I distinctly remember when I first heard of Marilyn Monroe. I was 10 years old and watching a friend perform “Diamonds are a Girl’s Best Friend” in the school changing room. She told us about Marilyn’s conical breasts, her dyed blonde hair, how Marilyn Monroe was not her real name, and how she had killed herself by mistake. At home she had a poster of the neon silk screen by Andy Warhol. Fragments only; an impression of a person, an icon, a mystery. No one really knows who Norma Jean Mortenson is or was, and the film Blonde, released this month on Netflix, does not reveal much more.