So I finished the book...

I went home last night and spent the evening reading "The Kite Runner", finishing it at around half ten. Once again, I have to say, what a wonderful book. Beautifully written, the story draws you in but doesn't give anything away until you read it. There were twists and turns and I didn't see any of them coming until I read them. It gave the book a depth that perhaps other books don't have. It made me think back to when I read "The Inheritance of Loss", a book I really didn't enjoy even though it had won the Booker prize. Not that that should be an indication of enjoyment, that's far too much a personal thing. In the second book, there were similarities, master and servant, the lives of their descendants - but I didn't find an engaging story to capture the imagination. It may have evoked emotions but I don't remember any, apart from feeling bored at the somewhat tedious storyline. It didn't really feel like it went anywhere, the lives of the characters weren't inter-twined or if they were, it was so loosely that they bore no relation on each other.

I found myself dissecting the paragraphs, searching for what made them so compelling. There's more to a wonderful book than the story being told. The author's power of description was inspiring, it made me realise that a picture or photo may capture something but could you describe that same thing when you had words alone? When you see something that moves you, can you describe what it is that evokes that emotion? Can you make a reader feel what you're feeling? Once again I was reminded of the power of words and once again I found myself wishing I was more gifted in the art of putting words together. As I'm leaving for Marrakech on Monday, I've decided that in addition to taking photos, I'll see if I can describe the sights and sounds I witness with words alone.

The story was simple, spanning three generations but the characters few. A single act had bound lives together, led characters to act and behave in a particular manner, secrets being taken to the grave. How many families have their own stories like this? How much do we know, really know of the people who consist of our family members? I spent a lot of time last year with extended family members, my aunts, a cousin and all we did was talk. I had conversations that I'd wanted to have for many years but had been at a loss as to who to have them with. Friends are wonderful but no-one really knows the mechanics of a family apart from those who reside within it. It was like putting a jigsaw puzzle together, putting in the pieces and the picture starting to make a little more sense. I've always been curious about the world around me, what makes one person act like this and another act like that? There were things I wanted to understand about my own family but didn't have the answers. As a family we don't really talk or communicate, there is little desire to understand why things are the way they are, better to just let them be how they are. Having these conversations with extended family members helped me to gain a greater understanding but it would have been just as easy not to have had the conversations at all. But for me I need to understand and maybe, just maybe, this is the reason why I enjoyed this book so much.