Conclusion

       Khaled Hosseini's use of literary devices, such as imagery in The Kite Runner help the reader envision what the characters see/ are living through. The use of imagery stresses the impact that the Taliban had on the people of Afghanistan as seen through the eyes of a young man named Amir who lived his childhood in Kabul, Afghanistan but left to the United States before the Taliban had enforced so much of its power over the Afghan population. This passage takes place during Amir's childhood when he first witnesses an attack from the Taliban. Hosseini's use of imagery places the reader in Amir's mindset and because all that is going on around him at the time is completely new to him, Hosseini has  Amir describe what is going on around him by comparing them to sounds that are familiar to him. Amir describes his surroundings by saying, "Something roared like thunder. The earth shook a little and we heard the rat-a- tat-tat of gunfire" (33). He also describes the "silver lights" flashing around him. This helps the reader envision what he sees. Hosseini's use of literary devices also stress the effects of the attacks on the characters as the attacks are happening and afterwards. The attack itself happened really quickly, the way in which everything is phrased indicated everything was happening very quickly. Hosseini's use of imagery evokes the same feeling to the reader. In reality, this is something that the children of war and their loved ones have to learn to cope with. Although this novel takes place in the past it emphasizes the effects of war on the Afghan society; some of which still affect Afghan citizens to this day.

The Kite Runner, Passage Three (Chapter 5: pages 33-34)

Something roared like thunder. The earth shook a little and we heard the rat-a- tat-tat of gunfire. “Father!” Hassan cried. We sprung to our feet and raced out of the living room. We found Ali hobbling frantically across the foyer.

“Father! What’s that sound?” Hassanyelped, his hands outstretched toward Ali. Ali wrapped his arms around us. A white light flashed, lit the sky in silver. It flashed again and was followed by a rapid staccato of gunfire.

“They’re hunting ducks,” Ali said in a hoarse voice. “They hunt ducks at night, you know. Don’t be afraid.”

A siren went off in the distance. Somewhere glass shattered and someone shouted. I heard people on the street, jolted from sleep and probably still in their pajamas, with ruffled hair and puffy eyes. Hassan was crying. Ali pulled him close, clutched him with tenderness. Later, I would tell myself I hadn’t felt envious of Hassan. Not at all.

We stayed huddled that way until the early hours of the morning. The shootings and explosions had lasted lessthan an hour, but they had frightened us badly, because none of us had everheard gunshots in the streets. They were foreign sounds to us then. Thegeneration of Afghan children whose ears would know nothing but the sounds ofbombs and gunfire was not yet born. Huddled together in the dining room and waiting for the sun to rise, none of us had any notion that a way of life hadended. Our way of life. If not quite yet, then at least it was the beginning of the end. The end, the official end, would come first in April1978 with the communist coup d’état, and then in December 1979, when Russiantanks would roll into the very same streets where Hassan and I played, bringingthe death of the Afghanistan I knew and marking the start of a still ongoingera of bloodletting.

            Just before sunrise, Baba’s car peeled into the driveway. His door slammed shut and his running footsteps pounded the stairs. Then he appeared in the doorway and I saw something on his face. Something I didn’t recognize right away because I’d never seen it before: fear. “Amir! Hassan!” he exclaimed as he ran to us, opening his arms wide. “They blocked all the roads and the telephone didn’t work. I was so worried!”

We let him wrap us in his arms and, for a brief insane moment, I was glad about whatever had happened that night.