I am not a fan of Khaled Hosseini’s first book, The Kite Runner, but sometimes I feel that I’m the only person in the world to dislike the book (its convolution, implausibility, opportunism…) as it was so immensely popular. Sometimes you have to wonder if your own taste is flawed, particularly when people whose opinions on books you usually value can have such differing perspectives. But after reading And the Mountains Echoed I can confidently say that I am not a fan of Khaled Hosseini as an author. Much of this has to do with what I think he represents for western (particularly American) readers, a sort of “native informism” that isn’t properly ‘native’ (to put it very crudely) or informative. But that is a different rant and a different essay. Meta-criticism aside, And the Mountains Echoed was too sprawling and eventually flat.
It started very powerfully, demonstrating that on some levels, Hosseini can be a good storyteller. The narrator tells an old Afghan tale of a family forced to give up its youngest, most beloved child to a demon. The father goes mad with grief, but discovers in time that his lost child has been given a better life, and the rest of the family prospered, through the act of sacrifice. The moral is that sacrifice for the greater good is sometimes necessary, but also that one’s desires for possession can be selfish and that perhaps letting go of attachments is the right thing to do, if not always the easiest. And the Mountains Echoed brings this fable into the twentieth century, beginning in 1950s Afghanistan when a young village girl is bought from her family and beloved brother by a wealthy, bored, childless Afghan couple. She is promised a better life with her adoptive parents, which she does receive, but the ramifications of the displacement echo throughout generations. The search for lost history, roots, and family travels across continents–to the US, unsurprisingly, but also to Greece and France–and time, bringing the novel into the twenty-first century with a lot of meandering and jumping across the decades.
This search for that which has been lost is at the heart of the novel, but there is little else convincingly tying the 400 pages together. A non-linear narrative, as Hosseini has used, can be an effective way of creating suspense and keeping the narrative interesting. It is, though, an over-used device employed when there is not enough substance to the plot, characters, or other aspects of the novel to retain the reader’s interest. This felt like the case with And the Mountains Echoed. The more creative, surprising thing for Hossein to have done would have been to employ a linear structure. The power of the story, particularly the psychological traumas various characters face over many years, could have been retained this way, in fact heightened. This narrative ‘experimentation’ (and I use scare quotes because narrative non-linearity is hardly novel) is not a lone example of Hosseini being needlessly ornate. A large section of the novel is narrated through a letter, and the frequent references to and invocations of the reader of the letter, a Greek man implicated in the plot, are very tiresome and unnecessary. Hosseini seemed reticent to employ an omniscient narrator throughout his novel, even though the complex history and multiple characters and locations really called for one.
Multi-generational sagas that span continents can be impressive books, but only when they are done flawlessly. Hosseini, in And the Mountains Echoed threw in so many irrelevant characters that didn’t plausibly have any reason to care for the separation or reunification of the central family that, ultimately, I didn’t understand why I was being asked to care for this family, either. The potential emotional power that And the Mountains Echoed began with was completely lost through too many poorly executed literary flourishes.