The Kite Runner and A Thousand Splendid Suns

I despised The Kite Runner, so don't ask me why I let a friend talk me into reading the author's second book . . . A Thousand Splendid Suns. I must admit that I am writing this post before completely finishing the novel (I have roughly 20 pages left) - but it has left me in a reflective and somber mood.

Funny . . . that was my horoscope for the day. Reflective and somber.

I just don't see the hope in these books. I see fleeting glimpses of it . . . but it's hidden amongst so much tragedy and pain that you wonder if the light makes up for the darkness. Reading his novels is like opening the newspaper and reading about real life . . . the wars, the bombs, the kids who get legs amputated trying to cross over into America. And then they throw you a bone of hope, if only to keep you from throwing yourself off a building. It's not even a happy ending . . . it's something small, and cheap - and they try to play it up, as though it fixes everything. "Timmy lost both legs, but a kind business has agreed to pay for his artificial limbs if he signs a contract saying he will allow them to use both legs for trademark advertising." Insert a picture of the kid sitting in bed, looking sullen.

Where is the fighting spirit? Where are those kids who refuse to let the world hold them down? Who lose their legs and inspire others with their sunny disposition and refusal to let tragedy rule their lives?

I'm not arguing that the author of these books can't write. In fact, he has a beautiful sense of prose . . . I just feel that his stories pander more to the audience who find themselves moved by little Timmy, instead of the eight-year-old kid who had his leg amputated by a train (this is a true story, by the way) - tied his own tourniquet - and limped home to his mother to tell her she was right that he shouldn't have played by the tracks, and he was now more determined than ever to play sports.

The first story is tragedy, throwing you a bone of hope to soothe your soul, and make you feel that the world is not entirely covered in darkness. The second is a story built on tragedy, but the tragedy is a side note, the focus is on the child and his shining spirit.

Maybe its a moot distinction - but for me, it is clear. I guess that comes with the gift of seeing everything in shades of gray instead of black and white. Sometimes, I see more than I want to.
Meh. I shouldn't blog when I'm somber and reflective. Reflectively somber. Somberly reflective?

Then again, as one of my other friends said:
Her: "Why are you reading that?"
Me: "A friend asked me to."
Her: "Did she read The Kite Runner?"
Me: "Yep."
Her: "Did she like The Kite Runner?"
Me: "Yep."
Her: "And you LISTENED to her?"

She has a point. She does, indeedy, have a point.