Happy Death Day Frank Kafka by Ross
It is the 3rd June 1924 (go with me here) and Franz Kafka, aged 40, has died, alone and only moderately known, after two months confined to a sanatorium. One hundred years later, he is renowned as one of the greatest, and strangest, writers of 20th Century European literature, beloved by millions, and a shining beacon of modernist storytelling. I, like many others, first entered the bizarre and confusing world of Kafka with The Metamorphosis and, continuing with German at university, revisited this dark and twisted tale many times, along with other equally disturbing and grotesque stories, which cemented me as firmly in love with Kafka’s unique, if troubled, mind. His writing is never about the obvious or what seems to be the case; there is always something going on beneath the surface, behind the curtain, which renders me tense and confused, on the edge of every word, in the most brilliant, paranoia-inducing way. Kafka experts (a job title I yearn for) estimate he burnt around 90% of everything he wrote during his forty years. Every time I remember this fact I am saddened, deeply so, by the irrevocable loss of insight, now ashen and grey, his self-doubt has left us with. However, I consider myself blessed to have access to what remains of Kafka’s wonderous, unsettling work and so, one hundred years (just about) after his death, I am dedicating my April blog to some of my favourite Kafka stories. My hope is that, whether you don’t have a clue who I’m talking about or are already under his spell, after reading this you will step into the outrageous, mad world of Kafka and experience something entirely new.
The Metamorphosis, Poseidon and The Judgment
Kafka is perhaps most famous for his short stories; The Metamorphosis being the most widely known and people’s go-to when it comes to all things Kafkaesque. This wild ride of around 100 pages begins with Gregor Samsa who, on waking up one morning from unrestful sleep, finds himself transformed into a human-sized beetle, grotesque and hard with flailing skinny legs. His family naturally fall into chaos, not at the loss of their son (in his human form at least) as you might expect, but run themselves mad trying to figure out how Gregor is going to make it to work. Their madness turns to violence and the rejection of their son, fuelled by greed and religious fever, leaves any reader uncomfortable to their core. Kafka’s life was riddled with rejection from his mother, who from his letters seemed to be emotionally withdrawn, and his father, who Kafka repeatedly described as a towering, huge presence full of hatred for his sons frivolous and entirely uneconomical writing dreams. Outside of writing, Kafka studied law and worked as a civil servant, finding joy or meaning in neither. It is not surprising then that the futility, yet unwavering commitment and demands, of work and the need to obtain money are frequent themes in Kafka’s work, as well as familial rejection.
We also see this idea of hating your job in another of my favourite short stories, which I only recently discovered, Poseidon, a page long work of brilliance. In its deceptively simple writing we see Poseidon, almighty god of the sea, unable to enjoy his realm as he has too much paper work to do relating to the maintaining and bureaucratic running of his kingdom. In only several hundred words, Kafka paints a vivid image of disillusionment and sad acceptance at the unchangeable state of things, even for a God. Kafka seems to show us through his work that we are powerless to change or control anything, using Poseidon to extend his theory into the divine – perhaps showing there is no escape from suffering and duty.
Paternal rejection is brought to the forefront with another of Kafka’s short tales, The Judgment, in which young, plucky Georg Bendermann tells his frail, elderly father that he has found a lover and is soon to be wed (something Kafka himself failed to do in his life). Upon hearing the news, his previously bed-bound father grows monstrous in size and condemns his son to death for having deceived him. Outcast by his father, Georg throws himself from a bridge as the traffic roars above him. Like with so many other Kafka stories, I was left completely confused on reading this. How does the father miraculously heal? Is the father, with his new found size, so powerful he can sentence his, previously, loving son to death? But that is was I think is so magical about Kafka. He writes about deeply human topics but leaves you no closer to an answer about any of them. He confuses you deliberately, as you turn the page and fall further into uncertainty.
The Trial, The Castle and Amerika
After his death in 1924, three novels also appeared, one a year, published by Max Brod, Kafka’s best friend. On his deathbed, Kafka wrote to this friend and told him to never publish any of this work, to burn it all. Max promptly ignored this wish, for which I am very grateful, and in doing so changed literature forever. Kafka’s novels are The Trial, The Castle and Amerika, the first two of which share a common universe. The Trial and The Castle both present us with protagonists who, in trying to get on with life and their jobs, are confronted with an omnipotent yet unknowable and impenetrably complicated power, in the form of a government court in The Trial and a castle, its owner and surrounding shadowy village in The Castle. These two novels are bursting with suspense and anxiety as the reader finds themselves, whilst in the same boat as the protagonist, completely at sea with no landmarks to navigate by and the persistent feeling there is a monster just under the surface with its great eyes fixed straight upwards at your vulnerable underside. Their stories unfold in a dream, or more accurately nightmare, like state of disconnected events that the lead character, Joseph K and just K in The Trial and The Castle respectively, cannot escape.
There is a shift that occurs in Amerika however. The story has a more upbeat tone, flecked with moments of joy and human connection, much unlike the previous two novels. Amerika was the final Kafka novel to be published but was the first to be written and I found the slight optimism unnerving. I think when Kafka is in charge I expect things to go wrong and go wrong in a way I didn’t foresee and cannot understand. Despite this, Amerika is still a dark tale, set against a backdrop of oppression and suffering at the hands of others as our 16 year old protagonist tries to navigate a new life in the US having fled Europe.
Kafka, I believe, was undoubtedly inspired in his writings by his lived experience, which begs the question how did Kafka see the world? Was his world full of suffering and inexplicable change at the hands of others? What did Kafka think of humanity? Are we better off as vile beetles locked in a room all day? How is it possible we seem powerful and in control yet are constantly denied what we need? I have no answers to these questions and maybe Kafka didn’t either. Regardless, his work makes me think about these things, to pore over his stories again and again to try and piece together exactly how this master of atmosphere, this titanic existential modernist, this absolutely brilliant storyteller, sees the world around him. I invite you to do the same.
And it appears I am not alone in my want to celebrate the centenary of Kafka’s death with a new collection of Kafka inspired short stories entitled A Cage Went In Search Of A Bird set to be published at the end of May. Ten brilliant modern authors, including Elif Batuman, Ali Smith and Helen Oyeyemi, have written stories that promise to be so kafkaesque as if from the master himself. I, for one, cannot wait to see where these authors take their stories with Kafka as muse.