...and thanks for all the fish

A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini

After I finished A Thousand Splendid Suns (ATSS) last week, I started to tell my grandmother, who introduced me to Hosseini when she lent me her copy of The Kite Runner a few years ago, how good, yet upsetting, it was. She then told me that she had brought it with her for her stay at my house for Christmas, which I took as a delightful coincidence since we hadn’t spoken about the book and it’s been out since March. The next day I found out that Nick’s grandmother had also just finished reading it, which I found even more incredible. If there was a required reading list for the women of the world, this book would top the list for this year.

So Hosseini likes to tie his stories up in a nice, neat bow at the end. Is it such a horrible thing for a heartbreaking story to end a little bit happily for his characters? I don’t think so, but I guess some people need nothing but realistic situations when they read. Personally, I really need his stories to end with some sort of light at the end of the tunnel moment because if they didn’t, I would be left depressed about the world and humanity in general. And that’s no way to live your life. If the stories aren’t true to the normal outcomes of people’s lives in Afghanistan and the Middle East, they at least could be true for some of the population. So I find no fault in it, and if you can’t get passed this minor thing, then why bother reading anyway?

One of the major points of Hosseini’s stories is to show that there is a common thread of decency in people, no matter what country you live in. Sure, there are people who are selfish and greedy and downright evil, but these people don’t comprise entire societies. And societies shouldn’t be judged based on the worst citizens. I guess would include the world’s current view of the US, thanks to G Dub and the Christian Maniacs who are attempting to take over the world with their insane science-hating brainwashing. The point is that there should be some hope in everyone that the entire world isn’t going to shit because of the crazies who are currently in control. That there is some sense of service and good in people that will prohibit the world from being completely destroyed.

What ATSS exposes, if you have been completely oblivious to the outside world for the past six years, is the horrible injustice being imposed on women in the Middle East, and specifically in Afghanistan. These women, who aren’t allowed to leave the house without their husband, who must completely cover themselves in a burqa that leaves only their eyes exposed, who are beaten and abused as if they weren’t even human at all, who are prohibited from seeking out education, are, I’m sure, struggling every day to try and make it to the next. Of course not every single woman in the Middle East is forced to put up with a controlling and abusive husband, but it’s not a rare situation either. One of the main character's mother sets it straight from her early on in the book: their lives as Afghan women are revolved entirely on the ability to endure all of the crap that gets thrown at them.

This book left me thankful and appreciative for the life I have, which was especially relevant for this time of year (in addition to the annual viewing of It’s A Wonderful Life, which makes me cry harder with each time I see it). This book really made me appreciate the privileges and opportunities that my family and society have given me. I never had to worry that my parents would force me to marry some man (and most often a man much older than me) when I was 15 or 16, I never had to worry that I wouldn’t have enough to eat or drink, that I wouldn’t have a bed to sleep in every night, that I wouldn’t be able to go to high school let alone college and learn and read and have conversations about things other than what my husband wanted for dinner. These are obviously things that some women, and people in general, have to deal with in this country, but I guess, like many others, I most often take these things for granted. Every winter morning when I walk the ten minutes from 30th Street Station to work and pass the men sleeping on the sidewalk, I am increasingly thankful for my huge comforter goose-down coat and the warm house I just came from and the shoes on my feet and the shower I have access to every day and for food and everything else I am spoiled enough to have. I don’t think there is a day that goes by that I don’t complain about having to live with my parents, but I am so thankful that it is an option and they didn’t change the locks after I left for college. I am especially thankful that women in this country are allowed to have a purpose in life other than being a baby machine. For someone’s sole purpose in life to be birthing and raising babies has to be the most depressing thing ever. How are you supposed to properly raise your children if you aren’t allowed to be educated? How are your children supposed to use you as a role model if you aren’t allowed to walk down the street by yourself, or even without being completely covered up as if your natural physical appearance is indecent?

After reading The Kite Runner, I was sure that ATSS would be Cry-fest Part II, but, much to the relief of the people who ride the R3 West Trenton, I actually only cried twice (although the one time I had to stop reading because I thought I might break out into sobs). ATSS was more upsetting and hard to read than tear-enducing, but I think it was just as influential and enlightening as The Kite Runner. And it’s actually a really nice story about women, friendship, hardship, and the good in people. I couldn't stop reading it. I even skipped my train ride home naps so I could read and many times almost missed my stop because I was so engrossed in it. So that’s why I recommend (surprise!) that you get A Thousand Splendid Suns for everyone on your holiday gift list who you haven’t already gotten gifts for (and you must really not care too much about them if you haven’t gotten them a gift at this point). Or buy it on sale for everyone who will be on your gift list next year. Or buy it for everyone you know just because—for the good of humanity. The world doesn’t have to be as gloomy and depressing as it looks on the news (especially if you live in Philadelphia (see first rumber (hello, shameless plug!))).

Up next: The Yiddish Policeman's Union by Michael Chabon (On a recent adventure in Old City, Nick and I passed a girl who was reading The Yiddish Policeman's Union while walking down the street. She was smiling to herself at whatever she was reading, and after we passed her Nick says that I could be friends with that girl because we are both crazy book people just as I was about to say that I used to be friends with that girl in high school and that she is slightly crazy. Ahhh life.)

Hello, freedom! (At least for a few weeks anyway…)

So this week brought the end of the fall term, which means I only have one more left before I am finished! Which means I will have a master's degree, and this is slightly frightening because it means that I am getting old. But it also means that I will have more time to do the things that I want to do, like read books, take pictures, write blogs about the books I read, bake, and generally lounge around (because let's face it: there are very few things that I love more than lounging).

The Hours by Michael Cunningham

The Hours was a fun one because it reminded me of being in college and reading books that I would eventually have to write a paper on. This was fun because I kept realizing that I didn't have to write a strict paper and could write about whatever I wanted and no one would care and I wouldn't be graded on it (but I guess if you don't like what I write, you won't come back here again. I'm willing to take that risk, since Nick is the only person I think who reads this). It was very Virginia Woolf-y, but I guess you'll read that in any review. It's impossible not to say it though. Not much happened, yet so much did. And through not a lot happening, strong themes ran throughout the whole thing.

I really liked the use of three parallel worlds interrupting each other, and the similarities between them was interesting. By the end, we come to learn that all three included suicide attempts (sorry if this spoils things for you, but I don't think it should) and in all three there was a Richie/Richard/Richmond strangling the main character of that world. The "Rich" character doesn't allow the woman to become the woman she was meant to be, or could be, and that is really depressing. In one of the world, Richie is Laura's son, a total momma's boy who plays his part in forcing Laura to conform to the role of a soldier's wife after the second world war. This world infuriated me, because Laura kept making excuses for her own needs and desires by saying that her husband had seen all of these horrors in the war and was a good person and that she was bad for wanting a life and personality of her own. No, Laura! That is how it should be! I could go on forever. In another world, Richard is the best friend of Clarissa, who has been captivated by Richard their entire adult lives, even though he doesn't challenge her or really value her as a human being, in my opinion. And Richmond smothers the insane Virginia Woolf in a way to protect her from crazy London. Let's shut her up in the countryside and that'll fix her! Also, the way Leonard is portrayed as Virginia's babysitter rather than her husband really pisses me off. I really hope that's not how it was in real life. Although it probably was. And who is to say that insane people don't need babysitters rather than husbands? It was just depressing, that's all. I wonder why Rich was the root word for all three. Perhaps Cunningham is saying wealth is the root of all evil. It's possible!

Running through these three worlds are themes of death, meaning in life, regret, becoming who you are supposed to be, societal expectations, and women's role throughout it all. I wouldn't consider myself a feminist, but I guess when you look at the basic definition, I am. I don't go around whining about the inequality of society because I think that it's pretty obvious that society is inequal and is wrong about it. It isn't a secret that, for the most part, women are more capable of handling complex situations and emotions better than men. I'm not saying women are better, but in many cases, women are more capable human beings. And perhaps feeling this way is why I have so few girlfriends—I have too high expectations of the way women should behave. It could also be because I am anti-social and incapable of keeping in touch with people. I am trying, though, so perhaps we can turn this around.

One night in class I noticed a Madeline Albright quote on my friend's Starbucks cup: There is a special place in hell for women who don't help other women. Well, Madeline, besides the time you had a cameo on Gilmore Girls, I couldn't have been more in love with you than I was reading that for the first time. And this is from a person who knows absolutely nothing about Madeline Albright. Isn't it just great that my first dose of Madeline Albright wisdom traveled to me through a Starbuck's cup? Anyway, what she says is true. Eff you if you allow a fellow woman to be trampled on in life. And there are peripheral women characters throughout each of the worlds who allow the women to stumble and struggle through life when they could have been like, listen, this just won't do. And these characters will undoubtedly go straight to hell because look at how many lives they ruined as a result of their selfishness. I'm just saying.

Thanks to the About Alice post, I decided to start a new tradition where I recommend when said book would be an appropriate gift. We'll see how long this lasts. I would buy The Hours for any undergraduate lit/writing major due to the literary form and Virginia Woolf-iness of the book, but that is such an easy cop-out that I'll come up with another. I don't think it would be appropriate to buy The Hours for a woman who is going through a tough time, because I think it would probably set her over the edge and make her miss the point the book is trying to make. I'm not sure a male would enjoy this book, unless he was a Virginia Woolf fan, and I've never met such a creature. So I think an appropriate receiver of The Hours would be a 20-30 something woman who is slightly dull and needs to realize that her life should be fun and exciting and something that she looks forward to experiencing. Although shouldn't everyone come to realize this?

Up Next: A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini (and more crying on the train)