On and On and On:
The Endless Wealth of Franz Kafka’s Short Stories
Originally Published on About.com’s Classic Literature Page
In his
introduction to Franz Kafka’s unfinished novel The Trial, critic George
Steiner wrote, “The thought that anything fresh could be said of Franz Kafka’s The
Trial is implausible.” In fact, just the opposite is true: The
inexhaustibility of Kafka’s ability to startle anew and to spawn fresh ideas
makes Steiner’s statement itself implausible. As with Shakespeare, each
individual reader brings new insights to Kafka’s works—works so strange and so
perplexing that no single generation or school of thought could encompass all
of their treasures, especially just within one century. As a caveat, however,
Klaus Wagenback wrote that the initial reason he collected the photos and documents contained in his excellent book Franz Kafka: Pictures of a Life
“came from the dissatisfaction [he] felt with the surfeit of Kafka
interpretations whose speculative nature increased in direct proportion to
their authors’ ignorance of the historical, personal, and linguistic circumstances
in which Kafka’s work came into being.” As with Shakespeare, whose works are
also incredibly strange and perplexing, there’s a danger when reading Kafka of
being too influenced by confused commentators. As it’s always helpful to know
at least some of a work’s context—to help you understand its norms, its intentions,
its jokes, and to keep you from being misled by ill-informed interpreters—I
recommend approaching Kafka with a little more extra-textual information than
usual, at least when trying to extrapolate his works’ meanings into our own
world.
That said, it’s still a simple
fact that within their specific artistic parameters Kafka’s works stand on their own as some
of the most brilliant, astonishing, and mystifying works in all of literature—and
that their very mystifying nature is part of their appeal, and even intention.
In a letter to his editor, Kafka wrote that his three stories “The Stoker,”
“The Metamorphosis,” and “The Judgment” belonged together, “both inwardly and
outwardly.” He continued that, “There is an obvious connection between the
three and, even more important, a secret one. . . .” It’s always been the
“secret” connection that’s been the more intriguing to me, as the connection
has remained secret and has continued to fascinate with its endless
possibilities. Readers rarely find fixed answers to anything when reading
Kafka, and in fact one of the most astute comments I’ve ever heard anyone make
about The Trial is when my grandfather said, “Every time I read it I
understand it less.” It’s not that Kafka revels in obscurity—his works are in
fact some of the most lucid and precisely wrought of the twentieth century;
it’s that his polished facades and carapaces are shrouded in the true mystery
of human existence and that he provides us with the great pleasure of pursuing
that mystery within his work.
A brilliant observer of human
nature, but not at all a realistic or traditional observer, it’s through wild
caricature and fantastical invention that Kafka presents humanity to us. In his
most famous story, “The Metamorphosis,” the main character, Gregor Samsa, wakes
up on the first page to find himself transformed into a giant insect. “Samsa”
is of course code for “Kafka”—Salman Rushdie toys with this in his novel The
Satanic Verses by having a character with the last name Chamcha go through
very Samsa-like metamorphoses—and two of Kafka’s other most famous
characters, Josef K. (from The Trial) and K. (from The Castle), are also stand-ins for the author. This works to increase each of the pieces’
paranoid claustrophobia, and as Gregor Samsa struggles to figure out what in
the world to do with the self stuck inside his new body, we as readers struggle
along with him, just as Kafka intends us to do.
For anyone interested in delving
into what Kafka does best, The Complete Stories & Parables contains
the essence of his genius and is probably where you want to start, as well as to
return to. His three unfinished novels, Amerika, The Trial, and The
Castle, are all extraordinary—especially The Trial—and his voluminous
diaries and letters and notebooks are also deeply rewarding, but Kafka was a
perfectionist, and his shorter works are where he was able to bring his visions
to their fullest articulation. Most readers have some familiarity with the
shocking strangeness of “The Metamorphosis” and “In the Penal Colony” and “A
Hunger Artist,” but the wealth and variety and individuality of Kafka’s other
stories often come as a revelation to those who only have a passing notion of
the misused adjective “Kafkaesque.” There are a few themes that occasionally recur
in his stories and novels, and it’s often these themes taken in isolation that
some critics attempt to color the word “Kafkaesque” with, but when encountering
unique story after unique story after unique story in his full collection, it’s
nearly impossible to pin any kind of label onto Kafka or his work.
In “Blumfeld, an Elderly Bachelor,”
a man comes home to his apartment to find two balls bouncing with no impetus
and no end to their movement. In “A Report to an Academy,” a humanized ape
gives an account of his progress from wild animal to civilized citizen. In “The
Burrow,” some sort of creature describes the endless—and endlessly forking—efforts
that he’s made to secure his subterranean labyrinth from the ever-impending
threats that exist outside. His every story is as unique in its form and
approach as it is in its subject matter or theme. Kafka invents the entire
genre anew with each new story, and what’s as amazing as the tales he tells is
that his experiments with form never come across as mere experiments, but rather as
full artistic realizations. Taken one after another, these works are truly
dizzying, and when read with an open mind, each story offers nearly endless
possibilities for interpretation and enjoyment.
 |
| Anthony Perkins playing Josef K., from Orson Welles’ film version of The Trial |
The Complete Stories &
Parables begins with two introductory parables, “Before the Law” and “An
Imperial Message,” and these two parables are often considered to be Kafka at
his most essential. “Before the Law” is especially potent, as it’s the
mysterious central fable told in The Trial. Although Kafka was never
able to complete the novel in full, he chose to publish its parable, in which
ultimate truth is unreachable and even the initial doorway toward truth is
impenetrable. This parable alone has spawned many closed critical readings of
Kafka’s central thrust (or central impotence). But unlike the door at the end
of “Before the Law,” Kafka’s books are endlessly open and can lead to nearly
unimaginable rewards. Don’t let any doorkeepers hold you back. Step into these
stories and read on and an and on.
—David Wiley
