I’m trying to think how many Michael Crichton novels I’ve read: Jurassic Park, for sure, Congo, and Sphere. I think that’s it. They were all enjoyable reads.
I was saddened to learn that Crichton died over the weekend. In losing Crichton, we lose a man who wasn’t afraid to poke fun at the accepted wisdom of the elites–like global warmism.
(or climate change or whatever it is they’re calling it today because global temperatures aren’t going their way, if you know what I mean)
John Miller, writer for the National Review, penned an excellent obit op-ed for the Wall Street Journal. My brother, Matt, pointed out the best part:
His workaholic habits were legendary, and he must have been a hard man to live with. Four of his five marriages ended in divorce. He displayed a vindictive streak, too. In 2006, Michael Crowley of The New Republic wrote a negative critique of Mr. Crichton’s work. Rather than responding with a letter to the editor, Mr. Crichton retaliated in “Next,” a novel about transgenic animals. It included a minor character named Mick Crowley, a child rapist who, like the real Mr. Crowley, had attended Yale.
Haters, beware. I’ll be working you into my next novel.
(h/t Scott L.)
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