This reminds me of a recent, infuriating review of Stoppard's Arcadia by a critic who bought the cold science meme. I can see how you might find Arcadia passionless if you're the kind of person who shuts down at the mention of numbers; but I'm disappointed that the New Yorker would employ one.

Perhaps I should think of it as a handicap, like a club foot. Then employing him would be a charity.