Yolande Kleinn, $0.99, ISBN 978-1-946316-05-9
Paranormal Romance, 2015 (Reissue)
Yolande Kleinn’s By Hand and Heart was first published in Mythologically Torqued Volume II from the long dead Torquere Press. Well, at least that’s what it says in this edition I am reading; I have no idea whether it had been expanded or revised in any way.
When I mention that the hero’s name is Luis Pygmalion, I am sure most people can guess what this one is all about.
Luis Pygmalion is a stubborn artist with a selfish streak. He may not be the best in the world at what he does,but he’s damn close—not arrogance, only fact—and there is enormous demand for his work. Few of his peers carve marble the way he can, with all the quiet nuance of life and soul.
Well, that’s all good, but who’s going to be his downfall here?
“I want something so real you’d swear it could come to life the second you lookaway. Man, woman, other, it’s up to you but I want them to be perfect. Life size, the most beautiful person you personally can imagine.”
Luis blinks, surprised at so open-ended a request. In long years of rejecting commissions, he’s never received one so vague yet demanding. The unexpected challenge nestles beneath his skin, thrilling him, warming him as surely as the coffee he sets down with a quiet click. His mind is already a mess of half-formed images supplanting each other, one after another, endless poses and possibilities.
“Surely you have something a little more specific in mind,” he says cautiously.
No,” she answers without hesitation. “It’s your art I want. The details are up to you.”
So, Luis gets to work, naturally making the sexiest sculpture guy ever, and oh my, he starts dreaming about the guy. Well, we need a way to show some romance after all, and having Luis just doing obscene things to his sculpture may only appeal to a certain niche market that may not bring in the ROI to the author.
Okay, I’ll be blunt here: the premise is actually kind of… sad, for the want of a better word. An artist falling for what he deems to be his perfect work is the height of narcissism probably appropriate for an egomaniac like Luis, but come on.
The poetry and beauty in such a premise stems from the tragedy of such a futile love, although I suppose he can always stick one of those portable genitalia sex toys to where it counts for the sexy times, so it won’t be that futile a love.
Anyway, what I am trying to say is that this kind of thing works as a tragedy.
It’s for readers to shake their heads and go: “Ah, to be that passionate about one’s art, it’s all so sweet and depressing; thank god I don’t have an artistic bone in my body!”
It’s for critics to go: “Ah, Luis Pygmalion understands my agony of expressing my critique of the arts while my own artistry goes unappreciated by the great unwashed; truly, he embodies the untilled baroque inditement of unlamented vaudevillists that etch the nuances of life into a libretto of cacophonous, cruel, catharsis! Truly an oratorio of grace-bereft artists calling for the loving caress of basking adoration!”
As a romance, well, it should have just been a kinky work of erotica on what a horny human can do to a sculpture.
Instead, the author just has the sculpture finally comes to life, and nobody knows why or how, not even the statue. Everyone just goes, “Who cares?” as now Luis and Gale, the sculpture come to life, can finally get it on like two… boring… people. How depressingly mundane!
Yes, I still say this one should have been about the guy finding ways to get busy with an inanimate object. It’s the current year, after all, so who’s to say that loving a thing you made from things is wrong?
