On the other hand, Robert R. McCammon's SWAN SONG scared the hell out of me. Definitely wouldn't want to live in that post-apocalyptic world. It's an amazing book, though.
Want to read a fascinating (albeit, dated) book in that genre? Try Edmond Hamilton's CITY AT WORLD'S END. I think it's still free as an ebook online, since it no longer has a copyright (unless Google decided they own it). It was published in 1951, when, among other things, men's and women's roles were much different than they are today. But if you can get past that, it's great sci-fi, and poses the question: What defines "human"? A small midwestern town is thrown millions of years into the future, Earth now desolate and uninhabitable. The star-traveling humans who arrive to help them have evolved into emotionally cold beings incapable of understanding why these primitive Earthers refuse to relocate and give up the town and planet they love. But the beings who keep the starship running -- basically the blue-collar class -- may be a freakish-looking collection of fur, wings, tails, and alien faces only a mother could love, but they feel the same emotional connection to their home planets. They get it.
Don't want to give you the impression that I sit in a Gothic mansion somewhere (wouldn't mind having one, though), in a dank basement, slowly rocking a creaky rocking chair, pet raven on a perch beside me, as I read ominous, end-of-life-as-we-know-it novel after novel. Hmmm ... actually, sounds kinda cool ... But no, instead I lounge on a comfy couch in my computer room, TV on even if muted, M & M's within easy reach, disgustingly adorable furball of a cat on my lap, as I read all sorts of fiction, from Dennis Lehane to Jodi Picoult to Ridley Pearson to Kathy Reichs to Jules Verne to Jim Butcher to Michael Crichton to Janet Evanovich to ... Well, you get the picture. What would we do without novels, allowing us to step into other lives, other towns, other worlds, if only for a little while?