In Kabul, a tale of two women

The author of 'The Kite Runner' tries to go behind the burqa in his second novel.

By Yvonne Zipp

from the May 22, 2007 edition

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There may be nothing more elusive in publishing than a genuine word-of-mouth phenomenon. Set the book someplace where English isn't the first language, make your main character a coward, and throw in so much suffering that even Oprah might cry "Enough!" and, well, there's pretty much only one recent novel that's pulled off that hat trick: "The Kite Runner" by Khaled Hosseini.

The 2003 novel took a familiar tale of redemption – complete with archetypes such as the distant father, the missing mother, the bookish son, and the noble servant – and translated it through Afghan culture and history. There are lots of statements such as "Afghans cherish custom, but abhor rules," and "We're a melancholic people, we Afghans, aren't we?... We give in to loss, to suffering, accept it as a fact of life, even see it as a necessity." Suffering is certainly seen as a necessity to the plot, as an Afghan man tries to atone for sins against his childhood best friend. The writing is accessible, and there are enough journalistic touches to make Americans feel as if they're getting to know the "real" Afghanistan. Despite its grim story line, the combination fired the imaginations of US readers: To date, the novel has sold more than 3 million copies in the US, and a movie is scheduled for release later this year.

In A Thousand Splendid Suns, his second novel, Hosseini tries to go behind the burqa to describe the lives of two women in Kabul. In an interview with USA Today, Hosseini, who also works as an envoy for the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees, explained his motivation. "I went to Afghanistan in 2003 and met lots of women and heard so many sad, inspiring, and horrific stories…. I hope the book offers emotional subtext to the image of the burqa-clad woman walking down a dusty street in Kabul."

These are obviously noble motives, but the fact that Hosseini began by thinking of his main characters as "other" – to the extent of wondering "about their inner lives, whether they had ever had girlish dreams" – is a huge hurdle. It's one that, as I read Part 1, I was concerned he wouldn't be able to leap. "Where "The Kite Runner" saved its most unbelievable plot contrivances for the third act, "A Thousand Splendid Suns" gets them out of the way up front. This is unfortunate, since the novel improves substantially, especially after Hosseini switches narrators.

Mariam, like Hassan in "The Kite Runner," is the illegitimate child of a rich man and a servant. She grows up in a tiny hut with no one to talk to except her bitter mother, Nana; a kind mullah; and her father, who comes once a week to take her fishing. Her mother forbids her to go to school, saying, "What's the sense in schooling a girl like you? It's like shining a spittoon." The only lesson an Afghan woman needs, Nana tells her, is how to endure. When Mariam asks, "Endure what?" Nana replies, "Oh, don't you fret about that. There won't be any shortage of things."

When she turns 15, Mariam tries to visit her father at the house where he lives with his three wives and nine other children. She isn't allowed through the door. After a night on the doorstep, she returns home to find that her mother has hanged herself. (Uh, sure.) Cinderella only had one wicked stepmother; Mariam gets three.

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