The Glamour is a wonderful story of a man who, caught by the blast from a car bomb, is trying to recover his memory, with the best hope apparently a woman who claims to have been his lover.
But this being a Christopher Priest book more is going on than that. Priest uses his trick of changing the perspective on the story, without suggesting that any particular point of view is more valid than another, leaving you guessing as to what is going on.
I always think of Priest as being the British Philip K. Dick, a man who loves writing about shifting realities. The difference being that whereas Dick seemed compelled to write and would often write hurriedly, Priest is a more considered writer, his prose is more elegant. Similarly Priest is more concerned with the middle classes than Dick's blue collar heroes. And in this book, Priest is doing what Dick would have done more of, had his publishers been more daring, he writes a book that seems like science fiction but isn't. Not really. It's more about relationships and stories and glamour. The science fiction or fantasy element is very slight and if you look at the story in a certain way, does not necessarily exist.
The book is beautifully ambiguous and the fractured nature of this review just testifies to the fact that no review can do it justice. You just have to read it. And then all of Priest's other books. He's that good.