Author:Clancy Martin

Sixteen-year-old high-school drop-out Bobby moves to Dallas to join his big brother Jim in the jewellery trade. Jim's glamorous girlfriend Lisa is the best saleswoman in the business and from the moment Bobby meets her he falls under her spell.
Bobby discovers a new world - glitzy, trashy and hedonistic - where sex and money rule. As the brothers' fortunes explode will their rivalry for Lisa ruin everything?
Dirty, greatly original, and very hard to stop reading
—— Jonathan FranzenHow To Sell is a bleak, funny, unforgiving novel about how we buy and sell everything - merchandise, drugs, sex, trust, power, peace of mind, religion, friendship, and each other. It's written extremely finely, with wit and enviable self-control. A genuinely fresh, disconcerting voice
—— Zadie SmithA relentless, clever, sordid novel about what lies at the heart of most transactions - sex and money
—— Francesca Segal , ObserverSmart, devious and sad
—— Catherine Taylor , GuardianThis book smells like a hit
—— VogueNeed a reason to reconsider buying a dubious Faberge egg this week? Try this tale of sex, drugs and dirty diamonds by a former jeweller (now philosophy professor), in which a young man is sucked into the depraved dark side of the high-end gems trade.
—— Lauren Laverne , GraziaWith this fast, dark novel, Clancy Martin shows there's no reason why a former jeweler who translates Nietzsche can't write like an angel on meth
—— BloombergA funny yet sad coming-of-age story
—— Jonathan Eyers , MetroA funny, quirky takedown of the American dream. A bastard child of John Updike and Mordechai Richler, How To Sell grabs you by the tuchus and doesn't let go
—— Gary ShteyngartSucceeds in the most important way a novel can: it makes a previously unimagined world as real as your own. A wonderful debut
—— John Niven, author of KILL YOUR FRIENDSA very good debut
—— Craig Raine , Times Literary SupplementA strange, dirty, inside look at the jewellery business which reads like a manic buying spree or a cocaine jag and ends so wrenchingly I still feel scarred by it
—— The Guardian, Jonathan Franzen