I have always found Crichton to be an unbearably dull writer. Years ago, I wrote that good prose should either stand out for its beauty, or be so skilful that it carries the reader seamlessly with it. A good story teller draws you with them, and you don't notice the writing. That is artistry. Crichton, like Dan (ugh) Browne seems to write at the sort of telegraphic utterance level not seen much above 'Janet and John'.
I want, as said, to see beautiful prose that I can enjoy for itself, or to ride on the wings of the writer's imagination. In the second case, I want to see what happens next, but not simply be told "This then happened, then this".
Crichton does that to me. I can't read him, or rather I can, but whatever great plot he has allegedly devised is buried under a steady drizzle of turgid dross.
Could be worse. Could be Stephen R 'Thesaurus' Donaldson.