Michael Crichton strikes again. Again.
Crichton’s signature research (does he have a team doing his next book?) was impeccable and his craft superb. This book submerged you into the adventure: the horror, the bizarre, the cuties, and the heart-breaking. It was like watching a fast-pace action film. Everything was happening, all your senses overloaded, and you felt great closing the book. Then you forget.
It is a mass-market publication at its finest. That said, I felt this is not Crichton’s finest.
Stop reading. What comes next could ruin the book for you.
Crichton just couldn’t make up his mind on the characters. The antagonists are obvious: the villain is the standard cardboard evil psychopath. The obstacles are Jurassic Park style and wonderfully done. But which protagonist must I identify with? I was forced to switch, then I didn’t get the clear hint on which one to go with. Since there is no strong connection to one protagonist, there is no big crescendo climax closure at the end.
The formula dictates that everything goes up in a big flame at the end. The antagonist was naturally taken care of, but the protagonists’ escape was anti-climatic. This is a badly executed formulaic ending: unnecessary destruction, no possibilities left for imagination, and neither a tragedy that leaves you with a long sigh nor a comedy that give you warm happy feelings.
I did the right thing borrowing this one from the library. That’s what I will do for Crichton’s next one. Like Stephen King, I think Crichton’s best years are over but the craft is still masterful.