There was an old abandoned cemetery atop the hill with rows of unmarked headstones and tangles of brushwood clogging the aisles. He told us one day that Islam considered drinking a terrible sin; those who drank would answer for their sin on the day of Qiyamat, Judgment Day. After school, Hassan and I met up, grabbed a book, and trotted up a bowl-shaped hill just north of my father’s property in Wazir Akbar Khan. We sat at a picnic table on the banks of the lake, just Baba and me, eating boiled eggs with kofta sandwiches—meatballs and pickles wrapped in naan. I was eight by then. He handed his cigarette to the guy next to him, made a circle with the thumb and index finger of one hand. Thanks also to Lynette Parker of East San Jose Community Law Center for her advice about adoption procedures, and to Mr. Daoud Wahab for sharing his experiences in Afghanistan with me. I want to thank Dr. and Mrs. Kayoumy—my other parents—for their warmth and unwavering support. Never mind any of those things. He lowered his voice, but I heard him anyway. He didn’t say anything. The living room downstairs had a curved wall with custom-built cabinets. “Amir, do you see that man sitting up there with those other men around him?”. But mostly because Ali was immune to the insults of his assailants; he had found his joy, his antidote, the moment Sanaubar had given birth to Hassan. I had heard some of the kids in the neighborhood yell those names to Hassan. Inside sat framed family pictures: an old, grainy photo of my grandfather and King Nadir Shah taken in 1931, two years before the king’s assassination; they are standing over a dead deer, dressed in knee-high boots, rifles slung over their shoulders. “What a sweet singing voice she had,” he used to say to us. Hassan and I used to call it “the Wall of Ailing Corn.”. Then he lowered himself into the leather sofa, put down his drink, and propped me up on his lap. “A boy who won’t stand up for himself becomes a man who can’t stand up to anything.”, “You’re angry because you’re afraid he’ll never take over the business for you.”, “Now who’s oversimplifying?” Baba said. Hassan stayed home and helped Ali with the day’s chores: hand-washing dirty clothes and hanging them to dry in the yard, sweeping the floors, buying fresh naan from the bazaar, marinating meat for dinner, watering the lawn. For your patience and understanding, I will always love you, Roya jan. Out he came smiling. Do you see?”. Thought about Baba. “Yes, Father,” Hassan would mumble, looking down at his feet. Amazon.com: The Kite Runner (9781594631931): Khaled Hosseini: Books. Do you understand?”, I found the idea of Baba clobbering a thief both exhilarating and terribly frightening. Très apprécié! I told Hassan to keep walking, keep walking. The Kite Runner was a major film and was a Book of the Decade, chosen by The Times, Daily Telegraph and Guardian. Retrouvez The Kite Runner et des millions de livres en stock sur Amazon.fr. Amazingly written. I closed my eyes, pressed my ear even harder against the door, wanting to hear, not wanting to hear. Voilà un beau roman, écrit simplement, et surtout très touchant, très attachant, sans trop tomber dans la facilité. This review is not about the book 'Kite Runner', but this particular copy of book which I received. Certainly I could manage that, couldn’t I? Tears were sliding down his cheeks. Skip to main content.ae. With each viewing, we cried at the end when the Mexican kids buried Charles Bronson—who, as it turned out, wasn’t Iranian either. Baba was pouring himself a whiskey from the bar he had built in the corner of the room. I’m in his arms, but it’s Rahim Khan’s pinky my fingers are curled around. My impressions are a bit contradictory about this book. I was only concerned with the content of the book so I didn't bother returning it but thought I should at least mention it. He lectured us about the virtues of zakat and the duty of hadj; he taught us the intricacies of performing the five daily namaz prayers, and made us memorize verses from the Koran—and though he never translated the words for us, he did stress, sometimes with the help of a stripped willow branch, that we had to pronounce the Arabic words correctly so God would hear us better. I want to thank my father, my oldest friend and the inspiration for all that is noble in Baba; my mother who prayed for me and did nazr at every stage of this book’s writing; my aunt for buying me books when I was young. Hurricane.” It was an apt enough nickname. I remember the day before the orphanage opened, Baba took me to Ghargha Lake, a few miles north of Kabul. On the other hand I do not think it is such a remarkably well written book as some other readers imply. I spent most of the first twelve years of my life playing with Hassan. The New York Times bestseller and international classic loved by millions of readers. Never. There is a way to be good again. Do you think you can handle that for once?”. Ce premier livre pour moi est le plus réussi de l'auteur (belle histoire et puis peut-être effet de surprise), meême si les suivants se lisent bien aussi. Sunlight twinkled in its side-view mirror. Told me I could get the soda myself, all I had to do was look in the trunk of the car. “Sometimes I look out this window and I see him playing on the street with the neighborhood boys. I remember the precise moment, crouching behind a crumbling mud wall, peeking into the alley near the frozen creek. I’m told no one was really surprised when Sanaubar eloped. On Fridays, the lake was bustling with families out for a day in the sun. “When you kill a man, you steal a life,” Baba said. I snapped at him, told him to mind his own business. In the eighteen years that I lived in that house, I stepped into Hassan and Ali’s quarters only a handful of times. The soldiers laughed. Didn’t that take patience? Because the past claws its way out. The following week, after class, I showed the book to my teacher and pointed to the chapter on the Hazaras. Une découverte de l'Afghanistan et un récit passionnant. He lives in northern California, where he is a physician. Hassan’s father, Ali, used to catch us and get mad, or as mad as someone as gentle as Ali could ever get. I felt as if I were sitting on a pair of tree trunks. Their father argued, but not too vehemently, and in the end, everyone agreed that the punishment had been perhaps harsh but fair. Besides "The Kite Runner" is also the story of the remorse, the human weakness, the penitent, the submission - in brief, all the ingredients of an in all respects masterful work. “But if what he said is true then does it make you a sinner, Baba?”, “Hmm.” Baba crushed an ice cube between his teeth. … I’m open!” the more I went ignored. Some of them tousled my hair and shook my hand too. And why not? But I hadn’t turned out like him. Standing in the kitchen with the receiver to my ear, I knew it wasn’t just Rahim Khan on the line. After I hung up, I went for a walk along Spreckels Lake on the northern edge of Golden Gate Park. a book that broke my heart and swept its pieces with my tears. It said the Hazaras had tried to rise against the Pashtuns in the nineteenth century, but the Pashtuns had “quelled them with unspeakable violence.” The book said that my people had killed the Hazaras, driven them from their lands, burned their homes, and sold their women. They danced high above the trees on the west end of the park, over the windmills, floating side by side like a pair of eyes looking down on San Francisco, the city I now call home. On the other hand I do not think it is such a remarkably well written book as some other readers imply. Do you understand that?”. “Yes, Baba.”, “If there’s a God out there, then I would hope he has more important things to attend to than my drinking scotch or eating pork. One of them saw us, elbowed the guy next to him, and called Hassan. If the story had been about anyone else, it would have been dismissed as laaf, that Afghan tendency to exaggerate—sadly, almost a national affliction; if someone bragged that his son was a doctor, chances were the kid had once passed a biology test in high school. Dazed. People bought their scotch as “medicine” in brown paper bags from selected “pharmacies.” They would leave with the bag tucked out of sight, sometimes drawing furtive, disapproving glances from those who knew about the store’s reputation for such transactions. Then he would remind us that there was a brotherhood between people who had fed from the same breast, a kinship that not even time could break. Hassan steps in and fends them off. They were sitting on the dock, feet dangling in the water, fishing poles in hand. People had raised their eyebrows when Ali, a man who had memorized the Koran, married Sanaubar, a woman nineteen years younger, a beautiful but notoriously unscrupulous woman who lived up to her dishonorable reputation. I watched him swing his scraggy leg in a sweeping arc, watched his whole body tilt impossibly to the right every time he planted that foot. Are you listening?”. Nous utilisons des cookies et des outils similaires pour faciliter vos achats, fournir nos services, pour comprendre comment les clients utilisent nos services afin de pouvoir apporter des améliorations, et pour présenter des publicités, y compris des publicités basées sur les centres d’intérêt. IN SCHOOL, we used to play a game called Sherjangi, or “Battle of the Poems.” The Farsi teacher moderated it and it went something like this: You recited a verse from a poem and your opponent had sixty seconds to reply with a verse that began with the same letter that ended yours.

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