The Women, a novel by T.C. Boyle is an attempt by the author to evoke the character, life and personality of Frank Lloyd Wright through a study of his romantic relationships. Each of the women, and occasionally Wright himself, is given a voice as Boyle works backward in time from the meeting and development of Wright’s relationship with his third and last wife, Oligivanna; through the turbulence of the reign of his second wife and onetime mistress, Miriam; and finally, overlapping the eras of his first wife Kitty and mistress Mamah (pronounced may-ma). This reverse chronology allows Boyle to build suspense to the horrific fire and gruesome murders that occur near the end of the book, and the different narratives fill in the architect’s character from varying angles until we have what feels like a pretty accurate picture of Wright. An additional narrative layer bracketing and interspersed with that of the women is provided by the memoir of a Japanese architect who as a young student was so inspired by Wright’s Imperial Hotel, built in Tokyo in 1923, that he left his studies to apprentice with Wright at Taliesin. His story is told to his Irish son-in-law who acts as his amanuensis, although frequent footnotes contradict some of what is written, further distancing the reader. Caught up in these many viewpoints, mostly that of one or another of the women, we absorb on a different level many key facets of the architect’s character: his love of hearth and home (repeatedly broken up as it was by his own ungoverned passions), his personal magnetism, scorn for rules, appetite for work, and larger-than-life nature. In addition, through these three or four degrees of separation, the reader, like the young Japanese fellow who arrives all unwitting and idealistic into Wright’s household, where he ends ups working more in the kitchen than at the drafting table, is drawn into the story, dropping that natural suspicion that arises when someone tries to tell the “truth” about another time and place. Thus, Boyle’s method, I think, largely succeeds. Boyle himself lives in a Wright-built house in California, which one imagines must have fueled his interest in the story he sets out to tell. The Imperial Hotel in Tokyo stands in for Wright’s genius, its story underlying the novel, and what we learn of its beauty and ingenious construction is almost as compelling as Wright’s fraught personal life. It is a thrilling moment when after the worst earthquake (8.3 on the Richter scale) in Tokyo’s history devastates the city, Wright receives a telegram, after an agony of waiting, that his building is still standing.