Lo! From the mists of antiquity he strides—the heir of Hellas, saviour of Rome, our Britannic hero. . . . Glenn Harding! Witness him: the hotshot young menswear manager, decked out in the latest trends. Hear the manager’s keys jingling from his belt loop like the bells of destiny. Breathe the fragrant oils that adorn his skin—inhale him! Better catch him while you can, ladies; for his is a bandwagon bound for greatness, far beyond a lowly shopfloor in Leeds. . . . At least that’s the image he’s trying to project. In reality, he’s a debt-addled, cash-strapped derelict who lives on his mate’s sofa. His colleagues all hate him, he’s on two warnings, and his every attempt to turn his life around ends in humiliation. Ladies? Are you having a laugh? The only woman who will speak to him is the ladieswear manager—and that’s to bollock him for his incompetence. As if that wasn’t enough, he might even be in mortal danger; for something diabolical is lurking in the shop—something possibly inhuman—and it’s out for blood. If he is to escape the evil vortex of his life, he needs to act fast. Deep down, he’s convinced he’s meant for greater things than working in retail. But is he? Or is he just another nobody, nursing delusions of grandeur? Young Man from Leeds is a darkly humorous tale rooted in the tradition of transgressive fiction, a wicked hellbroth of Dostoyevsky, Hamsun, and Hubert Selby— with a bit of John Kennedy Toole bubbling up through the fumes. You have been warned.