Here's one I prepared earlier.And another.

Matthew Reilly was one of my favourite writers when I was a teenager, mainly because I liked his ridiculously enthusiastic, over-the-top writing style. I imagine if dogs could write a book about how they feel when you come home after leaving them alone all day, their work would carry a similar tenor. But I think my affinity for his work was extended beyond its natural lifespan by my membership at the excellent Presidian fan forums (RIP), because I noticed when reading his most recent book that I really just couldn’t relate to it at all. It’s not because he’s changed, or anything like that; I’m sure if I went back to Ice Station now, it too would seem childish and silly. No, I am the one who has changed here. There is a certain mindset that you need to adopt in order for stories of this nature to appeal to you, and it is something that I no longer possess. And to be honest, I don’t miss it, either.