“I have been waiting for my husband to die for six years.” With that, we are introduced to Jarvis Miller, whose husband—a once-brilliant artist named Martin—was the victim of a freak accident that left him in a coma. In the years since, Jarvis has retreated into a state of semi-widowhood, rarely leaving their Brooklyn apartment except to visit Martin at his nursing home. Her self-imposed exile comes to an end when she meets three men who call themselves “the Kept Men Club” (all are supported by their wives). They are the first new people she has met in ages, and her hunger for male attention pushes her to befriend them. Still, it isn’t until Jarvis discovers evidence of Martin’s numerous infidelities—with strippers, young immigrant girls, even his perpetually cranky art dealer—that she truly begins to piece her life back together.

Attenberg has a wonderful eye for detail: Her vivid descriptions of Williamsburg—almost a character in itself—are truly engaging. For all of her faults, and there are plenty, Jarvis is likable, with a surprising wit that tempers her bleak situation. But the pithy explanation for Martin’s transgressions—his “dark spot that made him fuck up”—is just not satisfying, even though it makes it easier for Jarvis to let go.

And let go she does: Her decision to euthanize Martin sparks a controversy of Terri Schiavo–esque proportions. For Jarvis to live, her husband must die, and as uncomfortable a notion as that is, Attenberg articulates it with such clarity that it is hard to imagine any other conclusion.

—Amy Plitt

Attenberg reads Wed 9.