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Saturday, July 07, 2007
Normally I'm incredibly picky about what I read. It has to have just the right kind of content and just the right writing style or I abandon it somewhere around the third paragraph. A lot of research goes into choosing a book to read--I spend time on Amazon.com using the "Look Inside" utility to read a few pages and see if it's to my liking, and I read the plot outline and few reader comments--then, if it sounds good to me, I go to half.com and order it. I try to keep about 5 such carefully chosen books on hand at all times so that I never have to settle for just any old crappy book when I'm desperate for something to read.
However, a long and unpleasant pregnancy can make you lower your standards for entertainment, and when I found myself with nothing to read during Month 7, I picked up The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini. I had heard good word-of-mouth about it, and a quick glance at the first paragraph didn't make me want to gouge my eyes out with a ten-penny nail, so I figured it was worth a shot.
a) don't have time to read it yourself, or b) hear enough about ass rape in church and at the dinner table, and don't have room in your heart for any extra. In a nutshell, here's the book: Young male narrator lives in a supposedly perfectly lovely country that happens to be populated with a small faction of evil people. Young narrator has an pleasant childhood in which he spends his days at his rich father's estate, frolicking with his best (well, only) friend, the servant's son. Life is grand. -------------------- There, I just saved you a few bucks; you're welcome. After spending a few evenings reading this book, I was the one who felt raped. I want those hours back, and I also want back my faith in a world where civil unrest doesn't necessarily go hand-in-hand with vicious, forced sodomy. Thank you, Khaled Hosseini, for bringing your strange, private obsession into my world. Now please put down that typewriter and get yourself a job as a prison guard. |