I didn't want to admit that Kafka was crazy, but it seems impossible not to admit it now. I learned a lot about the man which I had not known before (his enthusiasm for theater, especially Yiddish theater), but I'm not sure it was worth it. It was exhausting, dizzying even, trying to get through this text. It felt like work and I'm not sure whether knowing about any writer's life is of any use in trying to understand or appreciate his work better. As the Schocken description of the book put it, Kafka had "almost psychotic sensitivity" and lived with "almost unbearable intensity." Other things I didn't know about Kafka: his love of brothels (walking by a brothel, he says, feels like other men feel when they pass the house of their ex-girlfriend; elsewhere he says he prefers older, "stout" whores--speaking of which, have you seen pictures of Felice? Eeeeeeeeew), his two suicide attempts (hard to tell if some of these passages are sarcastic. But two occasions, anyway, on which he "longed for" suicide -- Feb 14-15, 1914 [which is on p 259:] and 1912, his neurasthenia (I don't even know what that is), his insomnia, his migraines, his indigestion (he joked that his fantasy was to eat large quantities of sausage whole, without chewing, to inflict worse pain on himself), his two mental breakdowns (one in 1920 and one in 1922), his brief interest in Theosophy (and his meeting with its founder), his attendance of Zionist lectures and meetings, his keeping a Bible in every room (in his final days). I was reading this primarily for things that would interest me as a writer, and they were few and far between, but still there. I found his reading lists interesting, his praise for Goethe, Strindberg ("I don't read Strindberg to read him but to rest my head on his breast"), Dickens (he says he wrote Amerika deliberately as a ripoff of Dickens, specifically David Copperfield, as I recall), Hamsun, Tolstoy (Ivan Ilych and the parables). There was some cheap consolation in hearing one of the most influential, original, and powerful writers in history berating himself for laziness, failure to produce, writing useless pages of drivel, and all-around inadequacy. In fact, he started keeping a diary, I'm told, in order to jump start his creativity, which he always complained about. I found it interesting that he died in the sanatorium with Johannes Schlaf, one of the first German realists (whom I've never read). I found myself wondering if Schlaf felt, like Brod did, the lopsidedness of their friendship (no one reads Schlaf now; Kafka is Kafka). Also, what's up with the geocentric stuff? Schlaf was, according to these diaries, an ardent atheist, yet ardently anti-Copernican. Brod and Kafka assured him that time was on his side and Copernicus would be forgotten. Was this a joke too? It's always hard to tell when Kafka is kidding, understating or overstating. In fact, the essence of magical realism (which you may say--and I do say--that Kafka founded) is to take literal what is not literal. Hence, my mind was boggled for most of the 500 pages (I'd say about 425 of them). There's a wonderful image he uses to describe the difficulty of writing fiction that I will remember, one which is not quite self-pitying like some other entries, but which is rich in insight. December 19, 1914: "I spent the whole night working yet I only wrote one page and it wasn't very good. The beginning of every story is ridiculous. There seems no hope that this newborn, still incomplete and tender in every joint, will be able to keep alive in the completed organization of the world...However, one should not forget that the story...bears its complete organization in itself even before it has been fully formed; for this reason, despair over the beginning of a story is unwarranted; in a like case parents should have to despair of their suckling infant, for they had no intention of bringing this pathetic and ridiculous being into the world." (p. 322) The comparison with bearing a child is apt: one does not give birth to Socrates, but to a baby. Your job as a parent is to turn that crying baby into Socrates. While Brod's postscript points out that diaries can be misleading, in that they usually focus on a cathartic expression of what is bothering the diarist, and that Kafka was known as a funny, genial guy, this is a miserable book. The word "despair" might be the most used word in all of it, and the despair only became more acute and more often after his tuberculosis diagnosis. He seemed almost completely unable to be happy: I counted 9 women who were interested in him in the 13 years of his diary-keeping [he was tall, dark, and handsome:], yet he was ambivalent about marriage throughout the whole period. I felt so badly for Felice Bauer, to whom he was engaged twice, and whom he deeply loved. The reason it didn't work out? She wanted a normal life: a good house, children, stability. He wanted to continue writing from midnight to 6 AM (according to his description of how he wrote "The Judgment") and sleeping 2 hours a night. What he did to her was unjust--he led her on for years and, according to the diaries, "brought about her father's death." Kafka says he was angry with his friend Felix for getting married and, says he joked to Felix's mother that the girl was stealing Felix from him, too. Social tact, anyone? Elsewhere, he calls "coitus...punishment for marriage." This ambivalence seems to come from two conflicts within Kafka: (1) his inability not to think of love and sex as two separate things--his love of unattractive women and his attraction to horrible women, and (2) ambivalence about solitude. On the one hand, Kafka was afraid of being alone, but on the other, he was unable to write without being alone, and therefore, felt he had to endure loneliness because God wanted him to write (as Max Brod told Kafka's father). Kafka even, hilariously, like Darwin [same dilemma--work or wife? Productivity or pleasure? Darwin, at least, went with wife, remarking in HIS diary that, for companionship and health, a wife is "better than a dog.":] , made a pro and con list for marrying Felice: "I am completely lost in her, flush whenever I even think about her" but his writing winning out even over this. Perhaps, instead, this ambivalence is rooted in his more general ambivalence about social life ("Everything but literature bores me, even talking about literature.") Kafka couldn't be happy married (he notes how happy all the married men at the office are, with some bitterness he writes, no doubt, adding that he could never be like them) and he couldn't be happy single, living with his parents. "Sisyphus was a bachelor," he jokes (p. 401, January 19, 1922). I found myself wondering what memories he had of Paris, because he seemed fixated on it. Everything in the 1911 diaries "reminds [him:] of Paris." I was never quite clear as to why or even why he had so much pleasure thinking back on Paris. The Travel Diaries are barely readable, because they are just descriptions of people, descriptions of streets, rivers, etc. Ass-achingly boring. I skipped a few pages of sentence fragments because my head hurt. I was disturbed by how many of his story fragments (and indeed, stories!) are about either doing violence to a random stranger or having violence done to him by random strangers. Even his dreams were pervaded with violence (I was struck by the one of trying to jam a gigantic naked man into an oven with his father...odd.) This boy was crazy. June 25, 1914: "I paced in my room from early morning until twilight." (p. 290) Is this a joke? Another entry says he washed his hands over and over because he was bored. His entry on the beginning of World War One just says that war was declared...and he went swimming that day. September 13, 1914 (while writing the Trial, and worrying about World War I) "Perhaps I have been created to die of worry." (p. 314)There was a lot less about his family here than I expected, perhaps because Brod cut out passages he felt were too intimate, according to the postscript. His parents always seem to be playing cards mindlessly, his sister nosily hovering over him as he writes. Perhaps there is not much about his family BECAUSE he can't stand them. November 12, 1914: "Parents who expect gratitude from their children (and some insist on it) are like usurers who gladly risk their capital if only they receive interest." (p. 317)The back of the book says it is "compulsively readable." This is not true. It was work, taking up much more of the day than I had wanted, and it is only barely worth it. At least I know I'm not crazy, or at least not as crazy as Kafka!For a much better review than this, check out Zadie Smith's: http://www.nybooks.com/articles/21610
لعلها المدة الأطول التي اقرأ فيها كتاباً على دفعات ليس لحجمه و إنما لأجوائه المرهقة ..كنت اتركه لأيام لأن شيئاً ما استفزني و حرّك ما أسن من هدوء زائف نلف به أرواحنا القلقة..وأحياناً كنت اقرأ واشتم هذا الشخص الذي يختصر حياته بينه وبين ذاته واستطاع أن يعريها تماماً كما هي بكل روعتها و حقارتها.. هذا الكتاب فيه كمية هائلة من "التشريح" الصادق و المؤلم للنفس البشرية بكل تجلياتها. طبيعة كونه تدوين لـ"يوميات" صنعت الكثير من النقلات المفاجئة و التداخل والانقطاع أحياناً مما يربك القارئ ، كما أن الكتاب غارق في التفاصيل هنا تقرأ التفاصيل و الكثير من التفاصيل المدهشة إزاء كل شيء الذات - خصوصاُ- الزمن.. النساء... الأدب.. الدين و العائلة و الهوية .هي المرة الأولى التي اقرأ لكافكا و بدأت بما قربني إلى شخصه أكثر من أدبه فتشكل لدي نوع من التصور عما يمكن أن يكون أدبه عليه ..أجمل مافي الكتاب هو تلك الأفكار الصغيرة و الملاحظات التي لا تكاد تلمحها حول كل شيء ..بإمكاني القول أن كافكا يملك دهشة طفل و حس فيلسوف فتخيل ما يمكن أن ينتج من تركيبة كهذه الأحاديث التي تدور في خلفية تفكير المرء هي مادة هذا الكتاب الأصوات المتضاربة التي تشغله و تنازعه لذلك هي مرهقة للحد الذي لا تستطيع أن تقرأ معه لمدة طويلة فتلك الأصوات تبدأ هي الأخرى بالإلحاح عليك و تتركك تواجه صداها الذي يتردد بداخلك مثيراً قلقاً كبيراً و أسئلة أكبر – أو لعل هذا ما حدث معي على الأقل-.بناء على ذلك فإن مادة الكتاب لا تقدم الكثير فكرياً ، و إنما تمسك بك لتوجهك تماماً للزاوية التي يرى بها كافكا كل الأحداث و اللحظات التي مر بها و قد لا يكون بعضها مما يستحق التدوين و لكن شخصيته الحساسة تجاه كل ما حوله تجعل من كل ما يمسها مادة للتأمل و الكتابة ، ولكنها رغم ذلك حملت وشكلت بذوراً لروايات و قصص نشرها كافكا و نشرت له بعد وفاته كالمسخ و المحاكمة ..كما طرح رأيه و قدم قراءات لبعض الأعمال الأدبية المعاصرة و القديمة و لم تخلو اليوميات من حديث عن الدين و السياسة و إن لم تكن كثيفة كملاحظاته المتعلقة بحياته و هويته و مشاعره.آلمتني الأجزاءالتي يتحدث فيها عن علاقته بأبيه( يصفها كافكا بأنها عدائية) شعرت بالكثير من المرارة و لعل طبيعة هذه العلاقة التي تحوي الكثير من اللوم و الصمت والآمال المتعارضة و الحواجز هي ما أسهم في خلق حساسيته المفرطة و شخصيته الفريدة .أثارت دهشتي قدرته الفائقةعلى وصف التفاصيل لحد الافتتان بها ، كيف يلتفت إليها و يغدق عليها من التعابير ما يرفعها لمستوى الشخصيات فتجده مثلاً يستغرق في وصف مصباح ما في المسرح أو فستان ممثلة بسلاسة و خفة و يمنحها بذلك معنى و قيمة .وما يلفت أيضاً هو إحساسه العالي بالزمن فشعوره به وبأنه محاصر ويكاد يكون في صراع معه يعد أمراً يشكل جزء كبيراً من ذاته القلقة و لعل ذلك كان نتيجة مرضه الدائم و هزاله الذي كان يهدد حياته و يؤثر على قراراته كالزواج و الكتابة والرغبة في الإنجاز الأدبي .علاقته المعقدة مع الناس أيضاً تحتل جزءاً كبيراً من تدويناته فهو يرى نفسه بأنه إنسان ضيئل وعلى قدر من التفاهة و الارتباك في حضور الآخرين مما يمنعه من التواصل معهم بشكل طبيعي و اختلاطه بهم يشكل عبئأ ثقيلاً عليه لأنه رجل يأنس بالوحدة و الأدب وخارج هذين العالمين هو انسان مهزوز و ضعيف نوعاً ما . وهو ما يقودنا لعلاقته الشائكة و المضطربة بالنساء باستثناء والدته .بالنسبة لأسلوب الكتاب فهو مرتب زمنياً من 1910 – 1923 و أكثر ما اليوميات جمالاً كانت من 1919 – حتى 1923 حيث غابت عنها التفاصيل المملة و أصبحت مختزلة أكثر و يعرض فيها للحديث عن معنى الحياة و قيمتها و ما يشكله معنى الذات و الهوية و قيمة المرء ..وأصبحت تدويناته فلسفية عميقة و أقرب للحكمة و العبر منها إلى التدوين .. وهو من أكثر الفصول قيمة أدبية و فكرية.و لا أخفي أن قراءة هذا الكتاب مرهقة ..فبعد المقدمة التي تنير لك مسلكاً لقراءة النص، غاب ذكر وجود ملحق كامل للإحالات في نهايته فبالإضافة للهوامش أسفل الصفحات كان هناك ملحق آخراكتشفت وجوده في منتصف قرائتي للكتاب وأيضاً لم تكن تلك الإحالات مرقمة مما جعل الربط بينها وبين الصفحات ضرباً من الإرهاق للقارئ لو كانت أضيف للهوامش أسفل الصفحات كان ذلك سيوفر عناء الإرتباك و يجعل فهم اليوميات أسهل خصوصاُ مع كثرة تكرار أسماء الشخصيات و المدن و الكتب. نصيحة أخيرةلا تقرأ هذا الكتاب في فترة تكون فيها سعيداً و متصالحاً مع ذاتك
What do You think about Diaries Of Franz Kafka (2009)?
In how many ways is it possible to express one’s discontent? Keeping in mind Chomsky’s observations with regard to the ability of the human mind to construct new sentences, and the infinite variety of the forms of linguistic signification that supplies one of the conditions making this creative power possible, the response to this question could perhaps better be expressed in terms of contingencies like quantum values or Borgesian hypotheses, than in something so literal as an ordinal number. Already the question is in question. But to follow the conceptual with the existential (as the ridiculous sometimes follows the sublime), on how many occasions might one return in print to the theme of one’s discontent before exhausting the very finite patience of one’s reader who, lord knows, has problems of his or her own? If you’re Kafka, probably more times than most.In this edition of Kafka’s diaries, edited by his friend Max Brod (who, contrary to Kafka’s last wishes, rescued his work from oblivion, with the world richer for it), Kafka discusses his discontent in almost every other entry. Discontent with his family (particularly his father), with women to whom he is attracted (particularly F.B.), and always, always with himself (for not getting married, for not working enough).This is not to say that Kafka only complains, just to say that it seems as if he writes more about his discontent than about any other subject. And because he is intimate with it, he finds more than one way to write about it. Sometimes stating the fact of discontent, with a mention of its cause, perhaps, is enough, but there are other instances in which Kafka will write a paragraph or two commenting on the subject. In some passages, Kafka analyzes his discontent by breaking it into parts which he numbers and discusses separately; in these instances, one gets the sense of Kafka as one who can think about his emotional experiences abstractly and, if not entirely objectively, then without a great amount of distortion. Perhaps it is because of this that of the diaries and journals I have read, I think Kafka’s might be the saddest, but also the most honest.In addition to supplying the reader with an idea of Kafka’s emotional experiences, the Diaries reflect something of Kafka’s intellectual and creative activity. In the early pages, for instance, he writes frequently of going to the theatre, and describes his impressions of the plays he sees. In these passages one can see the attention to detail that one finds in Kafka’s fiction, particularly in the descriptions of costumes and the gestures and facial expressions of the actors and actresses (by some of whom it seems Kafka may have been a bit starstruck). In addition, he comments on books he is reading, on lectures he has heard, and on his own art and that of others.Although he writes about his writing in a general way, and does not discuss his intentions with regard to the meanings of works like The Trial and “The Metamorphosis,” there are some passages that, for me, show something of Kafka’s sense of himself as a creative individual. For instance, I was surprised to learn how confident he was with regards to his resolve to be an artist. For an idea of his creative process, the Diaries include passages in which he experiments with ideas for stories, frequently writing a sentence or two or a paragraph of a scene on which a story might open, then stopping, sometimes in mid-sentence. So how satisfying is it to read of Kafka’s discontent? Pretty satisfying, if you’re interested in knowing something about the mind of a writer.
—Dan
Anais Nin once wrote that a personal world lived deep enough transcends the truth in all universes. Those words have never been more applicable to any writer other than Franz Kafka. And in this book you can see why. I remember reading it throughout a whole couple of nights, unable to force myself to stop, absolutely fascinated by a world constructed so delicately, yet unabatedly-sentence by sublime sentence into a marvellous prose edifice. I can still recall one entire setting where he just describes a billowing shawl of a woman waiting in winter for a train. This is not art but is simply beyond art. We can never be grateful enough to Max Brod for preserving the manuscript against Kafka’s wishes, which I regard as one of the two most significant events in twentieth century literature. The other of course being Sylvia Beach deciding to publish The Ulysses.
—Sunil
يوميات كافكاهذا هو لقائى الأول بكافكا ، وأظنه لن يكون الأخير نصحونى ألا أقرأ المذكرات قبل أن أدخل عالم كافكا الأدبى لعله لا يروق لى ، ولكن كافكا رائع ، كافكا فى مذكراته يتحدث بلا توقف مع ذاته ، حديث يثير شجونى ويحفز رغباتى فى العودة إلى الكتابة بشكل مكثف ولو على شكل مذكراتمقدمة المترجم إطلالة هامة على المذكرات وعلى عالم كافكا .. وتحتاجون للعودة إليها بين الحين والآخر .. ومن الأفضل قراءتها مرة أخيرة بعد الانتهاء من المذكراتأمر آخر مهم ، فى أثناء القراءة ستجدوا دوائر صغيرة فى بعض الأماكن ، ولكن لا تعليق بالأسفل ، للأسف التعليقات موجودة بآخر الكتاب (بدءاً من الصفحة 495 ) ، وهى تعليقات المحرر ماكس برود ، فى آخر الكتاب أيضاً يوجد شرح وتعليق لماكس حول مذكرات كافكا وطريقة إعداده لها ، أظن أنه من الأفضل البدء فى قراءتها قبل قراءة المذكرات لأنها توضح عدة أمورلن أحلل كافكا ومذكراته فأنا أحتاج لقراءة إبداعاته المنشورة لأعطى حكما متكاملا بين ما يقوله لذاته فى مذكراته وبين ما يصدِّره لنا كقراء ، ولكن يلفت إنتباهى (بالإضافة لملاحظات المترجم) مايلى1 – كافكا يعانى أبدا من صراع بين رغبته فى الكتابة الأدبية .. وبين الضرورة الملقاة على كاهله (مهما كانت أسبابها) للعمل المكتبى ، ثم يضاف لهذا الصراع صراعه بين ألا يحب وألا يتزوج ، ويزيد الصراع تأزماً .. أحساسه أن مالديه بالحقيقة يتشكل فقط فى كيان متزن حين يبدع بالكتابة وهذا الإبداع يستهلك الكثير والكثير من وقته وجهده ، فهل يبعثر هذان الكنزان فى عمل مكتبى لا يعطى لوجوده سوى وجودا لحظى؟ ، أو زوجة تلتهم ما تبقى له من طاقة عاطفية وفكرية؟2 – أضف إلى هذا الصراع عنصر المرض .. فكافكا بطول المذكرات يعانى من صداع وإرهاق مستمران فى أغلب الأحيان ، ولعل وفاته قبل أن يصل إلى سن الأربعين بمرض السل الرئوى توضح حقيقة هذا الضعف فى بنيته الجسدية ووعيه الشديد به ، وعدم قدرته على هزيمة هذا العامل الخارج عن إرادته3 – رغم أن كافكا يدرك أن كينونته تتشكل فى الإبداع إلا أنه يبدو لى كشخصية باحثة عن الكمال ، شخصية ناقدة ... ترى العيوب بكثرة وتتشاءم بسهولة ، وفى المذكرات تتركز تلك الصفة فى نقده لذاته ولإبداعاته ، طبعاً سنراها فى نقده المستمر للمسرحيات والمحاضرات التى يحضرها ، والكتب التى يقرأها ، والأشخاص الذين يلقاهم ، لكن بالأكثر نقده لذاته هو الأكثر عمقاً فى المذكرات ، لذا تراه دوما غير راضياً ، غير راضياً عن اختياره للكلمات ، غير راضياً عن كتاباته ، غير راضياً عن عمله ، عن حبه ، عن عائلته ، عن أصدقائه ، غير راضياً عن ذاته ، هذا الشعور بعدم الرضا يستهلكه ، ويجعله يشعر بأن ملكاته فى الإبداع تحتاج إلى الكثير من الوقت والمجهود لتتمكن من أن تُخرِج إلى الوجود مايدور بداخل عقله تماما كما يدور بداخل عقله ، مما يدفعه دوما لتكرار الرغبة فى أن يترك كل شئ ويكتفى فقط بالإبداع ، وهى رغبة ربما تمر على الكثير من المبدعين ولكنه يخنق نفسه بها أكثر وأكثر فتصير المعوقات التى تمنعه عنها أكثر ضخامة وأعمق تأثيراً فى داخله4 – أعجبنى تسجيله للأحلام التى يحلم بها ، فلعلها كانت مطبخاً لأفكار وجدت طريقها إلى رواياتهبالحقيقة تبدو لى المذكرات كلها كمطبخ كبير للأفكار الذاتية التى تتولد فى عقل كافكا ، لعله يرجع إليها بين الحين والآخر لتلهمه حالة شعورية أو وصفاً لشخصية ينطلق منها إبداعه فى طريق جديدملحوظة: ألهمنى كافكا بفكرة إعادة كتابة ما أكتبه فى شكل جديد ، بداية جديدة وتفاصيل أكثر ثراءً ، رغم أنى أحب الكتابة الأشبه بالولادة ، لكن لعلها طريقة مفيدة لاستغلال الأفكار التى تتعثر ولادتها ، أو ربما تلهمنى القدرة على كتابة الأدب الروائىفهل تعاودنى الكتابة؟ هل أتخذ قرارا؟
—Bassem Farag
