Conclusion Paragraph

In the Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini, the use of imagery, figurative language and careful diction help bring forth the cultural values and social issues in Afghanistan. Throughout the story, learning of Hassan and his presence as a Hazara in society, we notice the rather strong differences in social class. Imagery throughout the novel helps the reader see their situation and how they live their lives everyday in comparison to our own. Having grown up together, Hassan and Amir have a special bond, that Afghan society would not consider acceptable, as Hassan is a Hazara, maintaining a much lower social status than Amir. Despite these circumstances and beliefs, Amir and Hassan's friendship is one that is bound to last a lifetime. On a tree, Amir carved "'Amir and Hassan, the sultans of Kabul.' Those words made it formal: the tree was ours" (27). This clearly shows that despite what both Hassan and Amir know about their different social statuses they really look past that and their special bond means more than much else will. Carving their names onto this significant tree that stands in an important location to them emphasizes the little they care about what others would have to say about it. Relationships are a huge cultural value and all Afghans cherish the relationships they have with different people. Throughout the novel the careful use of diction helps to bring out the social issues that many are faced with in Afghanistan. Hassan and Ali are not as accepted into society as they are Hazaras. Many Hazaras are treated differently and have a much lower social status than others in Afghan society. Hassan growing up “illiterate like Ali and most Hazaras had been decided the minute he had been born, perhaps even the moment he had been conceived in Sanaubar’s unwelcoming womb” (28). The use of the word unwelcoming in this sentence brings forth its significance. Hassan, like other Hazaras is not accepted into Afghan society, let alone his own mother’s womb. Hassan’s mother left him and Ali as soon as he had been born; she didn’t even wish to see him. Like his mothers womb, Hassan was never really accepted anywhere other than in the lives of Ali, Amir and Baba. Although Hazaras like Ali and Hassan are excluded from Afghan society in general, they are also rejected from the lives of people who really have the duty to be a part of their lives but neglect it.

Passage Two

The Kite Runner, Passage Two (Chapter 4 – pages 27-28)

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. There was an old abandoned cemetery atop the hill with rows of unmarked headstones and tangles of brushwood clogging the aisles. Seasons of rain and snow had turned the iron gate rusty and left the cemetery’s low white stone walls in decay. There was a pomegranate tree near the entrance to the cemetery. One summer day, I used one of Ali’s kitchen knives to carve our names on it: “Amir and Hassan, the sultans of Kabul.” Those words made it formal: the tree was ours. After school, Hassan and I climbed its branches and snatched its bloodred pomegranates. After we’d eaten the fruit and wiped our hands on the grass, I would read to Hassan.

Sitting cross-legged, sunlight and shadows of pomegranate leaves dancing on his face, Hassan absently plucked blades of grass from the ground as I read him stories he couldn’t read for himself. That Hassan would grow up illiterate like Ali and most Hazaras had been decided the minute he had been born, perhaps even the moment he had been conceived in Sanaubar’s unwelcoming womb—after all, what use did a servant have for the written word? But despite his illiteracy, or maybe because of it, Hassan was drawn to the mystery of words, seduced by a secret world forbidden to him. I read him poems and stories, sometimes riddles—though I stopped reading those when I saw he was far better at solving them than I was. So I read him unchallenging things, like the misadventures of the bumbling Mullah Nasruddin and his donkey. We sat for hours under that tree, sat there until the sun faded in the west, and still Hassan insisted we had enough daylight for one more story, one more chapter.