After Marilyn Monroe's death, it might have been expected that a vast cult would develop, necrophilic and worshipful, similar to the one that lengthened the notoriety of James Dean. But the cult of Marilyn has turned out to be more esoteric. Her memory is tended by the somewhat-intellectuals. And the theme of their compassionate communions is a touching waif who was destroyed by a cruel world she never made.
Painters have abstracted her. Minor poets have done minor poems about her. In the current Harper's, Penelope Gilliatt, wife of Playwright John Osborne, moons...
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