


Excerpt from my Kafka In The Castle, where I fill in all of his missing diary entries. Here he is dealing with a time twenty-eight years after the first May Day was declared. Kafka dealt with workers every day of his work life. But he didn’t take their problems home.
By the way – in real life – Kafka is credited with inventing the the hard hat.
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27 April 1917
Life seems to offer a handful of solutions which solve nothing. If I could get out of Prague, then I wouldn’t have to get out of Prague.
29 April 1917
Ottla managed to get away, and I’ll be able to visit. The dead man next door (I have since found his name was Adolf) also managed to get out of Prague. Him, I can not visit, but I can follow.
03 May 1917
The thoughts of the living discourage the dead. I spend so much time watching over myself, that there is no one left to watch over me.
06 May 1917
I write to Ottla. I make no mention of her terminated neighbour. I do say “hello” from father. Not an uneven balance.
08 May 1917
If Shakespeare were alive today, and people pestered him about Hamlet, would he wonder what all the fuss was about?
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{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.
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