So...I've discovered this cool new secondhand bookstore about two weeks ago and my nose has been buried ever since.

The first one I finished was The Kite Runner since there were no sequels to it I'd figure I could just "get it over with".

The overall plot was great, moving. Not many books have made me shed tears but the loyalty and the devotion was soo supreme, admirable.

The writing style was sort of confusing. I do agree that the random foreign words was taken way to far.

Eventhough I've finished it over a week ago, I still haven't sold it back yet because there are some good parts that I wanted to go back to


"
...Ali was immune to the insults of his assailants; he had found his joy, his antidote, the moment Sanaubar had given birth to Hassan...even in birth, Hassan was true to his nature: He was incapable of hurting anyone. A few grunts, a couple of pushes, and out came Hassan. Out he came smiling. (10)

Hassan and I fed from the same breasts. We took our first steps on the same lawn in the same yard. And, under the same roof, we spoke our first words.
Mine was Baba.
His was Amir. My name. (11)

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. Now, hop now. All this talk about sin has made me thirsty again. (18)

By the time I dragged myself out of bed and lumbered to the bathroom, Hassan had already washed up, prayed the morning namaz with Ali, and prepared my breakfast: hot black tea with three sugar cubes and a slice of toasted naan topped with my favorite sour cherry marmalade, all neatly placed on the dining table. While I ate and complained about homework, Hassan made my bed, polished my shoes, ironed my outfit for the day, packed my books and pencils. I'd hear him singing to himself in the foyer as he ironed, singing old Hazara songs in his nasal voice. Then, Baba and I drove off in his black Ford Mustang - a car that drew envious looks everywhere because it was the same car Steve McQueen has driven in Bullitt, a film that played in one theater for six months. Hassan Stayed home and helped Ali with the day's chores: hand-washing dirty clothes and hanging them dry in the yard, sweeping the floors, buying fresh naan from the bazaar, marinating meat for dinner, watering the lawn. (27)

Over the years, I had seen a lot of guys run kites. But Hassan was by far the greatest kite runner I'd ever seen. It was downright eerie the way he always got to the spot the kite would land before the kite did,

He whirled around, motioned with his hand. "This way!" he called before dashing around another corner. I looked up, saw that the direction we were running was opposite to the one the kite was drifting.
"We're losing it! We're going the wrong way!" I cried out.
"Trust me!" I heard him call up ahead.

"What are we doing here?" I panted, my stomach rolling with nausea.
He smiled. "Sit with me Amir Agah."

I dropped next to him, lay on a thin patch of snow, wheezing. "You're wasting our time. It was going the other way, didn't you see?"

Hassan popped a mulberry in his mouth. "It's coming," he said.
"How do you know?" I said.
"I know."

"Here it comes," Hassan said, pointing to the sky. He rose to his feet and walked a few paces to his left. I looked up, saw the kite plummeting towards us. I heard footfalls, shouts, an approaching melee of kite runners. But they were wasting their time. Because Hassan stood with his arms wide open, smiling, waiting for the kite. And may God - if He exists, that is - strike me blind if the kite didn't just dropped into his outstretched arms. (52-55)

"Hassan!" I called. "Come back with it!"
He was already turning the street corner, his rubber boots kicking up snow. He stopped, turned. He cupped his hands around his mouth. "For you a thousand times over!" he said. The he smiled his Hassan smile and disappeared around the corner. The next time I saw him smile unabashedly like that was twenty-six years later, in a faded Polaroid photograph. (67)

"


I personally like the first half better.