As the fiction machine that is “The Husband Machine” works its intricate wonders, cigarette smoke harpoons through the empyrean, and we ponder the exact intermingling of air within the lungs of white storks, while The Outlaw Josey Wales daggers over the faces of reclined parents. With useful echoes of the Ben Marcus of The Age of Wire and String or Notable American Women, and Magdalena Tully’s Dreams and Stones, but with textures, cadences and realizations all its own, “The Husband Machine” takes on yearning, love and love’s speedy, messy dismantling with crackling assiduity and shimmering aplomb. I loved the weave of inevitability and surprise here. The whole was well-wrought. It felt like sturdy cloth.