Flight: A Novel

“Yes, I am Irish and Indian, which would be the coolest blend in the world if my parents were around to teach me how to be Irish and Indian. But they’re not here and haven’t been for years, so I’m not really Irish or Indian. I’m a blank sky, a human solar eclipse.” 

Zits defines his biracial identity: He belongs to two cultures that have historically been marginalized and ostracized at varied points in American society. The Irish, however, were ultimately assimilated into American culture as “white,” while indigenous people remained marginalized. Zits never expounds on why he defines this blend as “the coolest,” but both cultures emphasize storytelling and connections to landscape. Both cultures too, unfortunately, have been linked to alcoholism. Zits likely knows all of this, but he can’t personally connect to any of it due to his absence of parentage. Not having parents means, in his view, that he doesn’t really have any heritage or ancestry to claim.

“I’ve lived in twenty different foster homes and attended twenty-two different schools. I own only two pairs of pants and three shirts and four pairs of underwear and one baseball hat and three pairs of socks and three paperback novels (Grapes of Wrath, Winter in the Blood, and The Dead Zone) and the photographs of my mother and father.” 

The Grapes of Wrath is significant in Alexie’s own life; he read it when he was five. Here, Zits describes his itinerant lifestyle, illustrating the innate instability of a foster child’s life. The only things that anchor him to his sense of identity are his photographs of his parents.

“Yes, that’s my life, a series of cruel bastards and airplane crashes. Twenty little airplane crashes. I am a flaming jet, crashing into each new foster family.” 

Zits sees himself as an accident. Without context, he assumes that he’s nothing. His view of himself as an accident corresponds with his occupation of Jimmy the Pilot’s body—a man with a seemingly ideal, conventional middle-class life actually marred by despair.

“I was scared and sad. But I couldn’t show it. I’d always been punished for showing emotion. It’s best to stay as remote as those airplanes.” 

Zits recounts how his only Native American foster father, Edgar, bought him a remote-controlled model airplane, raced with him, then grew so irritated when Zits beat him in each race, that he crashes Zits’ plane. Edgar’s behavior frightens and saddens Zits because it is not only destructive and angry, but another instance in which an adult places his self-interest over the care of Zits—a child. Zits is, therefore, robbed of what he initially sensed was a true opportunity to bond with a paternal figure, particularly one who shared his cultural background. To avoid being similarly disappointed, he refuses to grow attached to another foster family.

“He’s challenging me. He thinks he’s stronger than I am. He’s bigger and taller and older, sure, and has a million more muscles than I do, but I am stronger. I am stronger than all of my fathers.” 

Zits refuses to give in to his foster father’s demands of politeness. For Zits, who mistrusts adults, every conflict is a battle of wills. This, coupled with his burgeoning manhood, makes him insistent on asserting himself—both to avoid being hurt and to show that he’s too independent to need any of his foster families.

“When I tell him I’m an Indian, he says, ‘I’m sorry that my people nearly destroyed your people. This country, the so-called United States, is evil. And you Indians were the only people who fought against that white evil. Everybody else thinks we live in a democracy. Everybody else thinks we’re free.’” 

Zits has this conversation with a white teen who shares his jail cell. This boy later identifies himself as Justice; he and Zits become best friends. The boy, despite his advantages of being white and more attractive than Zits, identifies with the plight of Zits’ people and expresses antipathy for the country that has given him privilege. It becomes apparent, however, that Justice is likely Zits’ idealized alter ego and the manifestation of the white half of his parental lineage. Justice expresses the empathy that Zits has not received from most white people he’s known, with the exception of Officer Dave.

“I get so angry sometimes that I want to hurt people. I dream about hurting people. About killing them. I’ve always had those kind of dreams.”

This quotation expresses Zits’ repressed rage, developed through years of abuse, abandonment, and neglect. He seeks to exact violent revenge both to exercise his anger against those who have hurt him, and to show others that he will not be hurt again.

This quotation expresses Zits’ repressed rage, developed through years of abuse, abandonment, and neglect. He seeks to exact violent revenge both to exercise his anger against those who have hurt him, and to show others that he will not be hurt again.

Zits and Justice, who is either his new best friend or his doppelgänger, asks Zits about the ghost dance—a ritual that members of one indigenous tribe believed could make white people disappear and restore the Americas to its indigenous people. Through Justice, Zits feels more capable, which leads him to contemplate shooting strangers in a bank. White males are also more likely to be mass shooters; here, Zits begins to transform himself into Justice to mete out violent revenge against a world that has hurt him. 

“‘I didn’t know any Indians until they sent me to work here. And then I met Indians. And trust me, none of them is worth much. Well, maybe some of the kids […] But they’re going to go bad, too […] There’s something bad inside these Indians. They can’t help themselves.’” 

In the body of the white FBI agent Hank Storm, Zits becomes a witness to racism against indigenous people. His partner, Art, voices contempt for Native Americans, which creates a conflict of interest given his duty to enforce the law. 

“All these old-time Indians are doomed. They’re going to die of disease. And they’ll be slaughtered by U.S. Cavalry soldiers. They’ll be packed into train cars and shipped off to reservations. And they’ll starve in winter camps near iced-over rivers. The children are going to be kidnapped and sent off to boarding schools. Their hair will be cut short and they will be beaten for speaking their tribal languages. They’ll be beaten for dancing and singing the old-time Indian songs. All of them are going to start drinking booze. And their children will drink booze. And their grandchildren and great-grandchildren will drink booze. And one of those great-grandchildren will grow up to be my real father, the one who decided that drinking booze was more important than being my father.” 

Zits has entered the body of the young indigenous warrior. It’s June 1876, on the eve of the Battle of Little Big Horn—a victory for the Plains Indians, particularly the Lakota tribe. This victory, however, would be short-lived because, as Zits explains, Native Americans would face forced relocation, forced assimilation, and despair at losing their lands, languages, and identities in the years to come.

“Did I want revenge? Did I blame those strangers for my loneliness? Did they deserve to die because of my loneliness? […] Is revenge a circle inside of a circle inside of a circle?”

Zits’ memories blend with those of the young warrior, who confronts the young white soldier who cut his throat with a bayonet and permanently damaged his voice box. His uncertainty over whether he’s feeling the young warrior’s desire for revenge or his own (the soldier is an embodiment of an establishment that has both failed to protect and disregarded Zits) reveals the endless and cyclical nature of revenge, feeding off unresolved anger. 

“‘Two months ago, in Kansas,’ General Mustache continues, ‘a group of settlers was attacked by wild Indians. They were all slaughtered: men, women, and children. Whole families. Those savages murdered twenty-five Christian folks. And Gus here, all on his own, went looking for the Indians who did it. And he found their camp on the Colorado River and he’s going to lead us there. And we are going to deliver unto them the swift and deadly blow of justice.’” 

Gus, the third body into which Zits is teleported, embodies American justice. He upholds the presumed right of white people to move to the west and to seize the land belonging to the indigenous people. General Mustache undermines the natives’ resistance by referring to them as a motley crew of “savages,” embodiments of evil, who contrast with Christian families. The last line subtly references Zits’ friend, Justice, who is a foil for General Mustache, given his demonstration of respect for Native Americans. 

“Is there really a difference between that killing and this killing? Does God approve of some killing and not other killing? If I kill these soldiers so that Small Saint and Bow Boy can escape, does that make me a hero?” 

In Gus’ body, Zits begins to wonder about the morality of killing and if there is ever a right or just instance in which one can commit murder. Small Saint nobly wants to protect Bow Boy, a defenseless Lakota boy, but Gus’ defense of their lives only seems just because he knows their context and not that of the other white soldiers waging war against the Lakota.

“It was father love and father shame and father rage that killed Hamlet. Imagine a new act. Imagine that Hamlet, after being poisoned by his own sword, wakes in the body of his father. Or, worse, inside the body of his incestuous Uncle Claudius. What would Hamlet do if he looked into the mirror and saw the face of the man who’d betrayed and murdered his father? And what should I do now that I am looking into the mirror at the face of the man who betrayed and abandoned my mother and me? If I had a sword, I might slide it into my belly and pull upward until I fell dead, but I have no weapon. And what satisfaction is there in killing a man who wants to die?”

Zits has teleported into the body of his father—a homeless alcoholic living on the streets of Tacoma. In this body, Zits deals with a moral quandary: Should he have empathy for the man who conceived him, or should he kill him for never loving his own child? However, by wanting to both literally and symbolically kill his father for being worthless, Zits would also be denying the validity of his own existence.

“All my life, I’ve been wanting to see my father, to meet him for the first time. I’ve wanted to ask him questions. To interrogate him […] I can feel him fighting me. He doesn’t want to remember the day he left me […] I will make him remember. I will force him to remember. I will kill him if I have to. And so I push against my father’s mind and soul. I crash through his fortifications and rampage into his memory […] And I burst inside and race up the stairs, and back through the years, and rush through a door into the maternity ward hallway where my father paces.” 

By occupying his father’s body, Zits goes further than just meeting and having the benefit of speaking to him; he can experience his father’s feelings, thoughts, and actions around the time of Zits’ birth. He constructs his father’s mind as a house with many rooms—one of which is the maternity ward where Zits was born, and which catalyzed his father’s fear, self-loathing, and negation of paternal responsibility.

“I learned how to stop crying. I learned how to hide inside of myself. I learned how to be somebody else. I learned how to be cold and numb.” 

Zits recounts the period after his mother died, when he was six, and he went to live with his Aunt Zooey—Auntie Z—who had a boyfriend who molested him (though his aunt refused to believe it). The experience cultivated an internal determination not to feel anything to avoid feeling the pains of abuse and betrayal. He also dissociated himself from the vulnerable six-year-old who was both victimized and vilified. 

“I’m trying to be as tough as I used to be, but it’s not working. I feel like a carton of eggs holding up an elephant.” 

Zits is in a holding cell, uncertain of whether he will be charged with gun possession and sent to prison or to yet another halfway house. Officer Dave visits and warns him that he’s going to die. Zits feigns his usual indifference, but is unable to convince himself that he is unaffected by Officer Dave’s warning. His experiences in the bodies of others gives him an understanding of mortality, the value of life, and the importance of one’s choices, all of which make the idea of death seem weightier than it previously was.

“Dave kneels down in the water and picks up the babies, one in each arm. Their eyes are open and blue and blind. They’re gone. Dave cries. He wants to go back in time. He only needs to travel back an hour—just one hour—and he’ll be able to save these kids.” 

Dave later makes up for his inability to save the toddlers by finding Zits a home. Zits fantasizes about going back in time and using the bodies of those he enters to stop the murder of indigenous people, to get irresponsible men to treat their wives properly, and to get his father to acknowledge why he abandoned his son. Both Zits and Dave share feelings of regret for being unable to stop events beyond their control. Zits shares Dave’s strong sense of empathy but has learned to deny this aspect of himself to survive in abusive circumstances.

“Dave weeps. I weep with him. He leans against the bars of my cell. I don’t know if I’m the one in jail, or if he is.” 

Dave has just narrated the story of the toddlers, which elicits pity from Zits. For the first time, in his own body, he feels empathy for someone else. Zits also begins to wonder if he’s not the only one who feels trapped within miserable circumstances that he can’t control. 

“I mean, jeez, I’m a fifteen-year-old foster kid with a history of fire setting, time traveling, body shifting, and mass-murder contemplation. I think I’m a lot more than just dangerous. I think I might be unlovable.” 

Social workers and medical professionals have determined that, despite his gun possession, Zits doesn’t need to be jailed. With his ironic sense of humor, he suggests that he might be a far more extraordinary case than anyone understands, contrasting his criminal history with his supernatural abilities. This account correlates with his construction of himself as a superhero at the beginning of the novel. However, Zits cannot yet abandon his feeling of worthlessness.

“Officer Dave stares at me, too. I think he’s thinking about those two babies in the bathroom. I wonder if he’ll always look at me and see those two babies in the bathroom. I hope not. I hope someday he looks at me and just sees me.” 

Zits meets his new foster parents—Dave’s brother, Robert, and his sister-in-law, Mary. Zits knows that Dave wants to use Zits to atone for his feelings of regret over the drowned toddlers, but Zits doesn’t want Dave to regard him as a victim, constantly in peril. He also doesn’t want to be defined by his history of abuse and abandonment in the foster system.

“‘I’m happy you’re here with us.’ ‘It’s only temporary,’ I say. ‘Well, Robert and I are hoping to make it permanent,’ she says […] For a second, I can’t even remember what that words means. For a moment, I forget that the word permanent ever existed.” 

Mary tells Zits that she and her husband are hoping to adopt Zits. Unwilling to get his hopes up only to have them dashed again, Zits refuses to believe that he will ever have a family. He has no reference for the word “permanent” and, in a final effort to protect himself, pretends to have no knowledge of the word at all.

“Right there, I start to cry. Really. I just weep and wail. Mary hugs me. She hugs me tightly. It feels great. I haven’t been hugged like that since my mother died. I’m happy. I’m scared, too.” 

Zits bursts into tears after Mary gives him a skincare kit—a gesture that shows Zits that she cares for his well-being. His weeping symbolizes a return to an almost infantile state—as though he is becoming new again. Mary is the first person he’s known, since his mother, who has taken an interest in his wellness. However, he is afraid of losing this sense of security, as he has before.