In a more personal level, the last time we visited Israel we had to take our son to the hospital (my wife's worst nightmare coming true). A Druz doctor took care of our son in the best possible way, and we were grateful to him. It did not matter to us, or to the rest of the people in the pediatric ward, what the doctor's origins were, as long as he knew his stuff. Our son, by the way, was fine — just a lot of gas like his old man, and to his mother's dismay.
The Attack starts out beautifully, but as the narrator sinks into a state of confusion so does the narrative. The reader isn't sure what day it is, which twist comes next, or even if the plot is told in a linear sense. Anyone who has ever been in a position where they are confused, bitter and depressed, or on the brink of madness will appreciate the style.
As Khadra writes in the book: "There are only two extreme moments in human madness, the instant when you become aware of your own impotence and the instance when you become aware of the vulnerability of others."
I also find the author's view point, that of an outsider, very acute and strangely both remote and intimate at the same time. The ongoing conflicts in the Middle East are not only religious, but also social and cultural, which Khadra observes in a very honest way. The complex realities are brought forth in a multidimensional way in which shades of gray abound, not in sound bites which we have sadly gotten accustomed to.