Somewhere out there is a novel of such transcendent genius that the author had to have it self-published because no editor had the ability to discern its greatness.
This book is definitely not that novel.
The premise is not a bad one, if not terribly original. Aliens arrive, wipe out civilization, etc., and now people have broken up into bands for survival, living off of the fat of our once-vibrant civilization. The scenario is familiar (albeit with different agents) to anyone who has seen or read War of the Worlds, the "Walking Dead" series, or The Day of the Triffids or any one of about another hundred works of science fiction. All of this is revealed in a recollection by the main character Albert, who apparently reflects on this every morning in case someone happens to be listening in on his thoughts and needs a convenient info dump.
From there the author takes his largely indistinguishable characters on a fairly typical series of adventures: dealing with raiders (here called pirates, who first appear in the novel -- and I'm not making this up -- flying a Jolly Roger), religious cultists, and menacing aliens. These aliens, called frogfaces because they have to be nicknamed something, have defeated humanity's greatest efforts, suppressed nuclear explosions with almost laughable ease, yet are defeated by a rather inane development the acceptance of which depends on the reader having given up on any sort of expectations by this point. I guess I'm an optimist in that respect, though that turn was enough to put me off the book for good. Save your money and time and go read or watch any of the other works that have done more with this premise than the author has here.
It's too bad, too, considering how awesome the cover is.