If timing is everything in the career of an artist, then Melvin Burgess seems likely to hit the jackpot with his new book while enhancing his reputation for courting controversy. It tells the stories of three teenagers, the kind of hoodie-wearing, in-your-face, school-dodging kids recently seen rioting and looting and demonised by all and sundry. Fans of Burgess's previous books will not be surprised to hear that he has plenty of sympathy for the devil.

The young devils in question are Billie, violent daughter of an alcoholic mum; Rob, a heavy metal fan with a physically abusive stepdad and a weak, dozy mum; and Chris, a bright boy whose middle-class parents (particularly his ranting dad) don't understand why he hates school so much and seemingly goes out of his way to get into trouble. Each of them has major run-ins with the adult authorities, their paths crossing at various points, and each ends up in a Pupil Referral Unit for excluded kids, although none of them stays there long.

For all the sound and fury surrounding Burgess's work, at its heart is a very simple moral message  to understand all is to forgive, if not all, then a great deal. Billie's poignant backstory reveals her to be a child robbed of her childhood, forced to look after a feckless parent and care for younger siblings, and most crucially, starved of any love. No wonder she kicks against the uncaring world of school and the society that wants to write her off. She does have one caring adult on her side, harassed social worker Hannah, who gives Burgess the opportunity to show that it's not all as simple as it might seem, even from a liberal perspective. Billie's violence is clearly the expression of her inner turmoil and need for love, but it does real harm, and sometimes adult failings are the unfortunate result of good intentions. Difficult, highly nuanced moral questions are posed on almost every page in the book.

The big question, of course, is does it work? The answer is yes, although with some flaws. The book grew out of a Channel 4 project which involved Burgess doing a lot of research with real kids. Those interviews gave him the raw material which he then turned into fiction with a great deal of authorial skill. But there's a lingering feel of docudrama about some parts of the book and although I hate to say it  an occasional whiff of preachiness.

Billie is by far the strongest character  the boys seem to shine less brightly, and I found the resolution of Chris's story slightly contrived. Hannah has a heart of gold, and there were moments, especially in one scene when she berates a police constable for a remark he makes to Billie, when she teeters on the edge of saintliness. There's also a fairly relentless demolition job of the adult world  most of the grown-ups seem like a waste of space.

These, however, are minor quibbles. Kill All Enemies is a novel that will have enormous appeal for teenagers and should probably be compulsory reading for policy makers too. In his efforts to give a voice to the voiceless, Burgess sometimes calls to mind the Orwell of Down and Out in Paris and London and The Road to Wigan Pier. He's the kind of gadfly we need at times like this. Indeed, if a children's author like Burgess didn't exist, we would most definitely have to invent him.

Tony Bradman's Tom and the Siege is published by Usborne.