Skint Estate
by Cash Carraway
(Penguin Random House, £14.99)

OPEN Skint Estate on almost any page and you are likely to encounter shit, semen or blood.

From page one, where we find the narrator hiding in a train toilet to avoid buying a ticket and discovering that her jeans are smeared in “someone else’s shit” from the toilet pan, to the smell of stale semen at the peep show where she works, to a blood-drenched account of how she “lost her vagina” during a botched childbirth, this is a book soaked in bodily fluids.   

Don’t say I didn’t warn you.