Book Review of Fevers
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'Fevers' by Joel Homer:
Publisher-ebook: Zac Homer, (April 20, 2014)
Publisher-Print: Bantam
Category: Action/Adventure, Suspense/Thriller, Some Romance
Tour Date: May/June, 2015
Available in: Print & ebook, 261 Pages
FEVERS is a novel unlike any you have ever read. Exotic adventure, white knuckled suspense, torrid romance, and a haunting portrait of three damaged individuals – one man who has turned beast, one who must confront the beast within himself, and the woman torn between them.
Rio de Janeiro. 1984.
There are rumors that somewhere deep in the steamy rainforest of the Amazon a man, once civilized, is hiding in green shadows. To the primitive Brazilian Indios, he is considered their long-awaited "pale-skinned messiah." Others believe he is an evil god with powers to stir the native masses to a frenzied, killing pitch. And others suspect he might be Michael Fevers.
Into the lush tropics comes a troubled American, rebellious journalist, embittered Vietnam vet, desperate soldier of fortune. William Straw, who soon forms an uneasy alliance with a beautiful anthropologist, continues his tortured upriver journey-from jungle shantytown to opulent plantation, from explosive passion to brutal murder. Whether he is pursuing a story, an adventure, or a chance to finally exorcise his own inner demons, nothing will prepare William Straw for the sudden violence and bizarre cruelty of the one who is waiting ahead -- Michael Fevers.
Praise for 'Fevers' by Joel Homer:
"Very engrossing novel. It felt a bit like reading a modern version of Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness. The plot moves quickly and smoothly. The excitement never ends."- Gerald Loev, Amazon Reviewer
About Joel Homer:
Joel Homer was raised in Greenwich Village, attended New York University and was a medal-winning veteran from the Vietnam war. Upon returning to the states, he began his writing career as a senior editor at Saturday Review.
His books include "Marathons" and "Jargon." His produced plays include "Scenes Dedicated to My Brother," "What People Do When They're All Alone," and "The Lieutenant Snuffs the Light." In 1984 he was the first recipient of the prestigious Glickman Award for playwriting. His last play 'Private Scenes" was a huge hit in San Francisco. While working in Los Angeles, he co-wrote the original script for "Beauty and the Beast" for EuroDisney....to date the most popular stage play in Disney's history.
Joel Homer passed away in 2003 at the age of 58.
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Excerpt/Other:
It was nearly dawn, and the world
was wreathed in mist.
Even though it was unlikely the
smiling policeman’s corpse would have been discovered yet, he didn’t want to
take any unnecessary chances. He squandered a precious quarter-hour
reconnoitering the streets and squares adjacent to his hotel, and only when he
was absolutely certain the area was empty did he venture to cross it. The hotel
lobby was empty as well. He reached his room unnoticed. He shredded all the
notes kept in the leather folder. He stuffed a few of his belongings in a
canvas duffel bag. Shaving gear. A change of clothes. The black .45 Colt
automatic. And, after a moment’s pause, the photograph of Michael Fevers.
Nobody saw him leave the hotel. The
American crewman Tommy Hicks was waiting for him on the path leading out of
town. “You travel light,” he said.
“Yeah,” said Straw. “I’m a monk.”
“I knew a Buddhist monk once. I had
to shoot him in the belly. Didn’t kill him, though. Hard to kill monks. They
got a power in them. They got it from God. You believe in God?”
“No.”
“I believe in God, I mean, we gotta
blame someone, right?” A shape loomed up on the path just ahead. They could
hear the pant of its breath. “Did you know,” asked Tommy, “that God spelled
backwards is dog?”
The dog emerged from the river-borne
mist. It was big and mangy, scrubby and black. Its tail was hairless, a squalid
pink. Its eyes were red and swollen. Strings of foamy drool hung from its jaws.
It was walking slowly, head down, muzzle almost touching the ground, and it was
staggering every few steps it took, and it was staggering toward the men.
“I love dogs,” Tommy said.
Straw was swiftly calculating his
chances of reaching the .45 in the duffel bag before the dog reached him. Not
good. Better, he decided, to stand still and not draw its attention.
“Here, pooch,” Tommy said, kneeling
on the ground and holding out his hand. “Nice pooch.”
The dog growled deep in its throat,
made a small circle around the men, and continued to stagger down the road
toward Xueloc.
“Weird country,” Tommy said. “Any
other country all the dogs are crazy about me.”
“The dog was rabid,” Straw said. It
had been a long bad night, and he was suddenly very weary.
“Bullshit.” Tommy rose to his feet.
“Ain’t nothing wrong with pooch. You think I’d pet a mad fucking pooch? You
think I’m crazy?”
“No,” Straw said. “I don’t think
you’re crazy.”
“All right then,” Tommy said.
They resumed their walk in silence.
The road dipped, then curved outward, and the river and the rotting wharf and
the Pata de Gato were directly ahead.
Hicks sat down on a broad flat rock.
Straw sat down next to him.
Tommy gave him a cigarette, took one
for himself, and lit them both with an old-fashioned zinc-plated Zippo.
“Where you from?” Tommy asked.
“Texas.”
“No shit? A cowboy? Fucking
outstanding, pardner. That’s a good moniker—pardner. Pard. Howdy, pard. I’m
from Nebraska myself. ’Course that was a time ago. Maybe a million years. Lots
of road between then and now.”
“When were you in Vietnam?” Straw
asked.
“Hey,” said Tommy. “Hey now.
Should’ve guessed. You were what, a captain, right?”
“First lieutenant.”
“Me, I never even made E-4. Mickey
Mouse outfit. The Delta. Paddy patrol.”
“I was in recon. The Central
Highlands.”
“So you musta saw some stuff.”
“Yeah. I saw some stuff.”
“So we’re blood brothers, am I
right? Washed in the blood of ‘Nam. Whooo!” shouted Tommy Hicks. “The good old
days! This is gonna make for an important difference in our relationship,” he
said. “I mean, I gotta tell you, pard, I had you pegged for trouble. Most
people, I dunno, they always want to fuck with me.”
“I won’t fuck with you,” Straw said.
“Fucking blood brothers, number
one,” said Hicks. “Things beginning to look up on this weird cruise. That
deacon’s something, ain’t he? Looks like one of those old-timey judges that
fried witches.”
“What’s a man like that doing out
here?”
“The fuck knows, pard. I been aboard
since we first set out from Macapo. That was damn near two weeks ago, and all I
learned about the Deacon and his fucking expedition you can fit into the
brainpan of a first lieutenant. No offense, pard.”
“None taken, Tommy.”
“Yeah, you can call me Tommy. Want
another smoke?” Hicks lit two more cigarettes. “All I can tell you is what I
learned from life. Nothing’s ever really normal. Take that tub. The Pata de Gato. It looks like a tub,
right? Fat ass old river-boat. No juice. No class. Tell the truth now, pard.
You think she’s a tub, right?”
“Right.”
“Well, she ain’t. I’ve seen the
power in her, and we’re talking power, pard. Two big Wescott engines like they
use on the Coast Guard cutters. And, dig it, pard, there’s heavy artillery.
They got them a Browning .50 caliber machine gun mounted under the tarp on the
starboard dinghy. Fifty caliber! You can chop down the jungle with it.”
“How do you get past the river
patrols?”
“We don’t. We been boarded three
times so far. The Deacon’s smooth. I’ll give the weird bastard that. Smooth as
baby sister’s pussy. He lays on some bullshit about being some field prospector
for some minerals company. Cops don’t take it seriously. They take his money
seriously, though. And he flashes some heavy-duty credentials, too. No one’s
searched us yet.”
“What do you think, Tommy?”
“The deacon? Who the fuck knows. The
Captain? His name’s Ursosi. I call him Bear. Old pirate, Bear. Don’t mess with
him, he don’t mess with you. Juan? That’s the other hand. Juan’s great. Cooks
up a storm, does his share of the work, and won’t bend your ears with a lot of
stupid conversation. The Ice Queen? Forget it, pard. She’s one cold bitch.”
“Wait a minute. There’s a woman
aboard?”
“Good-looking, too. Tall, cool
blonde. She spends most of her time hiding out in the forward cabin. You like
that, do you? You like the pussy? I can take it or leave it.”
“Isn’t there more crew?”
“There used to be Pedro. You
wouldn’t know about Pedro. A real smart ass. He was always fucking with me.
You’re his replacement.”
“What happened to him?”
“He died. It wasn’t no surprise.
Pedro was always fucking with me.” Tommy Hicks stood up. He was young and
strong and very trim in his faded but freshly laundered work clothes. His face
could sell cornflakes. Blond crewcut, warm, open smile, eyes a guileless blue.
“Seeing as we’re gonna be friends, I have to let you know up front,” he said.
“I’m one spooky motherfucker.”
Review:
This was a difficult book to
read. The underlying uncomfortable truth
that is brought to light in the story is one that everyone should know about,
but no one really wants to know about.
It is an uncomfortable reminder of the brutalities in our shared past
and the underlying violence that mankind is capable of perpetrating. So it was difficult to read.
However, everyone should read
something uncomfortable that makes them think on a regular basis. That said, this is not the book for
everyone. It has many uncomfortable
scenes and ideas. Those who can look at
the brutality of people and learn from it will get something from this
book. But don’t look for a quick easy
read because this book will pull at your heart and make you contemplate
uncomfortable ideas.
I give this book 3 out of 5 clouds.
This product or book may have been distributed for review; this in no way
affects my opinions or reviews.
Book Review of The Dreamer 
It’s night. Always
night. Dreams guard against the evil forged by nightmares. Infinite shooting
stars illuminate a moonless sky. A city stands alone, surrounded by a darkened
field. On its fringes, a man watches one star separate from the masses and
fall. What survives the crash will unveil a secret centuries long hidden.
