My friend Kafka
This small book of 124 pages (plus a large bibliography) reads like a novel. The reader spends a thrilling twenty-four hours with a man who slept very little. However, he was such a warm and simple man that one must ask oneself why he is so
frightening to some. This is a "must-read" that should be put into the hands of any secondary-school student; they could read it straight through and could then declare: "Now that I know him, I love Kafka!".
Extract :
"This man, whose face still bears the scars of adolescence, is 34 years old. The translation of his name is indeed "jackdaw" - "kavka", changed to "Kafka" by decision of his father. Franz, that is his first name, goes on muttering to himself all the way along the Langegasse; he enters number 18, where he rents a sordid furnished room, in this house which suffocates him with the noise and goings-on of his neighbours. Before pushing open the door of his own lodging he takes a deep breath. Indeed, there was no need to walk so fast, especially since it was hardly an urgent matter to buy Prague's daily paper at ten o'clock in the morning...but it's beyond him to do anything slowly, it's as if the number of his days were limited. Today his lungs wheeze like a grampus, these twin organs breathing in and out together, worn out before their time but what does it matter - he feels the need of a bleeding wound inside of him; His being is lost in existence itself, such is the basis of the existential dilemma for this man, who bangs the door to with an abrupt gesture.
Then suddenly he feels happy - happy at the prospect of a whole day of solitude. Involuntarily a smile lights up his fine grey eyes under the arched eyebrows. A weekday, a Thursday away from work.
"My condition is formed from perpetual renunciation, like that of all those minorities who cannot exist in the light of day or express themselves freely in the open or ...." A fit of coughing throws himself onto his bed. He feels his guts being torn apart. What does it matter? Pain is good for you....".
His caller hangs up. Franz puts down the receiver , irritated at himself. He never manages to refuse....he loves friendship. He likes to give pleasure, not to disappoint his friends, besides that, he can visualize all those billiard balls rolling about all over the place and hitting the sides of the table. He can't bear it, it's too much...he grabs his overcoat, crams his hat on his head and goes off to that smoky room where he doesn't intend to stay very long. As he enters, a chorus of warm voices welcomes him. Olga gets up to kiss him. Helen clears a chair so that he can sit next to her, and puts her arm around his shoulder with so much affection that one can well believe that a tender feeling links them together. Such is not the case, but this young man is so popular that everyone wants to express this fact to him." …