Christopher Priest's debut novel is very much a product of its times, the early 1970's, which might lead you to say, "Duh, look at the publication date, Ralphie." Well, yes, I will give you that, since it does state quite clearly that Harper & Row published it September 1970, that Pocket Books published it October 1971 (with a nice Richard Powers wraparound cover, I might add). However, I would submit there were other books published about the same time (Day of the Jackal, The Exorcist, The Friends of Eddie Coyle, Love Story, and The Lathe of Heaven, to name but a few) that were also products of their times, but have aged fairly well, or not at all.
For those who did not live through the times (and those too stoned at the time to recall anything) the period leading into the 1970's was fraught with paranoia, conspiracies, cynicism, cold war fears, dangerous drug experimentation (as opposed to drug usage), and suspicions that the government was actively working to enslave and/or kill us. This novel is infused with all those traits, and the changing nature of the readership is the major contributing factor to the novel's decreasing relevancy. While the issues and concerns remain much the same now as then, the difference, I think, is that we were more aware of it then, less inured to the prospect, certainly not cheering the government on as they stiffed us. I think this sea-change of society is much more important to the dating of the novel than is the change in the international politics that form a major element in the plot, for the book could be easily revised, substituting Muslims for Russians...until the next bugaboo appears over the political horizon. Not so easily changed, however, is the dismal tone of the novel.
A British scientist working on a mind-altering drug in a secret lab under the Antarctic ice is whisked to the isolated Mato Grosso region of Brazil, to an area inexplicably free of jungle, in which a mysterious prison is the only structure. The largest portion of the novel is spent in this prison with the scientist interacting with an interrogator who might be insane. In this prison with its absurdities (an sculpted into an exterior wall and a hand growing from the center of a table) and traps (a psychologically sophisticated maze housed in a tumble-down shack) all the angst, anger and fear of the 1970's are distilled to toxic levels. The next section of the book concerns a future society that is remarkable mostly for its banality, which makes the preceding sections even more horrific. The final section of the book, the smallest, sets the scientist on a quest that is almost immediately poleaxed by capricious irony, ending in a mind-numbing dose of 1970's futility.
All that being said, the novel is still well worth reading, if only because it lets you see where a major British novelist started and how far he has come since then. Aside from that, it is valuable both for the insight provided upon the mindset of the time in which it was created, and perhaps also as an imperfect and cautionary mirror to our own times.