When I think of the crackpot, marginalised trivia that was served up to me as "literary theory" at University... at times I wondered why we did not simply bin all our novels, plays, and poetry collections, and just sit in circles of mutual reassurance discussing teenage/feminist/homosexual angst.
Bloom urgently draws our attention back to the fact that the Canon is all about LITERATURE. (Perhaps someday we will find out how they entered the classrooms and covertly escorted literature off the premises).
When I read a great work, I expect to find excellent craftsmanship and profound insights into human nature, along with exquisite choice of language, aesthetic sensibilities, imagery, plot, allusions, and all the subtle pleasures of a deeply satisfying read.
If only "dead white males" (and females) have succeeded in producing work to this standard, then so be it. (I often wonder why the dead-white-male mantra brigade have deliberately written Jane Austen, Virginia Woolf, George Eliot, Harriet Beecher Stowe, Willa Cather, etc., etc., etc., out of history). We don't need anarchic, intentionally disruptive voices interrupting the work every two minutes.
Clearly, the "dumbing down" movement has taken a grip on all areas of our great culture. But to mount so blatant an attack on the bastions of the masters of our heritage, as some of the reviewers here have done, either indicates that rashness has replaced subversive stealth, or else the threat is greater than we thought, and that we need to bring even greater literary cannon to bear...