I was at the car repair shop going trough Olga Kurylenko’s interview in Time Out KL when the news came on the radio. It was from one of those dull RTM’s stations which I initially planed to listen half-heartedly. But, apparently, according to the man who obviously was born without the fun or sense of humour genes, a well-known author by the name of ‘Krishnen’ had died the day before. Funny, I thought to myself. If he’s so famous, how come I haven’t heard of him? Was he local by any chance? As you should know, car repair shops aren’t exactly serene in its surroundings. Even MPs would have trouble making themselves heard around here. Not that they have anything important to say anyway.
The news went on about how his books had sold more than a 100 million copies worldwide and translated into 30 languages. Well, he must very famous then, I wondered. And it continued ‘Among his notable works were Jurassic Park and ER among others…,’ Oh dear fuck.
Michael Crichton had DIED!? Michael Crichton fuckin’ died!?
The revelation hit me hard on the head. Suddenly the image of Olga in a pink frilly dress, her legs widespread in full glorious colour just seemed oblivious. I was standing now. Hand on hips. Shaking my head in disbelief. I was distraught. My favorite author had died. Michael Crichton was the reason I began reading novels in the first place.
Growing up my father made me read the classics. Treasure Island, Moby Dick and 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea which I’m not sure I finished but all the while they were good (hey, they’re not called classics for nothing) it was not until I picked up Sphere that my world was turned upside down. It was the first time I read a book that I wished never ends. As I’m sure all avid readers had come to experience at one time in their lives. I can remember going through 20,000 Leagues and I kept checking how much left I still have to go to reach the end. But I can never get enough of HAL.
I finished Sphere and it gave me such a satisfying feeling afterwards I was convinced I had found my fix. So while the other boys were busy learning how top lay the guitar and take up smoking, I was hell bent on reading up on every Crichton’s work. Of course, like making spaghetti, it is easier said than done. Especially for a boy studying in boarding school. It’s pretty difficult to convince your parents that leisure reading is among life’s top priorities apart from food and intuition. In which they justified RM10 a week was more than enough. Sigh.
But, boys will be boys and although The Terminal Man didn’t quite strike a chord with me, I was totally embroiled with both Congo and The Andromeda Strain.
The one thing that differentiates Michael Crichton from other writers and the reason I love his work so much for it, are the ideas that he comes up. They are so ambitious and so ridiculous let alone absurd at the time of writing it seemed like a bad joke. But through his scientific explanations, by the time you finish the book you will be asking yourself ‘my god, could this actually work?’
A dinosaur park? Ridiculous, right? But by extracting ancient DNA from mosquitoes fossilized in amber and injecting them into present amphibian eggs, it does sound kind of possible. Jurassic Park.
A virus that could kill a human being in 3 seconds which would make the Ebola and HIV look like play things. Physiologically impossible? Instead of attacking the nervous system, what if it just, by chemical chain reaction, clot your entire blood circulation system? That’s Andromeda.
A lost city in the jungles of Africa with diamonds the size of fists scattered all over the ground begging to be grabbed. But wait, the guardians are ruthless gorillas that kill humans on sight by smashing the skulls between two large stones. Seems unlikely since gorillas are known to be shy and gentle creatures despite their size and strength. But what if they were trained to do so? By humans themselves, no less, done a long time ago. And while the ancient tribe had long gone extinct (for very suspect reasons. Hint: killer pets) the gorillas continue to exist and the ‘skills’ passed on to generation after generation. Welcome to Congo.
The other thing about Crichton’s work, in my opinion, which also contributes to its cool factor, is that it does not belong to any category. Yes, you can put it under fiction but that’s about it. Technically it is Science Fiction. But people tend to associate that with Star Trek and Battlestar Gallactica. One that involves spaceships, aliens and photon rays.
But you can’t also put in under Thriller which mostly includes serial killers or vengeful spirits although the depicting scenes are probably quite similar to Crichton’s books. Something goes wrong, all hell breaks loose, chaos and people get trampled by dinosaurs. Which elevates Michael Crichton from being more than a simple research expert.
While he argues his ideas are so interesting and exciting and even theoretically possible, there’s the old saying that what ever can go wrong, will go wrong. Aeroplanes are still statistically the safest way to travel. But a miniscule mistake will end up with passengers thrown out of their seats, bouncing around in the cabin like a pinball and there’s blood and vomit everywhere. Not to mention the luggage and the 6G reinforced seats flying around as well. Lethal debris. You’re on board Airframe.
Ever since The Lost World came out, my elixir has always been the next time Crichton publishes a new book. Unlike my younger days, I have been able to purchase brand new copies of Timeline, Prey, Sate of Fear and Next (in which I have Zalina to thank for).
But now, one of my life’s greatest joys has come to an end. There will be no more new Michael Crichton books. Well, there is his last one, to be released posthumously in May 09. Pushed at a further date out of respect. It would have been this coming December.
There has been a few authors for whom I admired their work but have since past away. The likes of Robert Ludlum, Mario Puzo and to a certain extent, Sidney Sheldon. But the loss of Michael Crichton deeply saddens me. He was my kind of author. Sphere is a treasure I will always hold close to my heart. All the best for you, Michael. You will be missed.
As for now, looks like I’ll be reading more of Mike Gayle. The male version of chick lit. Oh the hell be it. Otherwise, there is that Dan Brown fellow...
from The Star, NOV 6, 2008
NEW YORK (AP): Michael Crichton, the million-selling author who made scientific research terrifying and irresistible in such thrillers as "Jurassic Park,'' "Timeline'' and "The Andromeda Strain,'' has died of cancer, his family said.
Crichton died Tuesday in Los Angeles at age 66 after privately battling cancer.
"Through his books, Michael Crichton served as an inspiration to students of all ages, challenged scientists in many fields, and illuminated the mysteries of the world in a way we could all understand,'' his family said in a statement.
"While the world knew him as a great storyteller that challenged our preconceived notions about the world around us - and entertained us all while doing so - his wife Sherri, daughter Taylor, family and friends knew Michael Crichton as a devoted husband, loving father and generous friend who inspired each of us to strive to see the wonders of our world through new eyes.''
He was an experimenter and popularizer known for his stories of disaster and systematic breakdown, such as the rampant microbe of "The Andromeda Strain'' or the dinosaurs running madly in "Jurassic Park.'' Many of his books became major Hollywood movies, including "Jurassic Park,'' "Rising Sun'' and "Disclosure.'' Crichton himself directed and wrote "The Great Train Robbery'' and he co-wrote the script for the blockbuster "Twister.''
In 1994, he created the award-winning TV hospital series "ER.'' He's even had a dinosaur named for him, Crichton's ankylosaur.
"Michael's talent out-scaled even his own dinosaurs of 'Jurassic Park,''' said "Jurassic Park'' director Steven Spielberg, a friend of Crichton's for 40 years. "He was the greatest at blending science with big theatrical concepts, which is what gave credibility to dinosaurs again walking the Earth. ... Michael was a gentle soul who reserved his flamboyant side for his novels. There is no one in the wings that will ever take his place.''
John Wells, executive producer of "ER'' called the author "an extraordinary man.
Brilliant, funny, erudite, gracious, exceptionally inquisitive and always thoughtful.
"No lunch with Michael lasted less than three hours and no subject was too prosaic or obscure to attract his interest. Sexual politics, medical and scientific ethics, anthropology, archaeology, economics, astronomy, astrology, quantum physics, and molecular biology were all regular topics of conversation.''
Neal Baer, a physician who became an executive producer on "ER,'' was a fourth-year medical student at Harvard University when Wells, a longtime friend, sent him Crichton's script.
"I said, 'Wow, this is like my life.' Michael had been a medical student at Harvard in the early '70s and I was going through the same thing about 20 years later,'' said Baer.
"ER'' offered a fresh take on the TV medical drama, making doctors the central focus rather than patients. In the early life of "ER,'' Crichton, who hadn't been involved in medicine for years, and Spielberg would take part in writers' room discussions.
In recent years, Crichton was the rare novelist granted a White House meeting with President George W. Bush, perhaps because of his skepticism about global warming, which Crichton addressed in the 2004 novel, "State of Fear.'' Crichton's views were strongly condemned by environmentalists, who alleged that the author was hurting efforts to pass legislation to reduce emissions of carbon dioxide.
If not a literary giant, he was a physical one, standing 6 feet and 9 inches (1.8 meters), and ready for battle with the press. In a 2004 interview with The Associated Press, Crichton came with a tape recorder, text books and a pile of graphs and charts as he defended "State of Fear'' and his take on global warming.
"I have a lot of trouble with things that don't seem true to me,'' Crichton said at the time, his large, manicured hands gesturing to his graphs. "I'm very uncomfortable just accepting. There's something in me that wants to pound the table and say, 'That's not true.'''
He spoke to few scientists about his questions, convinced that he could interpret the data himself. "If we put everything in the hands of experts and if we say that as intelligent outsiders, we are not qualified to look over the shoulder of anybody, then we're in some kind of really weird world,'' he said.
A new novel by Crichton had been tentatively scheduled to come next month, but publisher HarperCollins said the book was postponed indefinitely because of his illness.
One of four siblings, Crichton was born in Chicago and grew up in Roslyn, Long Island.
His father was a journalist and young Michael spent much of his childhood writing extra papers for teachers. In third grade, he wrote a nine-page play that his father typed for him using carbon paper so the other kids would know their parts. He was tall, gangly and awkward, and used writing as a way to escape; Mark Twain and Alfred Hitchcock were his role models.
Figuring he would not be able to make a living as writer, and not good enough at basketball, he decided to become a doctor. He studied anthropology at Harvard College, and later graduated from Harvard Medical School. During medical school, he turned out books under pseudonyms. (One that the tall author used was Jeffrey Hudson, a 17th-century dwarf in the court of King Charles II of England.) He had modest success with his writing and decided to pursue it.
His first hit, "The Andromeda Strain,'' was written while he was still in medical school and quickly caught on upon its 1969 release. It was a featured selection of the Book-of-the-Month Club and was sold to Universal in Hollywood for $250,000.
"A few of the teachers feel I'm wasting my time, and that in some ways I have wasted theirs,'' he told The New York Times in 1969. "When I asked for a couple of days off to go to California about a movie sale, that raised an eyebrow.''
His books seemed designed to provoke debate, whether the theories of quantum physics in "Timeline,'' the reverse sexual discrimination of "Disclosure'' or the spectre of Japanese eminence in "Rising Sun.''
"The initial response from the (Japanese) establishment was, 'You're a racist,''' he told the AP. "So then, because I'm always trying to deal with data, I went on a tour talking about it and gave a very careful argument, and their response came back, 'Well you say that but we know you're a racist.'''
Crichton had a rigid work schedule: rising before dawn and writing from about 6 a.m. to around 3 p.m., breaking only for lunch. He enjoyed being one of the few novelists recognized in public, but he also felt limited by fame.
"Of course, the celebrity is nice. But when I go do research, it's much more difficult now. The kind of freedom I had 10 years ago is gone,'' he told the AP. "You have to have good table manners; you can't have spaghetti hanging out of your mouth at a restaurant.''
Crichton was married five times and had one child. A private funeral is planned.
