Inexplicable Desire - #Chemistry #Erotica #Connection

Several years ago I reviewed M.Christian’s sci-fi erotica story BionicLover. This tale follows the disturbing and intense relationship between a shy, struggling female artist and a butch woman of the streets who, when the story opens, has a magnificently crafted artificial eye. Thinking about the book after I wrote the review, I realized one reason it moved me so deeply: the author never really explains anything. We see the near-irresistible attraction between Pell (the artist) and Arc (the increasingly bionic butch). We watch as Arc replaces one body part after another with prosthetics, as Pell falls ever more deeply under her spell, as Arc vanishes then returns to the arms of the woman who somehow makes her whole–but though the emotions feel genuine and true, we never know why anyone does anything. Unmediated by reasons, we experience the desire, the longing, the loneliness, directly. The tale remains hauntingly ambiguous as well as overwhelmingly erotic.

In contrast, much of the erotic fiction I read focuses considerable attention on explaining the source of the attraction between the protagonists. Sometimes it’s something as superficial as big breasts or washboard abs. In other cases, the characters clearly complement each other, in terms of personality or history or mutual fantasies or kinks. In all too many stories, the erotic connection is pretty much a foregone conclusion, because the author has made the reasons for that connection painfully obvious.

Desire isn’t necessarily like that, though. Attraction often cannot be explained—except by amorphous concepts like “chemistry”, which is no explanation at all.

I remember one of my lovers, from my sex goddess period, when I blossomed from a self-conscious nerd into a flaming nymphomaniac. I met him at a mutual friend’s wedding, and wanted him from the very first instant. This wasn’t due to his physical appearance. He was cute, but no movie star. It certainly wasn’t because of his personality. He turned out to be arrogant as well as somewhat dishonest. None of that mattered. I wanted him. He wanted me. We had sex within four hours of meeting. Over the next few weeks, we shared some wild times, pushing the envelope (as they say), until I came to the conclusion that I didn’t really like him that much.

Call it chemistry if you like, the inexplicable force binding two souls, two bodies, who by rights shouldn’t be together at all. Whatever it is, it cannot be predicted, or explained.

Another wonderful literary example of this phenomenon is Willsin Rowe’s searing novella The Last Three Days. If you’ve ever thought lust was trivial compared to love, read this book. Rowe’s protagonists are in some sense addicted to one another. Insatiable need draws them together again and again. The pleasure of their encounters tempers their mutual antipathy. The emotions become so tangled that neither the characters nor the reader can sort them out—but they feel incredibly real.

There’s a clever little acronym frequently cited in author circles: RUE, which stands for Resist the Urge to Explain. Usually, when someone invokes the RUE principle in a critique, she’s commenting on a back story dump or an excess of description that slows down the pace of the narrative. Meditating on these two exemplary stories, I see that the RUE particularly applies to the erotic attraction between one’s characters. The more surprising, unexpected, complex and inexplicable that is, the more compelling the tale.

Desire cannot be summoned at will, nor can it be reasoned away. Desire simply is. And we erotic authors are but its chroniclers.

Review Tuesday: Bionic Lover by M. Christian

Bionic Lover by M. Christian

Wordwooze Publishing, 2016

If you’re not one of the unfathomably wealthy elite, avoid the streets of San Francisco. They’re crawling with drug-addled, desperate people hustling to survive until their next Subsistence Allotment Check, people who’ll do anything to avoid being conscripted to serve in the endless Central American wars. People who will literally sell their bodies—an eye or a limb—for a temporary influx of cash. If you don’t have a steady job—and who does, in this era of chronic unemployment?—every day is a day on the edge.

This is the dreadful, hope-shattering world of M.Christian’s lesbian science fiction tale Bionic Lover—a world that’s chillingly vivid and unquestionably believable. Against this background, he gives us the story of the relationship between two women—shy, struggling artist Pell and streetwise, secretive Arc.

Pell first encounters Arc at a low-rent gallery where an acquaintance is showing his work. She’s fascinated by Arc’s magnificently crafted artificial eye:

Tourmaline, onyx, silver and gold, it was a masterpiece watch set in a crystal sphere, the iris a mandala of glowing gold. Her blinks were a camera shutter’s, as imagined by the archetypal Victorian engineer but built with surgical perfection not found anywhere in Pell’s knowledge. The woman’s left eye was jeweled and precise; clicking softly as the she looked around the gallery, as if the engineers who’d removed her original wet, gray-lensed eyeball had orchestrated a kind of music to go with their marvelous creation: a background tempo of perfect watch movements to accompany

whatever she saw through their marvelous and finely crafted sight.

Click, click, click.

An eye like that should have been in a museum, not mounted in a socket of simple human skin and bone, Pell had thought. It should have been in some other gallery, some better gallery, allowed only to look out at, to see other magnificent creations of skilled hands. Jare’s splashes of reds and blues, his shallow paintings were an insult to the real artistry of the woman’s eye.

Then she notices Arc’s real eye, surveying her, notes the other woman’s penetrating, intelligent gaze and her lean, powerful body. Soft, vague, suburb-raised Pell falls into a dream of lust—a dream that Arc fulfills with raw precision and just a hint of cruelty.

In the morning after their coupling, Arc is gone. But before long she reappears, seeking sanctuary in Pell’s apartment and in her arms. Each time the woman of the street shows up at Pell’s door and finds her way into the artist’s bed, she has traded another piece of herself for some new miracle of prosthetic technology.

Though Bionic Lover was originally published over fifteen years ago (as Speaking Parts, a more appropriate title in my opinion) , the tale is still fresh, its dystopian visions closer than ever to the current state of society. It is, quite simply, a gorgeous story—rich, dark and arousing, full of startling images and nuanced emotion. M.Christian is at his lyrical best here, using his breathless, flowing prose to bring his heroines to life.

The book is subtitled “An Erotic Lesbian Romance”, but don’t expect a facile happy ending. The bonds tying Pell and Arc to one another go beyond love—and certainly beyond lust. Pell is simultaneously fascinated and repelled by her lover’s increasingly artificial body. And Arc—well, we never truly understand who she is or what she wants, any more than Pell does. This enigmatic tale will leave you feeling unsettled yet uplifted—as do most serious works of art.

(I received a free copy of this book in return for an honest review.)