Most apocalyptic authors do not posses the creativity or desire to end their novel outside the standard normal tropes: a protagonist who submits to his (and it rather often seems to be “his”) malevolent overlords either through acquiescence or death, or else a plot that simply doesn’t bother with catharsis at all. So I was never a big fan of this genre, and that’s largely Aldous Huxley’s fault. (Random fact: Huxley wrote the original screenplay for Disney’s adaptation of Alice in Wonderland. Disney rejected it on the grounds that it was too literary. I feel Walt on that one.) The Host is a great exception. Yep, that’s the one written by Stephanie Meyer, who when she’s not writing about sparkly teenage vampires actually has quite a graphic imagination. If you’re looking for somewhat-lighter adult apocalyptic lit, go read it. If you’re looking for something a bit darker, I’d start with Chang-Rae Lee.
“There are no Asian movie stars” – Aaron Sorkin
So to go along with my twelve-year-old boy taste in movies and my irrational love of sitcoms, my favorite genre of novel is…YA (you all saw this coming, right? Had me pegged for a raging Harry Potter fan? Guilty.) Adult fiction somehow never managed to hold quite the same appeal for me, coming after all the great YA I loved in high school. The seventh Harry Potter book came out the summer before I went to college, my childhood ended, and fiction just hasn’t been the same sense. Okay that’s darker than I really meant the sentiment to be. But the problem is, adult fiction might not capture the imagination in the same way YA once did, but you also do naturally outgrow YA. (Or at least, a lot of YA. Harry Potter will be awesome forever and Holes still really holds up).