You know that thing where the protagonist isn't aware of his own blatant biases? This has that in spades. Narrow selectivity with odd shades of truth. The narrator's interpretation of events is so contradictorily one-sided, it leaves the lion's share of responsibility to the reader and his/her own ability to draw conclusions from the mishmash timeline of infidelity, dishonesty, and affectation.

An impressionistic bric-à-brac with fair gusts of social satire blowing its story into a measured set of obscured truth clumps.