Walter Bocewicz is beginning a new life at the age of 57. The old one was an epic fail-- two divorces, two stints in jail, four tours in rehab, alienated children. His college degree was wasted on a career of countless, short-term menial jobs. Now, clean and sober (mostly), he has come into a chunk of inheritance-- retirement money.
What could go wrong in the fresh environment of Florida's Nature Coast? The temptations of social life in a seedy trailer park community? The depredations of the Great Recession? A girlfriend's biker son? Increasingly volatile weather? How about all of the above?
Yes, well, I've lived in the States all my life. Mom crossed the Blue Water Bridge to an OB of some local reputation due to an outbreak of deadly infant diarrhea at Port Huron Hospital. Grew up in the Thumb of Michigan. Hated math; loved words and reading. Have written short fiction and poetry all my life, as well. Went to college in Port Huron and later at U of Michigan-Flint. Took a degree in History, all while working on an assembly line in Pontiac. Enjoyed many beers, many fruits of the so-call sexual revolution beginning in the Sixties. Got sober, juggled my way nimbly through a divorce of not many hard feelings, remarried in 1986. Took on three step-kids and muddled through to retirement from General Motors before they killed me. GM, that is! Beginning in 2000, I did a lot of substitute teaching and accelerated my writing. I currently sing in a Presbyterian choir, camp at sports car races, workshop with Flint Area Writers, hike, bicycle, spend too much time in Starbucks, and have the care and feeding of two cats and two wood-stoves. After 40 published stories in small presses and online, "Pace-Lap Blues,etc." is my first collection.
Chris Dungey’s Evacuation Route is a gritty, wry, and deeply human novel that follows two aging brothers—Walt and Warren Bocewicz—as they navigate the final days of their failing family pharmacy in Jacksonville, Florida. It's a story about endings—of businesses, dreams, and illusions—and what happens when the past won’t let go, and the future doesn’t offer much to hold on to. Through dry humor, raw reflection, and vivid detail, Dungey explores themes of addiction, redemption, brotherhood, and the small moments of absurdity that stitch together a life on the edge of collapse.
What struck me first was the voice. It’s sardonic, bruised, but weirdly comforting. Dungey lets Walt speak in a way that’s both poetic and foul-mouthed, like someone who’s done a lot of time—both literal and emotional. One line that stuck with me was when Walt refers to his stash of leftover pills as a “golden parachute of brake fluid.” The metaphor is funny and heartbreaking. He’s not planning to get high. He’s planning to coast. The way Walt scavenges leftover meds and rations them like wartime chocolate speaks volumes about the quiet desperation of a man trying to stay clean but not above cutting corners. Dungey doesn’t excuse Walt’s thievery; he frames it in a larger commentary about survival in a system that’s left men like him behind.
Another highlight is the dynamic between the brothers. Warren, the straight-laced pharmacist with a taste for community theater, and Walt, the wayward ex-con with a flair for ten-dollar words and sketchy ethics, are an unlikely but believable duo. Their exchanges are loaded with decades of resentment and love. When Barren finally tells Walt about the $1.4 million offer for the building, it feels like a plot twist in a family saga more than a financial windfall. There’s no cheering. Walt doesn’t jump for joy. He thinks about how much of the haul is his, about the unpaid debts, about the cat. This is a book that constantly dodges the easy emotion. It doesn’t go for the melodrama. It sits you down and lets the disappointment breathe.
But the book isn’t just grim. There’s an undercurrent of dark comedy that really works. I laughed when Walt muses about the $5 thesaurus in the jail library or worries about cultural appropriation while driving his “urban classic” Cadillac through the wrong neighborhood. That moment—equal parts cringe and candor—captures the uneasy blend of shame and swagger that defines Walt’s character. Dungey has a gift for these moments.
Evacuation Route is a slow burn, a bit messy, and it rarely gives the reader a clean moral center to hold onto. But if you’ve ever known someone who’s screwed up everything, who’s just trying to make it through the next day without screwing up more—this novel might hit you in the chest. Dungey’s writing doesn’t flinch. It’s tired, it’s bitter, and it's weirdly beautiful. I’d recommend it to readers who love character-driven stories, gritty Southern settings, or fiction that explores addiction and redemption without preaching.
Evacuation Route by Chris Dungey isn’t just a novel—it’s a weathered backroad through Jacksonville, Florida, where every crack in the pavement tells a story. It doesn’t shout for your attention; it leans in close and whispers truths you weren’t ready to hear. Dungey’s debut reads like a midnight conversation over a chipped coffee mug, steeped in sorrow, survival, and surprising grace.
At its heart is Walt Bocewicz, a recovering addict stumbling through the wreckage of his past while holding on—barely—to the present. He works alongside his brother Warren at the failing Bocewicz and Sons Family Pharmacy, peddling prescription meds and quiet regret. Walt is a man stitched together with guilt, wit, and just enough hope to keep breathing. You don’t read Walt—you worry for him, root for him. His story clings like Florida humidity.
Dungey’s supporting cast is equally vivid: Bella Nguyen-Ruiz, grappling with the weight of immigrant expectations; and Merry, a sex worker chasing light in the dark. These aren’t side characters—they’re fractured souls, rendered with aching humanity.
While the novel opens in Jacksonville, most of the story unfolds along Florida’s Gulf Coast—particularly in Tampa—culminating in a gripping and emotional climax during a killer hurricane. The setting plays a vital role, mirroring the storm brewing within each character.
Set against the backdrop of the Great Recession, the novel’s economic despair mirrors its characters’ emotional erosion. But Dungey resists the urge to preach. Instead, the hardship seeps in naturally, like water through a cracked ceiling. His prose is a fusion of grit and lyricism—part dive bar confessional, part back-porch poetry. Whether he’s describing the scuff of Bella’s stilettos or the slouch in Walt’s shoulders, his language lingers.
Dungey’s genius lies in crafting lives that feel as real as the humid Jacksonville air, each character a mosaic of scars and stubborn hope. From Walt’s quiet battle to stay clean to Bella’s defiant stride through hardship, their stories unfold with raw intimacy. The Great Recession’s shadow looms, but it’s the small, human moments—Merry’s fleeting smile, a shared glance—that light the way. Dungey’s prose weaves these threads into a tapestry of resilience. It’s not just a novel—it’s a heartbeat.
Evacuation Route is a quietly powerful exploration of broken lives and bruised dignity. It doesn’t wrap things up neatly—and that’s the point. If you’ve ever felt stuck, sidelined, or one bad day from breaking, this book will feel like a friend who understands.
Received through GoodReads giveaway. I tried to get into the story but just couldn't. Close to 650 pages I couldn't see myself powering through it. Will donate to a little library for next reader. DNF