Ok yeah… I know we’re all jumping around like beans over the election, but while we were holding our breathes over politics-as-unusual–Holy Shit!–Michael Chrichton died! WTF? At 66? Los Angeles is full of disasters isn’t it? First Prop 8 passed, now the original king of technothrillers is dead in that fair-and-filthy city? I repeat: WTF? My mind is boggling.
Yes, I know… the Jurassic Park franchise was full of fail in Filmland and Sphere… OMG, what was he thinking? But still: Andromeda Strain, Coma, Westworld… and in the land of books, how ’bout The Terminal Man, Eaters of the Dead, The Great Train Robbery, the real Jurassic Park, the original Andromeda Strain, etc…? Some of those books scared holy poo out of me and they made me think not only about his topics but that there might be room for writers who wanted to talk about history, society, and science fiction as something immediate and important, not just as space ships and aliens. At 6″9′ he was a giant, but had he been only 4″ 9′, in literature he was still a giant.
Good bye Mr. Chrichton. You leave a void.