Everyone has their little obsessions. For some, it is Harry Potter. Some really, really like the Twilight books, and there are various other books, authors, or series that seem to draw in many adolescent readers. For me, one of my slight obsessions lies in Michael Crichton. (For the record, list of excellent books by Crichton: Jurassic Park, Sphere, Airframe. List of not-so-excellent books by Crichton: The Lost World, Prey, Next.)
I first read Jurassic Park in fifth grade, back when I was a tiny little innocent schoolgirl who had no idea that half the swear words in that book actually existed. Since then, I have read the book probably twenty times. It is one of those books that never fails to excite me, that continuously urges my fingers to turn the pages faster so no piece of the plot falls out of the stagnant pages.
Jurassic Park provides all the items necessary for an excellent thriller: a bad guy (or a good guy with a bad idea), just enough factual information to plant seeds of thought (could this really happen?) into the reader’s head, characters that come alive (Ian Malcolm is my favorite), and a plot that never stops moving (the ending!!! The ending!!!). Crichton is not only an expert in climactic thrills, but he is a master at believability. Each of his novels is so thoroughly researched that it could easily (well…almost) pass for a piece of nonfiction (hearkening to The Hot Zone by Richard Preston, which starts out quickly, stagnates, and then climaxes wonderfully).
Crichton has captivated America since the book was published in 1990, even resulting in a movie by Steven Spielberg, which is good, though it comes nowhere near the caliber of the book. If you haven’t read Jurassic Park, I strongly suggest that you do so.
If you don’t, I will unleash the tyrannosaur on you.