Anyone with even a drop of Irish blood will recognise the scenes in Kevin Maher’s honest, unpretentious and highly entertaining tale of 13-year-old Jim Finnegan’s formative years in 1980s Dublin. But, even for those without aged Irish relatives and obscenely extended families, the antics of teenage boys are universally understood.

Driven entirely by Jim’s informal and fast-paced narrative, The Fields is a catalogue of catastrophes which, although heart breaking at times, are dealt with such dark humour and bravery that one cannot help but empathise with Jim and his large, dominating family.

Maher describes the appalling yet realistic behaviour of Jim’s contemporaries perfectly. It’s an Inbetweeners-esque portrayal which, although exaggerated, has a kernel of truth which will force readers to remember their own social niceties, or lack thereof, at 13. Even readers who have attempted to block out their own adolescence will laugh in horror, at the tales of masturbation, vomit and mild substance abuse Maher adds to his amusing tale.

The group names of the various clans may have altered since the 80s – we had emos, goths, chavs to Jim’s variety of skinheads, bikers and even a coven of hippies – but the essential quagmire of teenage social politics remains the same.

Read The Fields: you’ll laugh, cry, and finish the book fondly remembering your own time as a teenager.