I’m trying to imagine reading this the same year Apollo 11 landed on the moon. Wow.
Fifty years later, it still feels so very plausible. The dry technical parts only make it more plausible. I like this kind of thriller.
I will say that, weirdly, I found this book comforting (I blame years of finding The X-Files comforting), but I had the craziest dreams while I was reading it. Things like: my teeth were broken. Or I couldn’t fall asleep. (Which is an especially diabolical dream once you’re already asleep.) So maybe Crichton was pulling some subliminal voodoo mind tricks, or maybe it’s just my own brain, but this is a great weirdly-comforting book that might or might not play tricks on your brain.