J. Randy Taraborrelli’s new bio of Marilyn Monroe is already on the bestseller lists. No surprise. Every book this guy has written since Call Her Miss Ross in 1989 has achieved bestseller-dom. He has put an undeniable stamp on the celeb-bio biz.

So, in The Secret Life of Marilyn Monroe, do we find out anything "new" about a woman who has been dead for 47 years, and the subject of at least a hundred biographies? Well, Taraborrelli makes a compelling case for Marilyn’s mental condition being far worse than anybody ever knew, but I think anybody who ever knew Monroe, and who has spoken to previous biographers, already made that case.

Monroe, given to huge mood swings, would be diagnosed today as a manic depressive. It is a miracle she lasted as long as she did. (Arthur Miller would aptly use the word "heroic" to describe Marilyn’s achievements in the face of her demons.) Randy also delves into the close, unusual friendship between Marilyn and Pat Lawford, sister of JFK.

Taraborrelli avoids the Byzantine conspiracy theories around Monroe’s death – frightened Kennedys, malicious Mafia, blackmailing FBI, jealous housekeepers and obsessed doctors – and settles on suicide, which is probably correct. If she changed her mind as she slipped under, we’ll never know. (It was surely a sudden impulse – she wasn’t planning her death on that hot Saturday night; she had meetings with producers and directors scheduled for Monday.)

As with all the other books, people will take away what they want from this one. Monroe – so secretive, such a fantasist – is beyond conventional biography. Norman Mailer recognized that back in 1973, and I think his books on her, a mix of fact and "factoids," actually struck the right note. (All her fans really want are more photo books!)

Like Monroe’s last major biographer, Donald Spoto, Taraborrelli insists that Marilyn enjoyed only one casual night with President Kennedy, and nothing at all intimate with his brother, Bobby; that the latter relationship was simply Bobby trying to soothe Monroe, platonically. (JFK had decided too many rumors were flying in the wake of Marilyn’s infamous "Happy Birthday" serenade, and he wished to break off all contact.)

Well, I can’t cite my source, but it is impeccable. So this is what I know – it was more than once with JFK, and not at all platonic with brother Bobby. Of course, that is not a very nice story, and doesn’t speak well of any of the participants. But … nobody’s perfect.

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Nothing tickles me like a true anecdote about a famous person, so here’s one I heard over last weekend. Many years ago, the great ballerina Margot Fonteyn came out of retirement to dance with Rudolf Nureyev. She was much loved, very ladylike and not a diva.

At a party in honor of her greatness, someone asked her: "Dame Margot … do you still get up early every morning to do the barre?"

She sighed: "Yes, yes, every single morning since I was a child, I am at the barre for two hours, even now. You know, in my next life I want to be like Shirley Temple – work like hell until the age of seven, then coast!"