The New Yorker has not had a stellar first week of 2011: First they published this blog post, in which Macy Halford misses the point of e-readers and manages to look impossibly stuffy in the process:

When I read a book all the way through to the end, I want the evidence stuffed and mounted on my bookshelf. My suspicion is that people who prefer e-readers use them primarily to read Harlan Coben, and are happy to be able to delete the physical evidence.

What the fuck is wrong with reading Harlan Coben? Are we going to dismiss entire genres of books as unserious, now? I find that hard to believe, since The New Yorker has been lionizing Stephen King for the last decade. The comment section, in which someone proclaims that "Books are for readers. E-readers are for pseudo-readers," is pretty awesome, too.

And HTMLGiant links to an open letter to The New Yorker about a recent issue being way too man-writer-centric:

I have enclosed the January issue and expect a refund. You may either extend our subscription by one month, or you can replace this issue with a back issue containing a more equitable ratio of male to female voices. I plan to return every issue that contains fewer than five women writers. You tend to publish 13 to 15 writers in each issue; 5 women shouldn’t be that hard.