Lucian’s life is fucked. In a self-obsessed East End London where everyone is smoking, snorting or shooting, where nights pass in a fog of half-remembered physical and emotional wounds, Lucian’s been advised—no, instructed—that the only defence is to wear an armour of indifference. Then his best friend is accused of raping his ex-fiancée. Should he pick a side? Or is he best to stay out of it? Brutal, yet poignant, glib, yet articulate, The Glass Wall is a search for meaning beyond hedonism. An examination of guilt arising from the conflict between what we ought to do and what we actually do. Holding up a mirror, it forces us to ask, “Am I a good person?” A question that has never been so gravely important in these dissonant times.