Jack Chase is an American novelist, short story writer, essayist, and founder of Abbycat Group & Publishing Brands (known outwardly as AGP), a rapidly growing multi-imprint small press based out of Southern California.
He started in early 2025 with a couple of digital shorts that landed well enough to keep him going. Then came the paperback release of “Overtime: The Ballad of Marcus Graves”—a sharp black comedy about a law student-turned-drug dealer for Hollywood’s elite, polished for years as a screenplay before becoming prose—which arrived to crickets. He pivoted immediately to “Violent Crimes: The Butcher of Westchester,” an Upstate murder mystery he calls an “anti-procedural”: a meditation on paternal rage, generational trauma, and true evil, built on a commitment to blending realism with cinematic precision without sacrificing class. It started as a five-minute short film screenplay in his first-period film class senior year of high school—a depiction of what would become the foundation of the 2025 novel’s devastating final act—which his teacher understandably shot down for being “literally just a guy shooting someone.” Seven years later, on Memorial Day 2025, it became his debut novel. In the definitive hardcover’s afterword, he describes the process as “either the worst or greatest experience” of his writing life, one that required him to inhabit a proximity to darkness he believes he still hasn’t fully shaken—but says was “worth it.”
After “Violent Crimes,” he returned to the beginning: “Immundus,” his first publication, remastered and expanded into a hardcover novella nearly unrecognizable from the original—a nonlinear desert fever dream blending Navajo and eldritch horror, anchored by Justin, an ostracized, self-destructive screenwriter circling the drain in the Yucca Valley as he becomes the fixation of an ancient evil. Then came the big swing: “Made in America: or The Tragedy of Billy Castle and Unexpected Absolution of Dean Willis,” a Greek tragedy disguised as a 630-page crime epic. Four years in the making, it began as a 150-page screenplay written at 21 and was drafted into prose over a scorching 2025 summer in the Coachella Valley. Somewhere between pages—probably to soothe the burnout—he quietly revisited and significantly revised “Overtime” into “one of the funniest things” he’s ever written, with a sequel planned for summer 2026 “whether anybody wants it or not.”
He’s since published a 10,000-word essay unpacking his intentions with “Made in America’s” characters and storylines, along with an intimate memoir piece framing the novel as his north star through years of tragedy and dysfunction—from his hometown to Santa Monica to Hollywood to his eventual settling in Palm Desert. Then he went straight into production on “The Bastard of Taylor’s End,” a 502-page Jacobean revenge epic about stolen lineage, power, and morality. The novel includes an original play-within-a-play entitled ‘The Dragon and the Prince,’ composed by Chase in period-accurate diction, that mirrors both the staged performance in the narrative and the arcs of its numerous characters. Similar to its predecessor, it began as a screenplay, written and completed at the age of 19—just a month before the world shut down. Almost exactly five years later, the story found life as a major novel and was released in hardcover on December 31, 2025.
Eleven books in, his catalog runs from crime to myth to the surreal—all of it built on fatalism, consequence, and people finding out who they really are when it costs them something. He has no plans to slow down and intends to expand AGP with the formation of ABBYCAT STUDIOS sometime in 2027.
He lives and works in Southern California with his tortoiseshell assistant, Mulan.
“ Perhaps the monster dwells not there, but here, Where pride hath made its home and nursed its feare.”
This book was so good. I was flying through it until sickness hit my house.
A bastard prince, taken away from the castle to save his life, given to an injured soldier to raise and love. Taken away from his home again, trained in the wilderness by a mysterious knight. An epic plot to save his love. This story was woven around a play “The Dragon and The Prince.” I loved this foreshadowing element. The writing was phenomenal. It is a brutal, dark, story of love, pride, inner demons, blood, betrayal and hope.
I was in awe of the ending. The only thing I would have changed is more…more of the interconnecting stories and lives. And more of that ending!!!!!
This book was a triumph...and a disappointment. There were sentences and phrases that were so good I screenshotted them so I could savor them later, and choices so upsetting that I almost DNFed this book twice.
Let's start with the good: In this alternative 1600's England, evil brothers have inherited the throne. Luckily, there is a secret heir (although everyone seems to know his history except for him) living just a stone's throw away in Taylor's End. When Jamie's (the heir's) girlfriend is sold to the castle to pay off her father's debts, Jamie teams up with Felix Ryder (an ex-knight) to infiltrate a group of actors on their way to the castle so that he can rescue her. The story is mainly told in a linear fashion, although there are a few flashbacks to the time before Jamie's birth. Interestingly, the author has also written a play, which is interjected throughout the story. This was a fabulous choice, not only because the play contains elements of what's happening in the plot, but also because it is the play that the actors in the main story are performing. It also led to gems like this sentence: "Humphrey delivered his lines with all the conviction of someone reading a ransom note aloud for the first time."
On to the not so good: Partway through the story, it seems like the author got into a behind-the-scenes beef with complete sentences. A sample: "Jamie followed. Tried to match that confidence. Failed. He looked around. Couldn't help it. A woman stood in a doorway. Young. Maybe twenty. Her dress was torn. Her face was bruised." While the choice to use sentence fragments or choppy sentences can help move the reader through tense situations, the author used this style of writing a lot during the first third of the book. I almost DNFed during this segment, but opted to skim instead (I'm glad I did, because the author and full sentences patched things up and the writing got much better afterwards). My second near-DNF was during the final fight scene of the story. It was so, SO disappointing that the fight is ultimately won by two minor characters who were only in two chapters each (out of 47). After following Jamie and Felix through this crazy journey, it really should have been Jamie and Felix who won the fight against the evil brothers, and not some throwaway side characters (who contributed basically nothing to the plot until it was time for the final showdown, where they swooped in and saved the day).
Overall, this book was both amazing and frustrating. There were some real high points with the play-within-a-book idea and some of the author's turns of phrase, but the lackluster ending left me wishing the heroes had actually supplied the heroism.
The Bastard of Taylor’s End is dark, bloody, and unapologetically brutal in ways that feel earned rather than gratuitous. Set in an alternate 1602 England, it follows Jamie Campbell, a poor blacksmith’s boy who’s actually heir to a throne he never wanted, as revenge and revolution collide in spectacular fashion.
What hooked me was the prose. Chase writes with this heightened, almost theatrical voice that shouldn’t work but absolutely does. It reminded me of reading Joe Abercrombie if he’d been raised on Shakespeare and revenge tragedies. The opening raid on Northbury is genuinely harrowing, and the tension never really lets up from there.
The standout characters for me were Felix (the Black Rider) and Damien. Felix is the stoic warrior archetype done right; his violence feels weighty and purposeful, and his final sequence in the castle is one of the best sustained action set pieces I’ve read in a while. Damien, meanwhile, is a villain who’s terrifying precisely because he’s so controlled. That scene with the dove in his study? Chilling. He’s not “mad” so much as he’s principled in his cruelty, which is so much worse.
And that ending. The dragon reveal, the castle collapsing, Jamie rejecting the crown and just… leaving? It’s such a satisfying inversion of the “chosen one takes his rightful place” trope. He doesn’t want it. He just wants to survive. That felt real.
Also, knowing from the author’s note that this story lived in his head for years, through a pandemic, through losing his dad, makes the whole thing hit different. You can feel how much these characters meant to him.
If you like your fantasy grim, your prose stylized, and your heroes reluctant, give this one a shot.