In 1948, when I was born, most of Afghanistan might as well have been living in Neolithic times. It was a world of walled villages, each one inhabited by a few large families, themselves linked in countless ways through intermarriages stretching into the dim historical memories of the eldest elders. These villages had no cars, no carts even, no wheeled vehicles at all; no stores, no shops, no electricity, no postal service, and no media except rumors, storytelling and the word of travellers passing through. Virtually all the men were farmers. Virtually all the women ran households and raised the children. Virtually all the boys grew up like their fathers and all the girls like their mothers. The broad patterns of life never changed, never had as far as any living generation could remember, and presumably never would. People lived pretty much as they had eight thousand years ago. This book is part San Francisco's One City, One Book project in support of the community-wide reading programs, initiated by the Washington Center for the Book in 1998. An excellent choice of a San Francisco writer with parts of the book taking place in the city.
I loved this book. It is a very readable memoir balanced with thought-provoking ideas, travel, intrigue, an inner search for understanding, and complicated relationships. The story-telling style makes the reader feel like he is sitting in a cafe with the author listening to a fascinating tale.
The book focuses primarily on Afghanistan and the Muslim religion. The author straddles two worlds- America and Afghanistan culture. His intrigue in his native country's history and religion lead him on an exploration of what he missed growing up in mixed cultural, non-religious family. The book is both enjoyable to read as well as enlightening. We learn of an Afghan culture that will never exist again in a changing world. The author introduces the reader to characters who personalize opposing views, but primarily focuses on his views as an observer.
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