I've been reading the new book Fragments: Poems, Intimate Notes, Letters by Marilyn Monroe and it is pretty heartbreaking to look at at times...It's clear from the photocopies of her original handwritten notes (with the typeset versions on the opposite side) that her mind was a very crowded place and that she felt and thought about things far more deeply than even a die-hard fan could have ever imagined.
Reading her private thoughts feels invasive...like I should look away. And like there's also this inexplicable wish that someone special and sincere in her life could have been able to truly understand and protect her...see that she wanted to be far more than just a dumb blond. (An interviewer supposedly laughed at her when she said she would love to play the part of Grushenka from The Brothers Karamazov.)
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