And the Mountains Echoed

             And the Mountains Echoed is a powerful novel by Khaled Hosseini. In this work, Hosseini explores the complexities of a handful of characters whose lives bleed imperceptibly into one another’s. It is a tale of choices and consequences, of words said and actions done that can never be taken back, for better or worse. It is written from multiple points of view—rather than following the story through the perspective of one or two main characters, it written almost as if there is no main character. Nor is the story written in a linear fashion—it frequently jumps times and locations with little warning. It could be argued this narrative choice weakens and distracts from the story’s message by choosing an unfamiliar form. I argue that not only is the book powerful in spite of these narrative choices, it is successful because of them.

            Most novels I encounter have a familiar form following a plot structure that is more or less Aristotelian in nature—an exposition of a norm followed by rising action that culminates in a crisis and climax, finished by a falling action and the establishment of a new norm. And the Mountains Echoed takes these conventions and tosses them out in favor of a form that more closely fits the author’s purposes. There is an exposition of sorts, yes—where we are introduced to the characters whose lives are inextricably linked to the other lives lived around them—but on the whole we are summarily thrown into the middle of a moving story whose inertia will carry us forward through the entire story. This is not to say that books based on an Aristotelian plot structure lack movement, meaning, or gravity, but the departure from (or complication of) this well-versed narrative form creates a set of expectations between the author and readers.

            This expectation is one of trust. Hosseini rarely, if ever, gives the reader a “complete equation,” rather he provides them with the pieces they need and expects them to be able to fit them together. For example, in one portion of the novel Iqbal, a man unable to regain his rightful land, engages in a violent confrontation with the men who took it from him. Rather than tell us what happened to the man, Hosseini explores a secondary character’s thoughts about the event. The reader is led to believe Iqbal suffers a gruesome, violent death, but while heavy hints are dropped, there is no sanctioning closure from Hosseini. Did it happen, or didn’t it? Will Iqbal be back? Or is his absence later in the book proof enough? Here, Hosseini treats his readers as a mature audience whom he deems capable of reason and imagination. He doesn’t have to say exactly what happened to his characters, here or elsewhere. There is a measure of decision he leaves up to their discretion.

            To even out this lopsided exchange, in return the reader saddles the author with the burden of trust. More than once, I thought something much like the following: I have no idea where this story is going because we just started three years in the past and then jumped more than half a century back and I don’t know what just happened to Timur and did that guy stab him or was that just allegorical and wait now who are we talking about and why should I care about that guy I hope you know what you’re doing—“ In the absence of a story form I could expect, I had to choose to trust Hosseini, that he would dig the characters out of the pits they find themselves in.

            Hosseini expects his readers will be able to understand what is going on without him telling them explicitly what has taken place, in turn, the reader expects Hosseini will eventually “come clean” and provide the pieces necessary to create the multiple resolutions peppered throughout the work in readers’ minds.

            To truly evaluate whether Hosseini’s stye is merely stylistic or if it manifests a certain action or theme requires reading the book—in the end, most loose end are tied up. Those that are left unresolved (or maybe just unresolved to my satisfaction) felt very deliberately written and contributed to the sense of loss that is often felt throughout the novel.

            I acknowledge my experience with non-linear narratives is limited; another more experienced reader might even look at And the Mountains Echoed and feel it wasn’t a twist on conventional storytelling at all. I think comparing Afghani plot conventions to Western ones would be productive—again, an area I am undereducated in. Yet despite these shortfalls of my understanding, I truly feel like the offbeat rhythm of Mountains served a larger message in purpose in Hosseini’s masterful rendition of this compelling story that transcends space and place.