I think a legitimate argument can be made that Full Tilt is the point where Neal Shusterman really began "putting it all together" as an author, melding the fascinating metaphysical nature of some of his earlier material (The Eyes of Kid Midas, for example) with the powerful emotional impact of his first novel, The Shadow Club, to create a ride like nothing else before in the history of young-adult literature. Once Neal Shusterman really found his groove, he became awesome on a whole new level, quickly catapulting ahead of most of the rest of the pack to become one of the finest writers of his generation. In Full Tilt, we see the beginning of that transformation from very good to legendary, the start of a journey that would produce several of the greatest books I've ever read: Unwind, Everwild, Everfound, Bruiser... It's hard to find anything, anywhere, that rises to the astounding heights of artistic achievement reached by these books, because Neal Shusterman has elevated the art of writing to heights met only rarely, if ever, in the history of the English language. That is what I'm talking about when I say that Neal Shusterman has changed the face of literature. His books are masterpieces of innovative human thought and the sides of our shared experiences that it may never have even occurred to us to take a closer look at, and if Full Tilt was the party to celebrate the arrival of this new, even more brilliant Neal Shusterman, then all I can say is that I'm privileged to have been invited.
Full Tilt truly sets a new standard for itself, defying comparison to any other book or writing style. If you think you've got a hold on what's happening, then think again, because you never know for sure what's really up when it's a Neal Shusterman book you're reading. The crazy energy of the story zaps out in a hundred directions at once, all of them capable of throwing your mind for a loop. What might surprise readers who are new to Neal Shusterman, though, are the philosophical brick walls that seem to crop up out of nowhere as one reads, appearing so fast that it's easy to run smack into them if you're not watching. No matter how far out the story becomes, or what crazy worlds of paranormal weirdness swallow the characters, everything they encounter circles back to truths that we all can understand about real life, whether or not we're able to articulate them as convincingly as Neal Shusterman. This is, in my opinion, the greatest strength of Full Tilt, and serves to rein in all the wild action so that it never completely detaches from our comprehension. We're able to identify with the characters because their realistic struggles, not the outside dangers from a world of paranormal death, tether our lives closely together. Ultimately, the hellish carnival and deadly traps in it that have been set for Blake, Quinn and his friends are not the focal point of the story, but rather the key to unlocking our minds and letting us see a part of ourselves that we've never known, because fear and moments of pure shock tend to open us up in a way that doesn't normally occur. In our fear, and in theirs, we see the darkness of humanity, but also the light that emanates from the decision to remain true to one's ideals and not degenerate into the shadowy depths of depravity when the going gets rough and personal character is stretched to the breaking point. This, more than anything else, is Full Tilt at its very best.
"To be completely helpless in the face of life―powerless to do a single thing―that's what I'd always feared more than anything. It was like I'd been keeping all the edges of my life neat and clean, pretending the neatness was all that mattered, pretending life could somehow be controlled."
―Full Tilt, PP. 108-109
“The rides are different for everyone. I'm convinced of that now. I mean, sure, there are some we ride together. Either we find ourselves drawn to some common experience, or maybe we're pulled in by the people we care about. Our friends, our families can drag us onto coasters and Tilt-A-Whirls that are really meant for them. But in the end, no matter whose rides we find ourselves on, the experience is all our own.”
―Full Tilt, P. 93
Sixteen-year-old Blake and his thirteen-year-old brother, Quinn, are opposite in almost every obvious way. It doesn't take more than the first few pages of Full Tilt to see that this is the case, as the two of them, along with Blake's friend Russ and Russ's girlfriend, Maggie, go adventuring at a theme park near their home. The rides at the park are screwy, loud and have more than a slight off-the-wall feel to them, perfect for three teenagers raring to attack an amusement park that's not going to be just like every other entertainment venue they've experienced. The Kamikaze seems to be the wildest ride that the park has to offer, but Blake isn't hot on the idea of doing battle with the huge roller coaster. He has an aversion to rolling, spinning, screaming machinery that hurtles through thin air at high speeds, understandable when one finds out that there's a much darker secret than fear of roller coasters tugging at the fabric of his mind. Blake may have no desire to "Die on the Kamikaze", but his friends wouldn't miss it, so he reluctantly joins the group standing in line.
But what if Blake knew that the Kamikaze he sees isn't the only one? What if he knew that the greatest threat he could face on this night would be far more deadly than the squeamish sensation of a few stomach plunges and sharp turns on the twisting metal track of the super coaster? There's another dimension to Blake's world, commanded by an entity with far more on its mind than showing Blake a good time at an amusement park. Blake's demons are all lined up neatly, made all the easier to exploit for his natural ability to shuffle them to the back of the deck when they creep up a little too close to the front. To save himself, Blake will have to finally do battle with these demons that have scared him from the outer limits of his consciousness since he was a very young kid, and he'll have to do it in a timely fashion if he's to have any hope of saving Quinn, too. Sometimes our darkest demons can take hostages even of the people around us, people who didn't deserve to get caught up in the tangled mess of our psyche but do, anyway, for no other reason than that they care enough to be in proximity to us. But our worst demons have to be defeated by no one but ourselves. If we're to finally destroy them―not just beat them down, but utterly destroy them―then we'll have to figure out how to do it on our own, even if we have all the support and love in the world at our backs.
"No mirrors in the real world had the ability to reach inside you the way these did. You could tell yourself that the mirrors were simply telling lies, but you'd be wrong. They took tiny truths, swelling them out of proportion―and the fact that there was a kernel of truth in what they reflected made the effect devastating."
―Full Tilt, P. 97
"I guess we all can't help peeking at our own imperfections, just like we can't help scratching a scab that keeps itching. When those imperfections are pasted across your face like that, exaggerated and magnified, it's hard to find all those good thoughts you have about yourself. If you believe those distorted reflections too deeply, you'll never get out of the maze."
―Full Tilt, P. 97
These are just a few of the brilliant paragraphs that make Full Tilt what it is, a spine-tingling and soul-searching examination of ourselves that lays bare our most personal thoughts to the realization that others have felt the same things, even if they're really good at hiding it. As far as that first quote above taken from page 97 goes, it's a perfect description of the way that we often see ourselves in actual mirrors as well as the "mirrors" of the people around us, and of what it means to tell a story that really affects people. A book like Unwind, for example, has a really "out there" premise, but what brings the terror home to us so that it's unforgettable is the kernel of truth that gives the story its impetus. It's all about taking "tiny truths" and "swelling them out of proportion"; then, "the fact that there was a kernel of truth in what they reflected made the effect devastating." It's as if Neal Shusterman has laid out for us the essential elements of the entire storytelling process here, giving us the basic blueprint for writing a story that has the potential to be as powerful and timeless as Unwind, or any of his other luminescent works of genius.
If I were to pick a focal point for Full Tilt, it would have to be the horrifying expedition through the hall of mirrors, from which I took the two quotes on page 97. It is here, I think, that Blake begins to get a handle on what his descent into the bowels of fear really means, that it's about a whole lot more than just trying to survive seven souped-up carnival rides until dawn. There's no way that he's going to make it out of all seven rides alive unless he has the courage to confront his own dark side, and the hall of mirrors shows him the worst parts of himself as no other ride could ever do. Blake sees that there's no good in just dismissing the darkness inside of oneself, pretending that it doesn't exist as it rears its head to bite. One can realize that it's a distortion of the truth to say that the darkness is all there is, though, or even the most important part, and steel oneself against believing the distorted reflections for what they claim to be. Believe what others say about you and you'll never find your way out of the maze, because they can never know you as well as you know yourself. Holding onto the real image of who you are, good mixed with bad as you know it to actually be, prevents the distortions from ever becoming reality. This, ultimately, is what Blake must do to survive the night, and he discovers it, ironically, in the hall of mirrors, the place designed more than any other to distort the truth and give incorrect perspective.
"I hadn't lived a real life―I'd had just a model of a life. Everything I did, everything I thought, was suspended safely by strings, too high up for anyone to damage. Zero contact, zero risk. Now those strings had been cut and I was going to die, never having had a chance to live without them."
―Full Tilt, P. 115
"They say you never know who's the real hero and who's the real coward until you're looking death in the face. I've always been afraid of plenty of things, but fear isn't what makes you a coward. It's how depraved your heart becomes when fear gets pumped through it."
―Full Tilt, P. 125
There's so much to be said about Full Tilt that the Goodreads limit of twenty thousand characters would never be enough to hold it all if I were to unpack every worthy bit of fascinating discourse to look at more closely in this review. In fact, that has been the case for more than one Neal Shusterman book I've read, though I think that I've actually made more of an attempt at examining and discussing the worthy thoughts that act as scaffolding for Full Tilt than I have for most of the author's novels. In the end, this is a book that actually has to be read for one to come across all of its many revelations, so many personal epiphanies waiting to be discovered that it's hard to think back on exactly how one felt about these matters before reading Full Tilt. So come let the master Storyman lead you, if you're daring enough to give over control of the ride to him for a little while. This book can be a real life-changer, and undoubtedly will leave an indelible impression upon whomever reads it. There's no doubt that I would give the complete three-star rating to Full Tilt.