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April 6, 2008
Dear Nora Ephron,

Today, I purchased your highly-acclaimed Non-fiction musings entitled I Feel Bad About My Neck, at a used book sale. The book was in good condition, and despite the six-dollar price tag (condition or not, it’s still used goods), I took it under advisement from the New York Times and the Kirkus Review that your book was a “…witty and refreshing, often hilarious, take on the modern mature woman.”

Instead, I find your writing style pedantic, your main character unsympathetic, self-absorbed, and wholly unlikeable. No one, least of all me, cares about your neck. Ever hear of Darfur?