Last night I dreamt of the Taliban. The fear was not as petrifying as it was a piteous surrender. This is what life means to be a woman. And there is still beauty among the shards and rubble of life, and there is depth and resiliency in the secret longings within the folds of a woman's heart. And there is redemption.
I finished Khaled Hosseini's A Thousand Splendid Suns today, with barely anything else accomplished this week. I read it in three days, because while I could not put it down, I also could not miss a single, beautiful word. I am having a hard time even speaking, because I'm afraid that anything I utter will tear my heart further from the experience and thrust me back into my own real life. This is a book that has changed me. Mariam and Laila feel like sisters to me. I love them. I understand them, even worlds away. We are the same. I will weep with them for days to come. Khaled Hosseini knows the heart of a woman, somehow, mystically. And he painted a painful, yet breathtaking portrait of a war-torn and brutal Afghanistan. It's not just land, it's people.
I am not a book critic, but trust me, if you haven't, you must read A Thousand Splendid Suns.