The world of popular fiction has suffered some big losses in the past month or so. First Tony Hillerman, then Studs Terkel, and now Michael Crichton.
I will admit that I know him best from his movies and tv shows. Crichton directed one of my favorite movies as a child: Coma. (Yes, I may have been a little morbid. Another favorite movie of mine was Burnt Offerings, the tale of a house that killed its occupants if they threatened it in some way.) I enjoyed the big screen spectacle that was Jurassic Park, even though it seemed ridiculously implausible. And, I even liked ER back in the day.
As a writer, I can learn a lot from his books. He knew how to draw readers in, how to convince them of the underpinnings of his story world, and how to create spectacles that translated well into the big and small screens. He explored different literary techniques and published across genres.
He was criticized for incorporating junk science into his works and for using his fiction to promote his own political beliefs. (Although that’s what I thought authors should do. What was I thinking?)
Love him or hate him, Crichton had a huge effect on pop culture and popular literature.
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