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Book Review: Misfit by Adam Braver

Misfit by Adam Braver (Tin House Books; 304 pages; $15.95).


            Marilyn Monroe was not born; she was the creation of both Norma Jean Baker and Hollywood.  Marilyn became one of the most iconic figures of all time yet possessed a fragile, insecure psyche.  Adam Braver’s novel Misfit explores key moments of Marilyn’s past and how they shaped her and, ultimately, how they destroyed her.  Braver’s story is a character study of the twentieth century’s most prolific sex symbol who saw herself as a misfit.  Braver shows that Marilyn should have won Best Actress for starring in the role of a lifetime—playing Marilyn Monroe.


Misfit, Braver says, “should not be read as a biography, or as a record of actual events.”  Instead, it is a work of fiction, “meant to examine a struggle for identity in a very public world, and the rewards and pitfalls of conforming to meet others’ expectations.”

Braver concentrates on the last weekend of Marilyn’s life: the two days she spent at Frank Sinatra’s resort on the border between California and Nevada, the Cal Neva Lodge.  In a series of flashbacks, Braver illustrates the moments that defined her.  His novel combines fact with fiction to help us better understand both the woman and the myth.


Even as a young girl, Braver maintains, Norma Jean felt like a misfit.  After her mentally unstable mother, Gladys, was institutionalized, Norma Jean was passed around from relative to relative and from orphanage to orphanage.  Sexual abuse occurred at a young age.  Norma Jean clung to the image of Clark Gable, an ideal man, surely a gentleman.  But Gable was a fantasy.  No wonder that she married twenty-one-year-old aircraft plant worker Jim Dougherty at the tender age of sixteen.  Norma Jean longed for a distraction, and she thought marriage to Jim could provide a means to escape her life.


While married to Jim, Norma Jean first slipped into the role of Marilyn Monroe.  In 1945, Norma Jean worked at Timm Aircraft plant at Metropolitan Airport in Van Nuys, California.  Norma Jean is so desperate to be liked and to be noticed that when she tells her fellow workers, mostly women, about herself, “her stories don’t always match.”  At the plant, she does not stand out.  She is just another woman working outside the home to support the war effort.


One day, though, her life changes.  Captain Ronald Reagan arranges for a spread of pretty girls working on airplane fuselages to appear in Yank magazine.  “That kind of story is sure to raise morale.”  The photographer, a young army private, starts snapping photographs of the women.  He gets to Norma Jean.


“Then,” Braver writes, “something curious happens.  The private snaps a photo of her.  And then he snaps another.”  He is transfixed by her.  “Not only does he stop moving down the line, it’s as though he’s been walled off.  He drops his bag to the floor and kicks it forward; his legs go into a horseback-riding stance, and he brings the camera up to his face with both hands and starts clicking.”  He takes “one picture after the next.”


Under the photographer’s attention, Norma Jean becomes someone else.  “It’s like her bones have settled into something more solid,” Braver writes.  “Her walk is poised.”  The male workers “take notice like something around her is all sexed up.”  The little girl look vanishes, “leaving a womanly confidence that is at once stunning, alluring, and a little frightening.”  It is as if Norma Jean has “grown a little larger.”  Those around her stare.  Norma Jean is not Norma Jean anymore.  She has become Marilyn Monroe.


And so it began.  Later, more and more photos appeared in magazines.  She eventually divorced Jim and went on to make movies.  Marriages and divorces to Joe DiMaggio and Arthur Miller soon followed.  Both men had an image of her that she just could not live up to.  DiMaggio wanted her to be a housewife and perhaps mother.  Miller wanted her to be an intellectual.  She tried and moved to New York with him.  Marilyn studied at the Actors Studio, but she still felt objectified and inadequate.  In her eyes, she was always less than.


In Braver’s story, we see the enormous amount of work it took for Marilyn to be Marilyn.  She could be anything or anybody, but her role took preparation.  Often, she did what she thought people expected her to do.  For example, while filming The Misfits, the movie Miller wrote for Marilyn, she was late for scenes.  She was also popping pills.  She played the diva, but it was not a natural role for her.  She spent most of her time not preparing for her parts in films but preparing for her role as Marilyn.  Sometimes it was frustrating for her, especially when the men in her life wanted her to be someone she did not want to be.


The most dependable man in Marilyn’s life, Braver implies, was Frank Sinatra.  Sinatra accepted Marilyn for who she was.  As Braver writes, Sinatra was the “one solid thing for her.”  If you are hoping to find a flashback that explores Marilyn’s relationship with President John F. Kennedy and his brother Robert F. Kennedy, you will be disappointed.  Braver avoids mentioning any kind of relationship between Marilyn and the Kennedy brothers in Misfit, which is a real shame.  While such allegations can be controversial, ignoring them leaves a hole in this novel.  The Kennedy brothers, surely, shaped her just as much as the other men in her life.  Braver seems to be avoiding controversy by ignoring this subject.  Their inclusion would have made a good book an even better one.


During that weekend, Sinatra saw how fragile Marilyn was.  He ordered her to “pack her bags and go home.”  But even he could see she was spiraling out of control from alcohol and drugs.


The weekend she spent at Sinatra’s resort was the last weekend of her life.  On August 5, 1962, Marilyn was found dead, naked in her bed, by her psychiatrist.  The coroner ruled it a probable suicide.  In the 1967 film Valley of the Dolls, Sharon Tate played the pill-popping actress Jennifer North.  Upon learning she has breast cancer, Jennifer overdoses on sleeping pills.  Before she dies, Jennifer says bitterly, “All I have is a body.”  Marilyn could relate.


As Braver writes, the embalming fluid caused Marilyn’s breast tissue to deflate, making her chest “flat as a twelve-year-old boy.”  Mary, a co-owner of the mortuary where her body rests, is horrified.  “I can’t send her out like this,” Mary cries.  “Not in front of Mr. DiMaggio.  Or her family.”  So Mary sets out to recreate Marilyn Monroe.  She gathers all the cotton she can find from the supply cabinet and fills Marilyn’s bosom with handfuls of cotton.  “Now that looks like Marilyn Monroe,” Mary affirms.  The embalmer initially thought it would make her body look freakish, but he is astounded as the cotton “makes her look strangely more lifelike…”  The embalmer cannot help but think of DiMaggio and how he will feel as he looks at Marilyn for the last time.


DiMaggio, the embalmer believes, will be pleased with how good Marilyn looks.  He thinks of what will go through former baseball star’s head as he looks at his former wife.  DiMaggio, the embalmer thinks, will blame her death on Hollywood.  He “can’t help but suspect that this version of her actually is the one Mr. DiMaggio wants to remember, and that has got to be a killer because it means he, Joe DiMaggio, is a part of it too.”


At the end, Marilyn is just a body.  To a lot of people, though, that is all she ever was.  But Marilyn was much more complicated than that.  Fact or fiction or something in between, Braver’s Misfit is fascinating.  When Marilyn exits stage left, you will be on your feet shouting “Bravo!”






Filed under book review, books, fiction

Book Review: Some Kind of Fairy Tale by Graham Joyce

Some Kind of Fairy Tale by Graham Joyce (Doubleday; 352 pages; $24.95).


            Magic and superstition govern some places like gravity presides over the universe.  Without one, the other would not exist.  Take the prehistoric monument of Stonehenge, for example.  Many scholars view it as an ancient burial ground, yet myths and Druidic folklore surround the spot, alluding to Stonehenge as a calendar or site of ancestor worship.  Take the house where Lord Voldemort murdered Harry Potter’s parents and tried to do the same thing to Harry.  This might be a fictional example, but it is significant.  The house, even years after the incident, was marked by what it had witnessed.  That is some strong gris-gris.


The same is true for a wooded area in central England in Graham Joyce’s novel Some Kind of Fairy Tale.  Locals are wary of the place they call the “Outwoods.”  “All I’m saying is that you wouldn’t get me to walk up there.  No.  Wouldn’t go near the place,” one says.  “There are powers.”  “That place lies on a fault,” they say.


Twenty years ago, a teenage girl disappeared in the “enchanted” woods.  Local authorities never solved the case and cast blame on the girl’s boyfriend, who staunchly maintained his innocence.


Then, out of the blue, Tara, the missing girl, shows up on her parents’ doorstep.  Her brother, Peter, is summoned.  The news throws him for a loop.  He, more than anyone else, is determined to solve the mystery: Where has Tara been and what happened to her?


It will not be easy.  The main problem is Tara herself.  She is supposed to be 36 years old but could pass for a young woman of 20.  Light hurts her eyes so she constantly wears dark glasses.  She smells of patchouli oil and wears hippie-type clothing.  When asked where she has been all this time, Tara initially tells her family that she has traveled all around the world.  That explanation does not sit well with any of them.  Finally, Tara tells Peter the truth, or at least her version of it.


She met a man, a fairy, in the “Outwoods,” who took her to his home.  Hiero (pronounced “Yarrow”) beguiled and bedeviled her.  She spent six months with him and came home as soon as she could.  However, six months in his world was actually twenty years in the real world.  Is Tara crazy?  Where has she been really?  What is truth and what is fantasy?


Tara insists on the veracity of her story.  “There is a veil to this world, thin as smoke, and it draws back occasionally and when it does we can see incredible things,” she confesses.  Her old boyfriend, Richie, asks the question we would ask her if we could: “Are you doped?  Are you damaged?  Are you just playing?”


Peter and his wife urge Tara to see a doctor.  Her sessions with Dr. Vivian Underwood are among Joyce’s best and most compelling passages.  He uncovers holes in Tara’s story and offers an alternative explanation for her disappearance and what has happened to her.  His take on Tara is fascinating.


Joyce reveals that Tara is not the only person in her small town to supposedly have been stolen away by fairies.  A similar thing happened to Peter’s neighbor, Mrs. Larwood.  In the 1950s, when she told people her story, everyone thought she was insane.  Her doctor gave her electric shock treatments.  Her account is eerily similar to Tara’s.  Are they both lying?


In a brilliant subplot, Peter’s son, Jack, mistakenly kills Mrs. Larwood’s cat.  A guilty Jack sets out to put flyers around the neighborhood to assuage his culpability.  An idea forms in his head.  He will dig up the dead cat he buried, take the cat’s collar, and then find a substitute cat from a local shelter.  He will merely replace the dead cat with one that resembles Mrs. Larwood’s deceased pet.  Her eyesight is bad, Jack thinks, so maybe she will not notice.


In Some Kind of Fairy Tale, the line between fantasy and reality is very thin.  If you have read any of Joyce’s previous work, then you know this is his forte.  The Silent Land is still my favorite of his novels.  In the book, a husband and wife get caught in an avalanche in the Alps.  Upon their return to their hotel, they find not a soul there.  In fact, the whole town is deserted, and they cannot make it past a certain point.  It is if an invisible barrier holds them back.  It is as if they are the only two people left in the world.  Joyce is well-known for producing psychological thrillers.  He knows how to keep readers guessing and how to keep them reading.


Joyce also knows the impact that shifting perspectives have on the reader.  He alternates between third and first person in telling the story.  This technique is especially powerful when Tara tells us herself of her experience.  Speaking in the first-person, Tara describes her ordeal and we listen, rapt, as she gives us an intimate account.  Joyce also does this with Richie to show his inner-most feeling and how he is coping with Tara’s return.  Her re-appearance brings big changes, some welcome but some unwelcome to Richie’s life.


Unlike The Silent Land, Joyce grounds Some Kind of Fairy Tale in history and folklore.  In Great Britain and in Ireland, many people believe in “changelings.”  A changeling is a spirit or fairy who is substituted for a loved one; the changeling takes the place of the real person.  Joyce prefaces his chapters with quotes, rhymes, and poems about fairies.  Bridget Cleary’s story, though, affects me the most.

In 1895, Bridget and Michael Clearly lived in Tipperary, Ireland.  Bridget, a seamstress, fell ill.  Michael, a cooper, did not believe the sick woman in his bed was his wife.  Close friends concurred with Michael.  They believed a changeling had taken the place of Bridget and they had to somehow force the spirit to leave Bridget’s body.  Michael and the others set Bridget on fire and threw urine on her.  She died.  The killers were put on trial and served only a small amount of time in jail.  The murder inspired a children’s rhyme:


“Are you a witch?

Are you a fairy?

Are you the wife

Of Michael Cleary?”

—Children’s rhyme from Southern Tipperary, Ireland


Bridget’s story and other quotes Joyce uses in the book illuminate how superstitious some people really are, despite the fact we live in 2012.  Tara may be kooky.  But if she’s simply crazy, why does such stigma surround the Outwoods?  And who is the mysterious man who keeps beating Richie up?  Do his painful migraines have anything to do with Tara’s return?  And just who is the man Peter finds talking to his teenage daughter?  The man who high-steps it once he sees Peter?


Joyce answers many of these questions in Some Kind of Fairy Tale, but others remain a mystery.  Some Kind of Fairy Tale might be too fanciful for some.  The same goes for those who like their stories to end neatly and decisively.  But if you long for a good yarn, Joyce’s tale will surely enchant you and make you wonder about the hold some places have over us all.



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Filed under book review, books, fiction, history