A Portrait of My Desire

Harry De Spain, the protagonist of this phlegmatic novel, is a man with everything and nothing. A wealthy art-gallery owner whose good looks hold women in thrall, he is also a lonely widower and father rattling around in a California beachfront home, which he preserves as a shrine to his dead wife, Killian. Deciding that he ``could live permanently with his grief, but not with poorly cooked meals, unpaid bills, or the lurking feeling that Peter needed new clothes and someone had to go to the mall with him,'' Harry hires Velda Venn to keep his house in order. It's not long before the two are sharing a bed and Harry is completely obsessed with his new lover. Eager to prove his manhood to her, he decides to buy a painting that he thinks will make him the toast of the art world. Though the consequences are devastating, readers won't much care. Harris's ( Hemingway's Suitcase ) characters are unengaging and Harry's attraction to the unappealing Velda is more mysterious than the business with the painting, which is an obvious hoax from the get-go. Larded with portentous literary references, this tale is nothing more than a wan soap opera with delusions of grandeur. A more apt title would have been A Portrait of Indifference . (Apr.)