Dear Alice Hoffman,

I should specify that I have not read your books.  I know, I know, I’m a writer/editor and you are a Famous Literary Figure–I get that I should have your novels under my belt by now.  They’ve been on my to-do list, I promise.

Of course they’re not there anymore, because now instead of being a Famous Literary Figure, you are a Famously Crazy Person.  But fear not–I have the solution for you: go to rehab.

To be clear, I’m not implying that you actually have a drug problem.  I have no idea whether you have a drug/alcohol problem or not since, having not read any of your books, I am not an Alice Hoffman authority.  However, the presence of an actual addiction issue is much less important in this context than the issue of offering some kind of Plausible Explanation for your very public lapse in sanity, and trust me, rehab will do the trick.  It works every time.

Think about Britney Spears.  I know, I know: it pains you to hear yourself likened to Britney Spears, since you are a literary genius above the reproach of critics, and she is a trailer park hoochie mama, but bear with me for a moment.  That girl went around showing her cooch to photographers and driving around in her car wearing her baby as a hat or some such thing, and if there’s anything we Americans cannot stomach, it’s women who actually take our culturally sanctioned over-sexualization “too far” or–worse yet–display bad mothering practices in public (never mind that most of us who gasped in horror at Britney spent our own childhoods riding shotgun on our mothers’ laps, sans seatbelts, while she blew her Benson & Hedges smoke in our faces as our dads drove 80 on the expressway.)  While you have merely embarrassed yourself in front of the small handful of intellectuals and avid readers who actually give a shit, our girl Britney was a national demon.

Then: presto, rehab!  And voila (and correct me if I’m wrong on this, since I am even more woefully ignorant of pop musical culture than I am of your sacred novels), she is America’s sweetheart again!

And we all know Britney’s not alone.  For several decades, America has nursed a cherished tradition of all being forgiven once a celebrity checks him/herself into rehab, publishes some pics of their time there (or in Britney’s case writes a “rehab song” that came up in Google when I was checking whether I was spelling her name correctly), and suddenly their reputations transform from Public Asshole #1 to . . . well, to James Frey prior to the Big Fat Lie scandal.  Americans love a chastened addict.  It is, I believe, the closest we can come these days to those confessions of witchcraft everyone had to sign back in the Salem witch trial days–you know, the documents where the accused admitted to orgies with the devil and possessing the neighbors in exchange for, um, not being tortured or burned to death.  You see, it doesn’t matter if you WERE cavorting with the devil, apparently–it only matters how “sorry” you are after you’ve done it.

America doesn’t mind sinners (or snarky assholes), but we absolutely insist on repentance.

Think David Duchovney.  (I’m not going to bother to Google his name.  If I’ve spelled it wrong, you all know who I mean.)  Yes, Alice: we in America have a rehab program for everything!  Lucky for you, yours doesn’t need to center around your genitalia!  You’re getting off easy.

A good friend of mine tells me there is even something called Asshole Rehab.  I may be mistaken, but I don’t think you can sign up because I think it’s only for men.  But fear not.  A good coke habit should do the trick.  Coke addicts are notoriously vitriolic and paranoid.  You won’t even have to actually offer a sincere apology to that critic (love the “I hope my readers know I didn’t mean to hurt anyone” angle, btw–perfect passive-aggressive behavior so typical in addicts; great set-up!) because once you get out of rehab, everyone will know you Didn’t Know What You Were Doing back in June anyway, and if she’s still mad at you for publishing her phone number on Twitter–well, geez, what kind of grudge-holding bitch would that make her?

If she took that attitude, she might have to go to rehab.

So, Alice, in closing, I wish you well.  Once you get out of rehab, your books will sell better than ever!  Take my word for it–my former literary agent, who wasn’t even a writer at the time, went to rehab and now has sold his memoir about his addiction for way more money than most agents ever get for their clients!  Wow, it promises to be a juicy read too–believe me you, I’m gonna buy it when it comes out!

Remember, it’s only 28 days.

Or then again, you could just ride it out.  Considering that you are, after all, a literary fiction writer and not a pop star or reality TV star or something, chances are nobody will remember your name in 28 days anyway.

Your pal,

Gina