This review pertains especially to the unabridged audio book version of Michael Crichton's PREY, read by George Wilson.  (Robert Sean Leonard performs the abridged audio book.)  I'll address first the reading, and then the story.

I have not really listened to a lot of books.  I'd always wondered if listening to a book counts as having "read" it, giving that absurd question far more thought than is worth.  One thing I've learned, though, is that despite not seeing the words on a page I retain far more of the story, even the author's language, than I had thought I would.  I guess that that's because, as the words are read, one paints the scenes in one's mind, and it's the vivid memory of those scenes, a memory both visual and auditory, that sticks--like old-time radio.

So let me comment on the auditory experience.  George Wilson's baritone voice does a nice job with the narrative itself.  But is it common for a reader to try to give distinctive "voices" to the characters?  In particular, should a male reader attempt to "put on" a female voice?  And how about mimicking children: should an adult male reader of a book try to switch to children's voices?  This method of book reading might work well with a particularly good actor, but Wilson's attempts fall short of the mark.  When Wilson first started reading the words of an Asian-American character, Mae Chang, in a soft, high voice, I started to laugh.  It just sounded alternately unintentionally seductive and silly.  And forget the arguments between the kids; it's like listening to an adult mock the way children talk.  Far better for Wilson just to have read the entire material in his own voice.

As for the novel itself, PREY follows the formula first set out by Michael Crichton in THE ANDROMEDA STRAIN and developed much further in JURASSIC PARK.  The formula works quite well; it's like variations on an amusement park ride.  What makes Crichton's novels particularly fun to read for someone who likes the "science" in "science fiction" is that Crichton weaves in a lot of factual science material into his narrative.  At times, though, the way he weaves that material in can be borderline pedantic; what's worse is that it can destroy the flow of the story and diminish its effectiveness.

PREY is essentially JURASSIC PARK with swarming hybrid nanomachine-microorganisms in place of dinosaurs.  (Wouldn't THE SWARMS have been a better title, incidentally?)  Both stories involve technology that isn't too far removed from the present, and concern the havoc that results when human beings, full of hubris and highly fallible, attempt to play God.  The basic problem with PREY's monsters is that they aren't a feature of popular culture.  And swarming dust doesn't immediately strike one as very terrifying.  Crichton does a great job, though, at making these swarms frightening.  He builds the tension for a satisfying ride through what one would be forgiven for calling Nanoland Park.

There are problems with PREY.  Beyond the expected plot holes that suspension of disbelief wants to hide, the occasional hackneyed plot twists and interactions between characters, and the sometimes embarrassingly bad dialogue, PREY takes far too long to get the story going.  A good first third of the book takes place in a home in which some strange things happen; developments that seem far less mysterious to the reader than they are to the--supposedly smart--characters.  The home scenes basically reveal that Julia Forman, the wife of the main character, Jack Forman, and the mother of two-going-on-three brats, is acting very strangely.  Before the action even moves out to the desert--Nanoland Park--the reader already knows that Julia is "possessed" by the evil nanoparticles; we just don't know how or why.  We are left to wonder about some of the other strange occurrences, while having to put up with arguments between the brats and, even worse, wimpy Jack's inability to do anything with any kind of conviction at all.  Not caring about the characters is not where the reader wants to be when the action begins.

However that may be, once the Nanoland Park ride begins, the story becomes compelling and fun.  (I knew I had got caught up in it when I hesitated to kiss my wife one evening!  You'll have to read the story to understand.)  It would make a good summer read, or, if you can put up with George Wilson's varying "voices," a good beach listen.  What gives this pulp fiction a kind of redeeming value beyond entertainment is that Crichton occasionally also succeeds in making you ponder the world through the lens of science; for instance, he makes the point that our bodies in all their sum parts are essentially swarms of nanoparticles and that our mental activity is actually far more decentralized than what we might think.
This review pertains especially to the unabridged audio book version of Michael Crichton's PREY, read by George Wilson. (Robert Sean Leonard performs the abridged audio book. )  I'll address first the reading, and then the story. I have not really listened to a lot of books. I'd always wondered if listening to a book counts as having "read" it, giving that absurd question far more thought than is worth. One thing I've learned, though, is that despite not seeing the words on a page I retain far more of the story, even the author's language, than I had thought I would. I guess that that's because, as the words are read, one paints the scenes in one's mind, and it's the vivid memory of those scenes, a memory both visual and auditory, that sticks--like old-time radio. So let me comment on the auditory experience. George Wilson's baritone voice does a nice job with the narrative itself. But is it common for a reader to try to give distinctive "voices" to the characters? In particular, should a male reader attempt to "put on" a female voice? And how about mimicking children: should an adult male reader of a book try to switch to children's voices? This method of book reading might work well with a particularly good actor, but Wilson's attempts fall short of the mark. When Wilson first started reading the words of an Asian-American character, Mae Chang, in a soft, high voice, I started to laugh. It just sounded alternately unintentionally seductive and silly. And forget the arguments between the kids; it's like listening to an adult mock the way children talk. Far better for Wilson just to have read the entire material in his own voice. As for the novel itself, PREY follows the formula first set out by Michael Crichton in THE ANDROMEDA STRAIN and developed much further in JURASSIC PARK. The formula works quite well; it's like variations on an amusement park ride. What makes Crichton's novels particularly fun to read for someone who likes the "science" in "science fiction" is that Crichton weaves in a lot of factual science material into his narrative. At times, though, the way he weaves that material in can be borderline pedantic; what's worse is that it can destroy the flow of the story and diminish its effectiveness. PREY is essentially JURASSIC PARK with swarming hybrid nanomachine-microorganisms in place of dinosaurs. (Wouldn't THE SWARMS have been a better title, incidentally? )  Both stories involve technology that isn't too far removed from the present, and concern the havoc that results when human beings, full of hubris and highly fallible, attempt to play God. The basic problem with PREY's monsters is that they aren't a feature of popular culture. And swarming dust doesn't immediately strike one as very terrifying. Crichton does a great job, though, at making these swarms frightening. He builds the tension for a satisfying ride through what one would be forgiven for calling Nanoland Park. There are problems with PREY. Beyond the expected plot holes that suspension of disbelief wants to hide, the occasional hackneyed plot twists and interactions between characters, and the sometimes embarrassingly bad dialogue, PREY takes far too long to get the story going. A good first third of the book takes place in a home in which some strange things happen; developments that seem far less mysterious to the reader than they are to the--supposedly smart--characters. The home scenes basically reveal that Julia Forman, the wife of the main character, Jack Forman, and the mother of two-going-on-three brats, is acting very strangely. Before the action even moves out to the desert--Nanoland Park--the reader already knows that Julia is "possessed" by the evil nanoparticles; we just don't know how or why. We are left to wonder about some of the other strange occurrences, while having to put up with arguments between the brats and, even worse, wimpy Jack's inability to do anything with any kind of conviction at all. Not caring about the characters is not where the reader wants to be when the action begins. However that may be, once the Nanoland Park ride begins, the story becomes compelling and fun. (I knew I had got caught up in it when I hesitated to kiss my wife one evening! You'll have to read the story to understand. )  It would make a good summer read, or, if you can put up with George Wilson's varying "voices," a good beach listen. What gives this pulp fiction a kind of redeeming value beyond entertainment is that Crichton occasionally also succeeds in making you ponder the world through the lens of science; for instance, he makes the point that our bodies in all their sum parts are essentially swarms of nanoparticles and that our mental activity is actually far more decentralized than what we might think.