Books built around art can go soft on conflict. Pollock’s Last Lover sounds more interested in damage, ambition, and what gets left behind.
That is usually where the real story lives for me. Not in the mythology, but in the people circling it, carrying their own private versions of envy, love, and unfinished business.
If a novel can look straight at talent without turning reverent, I am in. This one sounds like it has enough bite to avoid the museum-gift-shop version of itself.
Get your copy: Pollock’s Last Lover feels like a novel for readers who like art with teeth on Amazon