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A review of the Kite Runner


I often imagine that I am from the future, so that one day I will be more relaxed in the face of a sudden change at some point in the future, and more generous in the face of the old. However, I'm more suited to the mundane, the trivial and complicated life of an ordinary person who is preoccupied with the minutiae of time.

Since we can't predict the future, we begin to rely more on memories, even those sporadic and trivial memories to support the days to come, some memories are very good, some memories are very sad, some memories make people grow up, some memories make people seem very ignorant, some memories slowly yellowing, some memories as if it was yesterday. Some stories always unfold from childhood memories as well.

I had no interest in Afghanistan or the countries around me that had been fighting for years and their history. To me, the people there were pathetic and the government there was pathetic.

So when the picture of Amir, as a young master, and his servant Hassan, as siblings, appeared, all readers could not help but marvel at the strength, cleanliness, and durability of teenage friendship. They always walked side by side, whenever Amir was bullied, Hassan always stood up to protect, many people say that this is Hassan's natural servitude, this view I do not agree, I saw a light of friendship between them clearly shining.

When Amir asked Hassan why he was sure he would know the drop of the kite whose strings had been cut, Hassan affirmed to Amir that I just knew, and then asked rhetorically, when have I ever lied to you. Amir whispers, How do I know if I've ever lied to you. Hassan swears, I'd rather chew the mud for you. Amir further confirms that you would really chew the mud for me? Hassan says firmly, I'm sure, and then again, but how can you bear to let me chew the mud. So what the reader's heart yearns for is the same damp childhood image we all have of ourselves, always sitting on the floor with our closest companions, swearing an oath for each other, willing to go up and down. As Hassan said to Amir with an overflowing smile: for you, a thousand times over.

Yet the truth is this: he is a master, he is a servant; he is a Pashtun, he is a Hazara; he is a Sunni, he is a Shia, and from the moment of their birth, their destinies are separated by these labels they cannot understand, despite the fact that they are close friends, despite the fact that they have the same father. Whether it was the ordinary Amir and Hassan, or the high and mighty King Zahir or Karzai, they had to accept the seat that society had reserved for them - Amir was no longer Amir, Hassan was no longer Hassan, and they had to wear the masks that society had assigned to them.

A Hazara servant should be loyal to his master, and the noble Pashtun is not worth the risk for a lowly Hazara servant.

Such an oath, "Amir and Hassan, rulers of Kabul," can only be a fairy tale under a pomegranate tree, and "the prince and the poor boy" cannot be brothers, because they are not destined to be equal. Amir's act of self-redemption, including his return to Afghanistan twenty years later, is nothing more than a reluctant acknowledgement of his origins after learning of his half-brotherhood with Hassan, that is, he still has not proven that he has found "the way to be good again.

When we were teenagers, we were always in a good mood, talking to each other in groups. But in the face of the harsh reality, when the faintest of friendships is challenged, the bridge of friendship is bound to collapse if one of us shows a flaw.

So when Amir, seeing Hassan being bullied and even molested by older children, chooses to remain silent and run away; meanwhile, Hassan, for the sake of Amir's kite, steadfastly and unwaveringly contends with his opponent, who cruelly reveals the master-servant relationship between Amir and Hassan, and Hassan loudly retorts that the two are friends. Amir, who hides in a corner and is afraid to appear, is not only not inspired but also not moved at all by these words, and the cowardice in his heart finally eats away at his soul, and tragedy strikes.

This is the biggest misconception we have about friendship, that it is all-powerful.



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