LITERAL REMAINS

I discovered Michael Crichton way too late.  I was in high school when the movie Jurassic Park stomped into theaters.  I thought about reading the book it was based on, but put it off and forgot about it.  Except, of course, whenever I would see the movie again, and I would say to myself ‘I really should read that book.’

Well, about three years ago my reading list for the year was made of books I had always intended to read but had never gotten around to.  There was some Arthur C. Clarke on that list, H. G. Wells, some H. P. Lovecraft.  And Michael Crichton’s Jurassic Park.

I loved Jurassic Park.  It’s sequel not so much.  The Lost World is probably the only Crichton novel I consider lousy.  Of the ones I’ve read, at least.  There are five I’ve not read.  Six counting the to-be-announced posthumous release.  Quite simply, I became a major fan.

When I heard the news last November of Michael Crichton’s passing, it felt as if I had lost a true friend.  A friend I had spent many, many, hours with, had shared many wonderful adventures and thrilling discoveries with.  With the few works of Mr. Crichton’s I’ve not read, I’m going to take my time; it’s like meeting an old friend every so often for a drink and catching up on old times.  You want to make it last.

Crichton was one of the best.  Always will be.

the_novacula