The principal character is “the wife,” nameless but not faceless, who enters into a relationship and then marriage with all the brave hope attendant in the enterprise. In Paris, even the subways are required to be beautiful.” Well, oui. At dusk, people streamed out of the Métro and into the street. The story is most European, too says the narrator, “I spent my afternoons in a city park, pretending to read Horace. If Rainer Maria Rilke had written a novel about marriage, it might look something like this: a series of paragraphs, seldom exceeding more than a dozen lines, sometimes without much apparent connection to the text on either side. Scenes from a marriage, sometimes lyrical, sometimes philosophically rich, sometimes just puzzling.
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