s life in World War One.
That is all I will disclose of the plot, because the twists are part of the fun. Or torture, perhaps.
Okay, one more disclosure is necessary. Liesel cannot read at age ten, a fact which distresses her. At her brother’s funeral, she steals a book that is left behind. Hans teaches her to read, and Max…well, that would spoil some of the story.
One interesting facet of the book is the creative (if not exactly original) use of the narrator. Zusak chooses Death to be the narrator, which leads to an interesting combination of perspectives. The conceit is that Death himself pinches the book Liesel writes, reads it, and re-tells the story. Thus, there are essentially two narrators. Liesel tells the story, which is then interpreted by Death, who also fills in additional details that he learns from his line of work. Thus, conveniently, we learn plenty about how various characters die.
As would be expected, Death would have a very short story to tell if there were not an abundance of souls to collect. Sadly, this book does not need to exaggerate by a bare millimeter the devastating impact of World War Two. If anything, this book is positively idyllic compared to some of the true stories. (The Hiding Place by Corrie Ten Boom comes to mind – my mom read this to us as children, and it instilled a hatred for the Nazis and their philosophy that no history book could ever inspire.)
Despite all this death, and the horribly devastating conclusion, this book is full of hope and goodness. It is a reminder that even in the dark pit of evil that Germany housed, there were still those who risked their lives, suffered grave consequences for doing the right thing, but nevertheless did what they knew was right.
There are a host of sympathetic characters, each admirable and flawed. Liesel, the emotionally damaged girl. Rudy, who loves Liesel as much as he hates the Hitler ethic. The mayor’s wife, who recognizes a kindred soul in Liesel, as she too has never recovered from her grief. Rosa Hubermann, who is capable of great love despite her obnoxious exterior. Hans and Max, who should really be discovered through the story itself.
One thing I did find just slightly off in this book was Liesel herself. She is highly believable as a person, but just ever so slightly less so as a female. Zusak doesn’t do badly here, but one cannot help but wonder if a woman would have written Liesel a bit differently. I can’t really put my finger on it.
The scene that cemented this for me was early in the book, where Rudy and Liesel are playing soccer with a group, and Rudy clobbers her in the ear with a snowball. Death’s aside here is, “A snowball in the face is surely the perfect beginning to a lasting friendship.” From the male perspective, yes. A thousand times yes! To a girl? Perhaps to the right sort of girl.
I also felt that the asides by Death were risky. I think Zusak walked the line well, but the asides could have become a distraction. As it is, they serve as a break from the increasing darkness of the narrative – much as comic relief is used in other works.
I particularly enjoyed Death’s complaint about war.
They say that war is death’s best friend, but I must offer you a different point of view on that one. To me, war is like the new boss who expects the impossible. He stands over your shoulder repeating one thing, incessantly: “Get it done, get it done.” So you work harder. You get the job done. The boss, however, does not thank you. He asks for more.
And this gets to the heart of why this is a book that contains light, but is ultimately quite dark. The historical facts don’t change. Hitler slaughtered six million Jews. An estimated sixty million people worldwide died as a result of the war. (For an even more depressing thought, this was 2.5% of the world population. WWII killed the most people by total numbers, but not as a percentage of population.) And then Stalin and Mao…the history of the 20th Century is simply ghastly.
As Death confesses at the end, “I am haunted by humans.”
Despite the darkness, the ultimate point of the war and of the book is that evil can and should be defeated, whether on the grand scale of the war, or the small scale of individual lives. The small sacrifices and the small acts of kindness are important too, and ultimately, each of us is responsible to take a stand in our own way against the darkness.
Note #1: Dachau
The setting of this book is in a (fictional) suburb of Munich, along the road to the Dachau Concentration Camp. Dachau was the original Concentration Camp, the model that the others were built on. Originally, (particularly before the war) it housed political prisoners. Later, it was used, like the rest, for Jewish prisoners.
Unlike many of the other camps, Dachau probably did not utilize a gas chamber. Prisoners were exterminated the old fashioned way: by being starved or frozen to death. The iron gates of the camp still read, “Arbeit macht frei” – “Work sets you free”.
During my law school days, in October of 1999, I spent a couple of weeks in Europe, including three days in the Munich area. Our trip to Dachau came on an appropriately rainy day. I had a cold I picked up somewhere, so I was doubly miserable.
Dachau was an unforgettable and haunting experience. Only one of the barracks is still standing – the rest are represented by the old concrete foundations. Rows of gray squares surrounded by barbed wire.
The hardest part, though, was the crematoriums, which are still standing. Although everything has been cleaned throughout the last 60 years, the ash of human bodies still remains in the cracks, and the acrid air is still tainted.
Note #2: Death as the Narrator
The use of death as the narrator of this story is an unusual touch. The author originally conceived the role of death as a harsh and cynical character – very modern in outlook, perhaps. However, it didn’t work, so Death was rewritten as a more likeable and comforting personality. In this, the author looks backward, not forward.
The motif of “Death and the Maiden” dates to medieval times, an offshoot of sorts from the Danse Macabre, but with femininity, and therefore added pathos.
Der Tod und das Mädchen, Hans Baldung Grien, 1517
Franz Schubert wrote a magnificent string quartet on this theme, entitled, of course, “Death and the Maiden”. The second movement of the quartet is the melody from his song of the same name, which uses the words of a poem by Matthias Claudius:
The Maiden:
Oh! leave me! Prithee, leave me! thou grisly man of bone!
For life is sweet, is pleasant.
Go! leave me now alone!
Go! leave me now alone!
Death:
Give me thy hand, oh! maiden fair to see,
For I'm a friend, hath ne'er distress'd thee.
Take courage now, and very soon
Within mine arms shalt softly rest thee!"
The tune itself was probably inspired in part by the similar funeral march from Beethoven’s Seventh Symphony, composed six years prior.
Note #3: Hans and Art
A longtime friend of mine, Hans, is a violin maker. We have known each other both professionally and personally since I was a child, and we attended the same church for several years. He officiated at my wedding.
Hans grew up in southern Germany. As a child, his neighborhood was bombed much as described in this book.
Years later, he met his American wife Nancy at a training for violin makers, they married, and took over Nancy’s father’s violin shop in Los Angeles.
The story took an interesting turn when he met a man named Art at our church who was an airman in the bomber division for the United States Air Force in the war. (I seem to recall he was a gunner – but don’t quote me on that.)
After comparing notes, they determined that Art had in fact bombed Hans’ town during the war. They became friends – a testament to the power of reconciliation.
I have read a few spooky books in my time; thrillers, horror, and suspense. I think that this book, a work of historical fiction, has creeped me out more than any other. What is Cypresses, and why did I find it to be so discomfiting?
Written in 1953 in Spanish, and translated a couple of years later, it is set in Spanish city of Gerona in Catalonia in the five years leading up to the Spanish Civil War.
The book assumes a certain knowledge of the historical events, political parties, and major figures. Fortunately, there is an appendix with the characters, figures, and parties for reference. This last one is particularly key as Spanish politics were anything but simple in the 1930s. I also spent a bit of time learning about the history of the conflict.
The book opens in 1931 during the time of the so-called “Second Republic”. The last vestiges of the monarchy had been banished, and a new constitution approved. However, while Spain was on the brink of unimaginable chaos and destruction, few if any recognized the seeds. Many sound all too familiar for our day and time. Widespread and growing unemployment, the rise of socialist parties with revolutionary rhetoric, resentment against the wealthy. Also present and contributing to the disaster were the rise of the anarchist and fascist parties, control of the land by longstanding families with titles dating to feudal days, widespread resentment of the Catholic Church as a controlling political and economical power, and failure to modernize agriculture. The final piece, which plays a huge part in this book, is the discontent of the Basque and Catalonian regions, which contained much of Spanish industry, and felt that they were not represented by the current government.
Gironella focuses on one particular middle class family in Gerona, the Alvears. The father, Matías, works at the telegraph office, making him solidly white collar middle class, but a non-professional. He is the sort that most readers will identify with. He wishes to be good-hearted toward all, in conflict with as few as possible, to raise his family in peace, see them established in good careers, and so forth. His wife is deeply religious and fiercely loyal to her family. The oldest child, Ignacio, is truly the protagonist of the story, although the narrator takes a fairly omniscient view, telling certain parts of the story while observing the actions and even the thoughts of other characters.
Ignacio is also sympathetic to the reader, as he is a young man struggling to decide what he believes. He admirably attempts to think through the various philosophies he is exposed to, but finds himself drawn more to the people he knows than the philosophies themselves. The course of Ignacio’s struggles give the author space to describe in detail the various currents of political thought, without making the book feel like a textbook. Ignacio is not alone, of course, in this dilemma: the book itself is driven by the characters. They act the way they do and adopt the beliefs they do because of who they are, and because of their backgrounds. Thus, when the catastrophe comes, each is hedged in by his or her character and the political commitments they have made.
For those who, like me, had only a vague idea of what happened during the Spanish Civil War, here are the basic facts. After the parties of the right wing won the election of 1933, the left wing parties became more radical and demonstrative. The anarchists led an uprising, which was put down fairly quickly, but left a mark. In 1935, the leftist parties finally managed to unite long enough to win the elections that year. Acts of violence and reprisals against the parties of the right escalated, and the military began to plot to overthrow the government. At this time, the Falange (the Spanish fascist party, related more to the Italian than the German variety) grew rapidly in numbers from the disaffected members of the right. The communists, not content to have a place in the new government, combined with the anarchists to throw a general strike in an attempt to shut down all commerce until a dictatorship of the proletariat was granted – including confiscation of all private property. At this point, the middle class was ready to panic, the upper classes having already predicted ruin.
The event that sparked the war was the assassination of José Calvo Sotelo, a conservative member of parliament. The police were involved in the assassination, which was viewed as a follow-through on a threat made by a leftist politician. The military then attempted a coup, which was only partially successful. The south and west of Spain fell into military and fascist hands, while the north and east (where Gerona is located) remained in the hands of the republic, and therefore the leftists. On each side, tens of thousands of civilians were slaughtered for their political and religious views. In the leftist dominated areas, roughly 50,000 priests and nuns are believed to have been murdered. In the fascist dominated areas, any threats to General Franco and his allies were exterminated. The conflict continued through the beginning of World War II, essentially removing Spain from the conflict. In excess of a half million lives were lost, and at least that number fled to France and elsewhere for asylum.
As in all memorable books, the characters are what bring the narrative to life. Ignacio with his big heart, but youthful lack of self control and mental discipline. Matías as the pillar of the community watching his world crumble about him. Julio, the chief of police, cynical and inscrutable, doing his best to hedge his bets and keep the city from getting out of control: he is the one who foresees the death squads, but they are far beyond anyone’s control. David and Olga, the hippie communist teachers, who unwittingly assist in the rise of violence by giving the leftists respectable cover, but later risk everything to protect an enemy from death. Jose and Mateo, the young fanatics for opposite sides, Jose for the anarchists, and Mateo for the Falange. Cosme Villa, the middle class intellectual who eventually rises to power and becomes a killer. El Responsible, the anarchist with a horrific past, and a heart full of hatred and revenge. All these and more are impartially portrayed in thoughts and actions.
A few minor details, only loosely connected to the narrative, stood out to me. The first was the description of the prostitutes. “Most of them had tweezed out their eyebrows and replaced them with a black or brown penciled line. Sometimes the line slanted up, giving them a diabolical air. At times it drooped wearily. Exceptionally there was one who had stumbled on the natural curve, and she suddenly seemed a handsome, normal woman.” If Gironella had only seen Bakersfield in 2011.
The second is the proof that Vince McMahon was not so original after all. During the time of high unemployment, one of the methods used to entertain the masses was a wresting competition series, in which all of the components of WWE are present. The wrestlers wore flashy cloaks with catchy names like Panther or The Ogre. All kinds of foul play was allowed, and even encouraged. The Good and the Bad seemed to always face off, with the contestants playing to their roles. The matches had a reputation for being fixed, but this never stopped their popularity.
Finally, there is an exchange between the young priest, Mosén Francisco and Ignacio regarding Ignacio’s saint-like younger brother César. Francisco remarks that living with a saint is no easy matter. Ignacio replies, “Dear Mosén, living with anyone, even a normal person, is no easy matter.”
Despite these lighter moments, and many more that are hopeful and human, the threat of bloodshed continues to grow. As Olga says of the fascists, “When Mussolini or one of the others shouts ‘Long live our historic mission!” you ask yourself how many coffins are going to be needed.” Indeed, this is the problem with both sides. Totalitarianism and fanaticism lead invariably to purges, to massacres, and to hatred in the name of progress. The sad thing is that this book shows that the defenders of Hitler had one valid point: the Communists were equally prone to mass murder. We forget that there was a fairly legitimate point of view in the run up to World War II that Hitler was needed as a counterbalance to Stalin. Then, of course, once it became clear that Hitler was an evil menace to civilization as well, it became necessary to enlist Stalin to counteract Hitler. And both, of course, slaughtered millions. In Spain, this tragedy took place in a similar matter as the basic humanity we take for granted in our neighbors disintegrated into hatred, revenge, and pointless murder. As much as I hate to admit it, the triumph of Franco seems to have been the least of the possible evils.
All of this is made even more chilling by the conversation between the priest Mosén Alberto and the mayor Noguer over the morality of killing. How is one to know what is self defense when everyone is killing? The priest has no answer, as there can be no definitive answer. When the world is gone mad, what is to be done?
The book started to terrify me when the city, and by extension, Spain, started to turn on itself. True, unemployment and hardship is a problem, but somehow hardship gave rise to neighbors forgetting their natural bonds, their common humanity, and turned to radical ideas for action. The setting off of a bomb in a church came to be regarded as a good, despite the fact that it fed no one, helped no one. When the legitimate law enforcement and other government institutions lost credibility and power, everyone turned on everyone, as if blood was the only answer.
There are too many parallels with today around the world for comfort. Just today, I ran across an article about the budgetary problems in Spain. Again, unemployment is dangerously high. Will Spain remember the lessons of the past, or will there be mob rule and terror once again? Will the rest of the world be susceptible to the promises of food for all, of a better life for the poor, if only we could kill the wealthy? Or the educated. Or those who wear the wrong color of shirt.
This is the power this book holds: to make us ask those questions; to look deep within ourselves and ask if we too would kill; to ask if we could continue to sow love and not hate when the world goes mad.
The last several scenes in the book are of unbelievable tragedy, but also of grace and hope. On both sides of the conflict, individuals choose to do the right thing, even if they are powerless to stop the insanity. These individual acts of grace remind us of all those who have stood against tyranny and evil in ways large and small. For every Churchill, there are thousands of those who hid potential victims from those who sought their lives.
This was a worthwhile, but difficult read. At nearly 1000 pages, it is long, and requires the reader to keep track of a large number of characters, along with their political connections. Fortunately, the names are fairly easy. Gironella uses a single name for most characters, and keeps the names consistent from the time the character is introduced. The Spanish use different last names for the married women, so it helps to note family connections wherever possible. The appendix is very helpful. Family relationships are noted, as are political connections. Thus, it is easy to determine that a character would be, for example, an anarchist with a sweetheart who is a communist. Likewise, the appendix of political parties is indispensible for determining the ever-shifting alliances and oppositions.
Note on the Translation: This book was translated by Harriet de Onís. I am curious if some of the recurring phrases have a particular place in Spanish literature, much like our “once upon a time”. In particular, the phrases “life continued to move at a dizzying pace” and its variations and “[insert month] had [insert effect] on the people”. These connecting phrases tend to open chapters and take the narrative from the personal to the public. As is natural with any translated work, the idiom seems different, even if the language itself flows naturally.
Note on Gerona: In our times, the name of the city is often spelled Girona. Located somewhat near Barcelona, it is one of Catalonia’s colorful and distinctive cities. The Alvears live in a second floor flat on the bank of the river Ter, much as seen in this picture. Matías would fish off of the balcony. Gerona was a convenient setting as it was involved in the military uprising, but not so famously as to prevent the use of fictional characters.
This is the third book I have read in the last five years with a significant connection to Islam. I started with The Satanic Verses, by Salman Rushdie; read in the aftermath of the Danish cartoon hullaballoo as a personal protest against fatawa. (Plural of fatwa – I looked it up.) The second was Thy Hand, Great Anarch, by Nirad C. Chaudhury, which I previously reviewed in detail. I highly recommend both of these books. The Kite Runner is the third of these.
Hosseini sets his novel in the period from 1975 through the aftermath of 9-11, a period which saw the fall of the monarchy in Afghanistan, the Soviet invasion, the rise of the Taliban and Al Qaeda , and eventually, the continuing battle in that country.
A native of Afghanistan the same approximate age as his protagonist, Hosseini writes of what he knows. Hosseini’s own life has a few similarities to the novel. His family left Afghanistan in the aftermath of the fall of the monarchy. He settled in the Bay Area, and eventually became an author. (Although he was a physician first – not a bad career to fall back on if the novel was a bust.) Most importantly for this book, he had friendship with a Hazara which partially inspired the story.
What is a Hazara? This key fact drives the plot, and shines an unpleasant light on human nature. Afghanistan, like many nations, contains more than one ethnic group. For some reason, this is disturbing to our human nature, and it seems to inevitably result in problems, from basic racism to slavery to pogroms to civil war, all the way up to Hitler. The dominant group in Afghanistan was and is the Pashtun, with the Hazara a much loathed minority group. Probably of partial Chinese descent, they were viewed, unsurprisingly, like every other unpopular minority. The Taliban and its sympathizers are generally Pashtun, so of course it was necessary to slaughter and oppress the Hazara.
From my personal experience as an attorney, I can attest that every group on the face of the earth is racist to some degree or another. When I worked at GBLA, clients would claim that they knew we wouldn’t help them because they were (black, white, asian, Hispanic, Turkish even!). Some of those of Mexican descent would come in and complain about the dirty Central or South Americans. The Okies would complain about the Texans, and vice versa. Suffice it to say that the roaches in these United States are called German roaches, but the roaches in Germany are blamed on other countries as well.
How does this figure in The Kite Runner? Amir, a twelve year old Pashtun boy at the beginning of the story, is friends with Hassan, a Hazara boy who is the son of Amir’s father’s servant. Their friendship is inseparable until a horrific event occurs at the hands of a psychopathic older boy. Hassan is brutally assaulted, and Amir is unable to find the courage to do anything but run. Amir’s guilt causes him to make matters far worse. Eventually, he betrays his friend in a truly unforgivable manner.
Soon, the wars force a dramatic flight first to Pakistan and then to America, where Amir and his father experience poverty and disorientation. Amir finds true love, experiences success with his writing – and suddenly receives a call from an old friend summoning him back to Afghanistan by way of Pakistan. Amir is given a chance to face his past and redeem himself.
Further than that, I will not go, as the plot should not be spoiled. Hosseini writes a gripping tale with a tight and efficient plot, combining both a dramatic narrative and a compelling internal psychological struggle.
There are a few minor quibbles, of course. I found some of the use of coincidence and parallel imagery to be a bit much. In particular, I felt that the scar that Amir receives late in the book to be unnecessarily dramatic. The point would have been made without this extra touch. On the other hand, many of the parallels drawn by the author suit the purpose of the narrative. Furthermore, this is a common device in fiction, used by many of the all time great authors. It seems almost unfair to complain about it in a modern author simply because it has been done before.
Particularly effective in this book are the portrayal of the horrors of extended war and the havoc it causes in a formerly promising country. The utter crumbling of all social institutions from education to health, to basic food and water as the result of 20 years of civil and external war is painful to witness. The author is obviously no friend of the Taliban and its hypocritical use of violence for personal, and often senseless reasons.
Also effective was the author’s exploration of the nature of cowardice. Amir is a coward by nature, not training. He is physically incapable of heroism – a key point in the book. His body fails even to be minimally cooperative during the flight to Pakistan. Thus, cowardice is both a moral failing, and an indwelling state of being. This subtle portrayal prevents an easy judgment of Amir. He is clearly stretched beyond his capacity, and reacts initially in a mostly excusable way. However, his cowardice combined with his guilt to lead him down an ever more horrible course of action. Is this what happens when we experience fear? I have rarely felt a stronger combination of pity and revulsion toward any character in a book or in real life.
I also found the open ended “ending” of the book to be intriguing. It would have been simple to have ended with either a saccharine sweet end, or a devastatingly bitter end. The author chooses what I consider a more realistic, and ultimately more thought provoking conclusion. The past cannot be undone, and the damage caused by others (or one’s self) cannot be erased by good motives or even good actions. The final ending is left to time and hope.
As a final point, I would add that the question of redemption is left unanswered in this book. Hosseini is honest in admitting that a present good action does not necessarily overcome a past evil action. The question is presented as to whether God will punish for the evil action or not. Can that evil be overcome? Is a later good stronger than an earlier evil? For the follower of Islam (and many others), the answer awaits the final weighing in the scales. For those of us with a belief in Christianity, the answer is that we can never overcome evil in and of ourselves. Christ himself is the one who has overcome evil. The sole hope for the future and for healing rests not within ourselves and our ability to redeem our pasts, but in the grace freely granted.
This book is well worth reading both for its exciting writing and for its deep questions. I would caution that this book does portray a depth of depravity that is disturbing. I myself was haunted a bit by a few passages that I doubt I will ever forget. The author effectively uses these events to create an unforgettable tale and a suggestion of the cowardice that tempts us all.
