Esque

Kafka on the Shore

In the last two days I've read two stories by Kafka - The Metamorphosis and The Hunger Artist. Both were well written and compelling, exploring a certain sense of futility, doom and helplessness. The pieces take on a nearly tactile familiarity yet remain arcane; enigmatic, oblique. One gets the feeling of rummaging through large drawers in the pitch dark in search of something small.

I came across an interesting quote by our friend Franz, that I think nicely summarizes the feeling his writing evokes:

"A picture of my existence...would show a useless wooden stake covered in snow...stuck loosely at a slant in the ground in a ploughed field on the edge of a vast open plain on a dark winter night."