{Books by Franz Kafka]
A burrow offers security and comfort, and Kafka found both in his sister’s tiny house on the Golden Lane.
Ottla – his sister – had rented it so she could spend time with her lover and not be bothered by parents and comments. Her lover was a Christian and ready to go to war. Time was precious.
However, she rarely had opportunities other than the weekends, so she offered Franz the use of the tiny house for most of that time. And use it he did, though he never stayed the night.
Through fall, winter and spring Kafka wrote a whole book of short stories. For one single block of time, it was one of his most creative periods.
When I visited, even under Communist rule, it had been converted to a book store. Of course (which he would have appreciated) there were no books by Kafka for sale. Today he is displayed in the windows.
It was only when I went thorough the small rooms, and looked out the window into The Stag Moat, that I realized how important the house would become in my novel about Kafka. It was cozy – even with the space cramped by tourists. It had been little altered and I easily imagined Kafka looking through the same glass and walking through the same doorways. No doubt stooping because he was tall. Research met reality.
One of the last stories Kafka wrote, during his final year in Berlin, was called The Burrow. A version exists and is published, though a longer version is supposed to be among his ‘missing’ papers.
In it, a tiny animal keeps incessantly burrowing to keep away from an enemy. A vague noise convinces the animal to burrow deeper, and deeper, and deeper.
Something Kafka himself attempted to do.
(Image) https:/cdn.myfonts.net/s/ec/cc-201503/kafka-books.png
[Hermann Kafka]
In my novel, Kafka In The Castle, I fill in the missing entries of his actual diaries. There are many days to fill, as he either did not write during these days, or he destroyed the record.
Franz Kafka had his famous conflict with his father. He even wrote a book about it. In reality, his father was almost as harsh and disdainful to Franz’s sister, Ottla. She eventually left the Prague family home, and moved to a small village. But, also in reality, her father never seemed to understand his part in it.
Here I have their father, Hermann, talk about his daughter to his son.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
17 April 1917
Father greeted me at the supper table today, and even – over the course of the meal – asked if I had heard from Ottla.
If it were anyone else, I would have admiration for his guile. But I honestly don’t believe that father has the cunning for such a thing.
Because his belief in his narrow opinions is so absolute, I think that our words slide off him like melting snow.
And because this happens, he does not realize the destruction his own words cause.”They are just words,” he would say. “You can’t eat them, and they don’t keep you warm.”
Just words.
He asked me to say hello from him when I next write to her.
Then Came Each Actor Upon His Ass
And it was good.
So very good.
And each had food
Unto itself
And unto himself
The feedbag was full
The groaning board groaned
The drink was abundant
The water trough quenched
The wine barrel quenched
And it was good
And so the first day passed.
What sights indeed are these,
That turn all tunes into rhapsodies of joy,
And make the moon do gypsy dances
Through the night sky?
A sky of stars
That shower and shake and stream
Across the galaxies,
To cram unto the ends
Of the distant universe.
Grains of sand upon the shore
Need sensitive fingers,
And a lifetime of counting,
To fill this distant space where
The very numbers stand in awe.
Zeros with mouths agape
The Queen is set to address the United Kingdom and the Commonwealth on Sunday evening as the coronavirus pandemic continues to affect millions of lives around the world. When she speaks on Sunday evening, it will be only the fifth time that Her Majesty has made a televised address outside of her annual Christmas message.…
via The Queen’s National Addresses: Moments of History — Royal Central
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