As corona-life settles into just the way things are, I pulled out my copy of Michael Crichton’s The Andromeda Strain. I read this in high school, and, judging from the state of my copy I originally found it in the book bin at Goodwill. I actually didn’t remember how the book ended, but some of the scenes—particularly the bizarre suicides that the virus first initiates—stayed with me. I really felt no compunction to read it again until our daily reality was one of infection, protection, and fear. In other words, the time was right. I can say that I found Crichton’s confident prose a bit overblown at times, especially given the resolution of the crisis, which I will not give away here. Some of the rest of you may want pandemic-themed reading, after all.
Something I had forgotten, and since this is near…
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