Finding a Voice: Post 9/11 Fiction
Over the last few years, my consumption of contemporary fiction has plummeted significantly. In fact, I can name only three fiction titles that I've read in the last year, Nicholson Baker's Box of Matches, Douglas Coupland's Hey, Nostradamus!, and Chuck Palahniuk's Diary, the latter two were less than stellar, but the former was strong as usual from Baker. What I've been wondering as of late, though, is whether or not a lot of contemporary writers are afflicted with a syndrome I call the loss of a voice. Perhaps, I've thought, this is due to the fact that the events of September 11, 2001, while extremely traumatic and inescapable, have tainted the thought processes of the writers of fiction who now feel lost without any real voice with regards to ideas and concepts. It seems plausible, to me at least, that in the now cliched phrase "post-9-11 America" writers are faced with now writing about a world that's much different than it was "before". However, the plethora of titles released on a yearly basis seems to disprove my theory altogether.
To finer tune my point, I guess it would be better to state that writers of a certain higher-brow literature seem to feel lost in the world. Philip Roth, for example, hasn't produced anything recently other than a slim novella and nothing regarding the themes of a changed American landscape. Don DeLillo addressed 9/11 in an essay for Harper's, but then released a terrible novella of his own that harks back to the style of 70's metafiction. A poor concept that attempts to address issues that aren't relevant anymore. John Updike, arguably the greatest modern writer, produced a story for the New Yorker that was, in essence, a dramatization of the events aboard United Flight 93. I'm sure the story itself was incredibly well written, as most of Updike's writings are, but it seems to me to be a somewhat unoriginal concept, a fitting tribute perhaps, but not the type of story that can truly showcase his talents as an observer of human nature.
I've always clung to the notion that writers are, if nothing else, adaptable to a situation that drastically alters our way of life. They are, perhaps, the best observers of the human condition, and are able to put these observations within the context of a narrative that portrays the changes but not in an overly obvious manner. It's true that some writers aren't capable of adapting to society's changes even though they still see themselves as reporters on the human condition, Tom Wolfe for example. However, this is not to say that a lot of writers aren't more than capable of defining and better portraying the effects of national trauma on the lives of the masses. Writers throughout the 20th century, notably Mailer, Wolfe (pre- Bonfire of the Vanities, Thompson, et al, have been able to accurately capture those moments in their writings and portray the effects on society, particularly Vietnam, Watergate, and the 60s. What is it about 9/11, though, that has writers today at a loss on how to examine life.
To get to my point, I think that writers are blocking their output unjustly due to a need to be relevant and grandiose in nature. I believe that most writing that tries too hard to pay tribute and portray mixed emotions often comes off as sounding trite and forced, see any anthology of writing solely devoted to 9/11 (The idea of reading poetry that is centered around 9/11 is less than appealing). Writers, especially good ones, are more than capable of addressing the effects of a national trauma to the collective psyche, but it seems that they are suffering from a sense of writer's block that prohibits them from doing so.

Here's two links, one to a discussion board with a thread devoted to this very topic (Why they're talking about fiction on a gardening discussion board is beyond me) and another portraying a writer's struggle to complete a book nearly finished when 9/11 occurred.
Post 9/11 Fiction
9/11 Writer's Block