Often the quietest voices need our attention the most, if we want those voices to have a voice at all. Our voices become lost the the cacophony of now — more so voice of people in the past. Czech writer Franz Kafka had a very quiet voice and published very little during his realatively short life. Kafka helps us identify emotions that are subtly plaguing us; and he gives us sense of, and relief from the cacophony of life.
Kafka's style of writing takes the reader into one's own head with ofttimes a dreamlike quality or with purly logical reasoning. The difficulty in describing Kafka's work is a part of what makes it. KAfka disorientates the reader, and forces you to memorise insignificant details about his jarring world which may prove relevant later. These excersises may lack significance in a narrative sense, but they can be used to reinforce neural connections of the mind outside the context of Kafka's text. Kafka captured forms of how modern isolation feels. He also captured how inwardly damaged we can become at the hands of mercy.
Kafka's uncanny logic and absurdism mirror our own world to this day, despite being written one hundred years ago. Technologies have rapidly improved, conundrums we find ourselves in remain fundamentally unaltered, despite of narritives of progress which we have told ourselves. Kafka's words are worlds of the often mundane where characters may find themselves trapped.
Metamorphosis, Kafka's best known work, Gregor Samsa wakes up from troubled dreams to find unable to get up from laying on his back as he has transformed into a large insect and he is unable to manipulate his limbs to the appropriate movements to flip his body over. When Kafka flips over and successfully opens his door, he is treated as grotesque and sent to exile in his room by his family. It is common as a reader to sympathise with Gregor's family at this point in the story.
The Trial, the Castle, and Amerika are the titles of Kafka's three novels. The Trial was the only one of these which was publics is Kafka's lifetime. The bulk of Kafka's body of work were short stories. Contemplation, A Country Doctor, and the Judgement are some names of these works.
Occasionally, Kafka's writing gives us a glimmer of hope when he uses his literally techniques to create feelings of joy or awe. These moments are fleeting, but they contrast greatly with his other works. In the short story Children on the Road we are given a rare glimpse of children at play. In this text was are disorientated to free our thinking to that of a child, as you jump over ditches and lay on the grass. A feeling of freedom. Which is peretually lacking in almost all Kafka's other stories.
What we read shapes how we percieve the world. From the exquisitely elaborate James Joyce to heartpounding prose of Stephen King; words shape our view of reality. So you really ought to be more careful of who you read. Words can describe our emotions and surroundings, and we gather up ligusitic tools to create internal structures which form the basis of our ideas. Kafka provides us some of the best tools for thinking ever printed.
What we see and hear and consume shapes us. Any media, advertisement, art shapes us. Hopefully we are shaped in a way which allows us to exist freely. In a way where we can meaningfully express our experiences with others. The digital age can be vexing. Many may have difficulty forming their own ideas, and effectively scrutising ideas, and simply communicating face to face. For those dead, their relevant ideas may even be lost to us. I hope Franz Kafka's ideas are not lost on us.
I recommend Metamorphosis out of Kafka's work if you must decide.
Extra note: this is a copy of a text I wrote a couple of years ago. I changed some things up slightly but I tried to keep the jist the same from the original. My thoughts on this have develops a bit since then. But then again I haven't revisited Kafka's work since then, so I can't be sure of where my thinking in relation to that stands. Nevertheless, is was an outlet for my neurotic frustration to my existance at the time. I had found life was becoming (excuse the hyperbole) excruciating lonely. Not in a tortureous sense mind you. Just in the sense that I didn't want to live in this world due to the void I felt. I don't feel that way anymore. Though I still feel loneliness. I still worry about the world. But I don't feel existential dread for most moments of my waking life. I don't know what else to say.