The most disturbing thing I heard about the Left Behind series was not that every book after the first had the feel of rushed writing and even more rushed editing. Not even close. The comment that most jarred, concerned, troubled me was this: "After reading the Left Behind series, I think it might be kind of cool to get left behind. It sounds exciting." And why not? The main characters drove brand-spanking new, fully-loaded cars, drank clean water, and had access to the coolest technology ever.

If you want a more realistic vision of the post-apocalyptic world, read Cormac McCarthy's Pulitzer-prize-winning novel, The Road. But expect his story to haunt more than it entertains.

Ash replaces dirt. Concrete replaces forests. Black waves replace blue. Death replaces life. Only food canned before the unnamed horrific event is fit to eat. And people kill for it. And eat each other.

(A couple of times I had to suspense disbelief--how could the dad fry eggs if all the chickens died? How did they carry the amount of water they would have needed? And where did they get it if all the streams were contaminated?)

So why read such a bleak book full of future shock?

Engaging storytelling. Gripping images. Masterful use of the language. And ultimately a look at the truth: that even if the world should come to an end, these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love.