I've actually been reading this off and on since March. Mostly off, however. It's a relatively quick read, but I'm honestly not going to finish this.
Every single time I pick it back up, I get about one page in before Samantha starts driving me crazy again. She's one of the most pretentious heroines I've ever had to suffer through, and she almost makes me ashamed to be a bookworm, for fear that this is how other people see us.
I think I'm supposed to feel sorry for her, but mostly I just feel sorry for the people around her. She's a horrid friend and alarmingly sheltered given her supposed background. I'm not sure why she has friends, and her inability to give back in relationships of any kind is probably why the entirety of the plot of "write to this guy you don't know; apparently tell him everything about your life, including things I, the reader, don't really want to know" works. She can write to him like that because she doesn't think of Mr. Knightley as a person. She doesn't really think of anyone as a person, just as book character archetypes.
At any rate, down this goes for good. I'd be better served re-reading the Austen she so loves to quote.