So the total amount of pages is just over 300? PL: The politically correct term is Privateer. They released me to the world to bring back sizable booty for them. PL: Yes, someone poked around and found me. And with Crichton's death, all hopes were lost for me. Alas, We were nowhere near a serviceable tale. I have been working with Mr.Crichton for more than three decades on this story. PL: Gods blood! Who are these rats? but.Well, Sreyas, there is some truth in it. S: PL, how do you feel about being out here in the world? Most of the people believe you were not supposed to see light at all. And with Crichton's death, a Welcome to a brand new episode of 'Late night show with Books'. Pirate Latitudes!!!!! PL: Hrrrrrrrr S: PL, how do you feel about being out here in the world? Most of the people believe you were not supposed to see light at all. Welcome to a brand new episode of 'Late night show with Books'. Crichton knew this book was due for a major rewrite - but his publishers knew the Crichton name would only sell for a short time longer. Hunter collecting on his debts near the finale.Ī lot is thrown into the mix: Privateers! Galleons! Cannibals! Saucy wenches! Even a pointless encounter with a sea monster! But forcing your readers to eat everything on the pirate buffet doesn't make for a good meal. Several parts of the story read as if they were first drafts - the prefunctory description of the sword battle between the hero and his nemesis - or the bland recitation of Cpt. I'm sure it was great fun to write, but Crichton's attempt to inject research into worn out pirate clichés falls far short of a good story. Written in 2006 and published only after being digitally pried from the late author's cold, dead computer - Pirate Latitudes comes across as a vanity project never intended to see the light of day. You have to think Michael Crichton's ghost is mouthing those words. Several parts of the story read as if they were f "If only I'd have encrypted my hard drive." "If only I'd have encrypted my hard drive." You have to think Michael Crichton's ghost is mouthing those words.
With the help of his cunning crew, Hunter hijacks El Trinidad and escapes the deadly clutches of Cazalla, leaving plenty of carnage in his wake. The raid is as perilous as the bloody legends of Matanceros suggest, and Hunter will lose more than one man before he finds himself on the island′s shores, where dense jungle and the firepower of Spanish infantry are all that stand between him and the treasure. With the governor′s backing, Hunter assembles a roughneck crew to infiltrate the enemy island and commandeer the galleon, along with its fortune in Spanish gold. Heavily fortified, the impregnable Spanish outpost is guarded by the blood-swiller Cazalla, a favorite commander of King Philip IV himself. Word in port is that the Spanish treasure galleon El Trinidad, fresh from New Spain, is stalled in nearby Matanceros harbor awaiting repairs. And law in the New World is made by those who take it into their hands. In the name of His Majesty King Charles II of England, gold in Spanish hands is gold for the taking. But for Captain Charles Hunter it is a life that can also lead to riches, if he abides by the island′s code. Port Royal, Jamaica′s capital, a cut-throat town of taverns, grog shops, and bawdy houses, is devoid of London′s luxuries life here can end swiftly with dysentery or a dagger in your back. But for Captain Charles Hunter it is a life that ca Jamaica in 1665 is a rough outpost of the English crown, a minor colony holding out against the vast supremacy of the Spanish empire. Jamaica in 1665 is a rough outpost of the English crown, a minor colony holding out against the vast supremacy of the Spanish empire.
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