I am a die hard Michael Crichton fan. His works of accessible (dare I say "beach read") science fiction open a door into a genre that some readers hesitate to tread. Crichton not only created this door but flung it wide open, gesturing all readers to come in and explore the type of fiction that could grow from scientific interests. His work is universally known, critically acclaimed, and just darn good reading.
When I saw Pirate Latitudes on the shelf, posthumously published, I hesitated. Pirates? I'm a bit surprised, but okay. Then, halfway through the book, a terrible thing happened. I got bored. I put the book down and nearly forgot about it, something that has never happened with any of his previous works.
But I am nothing if not a dedicated reader, so I read through til the end. The novel let no remarkable impact, no overwhelming impressions. It lacked the polish and energy of his other works and felt incomplete. Perhaps it was a first draft, or an idea he never truly fell in love with, which is why it never fell upon store shelves until now. My final impression was that it felt more like a writing exercise, albeit a very good one by a phenomenally talented author, than a complete final draft.
Now there is word that the story, even before published, will be adapted for the big screen and by Spielberg, no less. The movie has been in production since before the book was released in 2009, but with Spielberg and Koepp (screenwriter for Jurassic Park and The Lost World) involved, it's more than likely going to end up on the big screen.
No comments:
Post a Comment