Fitz (review)

Fitz has spent much of his fifteen years playing "CSI Mom and Dad," as he terms it, trying to figure out what his father meant to his mother and how his dad could just walk away when Fitz was only a baby, leaving only support checks in his place. Now Fitz is going after the answers: armed with a gun bought from a low-life classmate, he kidnaps his father away from his high-powered law practice for a day of finally giving Fitz what he needs. But what, exactly, is it that he needs, and what happens if he doesn't get it? This sounds a little like Chris Lynch territory, but there's less of Lynch's dark bite here and more anxious bewilderment as Fitz seesaws between the hurt and anger of a lifetime and his ordinarily good-kid existence. That wild vacillation adds both rawness and incongruity as father and son go through an often enjoyable day out together, going to the zoo, visiting the café where Fitz's parents met, and ending up on Fitz's front porch while Fitz jams with his band—until angry Fitz seesaws back up again. Cochrane has a fine hand with character, getting double mileage out of Fitz's focused and sustained assessment of his father, which conveys information about them both. The unresolvable inconsistency of Fitz's dad being on the one hand a considerate and interesting guy and on the other being weak enough to choose flight is laid bare as a human conundrum. There's both poignancy and taut suspense here, and the book will be eminently discussable for book clubs and classrooms; additionally, a lot of readers will relate to Fitz's combination of long-simmering resentment and painful yearning.