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Nemesis
Miami, FL. Late nineties. Special Agent Charlie (Carlito) Rivera and his squad of FBI agents are having a hard time fighting the international drug trafficking throughout the city. Recently, there has been a massive surge in violence between rival drug gangs. Charlie and his crew soon realize they have an even bigger problem. There's a new player in town. The Russian mafia, ex-KGB, are trying to take over the entire cocaine trade all for themselves. To make matters worse, they have the silent support of a US Senator in their back pocket. Before things can get better all hell will break loose.
152 pages, Kindle Edition
Published October 25, 2020
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December 15, 2020
What John Miles' freshman effort "Nemesis" lacks in polish, it makes up for in a gripping story with hard, visceral action and a main character who cannot keep from endlessly questioning the existence he's trapped in.
What I liked: the narration is unvarnished, raw, and clearly the mind of a human being so overwhelmed with the violence of his situation that he can longer approach his occupation rationally, though he continually tries. Neither Charlie Rivera or John Miles polices his narration or his language for the sake of modern sensibilities, or even politeness, and readers should be warned that Miles' pursuit of verisimilitude in reflecting his characters' mindset may offend some readers. Charlie must live in the moment, deal with each day as it comes the way his training and experience has taught him to do, and put it behind him, or he'll simply go insane, while all the while wondering if this is the moment he loses his humanity. His Jungian opposite-slash-alter-ego, his partner Riles McDermott, is an object lesson in where he's headed, a man so completely subsumed in the worst humanity has to offer that he's realized there's simply no escape, and decided to make his home there. Add a few old beer cans stacked on the wall, a beanbag chair, and some posters. Maybe a pool table. Riles McDermott has turned hell on earth into his own personal man-cave. Whatever the world can do to Riles McDermott, McDermott can visit back on the world tenfold. Riles McDermott faces the violence of the world and simply jumps in with both feet, possibly taking an ironic and vaguely obscene selfie on the way down, if the novel wasn't set in the late '90s.
What I didn't like: one thing I didn't like about the book was the tendency of the main character to ruminate on his situation in the middle of the action. The brevity of Miles' terse, staccato language is a good fit for his tense, extended action sequences, which I felt were well done, at least until the point where Rivera offers commentary on what had just taken place, clearly showing how the action scene he'd just described was well before the time in which he's narrating it back to the reader. I felt it interrupted the flow of the narrative and made the reader conscious they were reading a story, as opposed to living it through Charlie Rivera's eyes. Miles is at his best when his action sequences are lean and mean, saving the commentary for between the action and the philosophy for Charlie's moments of peace, such as having barbecue with his family, or dreaming of his escape, his girlfriend Tatiana. Miles is also prone to the occasional neologism ("bastardly" was one that springs to mind), and mixed metaphors like "Lance had just bailed my ass out of a s***sandwich[sic]. If not for him, I would be toast right now." Although I can see a toasted s*** sandwich being a valid analogy, it's not up to the audience to put it together for the author.
In short, if you suffer from toxic masculinity, are desensitized to violence, thought the moment that Arnold Schwarzenegger and Carl Weathers clasped hands and bulged biceps in "Predator" was the pinnacle of 20th century cinema, or missed the '80s while you were stuck slogging through the '90s, don't miss this hidden Kindle gem. In all seriousness, whether it's a somber meditation on violence, an homage to (or satire of) gritty police stories, or even an autobiographical cry for psychological help, John Miles is your street dealer for the dark night of the human soul. Recommended for some, warned away for others.
What I liked: the narration is unvarnished, raw, and clearly the mind of a human being so overwhelmed with the violence of his situation that he can longer approach his occupation rationally, though he continually tries. Neither Charlie Rivera or John Miles polices his narration or his language for the sake of modern sensibilities, or even politeness, and readers should be warned that Miles' pursuit of verisimilitude in reflecting his characters' mindset may offend some readers. Charlie must live in the moment, deal with each day as it comes the way his training and experience has taught him to do, and put it behind him, or he'll simply go insane, while all the while wondering if this is the moment he loses his humanity. His Jungian opposite-slash-alter-ego, his partner Riles McDermott, is an object lesson in where he's headed, a man so completely subsumed in the worst humanity has to offer that he's realized there's simply no escape, and decided to make his home there. Add a few old beer cans stacked on the wall, a beanbag chair, and some posters. Maybe a pool table. Riles McDermott has turned hell on earth into his own personal man-cave. Whatever the world can do to Riles McDermott, McDermott can visit back on the world tenfold. Riles McDermott faces the violence of the world and simply jumps in with both feet, possibly taking an ironic and vaguely obscene selfie on the way down, if the novel wasn't set in the late '90s.
What I didn't like: one thing I didn't like about the book was the tendency of the main character to ruminate on his situation in the middle of the action. The brevity of Miles' terse, staccato language is a good fit for his tense, extended action sequences, which I felt were well done, at least until the point where Rivera offers commentary on what had just taken place, clearly showing how the action scene he'd just described was well before the time in which he's narrating it back to the reader. I felt it interrupted the flow of the narrative and made the reader conscious they were reading a story, as opposed to living it through Charlie Rivera's eyes. Miles is at his best when his action sequences are lean and mean, saving the commentary for between the action and the philosophy for Charlie's moments of peace, such as having barbecue with his family, or dreaming of his escape, his girlfriend Tatiana. Miles is also prone to the occasional neologism ("bastardly" was one that springs to mind), and mixed metaphors like "Lance had just bailed my ass out of a s***sandwich[sic]. If not for him, I would be toast right now." Although I can see a toasted s*** sandwich being a valid analogy, it's not up to the audience to put it together for the author.
In short, if you suffer from toxic masculinity, are desensitized to violence, thought the moment that Arnold Schwarzenegger and Carl Weathers clasped hands and bulged biceps in "Predator" was the pinnacle of 20th century cinema, or missed the '80s while you were stuck slogging through the '90s, don't miss this hidden Kindle gem. In all seriousness, whether it's a somber meditation on violence, an homage to (or satire of) gritty police stories, or even an autobiographical cry for psychological help, John Miles is your street dealer for the dark night of the human soul. Recommended for some, warned away for others.
Displaying 1 of 1 review