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The Never Not Yes
Political division. Endless distractions. Looming civil war.
American society, once seemingly limitless, collapses with the failure of the nation’s power grids. Within the chaos, two brutal forces vie for control: a fascist conglomerate tightening its grip through violence and ruthless gangs of supremacists clinging to the dark past.
Among the survivors is Antonio Hobbes, a young man who loses everything dear to him and risks what’s left for a chance at life. In his quest, he works on a revived plantation where he falls for a forbidden love—a stunning young woman who becomes his nearest danger. When he’s cast out for their romance, he runs.
Amid increasing uncertainty, a band of survivors struggles to hold on to hope and humanity. Their fragile alliance is tested as they fight not just for survival but for a chance to reclaim their future.
But when the Northern army marches south, the plantation is destroyed, and the old order of masters turns ruthless, hunting all those who have defied them.
The Never Not Yes is an unflinching journey through shattered communities where love becomes revolution, resistance becomes survival, and saying “yes” to humanity is the most dangerous “yes” of all.
American society, once seemingly limitless, collapses with the failure of the nation’s power grids. Within the chaos, two brutal forces vie for control: a fascist conglomerate tightening its grip through violence and ruthless gangs of supremacists clinging to the dark past.
Among the survivors is Antonio Hobbes, a young man who loses everything dear to him and risks what’s left for a chance at life. In his quest, he works on a revived plantation where he falls for a forbidden love—a stunning young woman who becomes his nearest danger. When he’s cast out for their romance, he runs.
Amid increasing uncertainty, a band of survivors struggles to hold on to hope and humanity. Their fragile alliance is tested as they fight not just for survival but for a chance to reclaim their future.
But when the Northern army marches south, the plantation is destroyed, and the old order of masters turns ruthless, hunting all those who have defied them.
The Never Not Yes is an unflinching journey through shattered communities where love becomes revolution, resistance becomes survival, and saying “yes” to humanity is the most dangerous “yes” of all.
- GenresHorror
325 pages, Kindle Edition
Published October 7, 2025
About the author
Jonathan Epps
6 books260 followersI'm either (too) late GenX or (too) early Millennial, depending on how you view these things. It's kind of a lost space in the culture. But here I am.
I write realism though I work within genres, trying to break through those molds to write something original. I write about many things but never shy away from adult themes. No Winter Lasts Forever, my attempt at a tragic thriller, probably needs a major trigger warning. And two of the three short stories deal with two vastly different subcultures which include some explicit language.
I'm deeply appreciative of any and all of my readers.
I write realism though I work within genres, trying to break through those molds to write something original. I write about many things but never shy away from adult themes. No Winter Lasts Forever, my attempt at a tragic thriller, probably needs a major trigger warning. And two of the three short stories deal with two vastly different subcultures which include some explicit language.
I'm deeply appreciative of any and all of my readers.
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Displaying 1 - 3 of 3 reviews
December 12, 2025
This novel follows multiple characters as the US slides into chaos after the power grid goes down. I think the author captures exactly what would happen in the US. We will rip each other apart quicker than any other nation in the world IMO. I think the Covid crisis was a prime example of how we will react. The author also did a really good job of getting into the minds of different characters that handled the collapse of society differently. You get to see fear, anger, hope, and bravery from all angles.
November 23, 2025
There’s a notorious scene in Arslan, the speculative alt-future novel by MJ Engh, in which an East European warlord commits a horrific sexual crime in a school gymnasium. The other pupils and school staff watch on powerless, paralysed by their desire for self-preservation and enfeebled by years of pampered existence.
A similar, unhopeful view of the West’s lack of moral fortitude informs The Never Not Yes, by Jonathan Epps. In this short novel, American society collapses due to an unspecified energy crisis. There’s no big bang triggering this apocalypse, but the slide into barbarism is shockingly fast. Some characters adapt to this new world better than others, and the author convincingly links the rapid decline to a perceived moral degradation of the modern American psyche.
Perhaps I’m reading too much into it but I also thought the novel taps into something in the American mind which would actively welcome the rugged, back to basics lifestyle. A yearning almost, reflected in the muscular, lyrical prose which at times reminded me of Blood Meridian by Cormac McCarthy, eg: “She died as if she had lived like a nineteenth-century country woman in the unattended agonies of death.”
The novel uses a solid, tried and tested structure for stories of this type: we follow disparate characters navigating the new, harsher reality, until they are thrown together to pool their resources – not without friction between them – and to be severely tested by external threats. It reminded me of the best parts of earlier seasons of The Walking Dead and the novel Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel.
Character is brilliantly realised through distinctive dialogue, and the author excels at revealing trauma through speech. There were one or two short sections somewhere near the middle of the novel where for some reason the dialogue seemed a bit clunky, and at times I felt that the narrator could have left me to interpret the character’s speech rather than adding (admittedly poetic) commentary to it.
In some ways the narration reminded me, oddly enough, of Middlemarch – whereby the reader is made privy to a humane but unvarnished dissection of each character’s psychological makeup, by an omniscient, head-hopping narrator. Unlike Middlemarch, the narration sometimes neglects the basic physical layout of some scenes, so it can be a bit confusing for the reader, and one or two of the plot developments seemed a bit odd to me – particularly the way a character called Roland seemed to effortlessly ingratiate himself into a hardened criminal organisation.
Occasionally, the prose verges on the impenetrably esoteric, but I prefer this rich style any time over the sterile, vow-of-poverty prose which seems to be favoured by many people these days.
Despite the flaws I tore through the novel, which is rare for me. It was the characters – their essential messy humanness – which reeled me in. This ensured I was completely committed when the last section of the book introduced a thrilling, urgent threat. The climax was a brilliant payoff – particularly in terms of the characters’ capacity to respond to it, and the thematic resolution.
This novel is not without its flaws, but overall is stunning and essential reading for any fan of near-future apocalyptic fiction. Get it!
A similar, unhopeful view of the West’s lack of moral fortitude informs The Never Not Yes, by Jonathan Epps. In this short novel, American society collapses due to an unspecified energy crisis. There’s no big bang triggering this apocalypse, but the slide into barbarism is shockingly fast. Some characters adapt to this new world better than others, and the author convincingly links the rapid decline to a perceived moral degradation of the modern American psyche.
Perhaps I’m reading too much into it but I also thought the novel taps into something in the American mind which would actively welcome the rugged, back to basics lifestyle. A yearning almost, reflected in the muscular, lyrical prose which at times reminded me of Blood Meridian by Cormac McCarthy, eg: “She died as if she had lived like a nineteenth-century country woman in the unattended agonies of death.”
The novel uses a solid, tried and tested structure for stories of this type: we follow disparate characters navigating the new, harsher reality, until they are thrown together to pool their resources – not without friction between them – and to be severely tested by external threats. It reminded me of the best parts of earlier seasons of The Walking Dead and the novel Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel.
Character is brilliantly realised through distinctive dialogue, and the author excels at revealing trauma through speech. There were one or two short sections somewhere near the middle of the novel where for some reason the dialogue seemed a bit clunky, and at times I felt that the narrator could have left me to interpret the character’s speech rather than adding (admittedly poetic) commentary to it.
In some ways the narration reminded me, oddly enough, of Middlemarch – whereby the reader is made privy to a humane but unvarnished dissection of each character’s psychological makeup, by an omniscient, head-hopping narrator. Unlike Middlemarch, the narration sometimes neglects the basic physical layout of some scenes, so it can be a bit confusing for the reader, and one or two of the plot developments seemed a bit odd to me – particularly the way a character called Roland seemed to effortlessly ingratiate himself into a hardened criminal organisation.
Occasionally, the prose verges on the impenetrably esoteric, but I prefer this rich style any time over the sterile, vow-of-poverty prose which seems to be favoured by many people these days.
Despite the flaws I tore through the novel, which is rare for me. It was the characters – their essential messy humanness – which reeled me in. This ensured I was completely committed when the last section of the book introduced a thrilling, urgent threat. The climax was a brilliant payoff – particularly in terms of the characters’ capacity to respond to it, and the thematic resolution.
This novel is not without its flaws, but overall is stunning and essential reading for any fan of near-future apocalyptic fiction. Get it!
January 27, 2026
In Jonathan Epp’s near-futuristic novel, “The Never Not Yes,” America’s power grid sputters, then grinds to a halt, bringing the fall of government, law enforcement, and the economy, leaving society demolished and individuals under constant threat of menace.
As the anticipated apocalyptic patterns of survival develops--challenges for the general populus, the grappling for total hierarchal control by those inclined to dominate, and the loss of social mores evoking the return of base prejudice and archaic belief systems--a vein of Epp’s vividly drawn main characters begrudgingly ban together for survival.
Woven throughout the storyline are fuel-grubbing powermongers intent on ruling in a new, oppressive society—many of these are satisfyingly obliterated in Epps darkly gothic fashion; intertwined is the heart-breaking torment of miserable citizens as they lose the will to survive and commit suicide, or curse their gods and kill for crumbs or to protect what little they have, or go insane and kill for the amusement of it.
Amongst the mixed array of humanity in the band of survivors is the protagonist Ant who contends with the psychological trials along with the rest of them; for a good part of the story we root for this rag-tag mini-society to survive while still “doing the right thing,” an ask that is far harder for some of them than others. In this is hope that our society could rebuild itself, if necessary, into a better version than what the chaos is offering. Hope that our better angels might prevail against all odds, hope that a sliver of Maslow’s self-actualized person could exist when basic needs are not fully met.
Integrity seems to come easier for Ant than for the ones who fall into lying, stealing, and killing—until a ghost from his past chases him down with the right bait.
Can Ant persevere on his straight path, or will his antagonizer strike a fatal blow to his character?
Could America’s society survive with her original morals intact in the fray of such antagonism?
Though the plot is heavy and tight, I find this novel to be character driven. It is written in the rich literary prose for which Mr. Epps is known.
Oh, and there is a dog . . .
As the anticipated apocalyptic patterns of survival develops--challenges for the general populus, the grappling for total hierarchal control by those inclined to dominate, and the loss of social mores evoking the return of base prejudice and archaic belief systems--a vein of Epp’s vividly drawn main characters begrudgingly ban together for survival.
Woven throughout the storyline are fuel-grubbing powermongers intent on ruling in a new, oppressive society—many of these are satisfyingly obliterated in Epps darkly gothic fashion; intertwined is the heart-breaking torment of miserable citizens as they lose the will to survive and commit suicide, or curse their gods and kill for crumbs or to protect what little they have, or go insane and kill for the amusement of it.
Amongst the mixed array of humanity in the band of survivors is the protagonist Ant who contends with the psychological trials along with the rest of them; for a good part of the story we root for this rag-tag mini-society to survive while still “doing the right thing,” an ask that is far harder for some of them than others. In this is hope that our society could rebuild itself, if necessary, into a better version than what the chaos is offering. Hope that our better angels might prevail against all odds, hope that a sliver of Maslow’s self-actualized person could exist when basic needs are not fully met.
Integrity seems to come easier for Ant than for the ones who fall into lying, stealing, and killing—until a ghost from his past chases him down with the right bait.
Can Ant persevere on his straight path, or will his antagonizer strike a fatal blow to his character?
Could America’s society survive with her original morals intact in the fray of such antagonism?
Though the plot is heavy and tight, I find this novel to be character driven. It is written in the rich literary prose for which Mr. Epps is known.
Oh, and there is a dog . . .
Displaying 1 - 3 of 3 reviews