This is a well-written, sometimes entertaining, and finally dispiriting book about identity loss. While the international news media may characterize Palestinians as either oppressed or villainous, depending on the political agendas of others, Kashua's portrayal of this novel's Palestinian-Israeli protagonist forgoes the usual stereotypes. His central character is both sympathetic and pathetic by turns.
Carrying a blue identity card, which makes him an Israeli citizen, the novel's narrator tells of his childhood in a village, Tira, which lies north of Tel Aviv, where he learns early a kind of self-contempt that sets him on a path of disillusionment with nearly everything. Given the opportunity to get an education at a Jewish boarding school, which would then open doors into a comfortable professional life, he blames himself for losing the courage to follow that path - though the seeds of his failure had already been planted long ago in his rejection of his ethnicity and his desire to pass for Jewish. Marrying a Muslim girl he meets in Jerusalem, he finds his miseries compounded. Meanwhile, hostilities and tensions mount around him, as wars and rebellion break out again - the Lebanese War, the Gulf War, and the Intafada.
There is dignity left only in clinging to the land, as his aging grandmother has done from the beginning of the novel, refusing to relinquish the patch of it left to her by her dead husband. Given the futility of forging an identity for himself, the narrator can still claim this one consistency in his life, that he has remained devoted to this old woman and is still tenderly caring for her in the closing scene. It permits what has been a comic-gloomy vision to end on a note that is not without a slender thread of hope.