I was just in a bookstore at SFO (San Francisco Airport) and saw Airframe by Michael Crichton (selling for a ghastly $15!). Now I’m not going to disparage someone whose library I all but exhausted in my younger years (Clancy and Crichton dominated my young library. Long before getting anywhere near John Galt’s 60-page soliloquy, as the mouthpiece of Ayn Rand, I tore through the 1000+ pages of Rainbow Six), but what is one of his more random books doing, now 12 years after it’s original publication? I have to admit, I could see Jurassic Park, but I didn’t think that his more Sphere-esque books would stand the test of a decade (especially after those horrid movies. Does anyone else remember the laser scene in Congo with the gorillas? Yikes…)
Amidst the spatterings of James Patterson’s Cross and Danielle Steele’s The Long Road Home it is admittedly a breath of fresh air for the twenty something male, but I can’t help but wonder how 12 years of books aren’t able to take a somewhat mediocre tale off the shelves…
