Tom Mankiewicz’s novel My Life as a Mankiewicz has me enthralled. The Movies. The Name Dropping. The Little Incidences.
He writes of an incident when his father, Joe Mankiewicz, encounters Marilyn Monroe as she exits Martindale’s Book Store in Beverly Hills. He points to the paper bag she is carrying. “What’ve you got there, Marilyn?”
She shows him a volume of nineteenth-century poetry by Henrich Heine.
“You’re a fan of Heine?”
“I don’t know who he is,” she said. “Sometimes I come in here to look around and I try to find a book that seems lonely, like no one’s ever going to buy it, and I take it home with me.”