One of the many technological anxieties of the late 1990s comes to life with Michael Crichton’s Prey, a lackluster science fiction romp through the speculative world of nanotechnology disguised as a middle-aged engineer’s retrospective account of his involvement in the nightmarish logical extreme of technology gone awry. One might call the plot “Jurassic Park with nanotechnology” except that would be doing a disservice to Jurassic Park.
Prey is the literary equivalent of a 90s popcorn flick: bold imagery, an action-packed plot, and a cautious warning message about the dangers of emerging technology loosely slapped on top. It’s not terrible, but it is vastly improved if you pretend it was written by Chuck Palahniuk about a man’s schizophrenic delusions justifying the murder of those around him.
Pick up a copy at Amazon (affiliate link)