‘In strewn banners that lay like streamers from a long ago parade the sun’s fading seraphim rays gleamed onto the hood of the old Ford and ribboned the steel with the meek orange of a June tomato straining at the vine.’ If youread that sentence and think the words flow like a freshly dipped brush painting – an image on the canvas of your mind – then Steve Hely’s How I Became a Famous Novelist is most definitely not for you.

Dissecting bestsellers with the detached coldness of a serial killer, no literary genre is safe from slacker Pete Tarslaw when he decides he will become a famous novelist in time to humiliate his ex-girlfriend at her wedding. Using the 12 (until now) unwritten Rules of Best Sellers, Tarslaw succeeds in his quest. (Rule 6: Evoke confusing sadness at the end; Rule 7: The prose should be lyrical; and – my personal favourite – Rule 9: At dull points include descriptions of delicious meals.) But when you create a novel by putting together pieces of other novels, then you really should know (especially if you claim to be a fan of ‘real’ literature) that what you’re going to end up with is Frankenstein’s monster. And that’s exactly what Tarslaw gets.

E.B. White once said, ‘Analysing humor is like dissecting a frog. Few people are interested and the frog dies of it.’ Until How I Became a Famous Novelist, the same cannot have been said about literature: there are whole genres and sub-genres of books analysing books about how to write books. Steve Hely, the Dexter Morgan of the publishing world, has changed that. I can promise you: you will never be able to read a book the same way again. In fact, I’m issuing you a challenge. Read this book. Go on. I dare you.

Dani Solomon is from Readings Carlton