Michael Crichton died of cancer on November 4 at the age of 66. He was a film producer, a Harvard-trained medical doctor and TV producer of some renown but best known, I think, as the author of Jurassic Park, The Andromeda Strain and the creator of the television series ER.

He wrote the kind of books that are one of my favorite escapes: Techno-thrillers with a healthy dose of science and action. He sold upwards of 165 million books, which include The Andromeda Strain, Jurassic Park, Congo, Disclosure, Rising Sun, Prey, and Next. He got himself into a barrel of globally warmed scalding water in the book State Of Fear when he suggested, through his characters, that global warming was a myth perpetrated by tree-hugging loonies. His new book, as yet untitled, is to be published posthumously in the spring. The one novel that sticks out in my head among all the others is a book, mostly overlooked, that was written in 1976. It’s called Eaters of the Dead.

It is a seamless blend of history and fiction. The first part of the book is a retelling of a true adventure written by a 10th-century Muslim named Ahmad ibn Fadlin. He was sent to the King of the Bulgars as an ambassador by the Caliph of Baghdad. He makes many observations on his trip regarding the people of the north lands especially the Rus or Russians. The second half of the book is, essentially, the story of Beowulf, and it starts out with his capture by a group of Vikings who are eventually sent north on a heroic quest to help a group of Scandinavians rid themselves of some pesky monsters. They take Fadlin as the 13th member of their company for good luck.

In the afterword of the book, Mr. Crichton gives us a look into how this book was born. He was attending a lecture of a friend on boring works of literature. His friend mentioned Beowulf as an example. Mr. Crichton took exception, claiming that Beowulf was quite interesting and could be even more so if treated slightly differently. What resulted from that little tete a tete was Eaters of the Dead.

Mr. Crichton took Ahmad ibn Fadlin’s narrative and stitched it together with the fictional tale of Beowulf to create what only can be called some kind of historical / fictional / scientific / anthropological study. Mr. Crichton presents the text as a complete translation of ibn Fadlin’s adventure with scholarly footnotes that look and feel real. In some cases the footnotes refer to real books. This, in its entirety, creates an impressive air of authenticity. If you didn’t know any better, you might think you were reading a factual document instead of a work of fiction. Mr. Crichton uses this technique to create an historical framework out of which grew the Old English epic of Beowulf, called Buliwyf in Eaters of the Dead.

In the scholarly interpretation of Eaters of the Dead, the “real” Beowulf didn’t meet and defeat Grendel or Grendel’s mother as horrible monsters that ate human flesh, but more like powerful creatures that looked like humans but didn’t really act in any way that we would recognize as human. There is a strong inference that the monsters in the narrative were actually the last living clan of Neanderthals. Beowulf, in heroic fashion, along with his band of men, many of whom are killed in the process, confronts and defeats these proto-humans. His exploits grow in size and grandeur with each retelling until you have the epic we know today: A story based in fact but, shall we say, energized a bit for the sake of art, the telling of heroic tales, and, most importantly, the drinking of mead.

Mr. Crichton’s literary approach in Eaters of the Dead is far more complex and entertaining than in almost all of his other books. This book is clever and witty in the way he gets us to suspend our disbelief. I had read Beowulf a few years before Eaters of the Dead was published and I remember that what had drawn me to Mr. Crichton’s book was the fact that it had something to do with the Old English epic -- that, and the fact that I liked Beowulf … a LOT. I got Eaters of the Dead, read it and then wondered what the heck happened to my brain. I didn’t remember any Ahmad ibn Fadlin in Beowulf. I’m not at all ashamed to admit that Crichton got me. I thought, albeit for only a day or two, that it was all true. I swallowed the hook, the line, the sinker, the pole, the boat and most of the lake. I absolutely love it when a book does that to me. What a bang