I used to picture Afghanistan as a haze of political instability with a reputation as the poorest country in the world. But now, after stepping into the world of novelist Khaled Hosseini, Afghanistan is a pair of kites, intertwined, rising ever higher in the darkening horizon; a pair of kites that represents a friendship that transcends death; a pair of kites flown by a Pashtun with a Hazara; a pair of kites that reminds me of Hassan, the harelipped kite runner, and Amir. 

The story of heartbreak and redemption is told through the lens of a thirty-eight-year-old Amir, an Afghan immigrant in the United States, reflecting upon his childhood - in the early 1970s - in Kabul before the time of the Taliban and Russian invasions. The Kite Runner spans a quarter of a century, which also saw Amir, this time as a grown man, return to the country of his childhood to find the piece of himself that he left behind. Throughout the book, one might love Hassan, Amir’s childhood best friend, for his pure and loyal heart, but I loved Amir. He is undoubtedly flawed, but the author’s portrayal of human vulnerability resonated with me the most; Amir’s innocent eyes, insecure self-image, and natural tongue for captivating stories made me laugh and cry.

The relationship between Amir and Hassan is peculiar, which keeps the reader hooked. In the 1970s Kabul, the society was divided into two religious groups, the overwhelming majority of Pashtuns (Sunni Muslims) and the minority group of Hazaras (Shi’a Muslims). Unfortunately, Hazaras often end up as servants to the racist and exploiting Pashtuns; thus was the life of Hassan, the servant, and his master, Amir Agha (mister). Although Hassan and his father Ali were Hazara servants of the household, the father of Amir, whom he calls Baba, always treats them with respect and especially admires the grit in Hassan, which eternally makes young Amir jealous. 

Throughout the story, Hosseini dives deep into the theme of identity. Due to his wealthy upbringing and later immigration to the United States because of the Taliban takeover, Amir says many times, “I feel like a tourist in my own country,” after seeing the detriment and destruction of the war that made him flee. However, although rich, Amir had to fight tooth and nail to escape his father’s shadow. Baba, a successful businessman and philanthropist, was the Afghan definition of the iron-fisted alpha male, and he was always tough on Amir to pursue sports, which was his definition of a masculine trait. Nevertheless, the knack Amir had for telling stories was rarely reciprocated on the football pitch, and as the only son of Baba, he was forever deemed a disappointment. 

This story will tear at your heartstrings, and a pair of kite strings hold the plot together.  Everyone in Afghanistan loves flying kites, a skill Amir, who was not interested in any other sport, mastered. Every year, on Christmas day, there would be a kite competition in Kabul, where hundreds of kites are flown into the sky, and they battle it out until the last one standing. This was the day you witnessed countless thumb-sucking teenagers, their fingers blood red from feeding and flying the glass spool, and in the middle of the chaos was Hassan and Amir: Hassan fed the strings, and Amir flew. Baba, who had a passion for flying as a child, was finally proud of Amir for his deft hands and sharp eye for kites. Ironically, winning was not the most important part of the game - it was the chase. Boys, teens, and grown men would all chase for the fallen kite - the second place - as the trophy of honour, and out of all of them, only one would catch it: Hassan. Hassan ran kites for fun, and on the frigid, overcast afternoon of Christmas of 1975 was the last time Amir saw him run a kite. It was the last time he smiled; it was the last time he said, ‘for you, a thousand times over.’

What Amir saw next was a tragedy. What he saw illustrates the second key theme of The Kite Runner - regret. What he saw - Hassan beaten and cornered - made his friendship with him end because instead of helping, he ran away, but it made Amir return to Afghanistan twenty-six years later, at the height of the war, to redeem the dignity he left behind.  If the frigid, overcast day in 1975 was Amir’s downfall, then the telephone call in June 2001 with long-time family friend Rahim Khan marked the start of his redemption. On his deathbed, Khan told him the truth about his father’s harshness tied in with his unforgivable sins and whispered these haunting words, “There’s a way to be good again.” 

Hosseini writes about Amir’s internal conflict and regret viscerally, depicting the feeling of being tormented by one’s past. Amir, thus, returning to his home country, faced adversity upon adversity to retrieve and revise his bygones, and combined with Hosseini’s riveting description of the tragic misfortunes Afghanistan, now a warzone, leaves the reader wondering: Did Amir end up finding the Hassan he left behind so many years prior? 

The beauty of The Kite Runner lies not only in its eloquent storyline but also in its poignant historical background. At the time of its 2003 publication, there was widespread intolerance toward Afghans due to the 9/11 attacks merely two years prior; nevertheless, Hosseini’s book helped many to see the light in Afghan citizens, to understand the vastly diverse cultural norms and perhaps even to fly kites for themselves. 

I loved the book. As a timid storyteller myself, Amir’s character resonated flawlessly with me; seeing his redemption arc was also the perfect bildungsroman that added a tinge of ambition to my story. Furthermore, although written in English, The Kite Runner contained snapshots of Farsi. Hosseini’s exquisite touch of cultural diversity made it easier for me to dive into his all-consuming storyline and ignited my passion for learning new language. 

After reading the book, I am confident you will smile when you see a kite flying in the sky. You will think of your special friendships and say, ‘for you, a thousand times over.’