The author, Khaled Hosseini, the guy who wrote The Kite Runner, had the oddest, lightest touch I've seen in a long time. He can slip back and forth between stomach-clenching brutality and heartbreaking tenderness in a page without either feeling contrived and make both equally engaging. I think I cried pretty steadily for the last hundred or so pages. But in that good way that you cry when you're plugged into such a mish-mash of emotions that you don't feel emotionally manipulated, you feel lucky to be peeking into this world.
Khaled Hosseini? I love this man. If I weren't a middle-aged midwestern lesbian I'd go to California and sleep on his lawn in a tent and hold up a big sign declaring my undying love for him, until the police hauled me away and charged me with stalking him.
I'm sort of at a loss here. I so much loved this book (and The Kite Runner, too) that I would love to talk about it. But Lori hasn't read it yet. So I'll just say...do yourself a tremendous favor. Buy this book, then come back and tell me about how much you loved it and how much you love me for telling you to read it.