I wish I had time to make some comments on the Boston Review’s think-piece essay on the death of the novel, but for now all I can do is point you to it. This is the on-sentence summary:
There is no crisis of realism in contemporary fiction; there is only a crisis of ownership.
That’s about as good of a slogan as I’ve seen regarding the perennial entombment of all that is novelistic. If you like that, read the whole thing. Suffice to say, there’s oodles of Bakhtin (and well-quoted/summarized Bakhtin), plus some Woolf, Bloom, etc, even a little Wood, all gracefully deployed and well-synthesized.