Bruiser

Loved this story.

...when you truly start to care about someone, you become vulnerable to all sorts of things.

In horse racing they put these slats on either side of the horse's head, blocking the creature's peripheral vision. They're called blinders. They don't actually blind the horse, but they allow the horse to see only what's right in front of it; otherwise it might freak out and lose the race.
People live with blinders too; but ours are invisible, and much more sophisticated. Most of the time we don't even know they're there. Maybe we need them, though, because if we took in everything all at once, we'd lose our minds. Or worse, our souls. We'd see, we'd hear, we'd feel so deeply that we might never resurface.


For as long as I can remember I've stolen,
Ripping all the hurts from the people I love,
And from no one else.
I don't choose it,
I don't want it,
But because they found a place in my heart
I steal their pain as soon as I'm near them,
And all because I got caught caring.
But those others,
ALL the others,
Dripping their disapproval like summer sweat,
They're on the outside,
And I will never let them in.
Never.
Let them keep their broken bones,
Shed their own blood,
I hate them.
I have to hate them, don't you see?
Because what if I didn't?
What if I suddenly started to care?
And their friends became my friends,
And every ache and pain,
Every last bit of damage,
Drained from them to me,
Until I was nothing but fractures and sprains,
Cuts and concussions,
But as long as I keep them on the right side of resentment,
Despising them all,
I'm safe.
I rise, battered but not broken.
Never broken.


Because once you stop marveling at that firefly you caught in a jar, it sits on a shelf with no one to let it out


If your heart tells you something but your mind tells you something else, which do you believe? Both are just as apt to lie. In fact, they play at deceit all the time. Mostly they balance each other, giving us that crucial reality check. But what happens on the rare occasions when they conspire together?


Happiness is a vector. It's movement. Like my own momentum across the pool, joy can only be defined by the speed at which you're moving away from pain.


““Guard your heart,” she told me.
“That is your hero's sword.””


And I believe he could keep his broken leg. It's amazing the things you can hold on to when you're determined to keep them, and the immunity you can develop if you truly want to.


...everyone must feel their own pain—and as awful as that is, it's also wonderful...


I believe what I can see, but now I also believe there is room in the world for miracles. Maybe not the ones we expect, but they're miracles all the same. They happen every day if only we pay attention.

This was a masterpiece- but what else have I come to expect from Neal Shusterman? He's cool like that.

This book comes from a completely implausible premise- a boy named Brewster who automatically takes on the wounds of everyone he loves. His brother Cody kicks a rock? It's Brew's toe that hurts. Neal Shusterman has a knack for writing the supernatural believably. His character's don't go into long explanations of how they're “this way”. Like in The Schwa Was Here, the character doesn't know why he has this power, and he doesn't like it, but he's learned to live with it.

This book was also relatable. The unnatural was explored through well-understood circumstances of high school life, sports injuries, teenage friendships, romances, and rivalries, abuse, and parents' divorce.

I love how Shusterman described the soft terror of not feeling upset.
I love how little-boyish Cody was. It's hard as a grown person to put yourself back in your third-grade brain and think how you would have responded at that age. Shusterman has it down.
I love how Brewster and Brontë were friends. Not Just Friends, but their relationship wasn't all making out and cuddling and stuff. It was watching out for each other and trying to help each other- even if sometimes their help wasn't as good as they thought it would be. They are possibly the normalest literary teen couple I've read (at least since I was a teenager myself).
I love Tennyson's friendships with his sister and her boyfriend. He was a good friend. He was also really selfish, which is human nature.
I LOVE the scene of the uncle's stroke. Has Neal Shusterman had a stroke and remembers what is was like? Whoa.
I love how the first chapter made me laugh out loud multiple times (“Rest her soul”) and then the book got so heart-wrenching and serious. This is how you write. I took the bait from the first 2 pages and then I was reeled into this world of heartache, or the emptiness of its absence.
I love the whole vegetarianism thing.
I love the format of a lot a Brew's poetry. There's the one that works itself backwards at the end, it's really cool. Sometimes the verse form seemed force but other times it was so awesomely effective.

I LOVE THIS BOOK AND I LOVE NEAL SHUSTERMAN ok i'm done

A surprising find. I hadn't heard anything about Neal Shusterman before I picked this up in the library but I'm impressed. I truly enjoyed this book and look forward to reading more from this author, especially since I hear his other works are better.