A Thousand Splendid Suns painted a beautiful, well-crafted portrait of Afghanistan in my mind. I was amazed by Hosseini's ability to teach Afghanistan's history while telling a fictional story. Before reading A Thousand Splendid Suns, I had vague images of what Afghanistan was like from the news. Now that the details are painted, I can sympathize with the Afghan's situation and feel I have walked away with more than just a well-written book. I have gained valuable knowledge about Afghanistan's history, culture, and society and how distrustful people can be behind closed doors.                                                                                                           

Although A Thousand Splendid Suns was an influential book, I felt it lacked some emotional connection with the main characters. For these reasons, I have lowered my rating to four stars. On page nine of the book's first chapter, we learn Nana and Jalil's versions of Mariam's birth, but we only get vague emotional reactions or thoughts from Mariam. The text says, "In Nana's account of the day she gave birth to Mariam, no one came to help. It happened on a damp, overcast day in the spring of 1959, she said, the twenty sixth year of King Zahir Shah's mostly uneventful forty year reign. She said that Jalil hadn't bothered to summon a doctor, or even a midwife, even though he knew that the jinn might enter her body and cause her to have one of her fits in the act of delivering. She lay alone on the kolba's floor, a knife by her side, sweat drenching her body. "When the pain got bad, I'd bite on a pillow and scream into it until I was hoarse. And still, no one came to wipe my face or give me a drink of water. And you, Mariam Jo, were in no rush. For almost two days you made me lay on that cold, hard floor. I didn't eat or sleep, all I did was push and pray that you would come out." "I'm sorry, Nana." "I cut the cord between us myself. That's why I had a knife." "I'm sorry." Nana always gave a slow, burdened smile here, one of lingering recrimination or reluctant forgiveness, Mariam could never tell. It did not occur to young Mariam to ponder the unfairness of apologizing for the manner of her own birth. By the time it did occur to her, around the time she turned ten, Mariam no longer believed this story of her birth. She believed Jalil's version, that though he'd been away he'd arranged for Nana to be taken to a hospital in Herat where she had been tended to by a doctor. She had lain on a clean, proper bed in a well lit room. Jalil shook his head with sadness when Mariam told him about the knife. Mariam also came to doubt that she had made her mother suffer for two full days. "They told me it was all over within under an hour," Jalil said. "You were a good daughter, Mariam Jo. Even in birth you were a good daughter." "He wasn't even there!" Nana spat. "He was in Takht-e-Safar, horseback riding with his precious friends." When they informed him that he had a new daughter, Nana said, Jalil had shrugged, kept brushing his horse's mane, and stayed in Takht-e-Safar another two weeks. "The truth is, he didn't even hold you until you were a month old. And then only to look down once, comment on your longish face, and hand you back to me." Mariam came to disbelieve this part of the story as well. Yes, Jalil admitted, he had been horseback riding in Takht-e-Safar, but, when they gave him the news, he had not shrugged. He had hopped on the saddle and ridden back to Herat. He had bounced her in his arms, run his thumb over her flaky eyebrows, and hummed a lullaby. Mariam did not picture Jalil saying that her face was long, though it was true that it was long. Nana said she was the one who'd picked the name Mariam because it had been the name of her mother. Jalil said he chose the name because Mariam, the tuberose, was a lovely flower. "Your favorite?" Mariam asked. "Well, one of them," he said and smiled." 

Throughout Mariam's conversations with Nana and Jalil about her birth, we don't hear what Mariam thinks about these stories. We know that Mariam chooses to believe Jalil's story, but we don't get to hear her analyze the stories and find a reason to choose Jalil's story. The text implies that because Jalil has a nicer-sounding version of Mariam's birth story, she decides to believe him. I could relate to Mariam more if I knew what she was thinking. It seems Hosseini wanted to leave Mariam's emotions up to interpretation, but I want to hear Mariam's emotions and understand her personality.

Another example is when Mullah Faizullah talks to Nana about sending Mariam to school on page fourteen, "If the girl wants to learn, let her, my dear. Let the girl have an education." "Learn? Learn what, Mullah sahib?" Nana said sharply. "What is there to learn?" She snapped her eyes toward Mariam. Mariam looked down at her hands. "What's the sense of schooling a girl like you? It's like shining a spittoon. And you'll learn nothing of value in those schools. There is only one, only one skill a woman like you and me needs in life, and they don't teach it in school. Look at me." "You should not speak like this to her, my child," Mullah Faizullah said. "Look at me." Mariam did. "Only one skill, And it's this: tahamul. Endure." "Endure what, Nana?" "Oh, don't you fret about that," Nana said. "There won't be any shortage of things." She said how Mil's wives had called her an ugly, lowly stone carver's daughter. How they'd made her wash laundry outside in the cold until her face went numb and her fingertips burned. "It's our lot in life, Mariam. Women like us. We endure. It's all we have. Do you understand? Besides, they'll laugh at you in school. They will. They'll call you harami. They'll say the most terrible things about you. I won't have it." Mariam nodded. "And no more talk about school. You're all I have. I won't lose you to them. Look at me. No more talk about school." "Be reasonable. Come now. If the girl wants "Mullah Faizullah began. "And you, akhund sahib, with all due respect, you should know better than to encourage these foolish ideas of hers. If you really care about her, then you make her see that she belongs here at home with her mother. There is nothing out there for her. Nothing but rejection and heartache. I know, akhund sahib. I know." 

In this part of A Thousand Splendid Suns, we don't hear how Mariam feels about not attending school. Mariam simply looks down, looks at Nana, and accepts her fate. Does that mean Mariam never genuinely cared about wanting to go to school? I believe Hosseini wanted to include this chapter to show us that Mariam didn't have an education, but we didn't hear Mariam's opinion about it. Earlier in the chapter, the text says Mariam wants to go to school because she wants to draw important-looking lines with a ruler. Hosseini didn't NEED to include more information; he got his point across that Mariam didn't have an education. Still, I would have connected and related more to Mariam emotionally if I could hear her opinion about what's happening in her life. Most of the emotional descriptions in A Thousand Splendid Suns are vague, so I don't feel like I'm in Mariam or Laila's shoes. 

I typically read fantasy books, where the main character's thoughts narrate the story, so I enjoy hearing the main character's emotions/opinions and relating on a deeper level. In A Thousand Splendid Suns, many exciting and captivating events occur. Still, it feels more like I'm watching the events rather than relating to the main characters and experiencing them myself. I could still relate to Mariam and Laila, but I would have enjoyed the book more if I had a deeper emotional understanding. 

Another thing I was not too fond of about A Thousand Splendid Suns was Nana's sudden death. At the beginning of the book, Mariam is living with Nana, and we hardly get any information about Nana before she commits suicide. Nana's suicide was shocking but not painful to read. Compared to other books, when a character dies, especially the main character's mother, there is much more buildup, action, and emotion. One of the best ways a book can connect with its readers is through emotionally traumatizing moments like this. These are the moments when the reader cries or feels a deeper connection to the main character because we both have lost something. If the writer gets the reader to connect, relate, and understand a character before killing them off, the pain of death feels natural and not like a hallucination. 

This is how the book described Mariam's reaction to Nana's death on page twenty-six, "They buried Nana in the corner of the cemetery in Gul Daman. Mariam stood beside Bibi Jo, with the women, as Mullah Faizullah recited prayers at the graveside the men lowered Nana's shrouded body into the ground. Afterward Jalil walked Mariam to the kolba, where, in front of the villagers who accompanied them, he made a great show of tending to Mariam. He collected a few of her things, put them in a suitcase. He sat beside her cot, where she lay down, and fanned her face. He stroked her forehead, and, with a woebegone expression on his face, asked if she needed anything? anything? He said it like that, twice. "I want Mullah Faizullah," Mariam said. "Of course. He's outside. I'll get him for you." It was when Mullah Faizullah's slight, stooping figure appeared in the kolba's doorway that Mariam cried for the first time that day. "Oh, Mariam jo." He sat next to her and cupped her face in his hands. "You go on and cry, Mariam Jo. Go on. There is no shame in it. But remember, my girl, what the Koran says, 'Blessed is He in Whose hand is the kingdom, and He Who has power over all things, Who created death and life that He may try you.' The Koran speaks the truth, my girl. Behind every trial and every sorrow that He makes us shoulder, God has a reason." But Mariam could not hear the comfort in God's words. Not that day. Not then. All she could hear was Nana saying, I'll die if you go. I'll just die. All she could do was cry and cry and let her tears fall on the spotted, paper thin skin of Mullah Faizullah's hands."

This context shows that Hosseini never included Mariam's thoughts about Nana's death. He might have vaguely mentioned how Mariam felt when she cried, and the mood shifts to sad, but overall, Nana's death feels confusing, quick, and unreal. Because Hosseini doesn't include enough thoughts and emotions to have a strong connection with the main characters, it seems like the main exciting things happen when someone gets abused, hurt, or dies. 

Despite my negatives against A Thousand Splendid Suns, it was overall a well-written book, so I'm giving it a four-star rating. Reading A Thousand Splendid Suns was eye-opening to Afghanistan's complicated history and the abuse women endure. It was interesting to read a book written in a different style than I'm used to. I may not be fond of Hosseini's style, as I prefer more captivating writing where I can connect and understand the main character(s) better. Still, I'm glad I read A Thousand Splendid Suns and learned about Afghanistan's culture and history.