这本书我读得慢，每晚睡前坐在床上翻一些，到今天刚好九天。以前读一些书，都是迫不及待地读下去，想要知道发生了什么，想要看到作者的想法，哪怕故事再悲伤，再残忍，我都会乐在其中，有时候把自己和身边的人放进去，有时候把历史放进去，像《美国佬》，像《小岛》，然后看完后长长地舒一口气，又跑去晒太阳了。
可是读这本书，我不能太快，因为这不是用来自我对比自虐自戕的故事，也不是只属于历史的，让人觉得保持了一定安全距离的故事。在我读的时候，也许这些事情就在发生。不是也许，是肯定。
两个阿富汗孩子，一个普什图Amir，一个哈扎拉Hassan，一起长大，像朋友，却无法成为朋友，又更甚朋友。一个有天生的奴性，只因哈扎拉这个标签；一个在社会给与的种族优越感和父亲的平等对待甚至偏爱中矛盾、羡慕、犯错、自责。但他们对彼此的感情是真诚的，哪怕后来远隔千山万水，他们都自愿地把彼此的生命嫁接在了自己的生命之上。Hassan回到了危险Kabul，等Amir回来；Amir几十年深深地自责，最后把Hassan的孩子带到了美国。
History isn't easy to overcome, neither is religion. 但是Amir做到了，虽然晚了几十年。所以Rahim Khan 在给Amir的信中写道：what you did was wrong, Amir jan, but do not forget that you were a boy when it happened. A troubled little boy. You were too hard on yourself then, and you still are. But I hope you will heed this: A man who has no concience, no goodness, does not suffer. I hope your suffering comes to an end with your journey to Afghanistan.
Finally, Amir have his guilt lead to good.然而他只是一个人在战斗，他拯救的只是自己和一个孩子。可是阿富汗呢？在歧视、屠杀、战争等罪行之后，内疚在哪，它又将阿富汗带往何处？世界呢？
I looked at the photo. Your father was a man torn between two halves, Rahim Khan had said in his letter. I had been the entitled half, the society-approved, legitimate half, the unwitting embodiment of Baba's guilt. I looked at Hassan. Baba's other half. The unentitled,unprivileged half. The half who had inherited what had been pure and noble in Baba. The half that, maybe, in the most secret recesses of his heart, Baba had thought of as his true son.
We are all equal offspring of God.