There are things I wouldn’t know if it wasn’t for my husband. I was broadly aware of Franz Kafka and his works, aware of what people meant by “kafkaesque,” but that awareness meant I wasn’t actually reading it. I’m just sunshine and lollipops over here. Unfortunately I am also horney on goffs, so I ended up married to one, and ended up reading some Kafka for myself. Now I know – Kafka deserved the fame. It’s absurd to say he’s really good actually, but he’s really fucking good, actually.
On my husband’s thirtieth birthday, he got the dying words of Franz Kafka character Josef K tattooed on his arm – “Wie ein Hund,” in the handwriting of Kafka himself. My dude must be more goth than anybody in alles die deutschsprachige welt, because google image search for that quote comes back with nothing but cutesy inspirational dog pictures. Yes, we know that means “like a dog,” but c’mon. Sort yourself out, Deutschland.
One time I mentioned Kafka to a German lady and she had no idea who I was talking about. Yeah, he was Jewish and lived in Prague, but he’s the most famous writer of the German language in much of the world for a reason. Sorry, Goethe is cheesy. Mann is lovely but I never heard of him until I was cohabiting with a goth. The disregard for our boy feels antisemitic. Do you like your own language or not?
So. What’s good about Franz Kafka? He owns your ass. As an author, you want to communicate a feeling to somebody, make them experience it, and if it’s a feeling that cannot easily be expressed in words? All the more impressive. People will talk about the absurdity and futility in his stories, but they don’t mention the humor and the pathos. It’s dark humor, the emotions are sad as hell, and when you’re experiencing both of these things and more, all at the same time, you are spellbound.
Unless you’re immune to art, which is a trait we can add to DickDawk‘s laundry list of character defects. At least he has the courage to never delete his history of incredibly embarrassing tweets.
So far I’ve read The Metamorphosis, In the Penal Colony, and The Hunger Artist. I know, I haven’t even read The Trial. Fake Kafka fan. Despite my high praise for him, I would not call myself a fan. What he did as an artist was basically perfect. Sometimes I can think of a quibble with even some of the greatest literature of all time, and I have no such criticism for Kafka. However, did I mention my sunshine and lollipops? When it comes to dark art, I am a tourist. It isn’t for me, for who I am. But it’s absolutely worth reading, regardless of who you are. Just once. Check him out.
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