Review: 'The Last Days of Marilyn Monroe' by James Patterson and Imogen Edwards-Jones

For reasons that still elude me, I find myself enchanted by the enigmatic figure of Marilyn Monroe, the iconic blonde bombshell who left an indelible mark on Hollywood before her tragic demise at just 36. It’s not merely the unanswered questions surrounding her supposed overdose that intrigue me; instead, it’s her undeniable talent that drew my attention. Films like Don’t Bother to Knock (1952), Niagara (1953), River of No Return (1954), and The Misfits (1961)—her last completed film—showcase her ability to transform from a pretty face into a complex character. Ah, but when it comes to her life and death, the plots run thicker than the drama on screen.

Countless books have been dedicated to Monroe, yet most meander through a labyrinth of conspiracies about her untimely death. The latest entry, The Last Days of Marilyn Monroe by James Patterson and Imogen Edwards-Jones, which cheekily dubs itself a "true crime thriller" on the cover, is anything but. Instead, what you get is a biography that barely skims the surface of her “last days,” offering little insight into her tragic end. One wonders: why call it The Last Days of Marilyn Monroe when another book has already claimed that title? And why publish it in 2025, just one year shy of the centenary celebrations of her birth in 2026? Doesn't it seem like a marketing ploy?

The official blurb reads like a Hollywood script: "In life, Marilyn Monroe’s superstardom defies classification. In death, she remains shrouded in mystery." While the world waits for June 1, 2026, to celebrate her 100th birthday, it’s worth noting that she has been absent from the living for far too long. The prologue opens in the early morning hours of August 5, 1962, painting a haunting image of Eunice Murray, Monroe's housekeeper, discovering Monroe's locked bedroom and fearing the worst. When psychiatrist Ralph Greenson arrives, he finds a nude Monroe sprawled on her bed, lifeless, hand clutching a telephone, surrounded by an ominous array of empty pill bottles. The air is thick with sorrow, a sorrow that hangs over her legacy like a cold fog.

As the first chapter whisks us back to 1939, we witness the gradual unveiling of Norma Jeane, the girl who would transform into a titan of beauty and tragedy. The authors weave through her tumultuous childhood, including an early marriage to James Dougherty at just sixteen, her rise through the pinup modeling world, numerous heart-wrenching relationships—most notably her marriages to Joe DiMaggio and Arthur Miller—alongside her battles with addiction, depression, and the longing for love that seemed perpetually out of reach.

Though I’m no seasoned scholar on Marilyn Monroe’s life, I found a bizarre enjoyment in this book. It captivated me, yet I completely understand why others might feel swindled. Some readers could easily see it as a quick cash grab, not unlike a cheap knock-off handbag—sparkly on the outside but hollow within. There’s a chance that factual errors slipped past my radar; if so, there’s certainly enough room for other readers to point them out. The dialogue peppered throughout the nearly 400 pages often feels like dramatic embellishment, serving up a vibe that is more fiction than fact. Yet, perhaps there’s truth in those imagined conversations; the long "sources" list at the back offers a glimmer of hope that some snippets might be drawn from truth's shadowy recesses.

The narrative style mimics a typical Patterson thriller—short, punchy chapters—but without any pulse-pounding crime or thrill. I couldn’t quite wrap my head around why Patterson and his co-author, who likely shouldered most of the writing burden, chose to veer so far from the promised theme of Monroe’s final days or the conspiracies encircling her death. The authors suggest, almost in passing, that Robert Kennedy might have been in Monroe's home on the day of her death, leading to a quarrel that sent ripples through her already tumultuous life. The lingering questions of the FBI, the CIA, or even the Mafia lurking in the shadows go unaddressed. Then there’s the incident at the Cal Neva Lodge, only days before her death—a thread I wish the authors had tugged on, for in my humble opinion, it set off a chain reaction leading to her tragic end, whether by her own hand, a fatal accident, or perhaps something darker.

In the end, I enjoyed reading The Last Days of Marilyn Monroe. It’s a page-turner, albeit one with a misleading title that hints at a deeper look into her final hours yet somehow falls short. It sparked my interest, left me pondering the mysteries of a woman who, even in death, continues to enshroud herself in intrigue and allure. Sometimes the truth really is stranger than fiction, especially when the legend is larger than life itself. ╌★★★½✰

〜B.J. Burgess