The Left Behind Complete Set, Series 1-12

by Tim LaHaye

He knew that first-class passengers, frequent flyers, the elderly, and people with small children boarded first.

Thanks, I needed all this info, Tim

Buck had never been a drinker, so he declined the champagne, and he was too keyed up to eat. The flight attendant said, “Are you sure? An entire bottle has been set aside for you.” She looked at her clipboard. “‘Compliments of N. C.’”

Anytime a character in a piece of media tries to get another character to drink something specific, that drink is always poisoned. But the writing in this series is so unpredictable and bad that I can’t tell if that’s what LaHaye is trying to signal to us.

He had tried not to be showy, but clearly he was getting preferential treatment.

Rayford Steele sat in the cockpit of a Boeing 777 on the military runway in the shadow of Dallas–Fort Worth.

Okay, I’m calling it now: these new test aircraft are going to turn out to be a major plot point when they become the new Air Force One (or the Antichrist equivalent). Only when Carpathia gets ahold of them, it’ll be revealed that the actual model number is 666. This subplot is here so that we know that Rayford already has experience flying one, and he’ll need that later to infiltrate Carpathia’s crew or something.

Buck Williams’ limo was soon stuck in traffic. Buck wished he’d brought something to read. Why did this have to be so mysterious? He didn’t understand the point of his treatment on both ends of the plane ride. The only other time someone had suggested he use an alias was when a competing magazine was making an offer they hoped he couldn’t refuse, and they didn’t want Global Weekly to get wind he was even considering it. Buck could see the United Nations headquarters in the distance, but he still didn’t know whether that was his destination until the driver swept past the appropriate exit. He hoped they were headed somewhere nice for lunch. Besides the fact that he had skipped breakfast, he also liked the prospect of eating more than that of dying.

We get a whole scene that only tells us Buck is stuck in traffic, and that he doesn’t want to die. Thanks. Tim.

The handwritten message read simply: Captain Steele, I assume you know that the brand-new Air Force One is a 777. Your friend, Hattie Durham

Holy crap, I nailed it! And it didn’t even take a page for that prediction to come true. Well, the first half of it, anyway.

There the man stopped and whispered, “You will dine with the gentleman in the booth by the window.” Buck looked. Someone waved vigorously at him, drawing stares. Because the sun was to the man’s back, Buck saw only the silhouette of a smallish, stooped man with wild wisps of hair.

WHO’S THAT POKEMON???

What else could he say? Rosenzweig, creator of a formula that made the Israeli deserts bloom like a greenhouse, had been his friend ever since Buck profiled him as Global Weekly’s Newsmaker of the Year more than a year before. Rosenzweig was the one who had first mentioned the name Nicolae Carpathia to Buck. Carpathia had been a low-level politico from Romania who had asked for a private audience with Rosenzweig after the formula had become famous. Heads of state from all over the world had tried to curry favor with Israel to get access to the formula. Many countries sent diplomats to sweet-talk Rosenzweig himself when they got nowhere with the Israeli prime minister. Oddly, Carpathia was the one who most impressed Rosenzweig. He had arranged the visit himself and come on his own, and at the time he seemed to have no power to make any deals, even if Rosenzweig had been open to one. All Carpathia had sought from Rosenzweig was his good will. And he got it.

What a clunky way to catch up everybody who either didn’t read the first book or just forgot it

Buck had always, always made it a habit to ignore recommendations in restaurants. It probably was one of the reasons for his nickname. He realized how rattled he was when he ordered what Rosenzweig suggested. And he loved it.

A weird quirk to give a character, but okay

“Think about it, Cameron. He has not sought these positions. He rose from a low position in the Romanian government to become president of that nation when an election was not even scheduled. He resisted it!”

More recapping... get on with the story, Tim

“And when he was invited to speak at the United Nations not a month ago, he was so intimidated and felt so unworthy, he almost declined. But you were there! You heard the speech. I would have nominated him for prime minister of Israel if I thought he would have taken it! Almost immediately the secretary-general stepped down and insisted Nicolae replace him. And he was elected unanimously, enthusiastically, and he has been endorsed by nearly every head of state around the world.

WE GET IT, TIM

It makes no sense! Having the formula made you the richest nation on earth for its size and solved myriad problems, but it was the exclusivity that made it work! Why do you think the Russians attacked you? They don’t need your land! There’s no oil to be found! They wanted the formula! Imagine if all the vast reaches of that nation were fertile!”

So this formula is only a good thing when the good countries have it? Buck is supposed to be our hero, but he’s arguing against sharing a formula that could reduce food shortages throughout the world, just because it would give Israel a political advantage.

And to prove that he bears no ill will for your snub of his last invitation, he is going to ask you to come to Israel for the signing of the treaty.”

Alright, finally we have a main through-line for this book. This whole treaty plot that’s going to start the 7 year countdown. Hopefully this through-line lasts at least through act 2. I’m not confident enough in LaHaye to have an overarching plot for the entire book.

Suddenly Chloe beeped in. She sounded awful. “Hi, Dad,” she mumbled. “You under the weather?” “No. Just upset. Dad, did you know that Buck Williams is living with someone?” “What!?” “It’s true. And they’re engaged! I saw her. She was carrying boxes into his condo. A skinny little spike-haired girl in a short skirt.”

We’re doing one of these stories? The whole Claudio & Hero plot from Much Ado About Nothing? The least interesting part of that play?

My dear friend Rabbi Tsion Ben-Judah

Rabbi Ben-Judah was commissioned by the Hebrew Institute of Biblical Research to do a three-year study.” “A study of what?” “Something about the prophecies relating to Messiah so we Jews will recognize him when he comes.” Buck was stunned. The Messiah had come, and the Jews left behind had missed him. When he had come the first time most did not recognize him. What should Buck say to his friend?

“What are the major prophecies pointing to the Messiah?” “To tell you the truth,” Dr. Rosenzweig said, “I don’t know. I was not a religious Jew until God destroyed the Russian Air Force, and I can’t say I’m devout now. I always took the messianic prophecies the way I took the rest of the Torah. Symbolic. The rabbi at the temple I attended occasionally in Tel Aviv said himself that it was not important whether we believed that God was a literal being or just a concept. That fit with my humanist view of the world. Religious people, Jewish or otherwise, seldom impressed me any more than the atheist with a good heart.

LaHaye has staked out this Christian Zionist grave, and nobody is going to convince him to stop digging

“The secretary-general and Mr. Plank will see you now,”

Buck followed Hattie past several desks and down a mahogany-appointed hallway, and he realized he had never seen her out of uniform. Today she wore a tailored suit that made her look like a classy, wealthy, sophisticated woman. The look only enhanced her stunning beauty. Even her speech seemed more cultured than he remembered. Her exposure to Nicolae Carpathia seemed to have improved her presence.

Why is everyone such a dick to Hattie? All of the characters we’re supposed to root for think and talk about is how dumb, unsophisticated, and slutty she is.

Today, however, Steve looked like a clone of Carpathia. He carried a thin, black-leather portfolio and from head to toe looked as if he had come off the cover of a Fortune 500 edition of GQ. Even his hairstyle had a European flair—razor cut, blow-dried, styled, and moussed. He wore new, designer-frame glasses, a charcoal suit just this side of pitch-black, a white shirt with a collar pin and tie that probably cost what he used to pay for a sports coat. The shoes were soft leather and looked Italian, and if Buck wasn’t mistaken, there was a new diamond ring on Steve’s right hand.

This is a good description. Well done, Tim.

He never forgot, never lost sight of the fact that he was in the presence of the slickest, most conniving personality in history. He only wished he knew someone as charming as Carpathia who was real.

“Something I have heard only since coming to this country is the phrase ‘the elephant in the room.’ Have you heard that phrase, Buck?” “You mean about people who get together and don’t talk about the obvious, like the fact that one of them has just been diagnosed with a terminal illness?” “Exactly. So, let us talk about the elephant in the room and be done with it, and then we can move on. All right?”

That was a terrible way to phrase your analogy, Buck

“Before I get into that,” Carpathia said, stalling, a maddening trait of his that never failed to annoy Buck,

How dare you end a chapter on a cliffhanger only to have the next chapter begin with the same character stalling

“Do you believe in luck, Mr. Williams?” “No.” “You do not believe that luck comes to those who do the right things?” “No.” “I do. I always have.

I’d love to read Nicolae Carpathia’s version of The Secret

I am not naive, Buck. I know the origin of your nickname, and it is part of what I admire so much about you. But you cannot keep bucking me.

“There are laws and there are rules,” Carpathia was saying. “Laws I obey. Rules I do not mind ignoring if I can justify it. For instance, in your country you are not allowed to bring your own food into a sporting arena. Something about wanting to keep all the concession money for management. Fine. I can see why they would have such a rule, and if I were the owner, I would probably try to enforce the same. But I would not consider it a criminal act to smuggle in my own snack. You follow me?”

If anyone sees Tim LaHaye at a sports arena, please check him for contraband food. This is way to specific not to be a personal gripe of the author’s.

The response to my plan to disarm the world has been met with almost unanimous favor.” “Not by the American militia movement.” “Bless them,” Carpathia said, smiling. “If we accomplish what I have proposed, do you really think a bunch of zealots running around in the woods wearing fatigues and shooting off popguns will be a threat to the global community?

*cheers in 2nd amendment*

Buck’s mind flew to Chicago, and he suddenly missed Chloe. What was this? Something in him longed to simply talk with her. Of all the times for it to become crystal clear that he did not want to be “just friends,” this was the worst.

I agree. Mid-conversation with the Antichrist is the exact worst time to realize you have the hots for somebody (unless that somebody is the Antichrist).

There was a purity, a freshness about Chloe.

Blech

Buck fought to keep his mind on Chloe. He admired her father, and he was developing a deep bond with Bruce Barnes, a person with whom he would never have had anything in common before becoming a follower of Christ. But Chloe was the object of his attention, and he realized that God had planted these thoughts to help him resist the hypnotic, persuasive power of Nicolae Carpathia.

God works in mysterious boners, I guess

Here he sat as the most-talked-about man in the world offered him a blank check, and all he could think about was a twenty-year-old college dropout from Chicago.

I know we’ve been friends a long time, and I never once thought you lied to me. Remember that time you voluntarily grounded yourself because you didn’t think your flight was going out and you’d had a few drinks?”

Rayford seems to have a short list of memorable flight experiences

Buck nodded. “My first Newsmaker of the Year subject.” “His first or second time winning?” “His second.” Buck marveled anew at the encyclopedic memory of the man.

Buck should attend bar trivia if this recital put him in awe

Rayford shifted in his chair and watched his chief pilot’s face.

Weird chapter break here. We got like two paragraphs of the same scene that’s continuing here, but those paragraphs didn’t really leave us with a cliffhanger or any kind of sting that warranted a new chapter. So, why weren’t the last two paragraphs just the start of chapter seven?

“Of course, it would make more sense for you to live in Washington, but I’ll bet if your only condition is living in Chicago, they’d do it.” “No possible way.” “Why?” “Because my church is not just about Sundays. We meet frequently. I’m close to the pastor. We meet almost every day.” “And you can’t see living without that.” “I can’t.” “Ray, what if this is a phase? What if you eventually lose your zeal? I’m not saying you’re a phony or that you’re going to turn your back on what you’ve found. I’m just saying the novelty might wear off, and you might be able to work somewhere else if you can get back to Chicago on the weekends.” “Why is this so important to you, Earl?” “You don’t know?” “I don’t.” “Because it’s something I’ve dreamed of all my life,” Earl said. “I kept up on all the latest certifications all my years in this position, and I’ve applied for the pilot’s job with every new president.” “I never knew that.” “Of course you didn’t. Who would admit that and let the world know he got his guts ripped out every four or eight years, seeing other guys get the job? Your getting it would be the next best thing. I could enjoy it vicariously.”

Marking this passage as an example of a thing that really annoys me in LaHaye’s prose: he lets dialogue scenes run without any narration for a REALLY long time. So long that I sometimes lose track of who is speaking, so I have to trace the every-other pattern back to the top of the page. It’s not technically wrong, but it hurts the moment-to-moment experience of reading. Even adding “<character name> said” tags here and there does a lot to improve the reader’s quality of life. Most people don’t register those sentences as actual sentences (even people who subvocalize). You’re not adding much overhead when you include these; it’s closer to color-coding your dialogue in terms of what a reader experiences. Another problem with this style of writing is that it’s very stale. It promotes the idea that these characters are *just* standing in a room talking — no body language, no character-revealing actions, nothing. Finally, it hurts the pacing of the dialogue. Without any text to take up space between lines, each new line of dialogue feels like the speaker is biting at the previous speaker’s heels to talk. That’s fine when you want a fast-paced scene, like an argument, but for more mundane scenes it’s just too fast.

a woman who identified herself as Jean Garfield,

Earl made a face. “Good call.” “Speaking of calls,” Rayford said, “I’d like to know where that call came from. How hard would that be to determine?” “Not hard. Francine! Call security for me, please.”

Hilarious! The role of Earl will be played tonight by J. K. Simmons.

“With your twin towers of truth and justice undergirding every word.”

This line aged like milk

“You’ll never get away with it,” Buck said.

This line actually showed up, and we are supposed to take it seriously.

Chaim Rosenzweig put a gnarled hand on Buck’s knee.

Why did you have to say it like that, LaHaye? I physically shivered at that image.

Buck was blessed with the ability to discern what was worth listening to and what was worthy of ignoring.

A gift that the author of this book did not have

Directly in front of him, smiling that handsome, disarming smile, was Carpathia himself.

Glad to see that Buck and Carpathia still get these lines that sound like a romantic relationship will blossom, even in book 2

Buck couldn’t wait to get back to Chicago. His condo was brand-new and didn’t seem familiar. His friends were new too, but there was no one in the world he trusted more. Bruce would listen and study and pray and offer counsel. Rayford, with that scientific, analytical, pragmatic mind, would make suggestions, never forcing opinions.

So, in a list of reasons Buck wants to get back to Chicago, his new apartment gets top billing over his friends?

But it was Chloe he missed the most. Was this of God? Had God impressed her upon Buck’s mind at his most vulnerable moment with Carpathia? Buck hardly knew the woman. Woman? She was barely more than a girl, but she seemed . . . what? Mature? More than mature. Magnetic. When she listened to him, her eyes seemed to drink him in. She understood, empathized. She could give advice and feedback without saying a word. There was a comfort zone with her, a feeling of safety. He had barely touched her twice. Once to wipe from her mouth a dab of chocolate from a cookie, and in church the morning before, just to get her attention. And yet now, a two-hour plane ride from her, he felt an overwhelming need to embrace her. He couldn’t do that, of course. He scarcely knew her and didn’t want to scare her away. And yet in his mind he looked forward to the day when they felt comfortable enough to hold hands or draw close to each other. He imagined them sitting somewhere, just enjoying each other’s company, her head on his chest, his arm around her.

Three solid paragraphs of yikes. Also: “Buck hardly knew the woman. Woman?” — I was half-convinced we were going to get a gender-reveal-twist here.

Rayford found Chloe miserable.

Lol

He held her and she wept.

Again with the crying

At least my reaction showed me something—how much I cared for Buck.” “That sounds pretty analytical for you,” Rayford said, regretting it as soon as it was out of his mouth.

Yeah, that was a horribly mean thing to say!

“I can’t be analytical because I’m a woman, is that it?” “Sorry! I shouldn’t have said it.” “I’m sitting here crying, so my whole response to this is emotional, right? Don’t forget, Dad, five semesters on the dean’s list. That’s not emotional; that’s analytical. I’m more like you than like Mom, remember?” “Don’t I know it. And because we are the way we are, we’re still here.” “Well, I’m glad we’ve got each other. At least I was until you accused me of being a typical woman.”

How did this conversation go so wrong so fast?

On the plane, again coddled in first class, Buck had trouble not chuckling aloud.

Same

Buck didn’t want to scare Chloe off by being too specific, but he wanted to apologize for his waffling. He didn’t want to push anything. Who knew? Maybe she had no interest. He was certain only that he did not want to be the one to close the door on any possibility. Maybe he should call her from the plane.

Now Buck is waffling on apologizing for waffling