The publicity asks a simple question: how far will a man for a few free fags and tinnies?

The answer provided by Charlie Williams’ blood-soaked second novel, Fags & Lager, is that one man in particular will go to the Outskirts of Mangel (the world’s crappest town) and risk whatever brains he has left in his swede for a decent drink and a few smokes.

Royston Blake – head doorman of Hoppers (formerly Hoppers Wine Bar and Bistro) – once again takes centre stage for this warped tale of casual violence and subjective ethics (although people in Mangel probably think Ethics is some kind of foreign muck from Barkettle). Blake is a risky hero; a kind of horrifically twisted archetype of male excess. On the surface utterly unsympathetic, Blake’s a violent tosser, with an infinite capacity for self-denial whose only real judgement about anyone else is that they’re all “cunts”.

Beneath all that, however, there’s something deeper to this violent doorman. We can’t love him – he’s almost irredeemable – but we can begin to understand him and know that in his own fucked-up fashion he thinks he’s dong the best he can. But his blatant self-interest and lack of sympathy for anyone else’s situation prevent from him ever attaining true hero status. Every seemingly selfless act is followed by a denial of selfless motives, or worse, some terrible act of unnecessary violence that proves beyond a doubt Blake can be a complete bastard.

But then it’s hardly Blake’s fault when he comes from such a hellhole as Mangel. You see, Mangel may purport to be on the West of England, but its more just west of reality. It’s our world, but twisted up all the wrong way with that rotting core exposed. And just like in the reality we inhabit, none of Mangel’s residents are aware of just how terrible, hypocritical, violent and messed up their town is. This small-town psychopathy is only magnified by the grey, decomposing nature of the landscape. Its every small town you’ve ever known, but that potential for violence and self-deception is jacked up to a level that seems ludicrous and yet is still within the grasp of the reality that gives Mangel its power.

If all of that sounds heavy to you, then maybe it is. But the strength of Fags and Lager, just like Williams’ debut, Deadfolk, is that while you can read social commentary into it if you desire, it’s also one of the funniest reads of the year. The beauty is, however, on top of all that laughter you’ll find yourself wincing at the disturbing – albeit exaggerated – reality sprinkled throughout this small-town bastard lunacy.

Strange as it may seem, Blake may be the only near-sane one left in Mangel. And even compared to the hell he dealt with in Deadfolk, this time he’s dealing with a real shitpile of trouble. He may be Head Doorman again, but he might just have taken on more than he can chew when he agrees to track down Doug the Shopkeeper’s teenage daughter, Moira. She’s been seen in the company of one Nick Nopoly, a strange fella who comes from outside Mangel. And he’s brought something terrible from outside with him. Mangel folks may like a regular drink and a good old fashioned riot outside the pubs at closing time, but if there’s one thing that upsets Mangel’s family values it’s the introduction of drugs to their violently insular community. Blake doesn’t care, of course – all he wants are the fags and tinnies Doug promised him as payment – but he’s about to find himself once more caught up in a fight for both his reputation and stakes that are larger than he could ever care to notice.

The exaggerated darkness of place and character is very much in the tradition of the most subversive British humour. Blake’s irreverent commentary on Mangel, Doug the shopkeeper’s sausage-making outfit and the fantastically overblown and self-important reports from the Mangel Informer’s crime correspondent all lead to the kind of painful belly laugh that comes as much from fear as from humour. That the characters are unaware of just how disturbingly funny they are only makes you laugh harder. It’s like Terry Pratchett grew up, quit telling us how funny he is and started writing books for adults who know about sex and pain and the terrible things people do to one other. Or better yet, it’s the kind of thing Brookmyre might do if he were to eradicate all his intrusive political rants and then upped the ante on his violent and offensive characters by at least ten. Williams has enough confidence in his creations that he doesn’t need to tell the audience they can laugh, and he doesn’t need to make his point so mind-numbingly explicit that it gets in the way of the terrifyingly tense story. He doesn’t care if some people don’t get the joke (and if they don’t, that makes it funnier for those who do). This confidence is what charges this book, gives it the power of a Capri 2.8i (Preferably gold, but definitely not a white 1.3 with that fuckin’ lawnmower engine).

For all the hyperactive lunacy of Mangel, there’s a twisted heart at the centre of the novel that means we actually end up caring for Blake and his buddies. We may find Blake repellent, yet we need to see him triumph against all this adversity and maybe, just maybe, learn that he’s more than he thinks he is or ever expects to be. And we can’t blame Blake for who he is, not when we consider those spare facts of his childhood that we glimpse. Sure, he doesn’t want us to cry for him, and he’s such an unrepentant arsehole we often don’t. But when we get a rare glimpse of the soul hidden under that self-assured Head Doorman (and manager, now) of Hopper’s its hard not to wonder how much Blake’s fooling himself and everyone else around him.

Deadfolk works on just about every level. It’s funny as hell, oddly moving and often downright disturbing. It takes things we know that are familiar and twists them just so, taking care never to laugh out loud at itself. The town of Mangel itself could be almost any small town, making Royston Blake the kind of everyman we don’t aspire to, but can’t help acknowledging.

Smart, hip, dark and enthusiastically offensive – in the best possible way – Fags & Lager builds on the assured debut of Deadfolk to give us not only more insight into Mangel but a longer glimpse into the twisted heart of small town Britain. Mangel may appear be west of reality, but if you look hard enough you might find it’s just up the end of your street.