The Kite Runner is a novel about the coming of age of the protagonist, Amir, and it leaves you with a bittersweet feeling that stems from guilt. Amir’s actions seem brave, but they read more like personal guilt relief than true atonement.
Chocolate is sweet. Anyone can put a piece of chocolate in their mouth and feel an instant rush of sweetness. But what makes chocolate more popular than equally sweet candies and jellies is, paradoxically, its bitterness. It’s the absurd sensation of being both sweet and bitter at the same time that leaves a lasting aftertaste. The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini did the same for me, and while it’s a beautiful coming-of-age novel, it didn’t leave me with a bittersweet ending. Instead, something bitter lingered somewhere in the back of my mind.
I first encountered The Kite Runner when I was probably twelve years old. To put it in perspective, I read it because it was recommended. It was on my school’s recommended reading list, and my teacher told me it was a good book, so I bought it and read it. Naturally, I tried to find the moral of the story. It was sweet. The friendship of Hassan sacrificing himself for his friend Amir, the misunderstandings between Baba and Amir’s father, and the love that eventually blossoms. But did it touch my heart? If someone had asked me if this novel moved me, I would have said yes. But if you asked me if it truly touched my heart, I would have had a hard time answering that question.
When a book touches my heart, I reread it over and over again. You learn the story and memorize every detail, but a moving novel is just that, moving, and easily forgotten. This is especially true for me, who doesn’t easily empathize with other people’s stories. If The Kite Runner was just an inspiring coming-of-age story about an Afghan child, it would have been a forgettable book for me. Luckily, it wasn’t. Just as my tongue was about to dip into the sickeningly sweet flavor, I was suddenly hit with a salty, bitter taste. It’s a flavor that has led me to reread this book over the years.
The question that stuck with me the most was, “So, is Amir a hero?” Amir saves Hassan’s son against all odds to atone for his sins as a child. On the surface, he seems brave and righteous enough to confront his wrongdoings. It’s enough to make you write in your elementary school book report, “I want to be brave like Amir.” But is it? Amir’s life and behavior, which his peers praised, left me feeling uncomfortable, so I reread the book. But the more I read, the more I wondered.
Amir had clearly betrayed Hassan’s commitment and trust, and as a result, had hurt him beyond repair. Of course, it scarred him too, and even after he left Afghanistan and lived in the United States, he couldn’t put it behind him. But in the end, Amir never reaches out to Hassan. He tries to atone decades later by rescuing Hassan’s son, not Hassan. I don’t know. To me, Amir’s actions don’t seem to be about confronting past wrongs, but rather about assuaging his own guilt. In the end, he doesn’t apologize to Hassan. Amir could have reached out to Hassan anytime he wanted, through any number of channels, but he chose not to.
Of course, in today’s hyper-individualistic society, living with guilt can be a great thing. But that makes it all the more bitter. In other words, it weighed heavily on me that being relatively brave and righteous would be treated as heroic in the modern era. Taking responsibility for wrongdoing may be commendable, but it is not something to be hailed as heroic. In fact, it’s the right thing to do.
Not only that, but is Hassan’s son, Sohrab, fully redeemed? Sohrab, who is rescued by Amir’s efforts, is ultimately wounded by Amir. Amir tries his best to heal this wound, and finally tries to end the story beautifully by showing Sohrab smiling at the end of the story. But why is this a beautiful ending? He hurts him arbitrarily, re-medicates him, and is proud when the medicine works. To me, Sohrab just seems like an object of pity. The novel, which I once found touching, became cruel. The sweetness that I had felt in abundance was gone, and bitterness enveloped the book.
So I read more. I didn’t want to leave the book like this. I don’t know how many times I read it, but suddenly I focused on the title. Who is the kid chasing the kite in The Kite Runner? Of course, I thought it was Amir, but there were other possibilities. Why didn’t the author specify the child’s name, which would imply that The Kite Runner could be Hassan, Sohrab, or even Baba? The author didn’t paint Amir as a hero. No, even if he was, he didn’t come across as a hero to me anymore. He was just struggling. It must have been very hard for him, but he was trying to be a better person. To borrow a phrase from the book, Amir, Hassan, Sohrab, and Baba were frantically trying to be Afghan. Even if they were hurting and making mistakes along the way, they were moving forward, and they were living in a balance of sweet and bitter.
In truth, I still don’t fully understand Amir. Hassan feels more stupid than good. Baba’s duplicity is also uncomfortable. But even if I don’t understand them, I can embrace them. It’s funny for me to say, but isn’t that what life is all about? Sweet and bitter, but that’s what makes it worth getting up and living again. Like chocolate, and like this book. Maybe The Kite Runner isn’t pretty, but maybe that’s why it’s the most realistic coming-of-age story ever written.
