It.s summer of 1981. You.re stuck in a semi-derelict art-deco hotel on a tiny island off the South coast of Devon. You.re sixteen years old and six foot three inches tall. You have a clitoris the size of a Jersey Royal. There.s nothing to do but paint Margaret Thatcher mugs to supplement the meagre family income and dream of literary murderer Jack Henry Abbot. Until a ginger stranger arrives, stinking of antiseptic.

An instant classic of teenage self-discovery. Five Miles From Outer Hope is an unforgettable postcard from a 1980s Brett Easton Ellis never knew existed.