Nazi bankers return the unpublished work of Kafka

[Songcatcher]

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-europe-10682482

 

[Pure]

related article

apparently Kafka not in the Czech Who's Who,

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/645506.stm

 

[JAMESBJOHNSON]

Why would anyone want anything by Kafka?

 

[ishtat]

Why would anyone want anything by Kafka?

I agree but The Good Soldier Svejk by Jaroslav Hasek is a Czech book which should be compulsory in any modern literature course.

Oddly Hasek and Kafka were almost completely contemporary, both born in 1883 they both died of TB within a year of each other 1923/4... but Hasek was brilliant wheras Kafka was ...

 

[mynameisben]

I agree but The Good Soldier Svejk by Jaroslav Hasek is a Czech book which should be compulsory in any modern literature course.

If it were truly a modern course they'd also accept credit cards and PayPal.

 

[xssve]

Why would anyone want anything by Kafka?

Kafka, like many of his Russian contemporaries, wrote about the real threat to civilization in it's terminal stage, which isn't socialism, but bureaucracy, bureaucrat's, and the bureaucratic dynamic - legislators write laws, which ideally reflect the needs of their constituents in a changing society - bureaucrats write rules, which invariably reflect a singular motivation: the need of bureaucrats to cover their asses.

The result is typically a maze of Byzantine rules that make doing anything sensible or useful impossible.

In fact, the Soviets simply took over the existing feudal apparatus that was already in existence under the Czars: the secret police, the Gulags, the whole thing was already there, all it was was a change of management, based on party loyalty rather than aristocratic birth.

 

[Songcatcher]

apparently Kafka not in the Czech Who's Who,

That says it all.

 

[JAMESBJOHNSON]

Kafka, like many of his Russian contemporaries, wrote about the real threat to civilization in it's terminal stage, which isn't socialism, but bureaucracy, bureaucrat's, and the bureaucratic dynamic - legislators write laws, which ideally reflect the needs of their constituents in a changing society - bureaucrats write rules, which invariably reflect a singular motivation: the need of bureaucrats to cover their asses.

The result is typically a maze of Byzantine rules that make doing anything sensible or useful impossible.

In fact, the Soviets simply took over the existing feudal apparatus that was already in existence under the Czars: the secret police, the Gulags, the whole thing was already there, all it was was a change of management, based on party loyalty rather than aristocratic birth.

At last we agree on something. But bureaucrazee isnt the end; no mo monee iz duh end.

 

[ishtat]

apparently Kafka not in the Czech Who's Who,

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/645506.stm

That is hardly surprising, Kafkas original language was German, all of his work was written in German or Yiddish (minor) , only a few letters to girlfriends in Czech. Culturally he was Jewish and he died in Vienna. Czechoslovakia only existed as a nation for the last 4 years of his life so the imperative for more commemoration is weak. There is already an impressive sculpture of kafka in Prague.

 

[Pure]

note to ishtat

good point, ishtat. similar points were made to me by Verdad; thanks to you both, i have a better understanding of the cultural milieu. as to the question of his merits as an author.

His prose is lapidary, brilliantly concise, and here conveys the eery feeling we associate with being subject to forces, such as state police, that are all powerful.

The Trial

Someone must have been telling lies about Josef K., he knew he had
done nothing wrong but, one morning, he was arrested. Every day at
eight in the morning he was brought his breakfast by Mrs. Grubach's
cook - Mrs. Grubach was his landlady - but today she didn't come. That
had never happened before. K. waited a little while, looked from his
pillow at the old woman who lived opposite and who was watching him with
an inquisitiveness quite unusual for her, and finally, both hungry and
disconcerted, rang the bell. There was immediately a knock at the door
and a man entered. He had never seen the man in this house before. He
was slim but firmly built, his clothes were black and close-fitting,
with many folds and pockets, buckles and buttons and a belt, all of
which gave the impression of being very practical but without making it
very clear what they were actually for. "Who are you?" asked K.,
sitting half upright in his bed. The man, however, ignored the question
as if his arrival simply had to be accepted, and merely replied, "You
rang?" "Anna should have brought me my breakfast," said K. He tried to
work out who the man actually was, first in silence, just through
observation and by thinking about it, but the man didn't stay still to
be looked at for very long. Instead he went over to the door, opened it
slightly, and said to someone who was clearly standing immediately
behind it, "He wants Anna to bring him his breakfast." There was a
little laughter in the neighbouring room, it was not clear from the
sound of it whether there were several people laughing. [...]

"I
want to see Mrs. Grubach ...," said K., making a movement as if tearing
himself away from the two men - even though they were standing well away
from him - and wanted to go. "No," said the man at the window, who
threw his book down on a coffee table and stood up. "You can't go away
when you're under arrest." "That's how it seems," said K. "And why am
I under arrest?" he then asked. "That's something we're not allowed to
tell you. Go into your room and wait there. Proceedings are underway
and you'll learn about everything all in good time. It's not really
part of my job to be friendly towards you like this, but I hope no-one,
apart from Franz, will hear about it, and he's been more friendly
towards you than he should have been, under the rules, himself. If you
carry on having as much good luck as you have been with your arresting
officers then you can reckon on things going well with you." K. wanted
to sit down, but then he saw that, apart from the chair by the window,
there was nowhere anywhere in the room where he could sit. "You'll get
the chance to see for yourself how true all this is," said Franz and
both men then walked up to K. They were significantly bigger than him,
especially the second man, who frequently slapped him on the shoulder.

 

[Songcatcher]

The Trial

Someone must have been telling lies about Josef K., he knew he had
done nothing wrong but, one morning, he was arrested. Every day at
eight in the morning he was brought his breakfast by Mrs. Grubach's
cook - Mrs. Grubach was his landlady - but today she didn't come. That
had never happened before. K. waited a little while, looked from his
pillow at the old woman who lived opposite and who was watching him with
an inquisitiveness quite unusual for her, and finally, both hungry and
disconcerted, rang the bell. There was immediately a knock at the door
and a man entered. He had never seen the man in this house before. He
was slim but firmly built, his clothes were black and close-fitting,
with many folds and pockets, buckles and buttons and a belt, all of
which gave the impression of being very practical but without making it
very clear what they were actually for. "Who are you?" asked K.,
sitting half upright in his bed. The man, however, ignored the question
as if his arrival simply had to be accepted, and merely replied, "You
rang?" "Anna should have brought me my breakfast," said K. He tried to
work out who the man actually was, first in silence, just through
observation and by thinking about it, but the man didn't stay still to
be looked at for very long. Instead he went over to the door, opened it
slightly, and said to someone who was clearly standing immediately
behind it, "He wants Anna to bring him his breakfast." There was a
little laughter in the neighbouring room, it was not clear from the
sound of it whether there were several people laughing. [...]

"I
want to see Mrs. Grubach ...," said K., making a movement as if tearing
himself away from the two men - even though they were standing well away
from him - and wanted to go. "No," said the man at the window, who
threw his book down on a coffee table and stood up. "You can't go away
when you're under arrest." "That's how it seems," said K. "And why am
I under arrest?" he then asked. "That's something we're not allowed to
tell you. Go into your room and wait there. Proceedings are underway
and you'll learn about everything all in good time. It's not really
part of my job to be friendly towards you like this, but I hope no-one,
apart from Franz, will hear about it, and he's been more friendly
towards you than he should have been, under the rules, himself. If you
carry on having as much good luck as you have been with your arresting
officers then you can reckon on things going well with you." K. wanted
to sit down, but then he saw that, apart from the chair by the window,
there was nowhere anywhere in the room where he could sit. "You'll get
the chance to see for yourself how true all this is," said Franz and
both men then walked up to K. They were significantly bigger than him,
especially the second man, who frequently slapped him on the shoulder.

Is this how pragraphs work in German grammar?

 

[Handley_Page]

I agree but The Good Soldier Svejk by Jaroslav Hasek is a Czech book which should be compulsory in any modern literature course.

Oddly Hasek and Kafka were almost completely contemporary, both born in 1883 they both died of TB within a year of each other 1923/4... but Hasek was brilliant wheras Kafka was ...

strange.

I agree with you about the Good Soldier. Utterly brilliant.
I'd nominate another one: "The little world of Don Camillo"