from: Edward Champion
Dear Mr. Pollack:
I have read David Kamp's New York Times review of your book, and I write to
inform you that Mr. Kamp has shown me the True Gospel. He has convinced me
not to buy your book. Beyond your problems of limning the meaning of
"unrelentingly hilarious" to a hoary dude who writes for Vanity Fair is the
troubling dichotomy of Real Neal and Pretend Neal.
This is a new concept to me. I can find nothing on your website that
states or explains this distinction. Will there be an annotated paperback
version of the book to spell this out? Because, really, I'd like nothing
more than to read some facile book naked on the chaise longue while
cracking peanut shells on my chest. Before this review, Mr. Pollack, I had
hoped that your book would be the one. But now that I've read Kamp's
review, dammit, I realize that trying to make sense of the Real
Neal/Pretend Neal thing is going to be more challenging than understanding
the Good Kirk/Bad Kirk plot of "The Enemy Within."
I can't convince myself to buy your book, Mr. Pollack. Particularly when
there are, apparently, multiple versions of "Pretend Neal" running
around. I'm particularly troubled by the fact that you're described by Mr.
Kamp as "yet another doughy, 35-ish white man with a goatee and thinning
hair." How can any self-respecting reader come to terms with your book's
comedic merits when they're faced with this description? And there are
additional side effects here, Pollack. Don't try to shirk away from this,
Pollack. "Real Neal" knows what's going on here, if you catch my
drift. Because Mr. Kamp tells me that "Real Neal knows he's just going
through the motions." Now thanks to Mr. Kamp's review, when I prepare my
chocolate chip cookies on Tuesday morning for the Elks Lodge meeting, I'm
going to see your face in every cookie.
I demand a cogent explanation. In fact, the entire world REQUIRES an
explanation. I'm talking page numbers, specific passages, and a detailed
list of the number of Pretend Neals that we readers have to keep track of.
Goddam you, Pollack. And God Bless the Informed Wisdom of David Kamp!
Troubled,
Edward Champion
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