James Dean: an icon to millions. His filmic achievements and death on Sept. 30, 1955, at a young age (he was born in 1931) assured him an eternal place in the celebrity pantheon. How could his life have been any more marvelous? Well, Jack Dann, author of such well-regarded speculative novels as Junction (1973) and The Man Who Melted (1984), intends to demonstrate in his new book just how wild a ride young Jimmy had left in him, had he walked away from the crash of his Porsche on that fateful day. In this case, Dann's fantasy is both solidly anchored in reality and wilder than history.

The first two chapters, a mere 24 pages, set the scene indelibly. We are plunged headfirst into Dean's tumultuous psyche, personality and lifestyle as we watch him bounce between two women (Marilyn Monroe and lesser-known actress Pier Angeli), deal with artistic conflicts and wrestle with his neurotic fixation on his dead mother. Then, on that fateful day, Dean climbs into his sports car and races off into the alternate life Dann has mapped out for him.

Surviving his brush with death, intriguingly scarred and having undergone a visionary experience, Dean emerges supercharged, ready to make the most of his life. But old habits die hard, and he finds himself falling back into self-destructive patterns. His main source of anxiety is his on-again, off-again relationship with Monroe. As secret lovers, they are constantly running afoul of Marilyn's current husband, Joe DiMaggio, and her future one, Arthur Miller. A public contretemps even finds Dean decking Frank Sinatra with a punch to the jaw. Then there's Angeli, who exerts her own fascination on Dean. A B-list actress, she has her own set of morbid fears and desires.

One kindred spirit who helps Dean throughout the book is Elvis Presley, whose own mother complex and fame fallout make the men kin. Dean sees in Elvis a serious actor, not the ham of his musical films, and the two men begin to collaborate. Standing in the way somewhat is, of course, the irascible and cunning Colonel Parker.

But it's only when Robert F. Kennedy enters the picture that Dean's life begins to really detour onto some strange tracks. As in our timeline, RFK is protecting brother Jack from bad publicity that might erupt should President Jack's affair with Monroe become public. Jimmy is swept up in the political conspiracies that swirl around Jack, Bobby and Marilyn and is primed to undergo some serious tragedies. But he bounces back from these in his survivor's way and goes on to accomplish large things in the political sphere—until a final shattering moment when the full weight of the historical moment descends on his shoulders.

This Rebel has a cause

Some alternate-history novels are more overtly science-fictional than others. Those of Harry Turtledove, for instance, generally hinge on such world-shattering divergences (automatic weapons imported into the Confederacy, for instance) that they are unmistakably SF. But others are more subtle, nudging reality as we know it only slightly. These novels are apt to be those that focus on single individuals, rather than large-scale sociopolitical turning points. After all, the amount of influence even the greatest individual can wield is tiny in comparison with, say, the Spanish Armada conquering England. Therefore, history will diverge less in such books. Dann's novel is the latter kind, yet still undeniably SF, especially as it moves into its climax, the presidential election of 1968. But its many pleasures and rich accomplishments are generally to be found in its rendering of Dean's messy private life.

Strongest in impact is the lovingly limned Sid and Nancy-style romance between Dean and Monroe. Whatever nascent affair might have actually gone on between the two screwed-up but sympathetic stars prior to Dean's death has here been reduced to a tragic tale that evokes real pity and fascination. This doomed love affair is the centerpiece of the book, motivating everything, and is thoroughly believable.

But then again, all of Dann's characterizations are eminently solid, quirky and authentic. Too often in books that seek to portray famous people, one gets the feeling of puppets spouting information culled from research. But Dann's characters—from Dean, Monroe, RFK, Kerouac and Elvis down to the lesser ones—all come across as fully inhabited by his imagination. They interact in a manner to set sparks flying. They are not mouthpieces for historical agendas, but living, hurting humans.

Dann is not stingy with his inventions, either. Dean's career post-crash is a blend of famous films he takes over—The Hustler (1961), Hud (1963), etc.—with imaginary ones such as The Enemy Within, a biopic about RFK's anticrime crusade. And Dean's political career—which begins with the famous civil rights march in Selma—is a similar mix of history and fancy.

All of this is conveyed in prose that really scintillates. Dann bops back and forth from Ballardian passages—such as that describing Dean's crash—to beatnik prosody (Kerouac and Ginsberg in a cafe) to New Journalism stylings à la Tom Wolfe. The dialogue, of which there is an abundance, zips and crackles as well.

Who could possibly film this book? Among living directors, maybe Robert Altman. But I wish Fellini were still alive. This book is James Dean's La Dolce Vita (1959), a bittersweet examination of the curse of stardom.