99Nights is that rare book that can deservedly be called a 'love-letter' to its people. It is written with remarkable care, intimacy, and with a humor and wit that blazes on every page. The characters are a joy to witness, as are descriptions of everyday life in Logar. I won't belabor the major plotpoints of the novel since you can find them in most reviews anywhere. Instead, I'll talk about what makes this book ring and hum with life.
First, the prose. The writing here is crisp, lyrical, and moves seamlessly between a plucky, humorous register and a deeply affecting tenderness. On the surface, there is a sturdy plot and motivation: Young Marwand, who is visiting his family in Afghanistan, loses his finger to the family dog, then the dog itself before setting out to retrieve said dog with the aid of his cousins and family. That's essentially it, plotwise: A dog runs away and there is a young boy's quest to find him. And yet somehow, within this major arc, not only do we see a grand tapestry of relationships, an array of fascinating and memorable characters fostering friendships, forging alliances, arranging marriages, but we also get to see this area's history through a dazzling array of legends and family lore. I loved that instead of footnotes and backstory, the writing here chooses to contextualize and complicate characters through the stories they tell and the stories that are told about them. Which makes perfect sense. Marwand's family members are a stoic lot who have lost countless loved ones to endless wars and will lose more still. For a family like this, there is really no space for sentimentality or nostalgia, and so, instead of preserving their loved simply as fond memories, they choose to preserve them as stories instead.
This is an act of profound intimacy we see repeated throughout the book--people refracted through stories--and we see it in its purest form in the chapter on Watak, written entirely in Pashto.
A lot of readers have had trouble with this chapter, which they feel is integral to their understanding of the book. It really isn't, although I can certainly understand why many people feel that way. The chapter occurs nearly at the end of the novel, and since we are conditioned to see any information that pops up at this time as crucial to our understanding of the 200-250 pages that have come before, we assume that we have been gypped of essential information. Except, we haven't. There is nothing crucial to the plot in this chapter. All information here has already been relayed in the preceding pages. Instead, the story of Watak recounted in Pashto is intended as a gift for the people this book is about: Afghans and Pakhtuns. Writing this chapter in Pashto (or using Pashto and Farsi words otherwise), therefore, is not a frivolous decision or an unfortunate experiment. This isn't a look-ma-no-hands-po-mo author looking for people to genuflect at the altar of his intelligence. Instead, Jamil is attempting something far more intimate and radical. He is keeping one small nugget out of this vast treasure trove of stories for his people and himself. And he is doing this knowing full well that there are perhaps maybe a hundred or fewer people out there who will read this chapter and share in its experience. It is an incredibly mature and astoundingly courageous decision for a young debut writer to put his people and his love for them before concerns of commercial success and wider readability. Most writers I know would have elected to keep this chapter in English, so as to not lose, or worse offend, a primarily English-speaking audience, something that would have neutered this novel, and robbed it of its palpable grace and intimacy.
99Nights, thus, is a love-letter to the Pakhtun people in its purest form. Some of its intimacies remain closely guarded, yes, accessible only to the narrator's countrymen, but isn't that what love-letters really are? Intimate conversations that we are sometimes privileged to access? Conversations that we cannot fully participate in, but that allow us in enough to make us feel included in the sacred games of the heart? Conversations that remind us what it means to love a homeland and a home? And isn't the joy of witnessing such a love enough?
I'll let you all read the book and decide.
P.S. The book does not condone animal cruelty, folks. Marwand is a child and like most children has a capacity for being flippantly evil. The novel does not celebrate this aspect of his personality. In fact, the whole idea of finding the dog and making sure the family does not put him down is predicated on the fact that Marwand understands exactly why the dog has bitten off his finger, and that he understands the need to make amends for his behavior. Which is why I am at a complete loss as to why so many readers are having trouble with this part of the story. Are we saying that 13 year olds can't be evil? That they shouldn't be allowed the space for growth or redemption? That it is alright for a book to show Afghani kids being blown apart and slaughtered under a War on Terror, but God-Forbid anyone is mean to the dog? Is this what we are saying here?