Siamak Herawi's novel follows the stories of four girls living in a remote valley in Afghanistan before the Taliban occupation. Kowsar is a young girl who loves reading. She is sensitive but strong-willed. Whenever she feels intense emotions, she collapses in a fit. Her teacher would like her to pursue further education but, when he introduces her to the minister of religious education, Khodadad, the minister takes a perverse interest in the girl and their secluded town. He visits, segregates the boys from the girls, forbids music, demands that they memorize only suras from the Koran, and then, after surveying the young girls, takes the nine-year-old Simin as his third wife. He is violent and ruthless, wielding his religious authority as a pretense for sexual gratification. The girls in this story face brutal hardship—rape, torture, public beating and stoning. As the Taliban seize neighboring towns and reinstitute their own capricious interpretation of Sharia law, the girls are deprived of their brief, fragile dream of an independent future. Kowsar must give up on her education and her aspirations; her neighbor, Geesu, who has fallen in love with Kowsar's brother-in-law, must choose between a forced marriage and ostracism and death. Khodadad transforms their foothill paradise into a patriarchal dystopia. Their family paddocks and gardens are requisitioned and turned into a swathe of opium farms. Their family life of humble subsistence is corrupted into an exploitative hellscape under Taliban rule.
On the whole, the novel romanticizes the provinces of Afghanistan, presenting the humble village as an uncorrupted idyll. It's a story that is perhaps especially palatable to Western readers but, to be critical, it also elides the fact that Afghanistan had a burgeoning economy. In the last decades with the suppression of the Taliban, the metropolises were expanding, with new schools, hospitals and universities. Afghanistan was, and is, a modernized nation. Herawi's novel, however, focuses on the pristine hinterlands, the sparsely populated mountains and caves, the traditional villages living off livestock and simple goods. It places its emphasis on pastoral innocence—in one chapter, two men (Kowsar's husband, Farrhad, and his host, Seydou) wander through the mountains in search of Geesu and they come across a poor shepherd. He offers them hospitality, generously sharing his dinner with them, but without telling them that his wife and children will not have food anymore. Farrhad feels painfully guilty when he realizes but Seydou is happy to be reminded that, at least in some parts of Afghanistan, there remains a spirit of noble sacrifice and communal sharing. It's a sentimental celebration of noble poverty and virtuous simplicity. But I was more interested in the book-dealer who leaves, the writer who flees to Kabul, the urban class which experienced break-neck whiplash from Western pop-culture to Taliban tyranny. There are other stories to be told about Afghanistan.
Overall, a compelling read but I take issue with its subtitle, "A story of Afghanistan", and how English readers might misconstrue/overgeneralize because of it.