I said before that few of these lit blogs actually discuss literature in a meaningful way.

Why, then, do so many people read them?

To begin with, not so many people read them. Instead, a very concentrated population of people read them over and over. Namely, other bloggers. They all read one another, in the hope something they mentioned on their blog will be cited on another blog. It's a kind of Ponzi scheme in which the object is attention, and the shared illusion is one of relevance.

That said, plenty of aspiring writers and publishing folks also read blogs. With coverage of literature all but disappearing from corporate media, lit blogs serve as instant clearinghouses for news items, local readings and reviews. Many (Sarvas' included) advocate for favorite writers. They allow people to feel connected to the world of letters. All this is perfectly commendable. At their finest, blogs contribute to a serious discussion of literature and the culture at large, which is why I happily write essays for sites like Mobylives.com.

But lit blogs also have a tendency to boil that world down to a series of conflicts and controversies. Reading them often becomes a legitimized form of scandal mongering. (It's a lot easier to read about Philip Roth's angry ex-wife than it is to read one of his books.)

Most writers perceive themselves as failures. They suffer rejection and disregard on a daily basis. Even the lucky few who get published can't get the New York bigwigs to return their calls. The modern writer is engaged in an enterprise almost guaranteed to crush her spirit. And certain blogs -- like other forms of modern media -- serve as bulletin boards for the resulting feelings of despair, spite and rage. Their chosen topic happens to be literature, but it could just as well be politics or sports. Their deepest allure resides in the gratification of primal negative emotions.

As a side note, this dynamic is the reason the conservative movement now runs our government. Rush Limbaugh may be a dissembling fascist, but he knows how to connect to citizens through fear and grievance. In the absence of sustained moral courage, the demagogues win.

Which is why a guy like Mark Sarvas has more readers than a brilliant novelist such as John Williams.

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It will have occurred to nearly all of you at this point that I have made a dream come true for Sarvas. He has officially made it into my world. And all it took was two years of sustained slander!

He hasn't realized this -- and he never will -- but his subconscious motive for attacking me was the hope that I would someday write this very piece. He envisioned something truly vicious, something he could feed off for a good, long time. I've tried to oblige. But I'm also going to offer him something he wasn't bargaining for: my forgiveness.

I don't mean pity. I do pity the guy, but that's a condescending posture, and it only gets you halfway to the truth. I mean forgiveness.

I forgive the guy for hating me so much. If I were in his position, I would feel the same way. And I have. I've felt the same burning jealousy he has, toward those writers whose artistic and commercial success shames me. And if I haven't broadcast those feelings to the world, it is only because my act is a little more polished than his.

But we're basically the same guy. We both face the same doomed task: to write in an era that has turned away from the written word, to love the world in the face of considerable self-hatred.

I hope the best for Sarvas. I hope the best for you, Mark. May the best of who you are win out, in the end. That would be a triumph no one could ever take away from you, or diminish. Shit, man, it would be a work of art.

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