Blond.

by Joyce Carol Oates

Ein gewagtes, ein gewaltiges Unterfangen. Sich die Haut von Marilyn Monroe überzustreifen und diesen literarischen Gewaltmarsch mit dem provokanten Titel Blond -- der dämlichsten aller menschlichen Reduzierungsschubladen -- zu versehen, dazu braucht es Mumm und Klugheit. Joyce Carol Oates, Schwergewichtlerin im US-Literaturbetrieb und bekannt für seismographisch genaue Lageberichte aus dem Herzen Amerikas, besitzt beides -- und sie hat gewonnen.

Nur eine winzige Szene am Anfang, symbolhaft aber womöglich für Norma Jeans gesamtes Leben. Ihr erster Ehemann Bucky Glazer, ein tumber aber gutmütiger Charakter, klärt sie in demütig herablassender Weise auf, dass nicht H. G. Wells der Autor des Buches Krieg der Welten ist, wie sie behauptet, sondern Orson Welles natürlich. Dummchen! Kluger Bucky. Solch auftrumpfender Ignoranz konnte sie ein Leben lang nur stotternd begegnen. Ihre Zeit würde noch kommen.

Sie kam -- in Gestalt eines Hollywood-(Alb)traums, bevölkert von verständnislos-geilen Hinterwäldlern und tätschelnden Filmmogulen; Figuren, die sich parasitär an ihr gütlich taten, während sie an ihnen zerbrach. Merkwürdig genug -- die wenigen, die Norma Jean wirklich liebten und erkennen wollten, stieß sie regelmäßig ab wie Fremdgewebe. Gnadenlos und in drastischster Sprache präsentiert Oates unter ihrem Mikroskop eine dumpfig-schwitzende Verehrerschar, die sich bis hoch zum Präsidenten schraubte. Am Ende von fast tausend Seiten werden wir dem Geheimnis, was diese Lichtgestalt zum Leuchten brachte, ein Stück näher gekommen sein.

Es ist schier unglaublich, welch atemberaubende und haarsträubende Innenansichten die Autorin aus dem Leben dieser uramerikanischen Mythengestalt herausmeißelt. Durch ständige literarische Verdichtung der Ereignisse kommt sie der Wahrheit schließlich so nahe, dass am Ende die reinste Essenz aus den Seiten tropft. Biografie kann man das nicht mehr nennen -- aber einen Schöpfungsakt ganz eigener Art. Hier ist neues Leben entstanden. --Ravi Unger

Genres: Fiction, Historical Fiction, Novels, Historical, Literary Fiction, Literature, American

910 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 2000

About the author

Joyce Carol Oates is an American writer. Oates published her first book in 1963, and has since published 58 novels, a number of plays and novellas, and many volumes of short stories, poetry, and nonfiction. Her novels Black Water (1992), What I Lived For (1994), and Blonde (2000), and her short story collections The Wheel of Love (1970) and Lovely, Dark, Deep: Stories (2014) were each finalists for the Pulitzer Prize. She has won many awards for her writing, including the National Book Award, for her novel Them (1969), two O. Henry Awards, the National Humanities Medal, and the Jerusalem Prize (2019).
Oates taught at Princeton University from 1978 to 2014, and is the Roger S. Berlind '52 Professor Emerita in the Humanities with the Program in Creative Writing. From 2016 to 2020, she was a visiting professor at the University of California, Berkeley, where she taught short fiction in the spring semesters. She now teaches at Rutgers University, New Brunswick.
Oates was elected to the American Philosophical Society in 2016.
Pseudonyms: Rosamond Smith and Lauren Kelly.

Reviews

[Fabian · Rating 5 out of 5]

YOU MUST READ THIS! Have to have to! And you will. It must be one of the BEST (FINEST) novels of all time. (& y'all know that this is the sole topic I will NEVER joke about.)

Seeing the elusive, the ephemeral, through different filters--a jaguar prowling through the jungle, a baby left all alone, as if you had the privilege to do so in the first place. "Blonde" is a privilege to read-- the rarest of rare novel/poetry book combos. Why read itty bitty poetry in its refracted, basically restricted state? Read novels, exemplary novels like this one, for a novel like "Blonde" kicks the ass of those tiny singular books... there is poetry in each and every page. Undertaking this journey is a huge endeavor for the reader. This humongous tale for the reader is a grotesque fairy tale through & through.

Norma Jean's thoughts/actions occur in present tense, in actual time, & also in fatalistic retrospection. It is a topsy turvy house of horror.

This is an expert fictionalization; momentous literature which must be absolutely devoured.

The saga is sublime. The topic, the figurehead that is Marilyn Monroe, is and has been ultimately misinterpreted. But thanks to Joyce Carol Oates (give her a Nobel already [I mean, even Coetzee and Saramago have one!]) and her extensive research, the meat on the bones are as beautiful and enigmatic as the person herself (and by this, I mean Monroe AND J.C.O.: their collaboration is what dreams are made of. Their nightmare is our heaven).

(Strange to figure how many modern actresses wish to emulate the gorgeous blond, they try time after time, and the great actress tried so much to be the character she was chosen to portray. She was even painfully paranoid of her fictional characterizations drifting into her real life like ghosts!)

Consider Oates's Norma Jean as a 20th century Emma Bovary-- but with something to offer the outside world. And of this many great Hollywood men took notice, and the exploitation that ensues is demonic. The elusive father figure-- Norma Jean never met hers, and so what happens is a collection of men she disgustingly refers to as "Daddy." (see? Even porno stars want to be Marilyn!) She becomes addicted to Codeine tablets, super quick solutions to issues which stem all the way from infancy. There is a patina of infinite sadness, of devastation being covered up for the sake of illusion and the glimmering of the silver screen. The novel is filled with endings-- conceivably, almost every section in the story could be a possible way for Oates to finish her masterpiece-- the prolongment is absolutely masochistic and inspiring, if that makes any sense. The novel that starts off with dolls, star homes and star funerals is undoubtedly what awaits the girl (beautiful and young corpse) at the end. Everything: sad, with a foretaste of certain doom, of impending tragedy. The girl devoted to God and literature and meaty roles (as evidenced by her poems and musings which) beg the reader to feel defensive of her, of this child in a woman's body, The Woman's body. The cooly complex metaphysical stuff (this is a 21st century novel after all and all the Greats brought out all their tricks at this point) is infused with intelligence, and, yes, MAGIC. Marilyn is a woman who falls out of time. She recalls scripts that have never even existed before but compete with her actual life-- she's smart beyond recognition, she is not DUMB AT ALL. She juxtaposes art with life, and this is what all actresses, all good actresses, must feel for their art. She suffers for her art like any other artist worth his or her salt.

It is pretty rare for literature to be so perfectly precise in emulating the theme and source it describes: like the person herself (R.I.P) the novel, for me, will remain unique and unforgettable.

[Julie]

I have conflicting emotions about this book, and it goes something like this, “The book is about Marilyn, so what is there NOT to like about it, right? Warts and all, it is a powerful book written by a powerful writer.” But the song that keeps playing in my head, the words that keep haunting me, comes from the voice of another writer, This is the story of a rape.

“This is the story of a rape, of the events that led up to it and followed it and of the place in which it happened. There are the action, the people and the place; all of which are interrelated but in their totality incommunicable in isolation from the moral continuum of human affairs.” (Paul Scott, The Jewel in the Crown.)

There is something so ugly and disturbing about Joyce Carol Oates’s interpretation of Marilyn’s life that if one were to take away the author’s name, one would suspect it was written by a loathsome mysogynist, hell-bent on destroying every last vestige of humanity in Marilyn Monroe, movie-queen, and Norma Jeane Baker, innocent dreamer.

I fell into a trance in the first few hundred pages, falling subject to Norma Jeane’s unquenchable spirit. Even tossed about by the vagaries of her early years, the reader sees how Norma Jeane was destined for some kind of greatness. She was an indefatigable optimist; a resilient life force that did battle with her mother’s depression and burgeoning insanity, and from under which she sprang out stronger still. It was only later, after the little fighter had grown into a vibrant woman who had been knocked down one too many times that the inherited depression finally consumed her and dragged her into hell. In the intervening years she fought -- and fought like hell -- to hang onto the dream of “getting out alive” and making something of her life. The reader can’t help but feel an overwhelming sadness, and fatalism, because unlike the young Norma Jeane, we know how the story ends.

So far, so good, despite its all-consuming sadness.

Then, Oates’s fangs come out. She reveals to us her secret loathing for Marilyn, sub-consciously played out in the voice of the men who hated The Blonde Actress: cow, cunt, stupid cunt, mammalian bitch, tramp, slut, WHORE, sucker of cocks, depressed whacko bitch, stupid cunt, stupid cunt, stupid cunt. OK, we hear you. But that’s the point: I don’t hear the voice of the men so much as I hear Oates’s voice in my head: you whore, you bitch, you cunt. The sub-text screams to me so loudly, it’s like a punch in the face by Oates, every slander uttered.

This is nothing but a vile peep show, it occurred to me half way through the novel. Here I am, engaging in the tearing down of the movie-queen, complicit in the act of rape. No one is forcing me to read this book, just like no one forced Oates to write it.

The voyeuristic quality is enhanced by the protracted use of the third person: The Blonde Actress, The Ex-Athlete, The Playwright, The President. We, the readers, are standing in the red light district, leering into the dimly-lit and dirty window where the young woman lies exposed and vulnerable. No one looks away, either out of decency or revulsion. A human being is being torn apart, and we continue to be complicit in her excoriation.

You won’t write about me, will you, Daddy? You won’t write about me, will you? You won’t write about me?

Knowing this -- knowing how much Norma Jeane abhorred being written about in her Marilyn persona -- Oates revels in ignoring her plea. Like the paparazzi who swoop like carrion birds, she licks up every last intimate detail and splatters it luridly for our consumption.

Disturbingly, Oates seems even more obsessed with Marilyn’s body than the raving fans: dwelling, obsessively, on skin and excretions and secretions, ad nauseam. She is pre-occupied with Marilyn’s sexual intimacies and her miscarriages and her womb. She is so consumed by Marilyn’s womb, in fact, that she leaves us with the notion she believes all Marilyn ever was, was a big gaping receptacle of vileness, hungry for as much degradation as she could possibly contain. Over and over again, we hear stupid cunt, hailed as the avenue to the stinking, infertile receptacle. Marilyn’s womb did not bear fruit, after all -- it was simply another secreting, foul failure of our movie-queen.

“I’m always running into people’s unconscious.” Those words, prophetically spoken by Marilyn Monroe in her empty-headed persona, shine quite a light on this fictional biography. Oates seems to have run smack into the middle of her own “unconscious” while trying to explore Marilyn’s.

As much as art can be an exploratory medium to expose the vileness of the world and act as a cathartic force for change, just as often it reveals the vileness or the victim within. It often uncovers our own hidden truths and reveals to us our own failings. When confronted with ourselves, it thus becomes easy to say “this is just art” when we really should be admitting “this is me.”

As much as this was an authoritative book then, it was an equally forceful indictment of the things that should not be said. Certain secrets should not be violated. Add to that, there are some books that should never have been written, despite the truths they hold. This is one of them.

So many will disagree -- because it was written by an influential writer, and it’s art.

[Bess · Rating 5 out of 5]

Finally finished, wish I were still reading, all magic is gone from life now, pls advs.

This is the New Feminist Text. I honestly think if every gal too young to remember (or too young to even have a mother who actively remembers the effects of) the women's movement of the 60s were given a copy of this book, we'd have much less patriarchy snackdom in the world, much more equal pay, and way fewer pointy-toed stilettos.

Marilyn Monroe was continuously, systematically screwed over, pawned, and sucked dry by man after man (playwright and athlete and high school sweetheart alike) -- as well as by Men™, which includes not just men, but all the women, gentlemen, scholars, mathematicians, AND carpenters' wives who agree that the female body is but a glittery, soft object for boys to ogle, pet, and circle-jerk off to from the comforts of the Oval Office or locker-room bench alike -- an object off of which there's billions to be made! -- throughout her brief life.

All the girls these days who walk around purring docilely between bouts of bulimia in designer skinnyjeans on their way to have their antidepressant prescriptions refilled need to read this book and then get back to us on whether or not they still think calling themselves -- and maybe actually BECOMING -- feminists is unnecessary.

___________________________________________
Update: I'm absorbing this book slowly through a long & visually unremarkable osmotic process... or maybe it's the other way around, and I'm ITS prey. Either way, I'm only a little more than halfway through, and I think I might experience actual, physical withdrawal when I'm done.

For madness is seductive, sexy. Female madness.
So long as the female is reasonably young and attractive.
= why I love Joyce Carol Oates

[Joe · Rating 5 out of 5]

My introduction to the fiction of Joyce Carol Oates is Blonde, a radically distilled accounting of the life and death of Norma Jeane Baker, who exploded onto screens (and magazine spreads) in 1950 as "Marilyn Monroe," became a global sex symbol and almost as quickly, exited the world in a drug overdose. Published in 2000, this is fiction, with characters of the author's invention mingling with real people (some unidentified by name). The word "epic" gets thrown about as an adjective far too often, but seems appropriate here in a big, daring book more vivid and harrowing than a biography could be, peeling away the layers around the 20th century's most enigmatic celebrity.

In the speculative history Oates plunges the reader into, Norma Jeane's first memory comes at the age of two or three when her mother Gladys Mortensen takes her to Grauman's Chinese Theater. The curious, curly-haired girl begins to frame the events of her life as scenes in a silver screen drama being played out for an audience. By the age of six, in the year 1932, Norma Jeane is living in Los Angeles under the care of her maternal Grandma Della. Her biological father is and always will be unknown, while her mentally unstable mother works for The Studio in a negative-cutting lab. Insisting Norma Jeane call her "Gladys," she changes addresses almost as often as moods.

When Grandma Della suffers a stroke, Norma Jeane is placed in the custody of her mother, sharing a bungalow on 828 Highland Avenue. Their closest friends are their neighbors Jess Flynn and Clive Pearce, who work as a film cutter and a musician, respectively. Gladys sees that her shy daughter take piano lessons with Uncle Clive and takes her on tours past the homes of the stars, but suffering paranoid schizophrenia, is a physically and verbally abusive parent. Gladys loses her job and after she sets the bungalow on fire, is interned at the State Hospital in Norwalk. Unable to care for a child full-time, Aunt Jess turns Norma Jeane over to the Los Angeles Orphans Home Society.

Who had brought her to this place the child could not recall. There were no distinct faces in her memory, and no names. For many days she was mute. Her throat was raw and parched as if she'd been forced to inhale fire. She could not eat without gagging and often vomiting. She was sickly-looking and sick. She was hoping to die. She was mature enough to articulate that wish: I am so ashamed, nobody wants me, I want to die. She was not mature enough to comprehend the rage of such a wish. Nor the ecstasy of madness of ambition to revenge herself upon the world by conquering it, somehow, anyhow--however any "world" is "conquered" by any mere individual, and that individual female, parentless, isolated, and seemingly of as much intrinsic worth as a solitary insect amid a teeming mass of insects. Yet I will make you all love me and I will punish myself to spite your love was not then Norma Jeane's threat, for she knew herself, despite the wound in her soul, lucky to have been brought to this place and not scalded to death or burned alive by her raging mother in the bungalow at 828 Highland Avenue.

Norma Jeane's charisma attracts couples looking to adopt, but Gladys refuses to sign papers giving up custody. In 1938, Norma Jeane is finally placed in a foster home, with Elsie and Warren Pirig of Van Nuys. As a teenager, Norma Jeane is hard working and obedient, but painfully shy, an adequate student who fails to be chosen for cheerleading or theater arts. Genetic blessings and a gift for ethereal innocence wielded without effort attract the attention of men, including her Uncle Warren. Initially repelled by the prospect of marriage, Norma Jeane bends to Elsie's schemes and weds a good-looking boy from a respectable family named Bucky Glazer. She is sixteen years old.

As a wife, Norma Jeane seeks perfection and nothing less, working hard to make sure that all of her husband's needs are met. Initially grateful to have been matched to a wife with movie stars looks, Bucky is nothing but a boy himself, and ultimately bristles at his bride's neediness and creeping insecurity that he too might one day leave her. In 1943, he does just that, enlisting in the Merchant Marines. Heartbroken and refusing the help of her in-laws, Norma Jeane goes to work at Radio Plane Aircraft in Burbank. On the assembly line, she ultimately catches the eye of photographer Otto Ose as he searches for good-looking faces for a piece in Stars and Stripes on girls of the home front.

As a model, Norma Jeane has her revenge on those who've rejected her, but has her eyes set on being taken seriously as an actress. She lands an agent, a cunning hunchback named I.A. Shinn who not only envisions big things for Norma Jeane, but is in love with her. Signed to a six-month contract with The Studio after she submits to the sexual gratifications of starmaking executive Mr. Z, Norma Jeane, Shinn and Z arrive on "Marilyn Monroe" as her new name. Her contract expires without fanfare and Monroe accepts $50 from Otto Ose to pose nude. With his client at rock bottom, Shinn calls in favors and gets Monroe an audition for a bit part in a movie titled The Asphalt Jungle.

The director stares astonished at this platinum blonde lying on the floor at his feet Explaining the character to me! to me, the director! She'd become as unself-conscious as a young willful child. An aggressive child. He forgets to light the Cuban cigar he's unwrapped and stuck between his teeth. There's absolute silence in the rehearsal room as "Marilyn Monroe" begins the scene by shutting her eyes, lying motionless in a mimicry of sleep, her breathing deep and slow and rhythmic (and her rib cage and breasts rising, falling, rising, falling), her smooth arms and her legs in nylons outstretched in the abandonment of sleep deep as hypnosis. What are the thoughts men think, gazing down upon the body of a beautiful sleeping girl? Eyes shut, lips just slightly parted. The opening of the scene lasts no more than a few seconds but it seems much longer. And the director is thinking, This girl is the first actress of the twenty or more he's auditioned for the role (including the black haired actress he's probably going to cast) who has caught on to the significance of the scene's opening, the first who seems to have given the role any intelligent thought and who has actually read the entire script (or so she claims) and formed some sort of judgment on it. The girl opens her eyes, sits up slowly and blinking, wide-eyed, and says in a whisper, "Oh, I--must have been asleep." Is she acting, or has she actually been asleep? Everyone's uncomfortable. There is something strange here. The girl with seeming naïveté (or cunning) addresses the director and not the assistant who's reading Louis Calhern's lines, and in this way she makes the director, still with the unlit Cuban cigar clamped between his teeth, her "uncle" lover.

There were scenes in Blonde so vivid I saw them play out as a long-form television in my mind. Both the tragic glamour of the Marilyn Monroe story and Oates' insightful and electric prose are powerfully compelling. The rooting interest for Norma Jeane to survive the abuses leveled on her by those in power and to take control of her life is strong, even though we know how she ultimately loses her life. Oates justifies her massive page length by exploring how relationships or experiences became the keys Norma Jeane used to unlock her most memorable performances on set. Norma Jeane's approach to her craft is responsible for the enigma of Marilyn Monroe.

Widmark was taken by surprise. Never would he know who was "Marilyn," who was "Nell." It wasn't Widmark's style of acting. He was a skilled technical actor. He followed a director's direction. Often his mind was elsewhere. There was something humiliating about being an actor, if you were a man. Any actor is a kind of female. The makeup, the wardrobe fittings. The emphasis on looks, attractiveness. Who the hell cares what a man looks like? What kind of man wears eye makeup, lipstick, rouge? But he'd expected to walk away with the movie. A crappy melodrama that might've been a stage play it was so talky and static, mostly a single set. "Richard Widmark" was the sole box-office name in the cast and he took it for granted he'd dominate the movie. Swagger through Don't Bother To Knock as the love interest of two good-looking young women who never meet (The other was Anne Bancroft, in her Hollywood debut.) But every fucking scene with "Nell" was a grapple. He'd swear that girl wasn't acting. She was so deep into her movie character you couldn't communicate with her; it was like trying to speak with a sleepwalker. Eyes wide open and seemingly seeing, but she's seeing a dream. Of course, the babysitter Nell was a kind of sleepwalker; the script defined her that way. And, seeing "Jed Powers," she doesn't see him, she sees her dead fiancé; she's trapped in delusion.

Oates demonstrates remarkable agility balancing plates in Blonde. There's Norma Jeane's need for respect as an artist and how this contradicts her need to be cared for. There are the men: her second husband (referred to as The Ex-Athlete) and third husband (who goes as The Playwright), as well as two fictions: the estranged sons of Charlie Chaplin and Edward G. Robinson who Norma Jeane constructs a ménage à trois with; all of these are nuanced characters attracted to pieces of Norma Jeane and repelled by parts of Marilyn. Though mingling of fact and fiction, we're shown how an often sick industry can damage and destroy unstable people, and whether immortality on film is worth that sacrifice.

[Julie · Rating 3 out of 5]

Blonde by Joyce Carol Oates is a 2017 Ecco Publication.

Let me begin by saying I have had this book on my TBR list long before a Netflix movie was even thought of. I was advised that reading a good traditional biography about Marilyn Monroe before starting this one would be a good idea, so, dutifully, I squeezed in a lengthy biography over Monroe, back in the spring. (Marilyn: The Biography by Donald Spoto)

Truthfully, that book was depressing, and I needed a little break before tackling this tome about Marilyn.

But then the rumors I’d heard about a Netflix movie based on this book started heating up and I wanted to read this book before I saw the movie, so I put everything else aside and got started on it. I was only about halfway into the book when the movie premiered-

And like every single other thing these days it got the controversial treatment- When the reviews starting coming in they were mixed- but mostly, critics and viewers alike complained of exploitation- and there's that NC-17 rating, on top of being three hours long.

All this bad press made me curious about how well this book was received, so I took a peek at the ratings. Curiously, on Goodreads, this book has over twelve thousand ratings and boasts a 4.01 average, ( at the time of this writing), which is pretty darned good, actually. So maybe this is another one of those instances where the movie was LOOSELY based on this novel and maybe it took more liberties with the book than JCO did with Marilyn’s life. (JCO claims she had nothing to do with the film and even she had to take a break from its brutality)

I haven’t seen the movie, at this writing, and now I can’t say I’m in a hurry to do so- though I might change my mind later- but there are a few things to keep in mind if one is considering reading the book the film is based on. Readers have long lamented movie adaptations of books and the material- or any material for that matter, based on Marilyn Monroe is going to be exploitive, because frankly, Marilyn and exploitation always went hand in hand during her life, and far too long after her death.

Another thing to consider is that the masses seldom do their homework before watching a movie based on a book. I'll go out on a limb here and say that I suspect very few of the critics- and none the outspoken Twitter crowd, have read Marilyn's biography, or this book, before watching the film. Just something to keep in mind.

This book, like any other book of historical fiction based on real people, has taken liberties- sometimes with times, or places, events, and most certainly with the facts- more so than most, I’d say.

Some authors like to make their fictionalized versions of a person’s life as close to reality as possible, while others go so far as to completely re-imagine someone’s life. I think JCO did a little of both here. Some parts of the novel are total fabrications- completely made-up out of whole cloth, but in other areas, the people are familiar- if not named outright- and the scenes described are authentic- and those are the ones people object to the most. Sadly, as much as we would like to believe differently, the book in many ways probably hits a little too close to the bone and most people don't want to believe that, preferring to hold on to a fantasy image of the late star, instead.

Yes, it’s brutal, but the book shows the ‘Blonde actress’ as a separate entity from Norma Jeane- and it is Norma Jeane, and her private battles that take center stage here.

I really do think Marilyn was an unhappy person- her non-fictional biography certainly gives off that vibe- But putting those truths into JCO hands, is sure to expand on that vibe exponentially- something those familiar her literary style can attest to, I'm sure.


This novel is dark and heavy- and though the accusations of exploitation nearly always has some merit- I think that the author’s distinction between the public persona and Norma Jeane diminished that to some degree-rather showing how the actress was exploited by Hollywood and the toll it took on her personal life, which was already marred by a myriad of other demons, in my opinion, at least.

All that said, this is an interesting take on the life of the ‘Blonde Actress’ and the woman behind the image. The approach is idiosyncratic and does require one to pay attention, read between the lines, and remain open to JCO interpretation of Marilyn- because that isn’t always easy.

Was the book what I was expecting? No, not really. Did I like it? In some ways, yes, and in other ways, no. I’m glad I read it, as I’ve been curious about it for ages- but I do think that now, after spending a fair amount of time with Marilyn this year- I’m inclined to agree that it is well past time to let both the ‘Blonde Actress’ and Norma Jeane finally rest in peace…

3.5 stars

[Madeline · Rating 3 out of 5]

I wasn't really sure how to go about reviewing this book at first, but then I came up with a solution, and it's a reviewing style I'll call The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly.
Here we go.

The Good: Of course, Joyce Carol Oates is a scary-talented author and I bow at her feet. The writing in this book goes from staggeringly beautiful to heart-wrenchingly sad, and all of it is masterfully executed. The fact is, no matter what the following might say, I would probably give my left foot to be able to write like Oates does. So let's move on.

The Bad: The story, a fictionalized account of Marilyn Monroe's life, is yet another thrilling installment in this author's Men Are Evil And Will Hurt You saga. Okay Joyce, I get that Marilyn had issues. I get that men pushed her around. But honestly:
"Then came her fairy godmother to tell her: There's a secret way into the Walled Garden!
There's a hidden door in the wall, but you must wait like a good little girl for this door to be opened....You must win over the doorkeeper - an old, ugly, green-skinned gnome. You must make the doorkeeper take notice of you. You must make the doorkeeper desire you. And then he will love you and will do your bidding! Smile! Smile, and be happy! Smile, and take off your clothes! For your Magic Friend in the mirror will help you....the old, ugly green-skinned gnome was really a prince under an evil enchantment, and he will kneel before you and ask for your hand in marriage, and you will live with him happily forever in his Garden kingdom; never will you be a lonely, unhappy little girl again.
So long as you remain with your Prince in the Walled Garden."

Good lord.

And I haven't even mentioned how she calls each of her husbands "Daddy". Really, Joyce: you can cut the subtlety with a freaking battle axe here.

The Ugly: Several of Marilyn Monroe's movies are described in the book, including Gentlemen Prefer Blondes and Some Like It Hot. These are two of my favorite movies - or I should say, they used to be. I'm not sure, because I haven't tried watching them, but they might be ruined for me.
Can we talk about Some Like It Hot for a minute here? Oates's book tries to make the case that by this point in Marilyn Monroe's career everyone was disgusted with her, and her love interest in the movie, "C" (aka Tony Curtis) was so grossed out by her that he hating acting in the romantic scenes with her.
Okay. Tony Curtis's autobiography, American Prince: A Memoir, recently came out, and I read an excerpt in Vanity Fair. He was writing about Marilyn and how they used to date before she was famous and had red hair (two things that aren't in the book - HA! Joyce Carol Oates, I know something you don't know!). Anyway, they weren't going out when they made the movie, but he was still attracted to her. According to Curtis, he totally had a hard-on for that entire scene in the yacht, and Marilyn knew it.
What's Oates's take on the movie? Here you go: "And so C despised her & at their climactic kissing scene how he'd wish to spit into Sugar Kane's phony ingenue face for by this time the mere touch of Monroe's leathery skin revulsed him & C would be Monroe's enemy for life & after her death what tales C would tell of her!"

I really, really hope that Tony Curtis reads Blonde. And I hope he sends Joyce Carol Oates a letter that goes like this:
"Dear Ms. Oates - Rot in hell, you pretentious feminazi asshole. What gives you the right to write down Marilyn's life for her and assign roles to each of us so we could all look like evil bastards compared to her? You didn't know her, you didn't know any of us, and you're no better than all the tabloids, exploiting her fame and her death to make money.
Fuck you very much,
Madeline Tony Curtis."

I must say, the man has a point.

[Sara · Rating 1 out of 5]

For all of Blonde's claims as a novelized, feminist retelling of Marilyn Monroe's life, I have seldom come across a book with more disturbing, dehumanizing references to the female body and mind. I am aware that these are intended to further emphasize Marilyn's loathed and loved standing in the American psyche as the virgin/whore goddess/garbage dichotomy, but the painful overuse of the adjectives "cow", "cunt", and "mammalian" to describe Marilyn, as well as endlessly repetitive descriptions of "female stench" and the disgust of menstruation smack more of reveling in degradation than they do of exposing exploitation. Even though I reminded myself on every page that this book is a feminist interpretation of Marilyn's part of the Hollywood mythos, I found it hard to stomach.

Perhaps I am missing the point, but so be it.

[Jaline · Rating 5 out of 5]

This book was very difficult to read. Not because of the writing, which is phenomenal, but because we already know the sad ending. Joyce Carol Oates takes us on a literary journey from babyhood through to the end with a flawless, relentless depiction of the mind within the body that embarked on this particular journey. It is beyond sad to bear witness to the reactions and defenses of a mind molded by fear, uncertainty, unpredictability and unreliability that resulted in a young woman who became her own worst enemy and basically orchestrated her own downfall. With her background, falling prey to the Hollywood system of male dominance of the time seemed inevitable. The failure of The Blonde’s various coping mechanisms was not surprising, nor was it surprising that this also sabotaged her personal relationships resulting in yet more reinforcement for self-sabotage. A downward-directed spiral, indeed. Lamentable as the story is, I would recommend this book to any reader who is interested in the psychology of mind that can propel a soul through life from innocence to a tragic end.

[Hanneke · Rating 5 out of 5]

This biography shook me to the core and left me with an overwhelming feeling of pity and sadness. I am definitely calling it a biography although it is a fictionalized biography. The fictionalization made it possible to approach Marilyn’s life alternatively from the view at a first person angle and a third person angle. I am convinced that Joyce Carol Oates’ portrayal of Norma Jeane Patterson a.k.a. Marilyn Monroe is as close as you would ever get to the dramatically unreal and mostly very unhappy life of this star. I was relieved to finally finish the biography and, upon closing the book, I could only think: ‘poor child, poor girl, poor woman.’

[Sasha · Rating 5 out of 5]

Joyce Carol Oates has appropriated our American wet dream, the winner of the global boner bracket, the all-time "Who'd You Rather?" champion, she's taken and made some kind of Cinderella Christ myth out of her, tarted up for the ball by her leering old fairy godfather and when the clock hits twelve martyred for our filthy sins. No soft-focus angel Christ here, either: this is Mel Gibson torture Christ, all meat and oozing sores inside her mouth. Oates insists on the fact of her body: Marilyn Monroe spends the entire book menstruating and sweating and stinking and pissing. When she's sodomized by an old guy Oates describes it, "like a beak plunging in." She never blinks. She feels everything. Like Christ, she has some Daddy issues. Like Christ, she tries to chicken out. Like Christ she seems to understand where this is all headed, and to face it bewildered and terrified. She's not dumb, she just has no defenses. She knows why she's here.

"It was my intention to create a female portrait as emblematic of her time and place as Emma Bovary was of hers," says Oates, and you're like, "Create? Wasn't Marilyn Monroe already created?" But the historical Monroe is a palimpsest for Oates. She has her own agenda. "The historical individuals are not in the novel," she says: "Rather, their historical roles are the subject of the novel." In one scene Marilyn Monroe goes incognito to the theater to watch her own movie and finds herself surrounded by men staring up at the screen and masturbating, and that scene is this book in a nutshell.

Oates has her sights set high. Blonde is her longest book and her most audacious in a long career of audacity, and it totally works. (Suck it, Mailer.) The singular Great American Novel doesn't exist, because there are so many Americans, right? The loner cowboy; the runaway slave; the pioneer woman - and the dizzy blonde, too, the sexpot, that's an American archetype. "Oh hey! - you can't miss Marilyn," says Marilyn: "She'll be the one with the vagina." Here she is.

[Helene Jeppesen · Rating 5 out of 5]

This book was marvellous in many ways! It's a fictional piece of work following the life of Norma Jeane Baker, aka. Marilyn Monroe, from she's a child till her death as a 36-year-old woman devoured and intoxicated with drugs, medication and alcohol. It's a tragic life story, but it's hugely inspiring as well, and if you have even the faintest interest in Marilyn Monroe's life I would highly recommend this book.
To me, one of the most interesting aspects of "Blonde" was how it balances fiction and facts. It's based on the truth, but it's retold through another person who, I assume, hasn't ever met Monroe and only know her through the media coverage that we all have access to. This book reads like great fiction, but simultaneously I learned so much about Monroe's fascinating life and development into the sexy icon she became.
I LOVED THIS! I have never read anything like this, and I know that this book has impacted me hugely. I will remember and cherish it for a long time to come because it speaks of a life so beloved, intriguing, tragic and yet fascinating, and it does so wonderfully. What a piece of art "Blonde" is!

[Repix Pix · Rating 2 out of 5]

Ridículamente largo, aburrido y misógino.

[Francesca · Rating 5 out of 5]

4.5 ⭐️ C’è poco da girarci intorno, questo libro mi ha distrutta.

Premessa: prima di leggere questo libro conoscevo “Marilyn Monroe” superficialmente, mai visto un suo film o un documentario sulla sua vita. Ora lei ce l’ho come sfondo del telefonino, vedete un po’ voi.
Questa non è una biografia di Marilyn Monroe, è un libro che prende ispirazione dalla sua vita ma aggiunge dettagli su dettagli di finzione. Per questo il mio cervello è confusissimo, perché si è appiccicato come una ventosa al personaggio Norma Jean Baker del libro, che non è quella della vita reale, ma quando vede quella della vita reale non è in grado di fare distinzioni e mi dice “È LEI!! SI È LEI LA TUA PROSSIMA FISSAZIONE!!”

Detto questo. Come ho già accennato, questo libro è totalmente devastante. Passi 1070 pagine insieme a Norma Jean. La vedi crescere, fare errori, innamorarsi, perdere, vincere…la vedi raccontata da una miriade di punti di vista diversi, ognuno in modo diverso, ognuno con un’opinione tutta sua di Norma Jean/Marilyn. Anche la stessa protagonista, più si va avanti con il libro, più si perde, più si confonde e non riesce più a capire chi è. Della sua identità, della sua vera persona, è di lei che ci innamoriamo, anche se questa identità è un mistero per Norma Jean stessa. Lei non recita, ma diventa ogni personaggio, e lei si rivolge al mondo in base al personaggio che interpreta in quel momento. Basa il suo valore su quello che pensano gli altri di lei, soprattutto gli uomini. Se un uomo non mi ama, qual è il mio valore?

La scrittura è incalzante, quasi claustrofobica. Praticamente in ogni paragrafo si cambia registro e punto di vista. Ci sono capitoli di una pagina, altri di cinquanta. Più si va avanti, più diventa folle e soffocante. Alcune volte mi sedevo e riuscivo a leggere 200 pagine tutte in una volta, altre volte dopo 10 mi stancavo perché diventava tutto troppo opprimente.

Vorresti solo entrare nel libro e abbracciare Norma Jean. Per questo dico che devasta, perché dall’inizio si sa come andrà a finire. E nonostante tutto leggi, leggi, leggi e speri, speri, speri.

Joyce Carol Oates ha detto che scrivere questo libro è stata un’impresa, e posso capire perché. Immergersi in questo libro è facile, ma tornare in superficie…? Quando sarò tornata, vi farò un fischio

[N · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is one hell of an imaginative fictional biography/autobiography of our iconic Marilyn Monroe.

In eerie third person narration, the reader is lured into a voyeuristic thrill that evokes pity at the same time as we delve into the psyche of a lost soul, consumed like meat (in the book, Norma Jeane Baker is referred to as "meat") and then mercilessly spat out by all the men who consumed her as if she were a human meal of desire.

The novel alludes to the famous men who have all consumed Norma Jeane as selfish, oversexualized and did not want to truly understand the little girl lost under the veneer of sex and fame.

However, Ms. Oates does not simply give them their real names- but portrays some of these men as archetypes: The Playwright and The Dark Prince for example. But we do see men such as Joe DiMaggio, John Kennedy, Arthur Miller and Darryl Zanuck hover around the novel, not seen in the most flattering light. Its hinted that Otto Ose was The Dark Prince.

It's a haunting and disturbing novel that was overly long, and it could have been more economic and succinct- as many film lovers and readers already know the myth of Marilyn.

Note: Postscript 2023:

The review above was from a 2010 reading of Blonde.

I recently watched the Netflix film adaptation starring Ana De Armas in her Oscar Nominated performance as Norma Jeane.

I read that Professor Oates herself that she admired director Andrew Dominik’s vision of her novel, of how it was faithful to her own vision of the tragic life of Norma Jeane's.

I found the tone of the film to be uneven, and a bit too long. However, if the novel was a monster to read- it made sense that the film should execute it's vision as close as possible.

Ms. De Armas was a magnetic Norma Jeane, capturing her heart, and her longing with pathos. It's an affecting performance that deserves its Oscar nomination alongside the legendary performances that Michelle Yeoh (who won) and Cate Blanchett have given. What amazing company!

Link to article below:

https://www.indiewire.com/2020/08/joy...

[Catherine · Rating 3 out of 5]

Blonde provides a masterful, disturbing and perceptive characterization of Marilyn Monroe that coincides with all of the other information I have read about her but provides additional interpretation into her psyche through the guise of fiction. The book itself is impossible to describe as it takes on a stylistic form that is very specific and complex. This is not just someone randomly writing a fictional biography of Monroe. This is Joyce Carol Oates, one of the most prolific and important authors of our time. She paints Monroe as someone who is basically doomed from the start as her early experiences shaped her character which together forms a self-destructive soul. Oates’ Monroe is overly eager to please. She just wants to be accepted and loved. She wants desperately to be considered a serious actress. She is looked at as a whore by all which is not helped with her sleeping with everyone. Nobody can look past her body and her beauty. She is constantly “playing” Marilyn. She is far too trustworthy. She is far too easily influenced by others. Everybody uses her and she willfully lets herself be used. She is plagued with an intense and lifelong debilitating stage-fright. Her childhood included an absent father which she turned into mythic proportions at a young age, a very troubled mother who possibly tried to killer her, sexual abuse at foster homes and being married off at a very young age to someone equally incapable of handling marriage are just some of her early experiences which shape her. All of these events are true and Oates did not make any of this up. Monroe comes off as certainly smarter than people thought she was but in many ways she is frustratingly naïve, child-like, dependent and needy. The main juxtaposition that Oates points out continuously is that Monroe’s life was full of adult situations that were very serious and intense but she herself never really grew up and remained very much like a child. This is an assertion I have read confirmed by many who interacted with her.
The way Oates writes is, as I said, very complex. A lot of the book is surreal with the later sections feeling like we are reading it under a layer of haze. Random thoughts from others are sprinkled out and italicized throughout the book. It switches perspectives suddenly between different characters but also between different selves of Monroe. The book refers to her at times as Norma, others as Marilyn, others as The Blonde Actress and others as the various parts she played. Oates also refers to her many times in the way other men see her. This leads to a lot of the description of her to be very uncomfortable and degrading but also effective. The men she gets involved with mostly have abstract titles such as “The Ex-Athlete” and “The Playwright”. She repeatedly revisits events and thoughts of Monroe’s and in later parts of the book brings back characters and events in a muddled and ambiguous way.

What did I think of the book? Well, technically, it is astounding. Oates really gets inside of her head. Even though I was aware throughout reading it that this was a fictional interpretation of Monroe’s life, it was very difficult to separate that fact with the seeming accuracy and complex perception she has of Monroe. While she twists things around in terms of events and the other perspectives, her characterization of Monroe seems disturbingly and frighteningly true which makes the tragic nature of her life and the book come through well.

There were certain aspects of the book that were particularly interesting. The sections with her mother Gladys were a highlight since Gladys was one hell of a character herself. My favorite chapters were the ones titled “Angela 1950”, “Nell 1952”, “Rose 1953”, “Cherie 1956”, “Sugar Kane 1959” and “Roslyn 1962”. These chapters describe experiences on the sets of these films, the way she felt about these characters and the way she personalized them by infusing her own life into them. These were very rewarding to read on multiple levels.

Overall though I was not crazy about the book; it was certainly an interesting read but along with its superbly written prose and great characterization comes some problems. First of all this book is far too long (730 pages in small font) and about half way through becomes repetitive and eventually offers little that feels rewarding or worth the trouble. Oates revisits things too often and she ends up hitting us over the head with the majority of what she is trying to do making it almost impossible to appreciate it at a certain point. This book could have been shortened by 200 pages and still have said everything she wanted to. She also changes neglects certain events which, when considering its length, becomes frustrating. In particular I am thinking about her time living with Milton Greene and his wife, her affair with Yves Montand and DiMaggio’s re-entrance in her life right at the end. It also neglects to tell us of any of her time with her many psychiatrists or the overpowering influence her acting coaches had over her as she not only depended on men but on these coaches to tell her when she got a take right. The last section of the book entirely disconnected me as a reader. The story becomes too hazy and does not offer anything additional about her final months. I also hated the way her relationship with JFK is portrayed as it is so far-fetched and over-the-top to be taken with any seriousness. It also portrays her death as murder on the orders of JFK which is a theory I have never believed for a second. The book has certainly inspired me to pick up an actual biography of Monroe. There are so many but two of them are considered to be the best. I am probably going to go for Donald Spato’s biography as it not only is considered the best but it also interprets her death the way I believe it to be whereas Anthony Summers’ bio goes the JFK route.

[Alex.andthebooks · Rating 4 out of 5]

3.75/5

Z bólem serca muszę przyznać, że w tej powieści jest trochę chaosu. Starałam się traktować ją bardziej jak fikcję niż powieść inspirowaną, bo odniosłam wrażenie, że wiele tam było jednak samej autorki i jej wyobrażeń. Nie zmienia to jednak faktu, że historia jest tragicznie smutna.

[Roman Clodia · Rating 4 out of 5]

A huge book as JCO gives us a fictional re-imagining of Norma Jeane (sic) from her early childhood with a dangerous, mentally-unstable mother, via an orphanage, a foster home and, eventually, Hollywood - via numerous detours.

JCO is especially interested in Norma Jeane's inner life and her relationships with men, all driven by her search for her absent father. I know little about Monroe so have no idea what is fact and what fiction but certainly this feels like a convincing portrait of a woman created and constructed as 'Marilyn Monroe'. Certainly the persona made millions for the studios (while Norma Jeane was paid a pittance) but it also served Norma Jeane herself, allowing her, to some extent, to keep her true self hidden - although, eventually, of course, it becomes erased...

JCO makes much of 'Marilyn's' body: flaunted, sewed into straitjacket-tight dresses, always on show, and contrasts it with the more troublesome flesh of Norma Jeane: her heavy periods, her anxious sweats, her miscarriages. The idea of Gemini, The Twins, appears and reappears, too, from Norma Jeane's Mirror Self, to the literal number of characters born under the star sign.

Inflected by concerns with feminism, with gaze theory, this is an uncompromisingly modern take on a sad, sad story. There are points where this made me think about Sylvia Plath, another American young woman caught up in the social constrictions of what a woman is supposed to be.

It would have been easy for JCO to merely give us a sad, almost pathetic tale of exploitation, loneliness and abuse, but actually she does something far cleverer and more discomforting that that: for we, too, are implicated in the creation and sustaining of 'Marilyn': every time we watch her perform, every time we swoon over her beauty, we look at her with the same possessive, externalised, powerful gaze which makes her no more than an object to be viewed.

An intelligent analysis of a modern cultural icon, and a book which gives back attention to the woman behind the Monroe mask.

[Lea · Rating 1 out of 5]

I was not prepared for: a) how weird this book was going to be and b) how incredibly tedious.

I'd read Joyce Carol Oates before as a teenager and had liked the books alright, but I couldn't for the life of me tell you which two out of her 50 novels it was. What I do know is that they had a normal amount of pages. Between 200 and 400 or so. "Blonde" is a 1k whopper of a novel and it does not deserve to be so long.

It's kind of written competetently but after the first 100 pages or so I already found myself not wanting to continue. Still, the reimigining of Marylin Monroe's childhood was the best part. Maybe because I think complicated family structures (her and mother's) are more interesting than the repetition of failed romantic relationships ad nauseum. And they are so weird and brutal and loveless. You never get to feel for any of the characters.

Presumably, writing this fan fiction meant that the author wanted to explore the character of Monroe? But no, she only describes her as a phenomena - which is so boring! She's seen as a dumb sex symbol and nothing else by men, when all she craves is real love. Get it? Do you get it yet? But Oates herself describes her as dumb blonde, so that often it feels more like cruel judgement than social commentary.

I could excuse all the wobbly morality of this if the novel wasn't so god damn boring.

[Forrest · Rating 2 out of 5]

Oates's novel brings Marilyn back to life for a mind-numbing 700+ pages, a Lazarus style resurrection so tedious that never have I been so ready for the main character in a novel to just pack it in and die already.

Oates is a talented writer. Fantastic, even. And yet...this book is flawed. Deeply flawed. For one, it is entirely too long. It's filled with sentences, paragraphs, and even whole chapters that add nothing to the book. They seem to exist solely for the purpose of Oates showing off her skill. Once or twice, this is fine; but it gets old, with the final third of the book flying completely off the rails. Do we really need a whole chapter about Marilyn Monroe and Marlon Brando going to a drag show to witness a drag performer impersonate Marilyn? Do we need a whole chapter about the backstory to "The Sharpshooter," who may be a real person but who also may just be a metaphor? Do we need an entire paragraph illustrating the similarities of JFK to Fidel Castro? I get it, Joyce. You've got some showy writer skillz that you wanna let loose on my ass. But being an adept writer only works if the substance does as well. Here, we get paragraphs of dazzling writing that, rather than leaving the reader exhilarated, instead leaves the reader exhausted. Don't waste my time showing me what you can do just for the hell of it. Waste my time showing me what you can do in a way that serves the purpose of your novel.

Additionally, I had an issue with Oates's characterization of Marilyn's mental state. I'm guessing that her portrayal of Marilyn as a woman who appears to only act when prodded by others plays into the idea that men, the film industry, hell, even the world, made Marilyn into an object onto which they projected their own desires, wishes, biases, etc. Of course Marilyn didn't have a cogent ego, because she existed only as a symbol for others. Marilyn, after all, wasn't even real; Norma Jean was. Cool, Psych 101, I get it, but Oates is never successful at tying this characterization to Marilyn's more public persona. Oates essentially portrays Marilyn as so childlike and psychologically fractured that it's a wonder she can even speak coherent sentences to other characters, much less that she could establish a career as THE actress of the 1950s. I get the idea that "Marilyn" was a character she played, but playing a character requires some sort of mental stability, some sort of purposefulness. When Oates has other people in the book recount their interactions with Marilyn, such as retelling a bawdy joke Marilyn told to them, I always thought "HOW?!?!" Perhaps Oates did this purposefully, but to me it feels sloppy. Characterization sacrificed for the purpose of "SAYING SOMETHING IMPORTANT."

The book (and, presumably, Oates) does show a great deal of respect and sympathy for Marilyn and her plight. Celebrity unfairly eclipsed Monroe's talent as an actress, and probably continues to do so to this day. But Oates's take on her life lacks cohesion and substance. She says at the beginning that those looking for a strict biography should look elsewhere. Fair, but in constructing her alternate reality, Oates should have at least given it a veneer of truth to ground the points she was trying to make.

[AnnaG · Rating 1 out of 5]

I don't like books that are fictionalised accounts of real people's lives as a general rule, so probably should have just given this book a miss, but I had heard great things about JCO's writing so wanted to give it a go. As a work of literature, it may be well written, but I was so distracted by how mean-spirited the whole work felt that I just can't give it credit even on that level.

I kept on thinking that this is a novel about real people who are either alive today or have family members that could read this, and yet all the characters came across to me as one-note, uniformly awful, with no real complexity to their motivations or good faith in their dealings with the world. Essentially, the story takes a giant dump on more or less everyone involved in the plot and so reads like a gossip rag.

I came out of it feeling as if I had just read a very sophisticated version of the National Enquirer.

[David Carrasco · Rating 5 out of 5]

¿Y si Marilyn Monroe nunca hubiera existido?

No hablo de la persona, de Norma Jeane, sino del mito. ¿Qué pasaría si desmontamos la fantasía de Hollywood y nos quedamos solo con la mujer, con su cuerpo y su alma despojadas de la leyenda? Joyce Carol Oates hace exactamente eso en Blonde, y el resultado no solo desgarra, sino que pone un espejo brutal ante nosotros: los consumidores de ídolos, los devoradores de estrellas caídas.

Olvídate de la típica biografía novelada. Blonde no es un reflejo fiel de la vida de Marilyn Monroe, sino una ficción literaria que usa su historia como un lienzo para pintar algo mucho más feroz. Oates nos sumerge en la vida de Norma Jeane Baker, la niña que se convirtió en el mayor símbolo sexual del siglo XX, pero lo hace desde dentro, con una voz íntima y desgarradora. No estamos ante la diosa de la pantalla, sino ante la mujer atrapada en su reflejo.

Pero, ¿es Blonde realmente una mirada inédita sobre Marilyn Monroe, o simplemente otra capa más sobre la tumba de un mito ya saturado? Hay algo curioso en la manera en que Joyce Carol Oates la presenta: no como una mujer real, sino como un concepto, casi como una ideología en sí misma. Porque esta no es una biografía que busca desvelar al ser humano detrás del icono. No. Oates no tiene interés en eso. Aquí Marilyn es un símbolo, una víctima construida desde el principio hasta el final, casi como una estatua de mármol en un museo, de esas que miramos y creemos conocer. Pero, si somos honestos, ¿cuánto realmente sabemos sobre ella? ¿La conocemos de verdad, o solo conocemos la imagen de una mujer que nunca pudo ser nada más que la "rubia tonta" en la que el mundo la encasilló?

”Su problema no residía en que fuera una rubia tonta, sino en que no era ni rubia ni tonta.”

Ahora bien, ¿está Oates aprovechándose de la figura de Marilyn para construir una historia sensacionalista o, por el contrario, está desnudando el mismo proceso de explotación al que fue sometida la estrella? Aquí es donde la novela toma un giro fascinante. Lo que parece ser una historia morbosa y llena de chismes es, en realidad, un espejo roto que refleja la superficialidad con la que tratamos a los iconos. Oates no se queda en la superficie; nos arrastra al mismo abismo en el que Marilyn fue atrapada. Y lo hace de manera tan astuta que, al final, te das cuenta de que el mito que estamos leyendo no es el de Marilyn Monroe, sino el nuestro. Porque, en nuestra obsesión por la tragedia, seguimos alimentando estos monstruos de culto.

Así que sí, Oates juega con el sensacionalismo, pero con una intención mucho más profunda: mostrarnos cuán fácil es caer en el mismo juego que condenamos. Y eso, amigos, es una crítica tan afilada como el cristal de un espejo que nunca deja de reflejarse.

Y luego están ellos, los hombres que orbitan alrededor de Norma Jeane como si fueran astros fijos en una constelación predestinada. El Exdeportista, El Dramaturgo, El Presidente. No son nombres, son títulos, porque en esta historia ellos también son símbolos, aunque todos sabemos a qué personaje de carne y hueso se refieren. Está el gran deportista que quería salvarla a golpes (Joe DiMaggio). Está el presidente que la usa y la olvida con la misma rapidez con la que la reduce a un susurro en una habitación de hotel (sí, JFK, hablo de ti). Está el escritor que intentó comprenderla (Arthur Miller). Y luego están los otros, los que sí tienen nombre: los hijos de Chaplin y de Edward G. Robinson, los jóvenes con los que jugó a encontrar el amor antes de saber que el amor nunca la encontraría a ella. Oates los moldea a todos como piezas de una tragedia griega, sin dejar espacio para héroes. Porque aquí no hay salvadores. Solo roles asignados en un guion que Norma Jeane nunca escribió.

Oates manipula la realidad y la ficción con una precisión despiadada. Aquí no hay una Marilyn Monroe, hay muchas: la niña abandonada, la aspirante temerosa, la amante desesperada, la actriz brillante que nunca fue tomada en serio, la mujer que aprendió a encarnar el deseo de los demás sin saber cómo desearse a sí misma. Lo que hace a la novela tan demoledora es que Oates no nos deja escapar con excusas como "así era la época" o "así funciona la fama". No. Blonde nos pone frente a nuestra propia culpa.

Porque si Marilyn Monroe existió, fue porque el mundo la necesitó. Y si dejó de existir, fue porque el mundo dejó de necesitarla.

La escritura de Oates en esta novela es febril, poética, inmisericorde. La estructura fragmentada no es un capricho: es el reflejo de una identidad rota. Pero no es solo Marilyn la que se deshace en pedazos aquí, también lo hace la narración misma. Hay momentos en los que la voz de Norma Jeane parece desvanecerse y, en su lugar, irrumpen otras voces con su propia versión de los hechos. Hombres que creen haberla entendido, que proyectan en ella lo que desean ver, que hablan por ella en un coro de ecos deformados. Es una historia contada como un sueño febril, un rompecabezas en el que siempre falta una pieza. Porque, al final, ¿quién tiene derecho a completar su historia? ¿Oates? ¿Nosotros? ¿Hollywood?

Leer Blonde es como ver una película que se derrite en la pantalla, que avanza y retrocede sin darnos el control del mando. Nos mete en la cabeza de Norma Jeane y nos obliga a vivir su confusión, su vértigo, la sensación de estar atrapada en un personaje que ya no puede abandonar. Pero no nos engañemos: aquí Hollywood no es solo un escenario, es un depredador. Es la gran bestia que se alimenta de cuerpos jóvenes y los escupe cuando han perdido su brillo.

”Yo no era una vagabunda ni una puta. Sin embargo, querían verme de ese modo. Supongo que no podían venderme de ninguna otra manera. Y yo entendía que tenían que venderme. Porque entonces me desearían y amarían.”

. La novela no deja dudas sobre el poder de la industria para fabricar ídolos, explotarlos y luego destruirlos con la misma indiferencia con la que cambia la cartelera. Y eso es lo más perturbador de todo: que la historia de Marilyn no es solo la historia de Marilyn. Es la historia de un sistema que sigue funcionando exactamente igual.

Sabemos cómo termina la historia. Pero Oates logra lo imposible: que el desenlace nos golpee como si no lo supiéramos. Porque cuando llegamos ahí, ya no estamos viendo a Marilyn Monroe. Estamos viendo a Norma Jeane. Y lo peor de todo es que, en el fondo, sabemos que nunca tuvimos la oportunidad de conocerla. No porque ella no quisiera mostrarse, sino porque nosotros nunca estuvimos dispuestos a mirar.

“La muerte no es más que la última escena del último acto. La estamos ensayando a todas horas”

¡Ah, que has visto la película de Blonde en Netflix con Ana de Armas! Y piensas que ya conoces la historia, ¿verdad? Bueno, déjame decirte algo: la novela de Joyce Carol Oates es un animal completamente diferente.

Mientras que la película ofrece una interpretación visual impactante, la novela te sumerge en la psique de Norma Jeane de una manera que ninguna pantalla puede capturar. Oates te lleva por un viaje literario que desentraña las múltiples capas de identidad, explotación y mito que rodearon a Marilyn Monroe. Es una experiencia íntima y desgarradora que te hace cuestionar todo lo que creías saber sobre este icono. Si la película te dejó con preguntas o ganas de más, la novela Blonde es la llave para profundizar en el verdadero laberinto que fue la vida de Norma Jeane. No te conformes con la superficie; adéntrate en las páginas y descubre la complejidad que solo la pluma de Oates puede ofrecer.

Así que, a estas alturas, seguramente te preguntarás: ¿vale la pena leer las casi 1.000 páginas de Blonde? Pues mira, sí, pero solo si estás dispuesto a dejarte sacudir. No es una lectura ligera ni amable. Es un puñetazo disfrazado de novela. Pero si alguna vez has sentido fascinación por la historia de Marilyn Monroe o por el lado oscuro del sueño americano, esta es una de las novelas más perturbadoramente hermosas que puedes leer.

Así que sí, Blonde vale la pena. Porque al final, aunque Marilyn Monroe nunca haya existido, Norma Jeane sí. Y aunque esta no sea su historia con precisión documental, es quizá la más verdadera en lo que realmente importa: el abismo emocional de una mujer atrapada en su propio reflejo.

[Kat · Rating 1 out of 5]

What a fucking horrible depiction of Marilyn Monroe's life. To this day, many people continue the objectification of a woman who had more depth than most ever will, and this fanfiction novelization of her life does little to combat that. What is the purpose of including so many crude and derogatory depictions of her? On the surface, you'd be hard-pressed to find someone that doesn't have a vague understanding of her role as a sex symbol, so why does this novel dehumanize her as much as it tries to sensationalize her? I'm baffled. I hated reading this, and honestly if it weren't for a reading challenge, I wouldn't have. If the Netflix version is anything like the novel, I likely won't watch past the first episode.

[Tanya · Rating 3 out of 5]

Blonde is an epic and fictionalized account of Marilyn Monroe's life—it was a finalist for both the Pulitzer Prize and National Book Award, and Oates herself has said that she expects this to be the novel for which she will ultimately be remembered.

At over 700 pages, Blonde is incredibly ambitious in both length and scope as it follows Monroe's tumultuous life, from early childhood to the inevitable death. Don't expect it to be completely biographically accurate, though: A massive amount of research went into it, but facts are distilled, and liberties were taken in order to best serve the narrative, thus blending fact and fiction, with important people often remaining unnamed (the husbands, for instance: The first is called by a different name, the two others by their profession, and many of her co-stars and lovers are similarly nameless, or only referred to by their initials). I can fully recognize the objective artistry that went into this novel, but my personal enjoyment didn't fully reflect it; it was an increasingly bleak, disturbing, voyeuristic (and as such, a sometimes counter-intuitively dehumanizing) read, which left me feeling somewhat conflicted, hence the average rating.

Just about everyone in the world is familiar with Marilyn Monroe, the iconic Hollywood product: But who really knows Norma Jeane Baker? I admit that I've only seen her in a tiny role in All About Eve, and for the big fame and myth surrounding her, I really knew close to nothing going in, so this novel was a revelation in more ways than one. Blonde is intense and grim from the beginning—Norma Jeane became a warden of the state and grew up in an orphanage and foster homes because her mentally ill mother had attempted to kill her—and it gets progressively worse, which made it a sad and exhausting book I had to take my time with. The writing is beautiful and ephemeral, but it reflects Marilyn's state of mind, and as she slowly descends into addiction and begins losing her grip on reality, the style becomes increasingly hallucinatory and dream-like.

"Erotic: meaning you're "desired".
For madness is seductive, sexy. Female madness.
So long as the female is reasonably young and attractive."

It's an elusive tour-de-force of a novel, and while I'm still not exactly sure if there was another, deeper meaning Oates wished to convey, Monroe's near-mythic life was perfect for exploring exploitation, femininity, and some of its archetypes in our culture. Blonde is divided into the relevant biographical sections: The Child, the Girl, the Woman, and finally Marilyn and the Afterlife. We begin with Norma Jeane, beautiful and naive dreamer; the "Child" section aptly ends with her first menstruation at the orphanage, marking her first loss of innocence, while at the end of the "Girl" section, her own name is erased and replaced by one with a more titillating alliteration, after being raped by a studio executive and being given her first film role in return. She's now Marilyn Monroe, her natural beauty painstakingly transformed into an artificial one, to be nothing more than a pin-up and sex goddess—this symbolic blonde is worshiped as the flawless, ideal image of white beauty, while still being despised as a dumb whore in film and society at large.

Norma/Marilyn is the poster child for the madonna/whore dichotomy, and what it means to live in a patriarchal society: Used, abused, at the very least misunderstood or abandoned by every man in her life. Blonde paints a harrowing speculative portrait of a smart (if naive), talented girl who desperately tried to balance her need for love to fill the hole left by an absent, unknown father with her need for respect as an artist, and tragically failed. She was prepared to bleed for her art in an industry more than willing to suck her dry, and the novel poses the question whether such cultural immortality is worth the price.

—————

Note: I received an ARC of the 20th anniversary edition of this book in exchange for an honest review.

[E · Rating 2 out of 5]

At 738 pages in a small font, this was a depressing slog from start to finish.

A purely biographical fiction, the first true fact you can be sure of, is that the beautiful human being that was born, " Norma Jeane Mortenson and baptized Norma Jeane Baker," became Marilyn Monroe.

The second true fact in this novel is that Marilyn Monroe died at the age of 36.

She was found dead in her Los Angeles home on August 4, 1962, and the official cause was ruled as acute barbiturate poisoning.

In this book, the author suggests that the overdose may have been accidental, suicidal, or even a murder. Wow...ok, what else is left?

There are miscarriages, abortions, rape, threesomes, marriages, divorces, and drug and alcohol addiction. Wow...
what's left.

Oh yes, Frank Sinatra gave her a little Maltese puppy called Mafia Honey. "Maf" for short. True fact..

Imho It would seem the author had to exaggerate to the 10th degree every human weakness she could think of and assign it to Marilyn. Throw it against the wall. It will stick.


This fictional thing goes on my crap book shelf, the spine facing backward.

[Federica Rampi · Rating 3 out of 5]

Joyce Carol Oates ha scritto su Marilyn un romanzo sfaccettato
Blonde va letto come un'opera di finzione, non come una biografia.
È una fiaba infelice, tra finzione biografica e affresco storico.

Blonde è la storia di una donna a cui fin dall'inizio non è stata data possibilità di diventare se stessa.
Della vita di Marilyn si conosce quasi tutto , comprese le speculazioni sulla sua morte e nel libro di Joyce Carol Oates non ci sono rivelazioni o nuove “teorie “
Sin dal principio si sa come la storia andrà a finire, la sensazione di sconfitta e tragedia serpeggia inevitabilmente subito

“E giunse la Morte correndo a perdifiato verso di lei eppure le riusciva impossibile capire in che forma e quando.”

In questo voluminoso lavoro, l’autrice cerca di spiegare la vita di Marilyn Monroe, una creatura ferita che non ha potuto essere curata nemmeno attraverso l'amore di milioni di fan

Norma Jeane è una ragazza povera, orfana e non amata
Da quel 3 agosto 1962, molti sono stati i tentativi per delineare la sua storia : una bambina abbandonata e sola senza un punto d'appoggio nella vita, una madre mentalmente instabile, un padre sconosciuto, la famiglia affidataria, una carriera forse troppo brillante, droga, abusi, matrimoni infelici, aborti e calunnie.

Tutto quello che aveva Norma Jeane era il suo aspetto fisico e presto gli uomini ne scoprono il potenziale.
È un prodotto su cui possono fare soldi.
Creata e consumata in breve tempo, sfruttata sessualmente e trattata come una bambola.
Perché Marilyn incarna il sogno, sarà il sex symbol più famoso della storia, ambita quanto disprezzata, ammirata, amata quanto odiata .
Ma Norma Jeane non si è mai identificata nella “stupida bionda” con la voce da bambina , le labbra dipinte di rosso e la gonna bianca.
Norma Jean è stata dimenticata. “Il suo problema non era di essere una bionda svampita, bensì di non essere né bionda né svampita.”

Da perfezionista alla ricerca dell'amore, si trasforma in un'ombra persa dal suo sé originale, ossessionata dalla paura di essere rifiutata.
Contraddittoria, lacerata ed estremamente vulnerabile, Marilyn ama stare al centro dell’attenzione ma nello stesso tempo è ossessionata dal non essere mai presa sul serio, di essere ricordata solo come la “bionda strepitosa “, senza rispetto

Della scrittura sicuramente bellissima della Oates, su cui nulla c’è da dire, mi è rimasto difficile restare in equilibrio tra finzione e realtà. Molte parti sono coerenti con ciò che è realmente accaduto nella vita della Monroe, altre sono state interpretate o distorte.
Il prendersi la libertà di raccontare come si sentiva , di entrare nella sua psiche o di metterle in bocca certe parole, mi ha lasciata un po’ perplessa, come se il confine tra ciò che è giusto e lecito raccontare fosse un po’ confuso. 
Ma l’interpretazione biografica è anche questo

Alla fine del libro, si rimane con l'idea che nessuno conoscesse davvero la donna, che Marilyn Monroe fosse un’illusione, una parte in più che doveva interpretare e che pochi, pochissimi, abbiano davvero capito la vera anima di Norma Jeane.

[S Suzanne · Rating 5 out of 5]

I think this may be JCO's masterwork. I would recommend to anyone with an appetite for long and literary books. It is typically darker than perhaps reality, given JCO's penchant for the dark side of things. So take that as a warning, Marilyn fans: this is her life through a glass darkly to be sure.

After hearing some of the more recent accusations/accounts about JFK, it makes one lean toward JCO's dark lens on that particular relation. (Pages have come forward that they were made to service him, and there are accounts that he cheated on Jackie on thier honeymoon - so much for Camelot. Sounds like he was a nightmare not to be believed toward women).

Agree with others that this shines a light on troubles of women for a generation and beyond...and also agree with others that you must remember this is fiction - well -researched, but fiction nonetheless.

I feel like JCO tapped into a lot of uncanny truth here, though. She is one of the most amazing living authors in my opinion.

[María Carpio · Rating 4 out of 5]

La superficialidad más profunda es la de Marilyn. Pero no la de la persona -a la que nunca conoceremos- sino la de nosotros mismos vistos a través de la construcción del icono y nuestra respuesta hacia él. Es lo que ella representa y lo que su imagen abrió al mundo, lo que determina su cualidad mitificada. Marilyn abrió una nueva época. La cultura de masas, la cultura pop. Luego vendrían Elvis, Los Beatles… y desde ahí, todo ha sido un poco una repetición de lo mismo. Marilyn es hija de ese mini-renacimiento de la posguerra, del esplendor de la cultura occidental y el consumo. Marilyn fue el primer "usa y descarta" que se usó pero nunca se descartó y por eso ascendió al Olimpo del mito. Allí, en donde solo una muerte temprana puede transformar un objeto de consumo en una deidad inmortal.

No. De esto no habla Joyce Carol Oates en esta novela de más de mil páginas. Al menos no en su literalidad. Lo hace de una manera sutil y literaria, muy al estilo norteamericano (largas escenas y abundantes descripciones), pero hace un juego interesante del que nos pone en aviso desde el prólogo: una ficción sobre la ficción. Y es que Marilyn, al ser un personaje creado por directivos y productores hollywoodenses, ya es una primera invención. La segunda es la que hace Oates, quien toma los hitos más importantes de su vida y los ficciona desde un lugar muy íntimo, como quien abre tajos en la carne con sus propias manos, en busca del corazón que late. Y adentro, algo inaprensible, como un vaho liviano que sale expelido como una leve exhalación. Así se siente esta novela. Así se siente llegar al final de esta novela. Asistimos al último aliento de Marylin, que ya en este punto es el lugar en el que se encuentran dos ficciones que se funden en un mismo plano y prácticamente no hay diferencia alguna.

Pero antes de que suceda esto, hay algunos recursos narrativos que no convencen del todo o quizás se trate del punto de vista reivindicativo y a la vez martirológico que Oates le imprime a la novela. Durante la primera mitad, talvez, hay muchas escenas que resultan exageradas y otras son interpretaciones de sucesos que están muy basados en una visión contemporánea de la mujer y, a la vez, son autocompasivos y están en constante búsqueda de conmiseración, al usar la crítica hacia machismos y actitudes sexistas atávicas como un recurso acusador (a nosotros mismos, a la sociedad en general) que por momentos roza lo sensiblero. Sin embargo, pese a todo esto, Oates ha construido un personaje complejo y profundo que es una representación perfecta de la mujer esponja, la mujer pantalla, que fue M.M.

Yo también soy parte de esa multitud depredadora que consumió a Marylin ya como deidad. Conozco todas sus películas y su vida, por lo que esta novela sin duda, es un caramelo (duro, pero caramelo al fin). Todos hemos sido fisgones de su vida y Joyce Carol Oates nos lo hace notar con dureza, pero también con mucha belleza y poesía. Finalmente, ese 'je ne sais quoi' de Marilyn que resulta inexplicable en su superficie -pues mujeres hermosas en Hollywood hubo y hay por montones- es lo que Oates trata de explicar, o mejor, de hacérnoslo sentir en esta novela. Hay una mezcla de voluntad colectiva que viene con el inicio de un nuevo tiempo, uno en el que la construcción del ideal femenino pasaba por la destrucción del recato tradicional, porque era necesario hacerlo. No era suficiente con desaparecer el recato, había que transformarlo en un bien consumible, pero en un bien idealizado que el dinero no podía comprar. Aquí anoto una idea: una prostituta se puede comprar, por lo que hay un cambio de estatus en el deseo masculino representado desde la cultura de masas. Marilyn no era ni representaba a una prostituta (aunque en el libro se repite intencionalmente que parece y viste como una puta). Lo cierto es que hay un cambio de paradigma en la imagen y el rol de la mujer, y Marilyn es quien inaugura este nuevo paradigma que venía dando atisbos desde hace décadas atrás. Los cambios sociales y económicos derivados de la Revolución Industrial, las posteriores guerras y el acelerado movimiento social y cultural venido después de la Segunda Guerra Mundial, generaron una necesidad de cambiar el rol de la mujer. No voy a dar una cátedra de historia social (he escrito un ensayo sobre este tema) pero la idea es que surge la necesidad de asociar el amor romántico al matrimonio (en el siglo XIX se afinca, pero aún está vetado el placer carnal) y en el siglo XX, especialmente a partir de la segunda mitad, esa intención de unir amor romántico y matrimonio se transforma en la necesidad de añadir el placer sexual a la ecuación. Me refiero a la exploración sexual dentro del matrimonio, que durante siglos estuvo limitada a un mero acto reproductivo que repudiaba al placer femenino. Hasta entrado el Siglo XX, el conocimiento y acceso al placer estaba exclusivamente destinado a las prostitutas. ¿Qué pasa entonces en el siglo XX? En resumen, la entrada del Capitalismo productivista en Occidente, el comienzo de la sociedad de consumo y el cambio que ello trajo dentro de los núcleos productivos y la familia, hizo que se reestructuren los roles masculinos y femeninos. Era necesaria la participación de la mujer en la rueda de la producción y con ello, la conquista de espacios más allá de lo doméstico y la consecución de derechos básicos como el voto, la educación, el trabajo… y la sexualidad. En un campo aún dominado por las proyecciones masculinas, hay una necesidad estética que toma un préstamo de la estética de lo que hasta ese entonces era una prostituta. Ahora una novia, una esposa, también podían ser objeto de deseo. Debían ser objeto de deseo. Marilyn encarnó a esa nueva mujer. A Marilyn Monroe se la llamó prostituta, porque para el imaginario de la época su forma de vestir, maquillarse y moverse eran eso. Pero su imagen -aun inventada por el deseo y la necesidad masculina- abrió una brecha estético-simbólica en la que precisamente esa forma de verse/vestirse ya no correspondería al de la puta sino a ese anhelo otrora idealizado que ahora podía estar a la vuelta de la esquina. Marilyn era Norma Jean, la chica de al lado. Esa dualidad es lo que remueve con tanta fuerza. La seudo-huérfana, la mujer desvalida que revolucionó una estética que en realidad es un ethos y un cambio biopolítico, y por eso tiene tanta resonancia cultural. Finalmente, todas las mujeres contemporáneas somos herederas de esa Marilyn. Y todos los estereotipos y cánones de belleza actuales son herederos de esos que "ella" (mejor dicho, su imagen) implantó en la mente del espectador/consumidor. Mismos que hoy luego de sesenta años se empiezan a cuestionar porque, nuevamente, estamos camino hacia un nuevo paradigma, pero ese es otro tema. Es verdad que ya hubo antes en el cine mujeres con imágenes poderosas y con el mismo préstamo de la estética de la prostituta, pero todas -o la mayoría- estaban retratadas como vamps o femmes fatales (vampiresas come hombres), mientras que Marilyn era una mezcla de sensualidad, inocencia y picardía, lo cual paradójicamente la bajaba del pedestal; además de que por una conjunción espacio-temporal, la historia la acompañó: las demás aparecieron en los períodos de guerras o entreguerras, en los que la Cultura estaba en un momento de parálisis, por lo que no existían apuestas a futuro, todo era inestable, sobre todo la Economía.

Lo analizado arriba es a vuelo de pájaro porque este no es un ensayo sociológico sino la reseña de un libro, pero consideré pertinente explicar por qué creo que la figura de Marilyn representa algo muy crucial en nuestra evolución como sociedad contemporánea, y el por qué nos identificamos tanto con ella. Y aquí pongo otra causa de esa identificación. La historia de Norma Jean es la paradoja del sueño americano (que se devora a sí mismo): niña abandonada por el padre, con madre esquizofrénica, peloteada entre orfanatos y hogares de acogida, casada por voluntad de otros a los quince años, que triunfa por su belleza maleable al deseo de los otros, y que muere absorbida por su propio monstruo. El ciclo de vida de Marilyn es el de la heroína trágica, ella cumple un arquetipo básico que llevamos inserto en el inconsciente desde que existe la Cultura (o desde que existe la lengua y la capacidad de abstracción). La heroína que está llena de dones y todo lo que hace es dar, dar de sí, darse por completo a los demás. Dejar que la fagociten y así vivir a través de los otros. Es la metáfora de la Gran Madre, la gran paridora. Marilyn no tuvo hijos, pero en este sentido figurado/simbólico, ella nos parió a todos, seres de la sociedad de consumo. Ella es el símbolo de esa mater que se deja devorar viva, porque si ya no tiene nada que dar, entrega su cuerpo. Y esto no es un delirio mío, es una reflexión que me ha surgido luego de leer Blonde y de ver su última película, The misfits (Vidas rebeldes), cuyo papel fue completamente basado en ella y escrito para ella por su entonces marido, el dramaturgo Arthur Miller. Bueno, en ese filme, el personaje de Marilyn es justamente esa mujer que se deja fagocitar -como esa Gran Madre salvadora- por el resto de desangelados personajes.

(Curiosamente Miller en esta novela es retratado como el amante más abnegado de Monroe, casi un pobre enamorado que vive para servir a su mujer y que es abandonado por ella. Jamás una cualidad negativa, a diferencia de cuando describe al resto de maridos/amantes, lo cual me deja qué pensar, aunque Oates haya dicho que todo era ficción, la cuestión es que todos los personajes que usa existieron, y la línea cronológica y de la historia que narra son reales. El propio Miller no se refirió en buenos términos a Marilyn, escribió dos obras sobre ella en las que la retrata de forma patética, y aunque ambos se fueron infieles mutuamente, él se enamoró y empezó una relación con una fotógrafa con la que al poco tiempo se casó, durante el rodaje de The Misfits, cosa que devastó a Marylin. Pero de esto no habla Oates, lo cual no hace más que parecerme sumamente extraño, y para ello tengo dos hipótesis. La primera: era su amiga o no quiso ofender a Miller que para cuando se publicó esta novela aún estaba vivo. La segunda: quiso darle un giro irónico al personaje de Miller al convertirlo en el opuesto exacto de lo que en realidad era. Según el escritor Norman Mailer, Arthur Miller era un oportunista al aprovecharse de la fama de su esposa para escribir The misfits, y dijo de él que era "ambicioso, limitado y mezquino").

Por último, espero con ansia la adaptación cinematográfica de esta novela que se estrena en poco tiempo. Recomendada para quienes gusten de las novelas largas y/o les interese la figura de Marilyn Monroe.

[Patricija || book.duo · Rating 4 out of 5]

„All dead birds are female. There is something female about being dead.“

4/5

Didysis amerikietiškasis feministinis romanas. Ir akcentą galima dėti ant kiekvieno iš šių žodžių. Jei manėte, kad Mažas gyvenimas yra skaudžiausia, ką kada nors skaitėte, metu jums Blonde iššūkį. Nes su kiekvienu tiksliu, apskaičiuotu, preciziškai pamatuotu žodžiu, autorė pjauna iki pat atviro nervo. Ir primena: o čia dar tikra istorija. Tikra moteris. Tikra patirtis. Tikra mirtis. Čia pati tikriausia išdavystė, kiekviename žingsnyje – išduota motinos, tėvo, globėjų, savo pačios kūno, vyrų – vėl, vėl ir vėl. Net negalima sakyti, kad tik pastarieji čia didžiausi demonai – visi vienodai kalti. Vienodai išnaudojo, vienodai suko akis, vienodai juokėsi ir šaipėsi, žemino ir niekino, aukštino tik tam, kad kelias žemyn būtų kuo ilgesnis.

„For madness is seductive, sexy. Female madness. So long as the female is reasonably young and attractive.“

Jeigu ant knygos reikėtų dėti trigger warning, tai tikriausiai užimtų neblogą gabalą viršelio. Prievarta, narkotikai, smurtas, pornografija, karas, alkoholis, baisus elgesys su vaikais. Tiesiog baisus elgesys. Mažai knygoje šviesos blyksnių – net laimės akimirkos atrodo netikros, su baimės nuojauta pašonėje. O pasakojimo stilius, toks dažnai išlaikantis atstumą, tarsi pro stiklą žiūrėtum į vykstančią katastrofą, skaudina tik dar labiau. Jis beveik faktinis, publicistinis. Su tokiais poetiniais intarpais, suteikiant MM tokį protą ir tokį gylį, tokį įvairialypumą ir tokį vis bandomą sutraiškyti trapumą, kad širdis dūžta vis iš naujo. Spėji save nuo grindų susirinkti ir JCO primena, kur tavo vieta. Nelieka knygoje šventų – įskaitant ir pačią MM, net jei ji praeina visą kiekvienos save gerbiančios moters garbės ratuką: nekaltoji, žmona, motina, kekšė, šventoji. Ir jei jaučiate kažkokius šiltus jausmus bet kam, kas figūravo MM gyvenime, pavyzdžiui JFK – gali tekti karčią piliulę nuryti. Bet čia tokių ir šiaip daug.

Tai kodėl tik 4*, jeigu čia TOKS romanas? Tik dėl jo dydžio. JCO rašo nuostabiai, pagaviai, bet dažnai nuklysta į tolius, kurie mano akimis knygai neprideda papildomos gelmės. Ji ir taip gili, ir taip baisi, ir taip paveiki, bet jaučiausi skęstanti – ne tik emocijose, bet ir informacijoje. Suprantu, kad buvo norima sutalpinti VISKĄ, visas metaforas ir visus simbolius, visus lūžius ir visus skausmus, nepalikti nuošalėje jokios nuoskaudos, tačiau vietomis atrodė, kad JCO tik kataloguoja įvykius, užsižaidžia su pasakojimo forma. Visgi, nė akimirkai neatbukau prieš aprašomą siaubą – o atbukti lengva, kai kapoji 740 puslapių. Tačiau tai paminklas, kurio nusipelnė. Ne Marilyn Monroe, ne. Bet Norma Jeane Baker. Tik gaila, kad kaip dažnai nutinka, visgi susigriebiam mylėti, gerbti ir girdėti per vėlai. O čia vėluojam dešimtmečiais. Bet geriau, nei niekada?

P.S. dideliausią Jos pajautimą galima priskirti dar dešimtmetį iki knygos parašytai „Candle in the wind“. Beskaitant vis skambėjo man galvoje. Iki skausmo tiksli.

[Alma · Rating 5 out of 5]

Com filme na Netflix

********
“Não te esqueças, Norma Jeane: «morre na altura certa.»”

“«Um coração só é igual». A voz da rapariga entoando estas palavras. «Um coração só é igual é como uma pedra tal.» Ouviríamos estas palavras toda a vida, todos os que nos encontrávamos na sala naquela noite.
Novembro de 1951. Há muito tempo. Meu Deus! Nem é bom pensar como somos poucos os que ainda estamos vivos neste momento.”

“Em todas as décadas tem de haver uma Princesa Encantada acima de toda a gente e exige-se dela não só dotes físicos extraordinários como um génio correspondente (…) Porém, olhando para qualquer espelho, não via a Princesa Encantada que o mundo via e admirava mas a Velha Mendiga. (…) Mas não sabia como, era agora a Princesa Encantada.”

“O objectivo do teatro é despedaçar o coração e não distrair. A televisão e os jornais são distracções. O objectivo do teatro é transformar o espectador. Se não consegues transformar o espectador, desiste. O objectivo do teatro – Aristóteles disse-o primeiro e melhor do que eu – é despertar uma emoção profunda no espectador e provocar a catarse da alma através deste despertar. Quando não há catarse não há teatro.”

“Quando a conhecesse melhor, o Dramaturgo ficaria espantado ao ver que a Actriz Loura raramente era reconhecida quando não queria sê-lo, pois «Marilyn Monroe» era apenas um dos seus papéis e nem por isso aquele de que mais gostava.”

“Perguntariam vezes sem conta a W como fora trabalhar com Monroe nesta última fase da sua breve carreira, e W diria simplesmente: «Na vida, a Monroe era um inferno e vivia num inferno; na tela, divina. Não havia relação. O mistério era só este.»”

“«“Marilyn Monroe” não é alguém que se esqueça facilmente.»”

“Sem dúvida que Monroe era única.”

“«Depois de eu morrer, o Brando não deu entrevistas sobre mim. Entre os chacais de Hollywood, foi o único.»”

[Ken · Rating 4 out of 5]

Obviously it was the Netflix movie that made me want to read this novel and it was actually quite apparent early on how little I actually knew of Norma Jeane/Marilyn.

I definitely still intend to watch the adaptation and at the same token should try and find some of Monroe's own movies to watch.
As at this point I've only seen two.

It's quite clear that even in this fictional portrayal of the film star that she had a troubled life.
One aspect that stands out is how the industry uses their stars to such an extent that it becomes to shocking to really comprehend.

I'd also not realised the body of work that Carol Oates had written up until this point and I found her style quite addictive (though the subject matter slightly helped!).
The level of detail in some of the crude aspects of the novel did feel a little excessive but I guess that's the point.

At many times I found myself looking up to see if what she'd put was true and went down a few rabbit holes on YouTube.

There's no getting away from the books length and whilst I was enjoying (?) it, at times it felt a little long.
Certainly a fascinating if not heartbreaking read, I'm glad that Netflix had decided to make it and Marilyn's star power still has people interested in her to this day.