In what condition is literature? How bad are things?
Compare it to two dying sports: boxing and horse racing.
This past weekend, the Kentucky Derby was still alive enough to attract the Queen of England (who, if we remembered our revolutionary roots, should've been sent to clean the horse stalls, then immediately shipped back to her home country for encouraging aristocracy).
A boxing match later that evening recorded millions of pay-per-view buys.
(And Spidey III at the same time opened with record attendance.)
In literature, Marisha Pessl is looked upon as a huge success because a hundred thousand comfortable people are conned into buying her ridiculous book.
Are lit-bloggers the answer? Or sites like Foetry?
Not if their complaint is that American literature isn't elitist ENOUGH. Too many of these would-be saviors, hyper-educated in a narrow way, are convinced that literature should become more refined, more out-of-touch with the American people. This is artistic suicide.