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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.
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