Microfiche research does not a gook book make...
Improbable boatload of circumstances (black woman, homosexual black man with a secret homosexual white lover, son with polio, from Kentucky, during the war, in San Francisco, ) aside, I heard an excerpt of this book read recently. And, then I heard the author say that he was "surprised at how much information there was on microfiche" to help with his book.

Well, that's obvious. The author took a nightmare of circumstances that is completely unbelievable. Come on, a black woman plotting with her black husband's white lover? And you say she is from Kentucky, but she speaks in the most flowery language I've ever heard--more like out of a Harlequin romance book. And, then you tell me that the son has polio, but you don't ever talk about it? And, that isn't even half of the problem that I had with the book.

My point, historically, is that the author really just added a few microfiche facts here and there that he clearly found by reading old newspapers. The City does not come alive with these references. Instead, the references are more like footnotes on a rotten "what you shouldn't write after Max Tivoli" kind of a book.

A multi-layered shimmer that bedazzles
Andrew Sean Greer is a riot of talent. He carves his words with such precision that one can have no choice but to be surrender to his writing. His works, including Story of a Marriage, always deal with the subtle underplay of the human mind, and ultimately reveal the fragility of our existence.
I don't want to reveal the stories - a lot of reviewers have already done that. Besides, with this story, more than the story itself, it is the manner in which it is laid out that matters. Almost like midnight-blue silk skeins spread one beside the other.
For those who look for literature, rather than just an easy weekend read, for those who seek to tease from stories a modicum of meaning, The Story of A Marriage has many delights to offer. It will leave a lump in your throat, show you exotic new vistas of the human soul, leave you with the sort of feeling one has when they read a monumental work.
Mr. Greer, thank you for elevating our literary experiences to transcendental levels.

Ultimately rewarding
I had problems with this novel. It started beautifully but soon became heavy-handed. My interest flagged from time to time. However, I pushed through, and found myself totally absorbed and rewarded by the end. There is one helluva good story here: a young married woman is confronted by her husband's former male lover who insinuates his way into their lives with devastating consequences (yes, there are shades of "Far From Heaven" - if he were alive Douglas Sirk would film this with Halle Berry tomorrow). Though the prose is often arresting (I highlighted a number of passages), there is simply too much of it. Nothing is simply stated and this inhibits the flow of the story. So why four stars? The story is THAT compelling and the prose is THAT good.

Overrated and Underwhelming
This novel was hyped on NPR, so I assumed it would deliver with a solid plot and engaging characters. I was terribly disappointed. Greer relies on several plot "surprises" here and there to keep the story progressing. However, without solid character development and voice, these twists feel like pathetic manipulations to keep readers engaged. I got through the book in a weekend, but what motivated me to finish was the thought that once I hit the last page, I could finally move on to another novel and be done with this one. Trust me -- don't bother. If you must read it for yourself, check it out from the library and save your money for a better read.

Tinny and Artificial
Pearlie has a taste for aphoristic musings. "We think we know the ones we love," she writes. "But what we love turns out to be a poor translation, a translation we ourselves have made, from a language we barely know." These quasi-Proustian observations and their associated metaphors are brought to a state of high polish. But Greer's plotting doesn't always live up to Pearlie's commentary. A side-story involving a spirited white girl who's secretly engaged to a prejudiced soda-jerk is tacked on to the main plot in a way that's both implausible and underexplained. Pearlie's sympathy for Buzz blooms remarkably quickly, and there's an excess of busily symbolic detail. If the characters watch a movie, overhear a TV show or read the words printed on a paper bag, what they come across will be eerily reflective of their predicament.
Most of all, Greer's first big narrative bombshell doesn't detonate with the force that he seems to be hoping for. After all the wary looks from white neighbors, references to the status of the "colored" population, mentions of Pearlie's "community" and descriptions of visits to segregated lunchrooms, only very inattentive readers will be startled to learn that the Cooks are black; some might even wonder why Pearlie has tried to play such a heavy-handed trick. The surprises in what follows are managed more skillfully, and Greer has clearly done his homework on the time he's depicting. But the artificial, slightly tinny resonance never goes away.