To expect great things of books in 2020, when they're such a fringe interest by and large, seems unrealistic. Painting too, has become a very fringe activity.
As obscure and poor as Bacon and Joyce might have been during their careers (even if they ended up rich), they were competing in disciplines where ambition seemed warranted.
A lateral link but when I started making music was when dubstep was sort of still in the ascendant, and I was excited by it, and had vague dreams of having a tune played by youngsta or whoever. Then dubstep declined. Occasionally something came along that inspired me again, but I'd notice my passion flagging whenever I thought I'd just be making music for my bedroom which nobody would ever hear. (It would be the same feeling making a jungle pastiche.) Futility.