Depiction of Hassan and Assef
Kite Runner is narrated from the perspective of Amir, the privileged son of one of the richest men in Kabul. When I finished reading this book, my immediate conscious thought was that the story was entirely about Amir and his journey from cowardice and denial to courage and acceptance. This assumption was born from the fact that Hassan disappears from the book for a large portion of the story, and Amir is the only character that is present in every scene depicted in the book.
However, the more I think about the book, the more I realise how society has grown to accept the surface level of every story presented to it nowadays. To use a common cliche, we are judging every book by its cover. In the case of Kite Runner, Amir is the cover and Hassan is the treasure hidden within it. Hassan is the light at the end of the tunnel; Amir is the tunnel hiding Hassan. For the past 5 years, I have always wanted to read the Kite Runner, my longing spurred on by the glowing reviews given by family and friends. When I think back, nearly every reader has described the book as a story of redemption, which of course means that they see the book as one about Amir.
When I stopped trying to make sense of the confusing conflict of emotions Kite Runner stirred up within me, my thoughts ordered themselves into a discernible form. Though it is Amir that is telling the story, the entire book is really only the slow, perfect depiction of Hassan as a person. As a reader, I only got to see Hassan through Amir’s eyes, how Amir described him. Though it is never expressly said, Amir has always been jealous of Hassan, and thus avoids ever discussing Hassan’s character or feelings. Even through the limited description of Hassan in the book, certain facets of his character become clear. He is loyal to the death, as proven in the scene where he is raped by Assef as Amir looks on. His soul is as pure as can be. His ability to trust is untainted by jealousy or malice, and his nature is caring and loving. Perhaps the most unique aspect of his character, the aspect that sets him apart from most human beings on this planet, is the ability to give unconditional love to everyone around him. Amir betrays Hassan multiple times throughout the course of the book, paying no heed to the doe-eyed trust Hassan places in him. He even drives him out of his house into the poor, inhumane conditions of Hazarabad. Yet, decades and infinite betrayals later, Amir finds proof of Hassans undying loyalty and love in a letter from his dead friend. Hassan’s ability to love is influenced not by the actions of who he loves towards him, but rather by his own innate desire to love unconditionally and stay loyal to those who once called him a friend, then betraying him.
Undeniably, Hassan is the hero of the novel, the centrepiece around which the story revolves. However, his physical depiction could not be more different from the traditional description of what a hero should look like. Over the history of creative literature, readers have become used to their heroes being the model whom every teenager wanted to look like. They often had blonde hair and blue eyes. Most often, they had a sculpted, fair face and a muscular physique. Hassan broke all these stereotypes. In fact, Hosseini gives this typical stereotypical character type to the villain of the story, Assef, instead. Assef is the one who rapes Hassan and then his child Sohrab, and countless other children. He isn’t the one running between chaos and stopping conflict: that is Hassan, and Hassan’s spirit living through Amir. Assef is the one causing the conflict.
I grew up in India, and most of the people I ever saw until I moved to Singapore a year and a half ago were brown-skinned. Yet, every book I read featured the hero or the lead character as someone who looked like Assef. I never realised this until this very moment, as I put words to paper. It all goes to show that looks aren’t the true depiction of who a person is. The literary heroes of my childhood could not be more like Assef in looks, and neither could the villains in character. But Hassan is unique.
He doesn’t look like a hero. He doesn’t look like a villain. His tiny, sculpted face is broken by a prominent hairlip, and his skinny frame suggest a quiet, timid boy. Beneath the disfigured face and lithe frame lies truly the closest a character can approach to perfection, a gentle longing for giving love hiding a fierce loyalty that often showed itself at great speed as a mass of black flying from a slingshot held by steady, true, arms.
