Once upon a time, I wrote an article exalting the virtues of fantasy fiction. Looking back on it, my hostility towards literary fiction came through.
Literary fiction readers act like any story with fantastical elements is beneath them. Their snobbish attitude encourages an aggressive response. Admittedly, my attitude is just as bad. Here’s my argument. Literary fiction typically features normal human beings doing normal things, and I don’t see the appeal of consuming such stories.
Why? Because I’m a normal human being surrounded by normal human beings who do normal things.
If you want to hear about the lives of ordinary people, talk to your neighbor. If I’m going to pay good money for fiction, I want a story that takes me to places I will never visit, populated by characters that achieve the impossible.
Back then, I used Khaled Hosseini’s The Kite Runner as a stark example of the literary fiction I could not stand, based off a review by a BBC book club. Well, guess what. I read The Kite Runner and, to my astonishment, loved it. I suppose being a few years older makes a difference. My appreciation for the life stories of ordinary people has grown.
Then again, in Khaled Hosseini’s case, his characters and their stories are anything but ordinary. The Kite Runner follows Amir, a clever boy pursuing a privileged existence in Afghanistan. Amir lives in a big house with servants, a nice car, and all the luxuries a boy his age could ever desire. But his life is far from perfect.
Amir is not the tough, confident son his father wants. He would rather read books than play soccer. Also, his timid nature makes him a target for bullies and Baba does not understand why his son refuses to fight back. Meanwhile, Amir and Hassan are closer than brothers. They took their first steps together.
But Amir is not oblivious to the gulf between them. For one thing, Hassan’s father is Baba’s servant. While Amir is at school learning to read and write, Hassan stays home where he cooks and cleans. Because of Hassan, every need Amir could ever have is met. And yet, their differences go deeper than the wealth gap Amir occasionally flaunts in Hassan’s face.
Hassan is a Hazara boy and Amir lives in a country where Pashtuns like him despise and mistreat Hazaras like Hassan. Amir does what he can to treat Hassan like an equal and to repay Hassan’s unwavering loyalty with kindness. But in the coming months, Russia will invade Afghanistan, paving the way for Taliban rule and forcing Amir to confront some uncomfortable truths.
Despite what that synopsis suggests, The Kite Runner is not some coming-of-age tale about a pair of boys wrestling with their place in society. Rather, the story starts with adult Amir living in the United States of America and trying to get on with his life. But then a phone call drives him to revisit the sins of his youth.
I have not read a novel this compelling in months. Khaled Hosseini’s setting is alive. You can see, smell, hear, and breathe 1970s Afghanistan. The culture permeates every line of dialogue, every introspective paragraph, every description.
Amir tags at your heartstrings because you want to slap his cheeks raw for his cowardice. At the same time, you can understand why he does what he does. At 371 pages, The Kite Runner is short. However, you can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief when it ends because you feel every inch of the journey Amir took to reach his destination.
I have a new appreciation for literary fiction and I understand why The Kite Runner is so beloved.
mbjjnr8@gmail.com