Bir kitabı bitirmeniz en çok ne kadar zamanınızı aldı şimdiye kadar? Bir ay? İki? Hadi altı ay olsun. Benim en uzun zamanda bitirebildiğim kitap Dava oldu efendim. Tam iki yıl. Gerçek.

Franz Kafka'nın 1925 yılında, bir klişe olarak ölümünden iki sene sonra yayınlanan romanı olan Dava, orijinal ismi "Der Prozeβ" olan Dava -ki bu da aynı zamanda 'süreç' demek. İlginçtir, şimdi öğrendim daha, eksik kısımları da kalmış, yani aslında Kafka bile tamamlayamamış kitabı, sanırım o da benim gibi kaybolmuş kendi cümlelerinin arasında.

Konu itibariyle kısalamak gerekirse bir sabah ansızın ve gerekçesizin tutuklanan bir adamı, Josef K.'yı ve onun sürüncemelerle sürünen sanal davası işleniyor romanda. Klasik bir Kafka anlatısı aslında, karanlık, depresif, ümitsiz, yararsız. Uzun ve kasvetli cümleler, bitmek bilmeyen paragraflar.. Tüm bunlar romanın atmosferine ciddi katkı sağlasa da, elbette okumayı güçleştiriyor.

Eleştirmek istediği de birçok şey var elbette yine Kafka'nın, bunların en başında da devlet otoritesi ve onun sağladığı korku kültürü var. Nedensizce, kanıtsızca, hiçbir şeyi gözetmeden hoyratça hareket edebilen devleti gözler önüne seriyor. Ayrıca sadece yargı organını değil, tüm bürokrasiyi yerden yere vuruyor, onunla alay ediyor. Ama alay ettiği şeyin kudretinin de farkında. Daha doğrusu şöyle diyelim; devlete çaktırmadan devletle dalga geçiyor, yani onu aptal yerine koyuyor.

Ayrıca bütün yönleriyle düşününce de, tarihin hep tekerrür olduğu, devlet sisteminin hiç değişmediği ve değişmeyeceği görülüyor, zira günümüzde yaşadıklarımız da çok farklı değil, yargısız infazlar, iddianamesiz yıllarca içeride yatan insanlar, aklansa bile “çamur-iz” bağlamında aklanamayan insanlar.. Kafka hepsinden dem vuruyor.

Bir de aralara çeşitli karakterler serpiştirmiş Franz; yargıç, bankacı, memur, avukat, ressam, hizmetçi, iş adamı, rahip.. Sanki duruma hepsinin gözünden ayrı ayrı bakmak ve tümevarım yoluyla sosyolojik bir bakışaçısı da getirmek istemiş. Açıkçası romanın bu yönü oldukça hoş. Zaten okuma zorluğu dışında bir nahoşluk da yok ki, o da klasik bir Kafkavari durum. Kafkaesk diye kelime var arkadaşım, sırf bu yüzden işte.

(Spoilers)

Kafka's prose is subtle, unnerving, and even a hundred years later, refreshing; it is cloaked, disguised. If one reads this, or anything by this mischievously fun-loving author, without digging under the surface, the work falls flat. Those seeking a more standard narrative--character development, plot twists, and snappy dialogue--will be disappointed. This is a writer notorious for soaking his stories in symbolism, baking them in figuration.

Still, one aware of the writer's background and penchants may ask: what does it mean? Am I perceiving the symbolism correctly? Are my own predilections influencing the meanings I'm gleaning from this strange text? Probably, but that's okay. Going round the web reading scholarly analyses gives one little direction, as each critic has his/her own idea of what The Trial means. Often it is cited as a religious allegory. Others say it is symbolic of the trivial formalities and menial tasks involved with living and working in "modern" society. Still others point to the brutality of a totalitarian government; some think it was actually about the law, and in particular the convoluted court system and politics of the Austro-Hungarian Empire at the time.

All this certainly plays a part. The main theme though: the trial is life. The law is the meaning of life. Not just any life, but the Socratic life--the examined life, for not all are indicted. It's important that the trial begins on K's 30th birthday. The optimism of youth--the pleasure, the indulgence, the goal-setting and ambition of young adulthood--has lost its appeal.

K, especially early on, could simply choose to ignore the charge against him. Even his interrogators say, and the court judges affirm, he is free to go, do as he pleases. But the trial appears to be this examined type of life, once begun it does not cease. The trial occupies more and more of K's thoughts, more of his time until it is the only thing. Even his job, which before assumed a high level of importance to him, becomes secondary.

K is not distracted anymore from the absurdity of life. He can no longer isolate himself from the bleakness of the realization that all is inherently meaningless, pointless, useless. The law, or the details of his case, represent the profound questions of existence for which we do not have answers. Why are we here? How should we live? Can we attain enlightenment, ataraxia, or even a slight amount of overall happiness--contentment? Or do we simply swing from goal to goal, ever wanting, ever striving, deluding ourselves, only to decay and die?

K seeks advice from several friends, colleagues, and professionals. He wants to talk about it. The old woman who runs the building in which he lives seems to know what he's talking about, but she doesn't want to think about it all that much. She suggests K not think too hard on it either. Good advice it seems. A young lady, a tenant in the building, says something like: I don't want to be let in on secrets I don't need to know (yet).

Kafka called himself a "blood relative" to Dostoevsky, and we begin to see why.

Other characters, like his uncle, claim to know what to do, which involves adhering to preordained formalities, or focusing on one detail rather than another. The judges and officers of the court give little information, only when to show up here or there for some sort of proceeding.

That the hearings take place in cramped little attics or adjoining rooms of buildings with exceedingly baffling floor plans adds to the absurdity, paralleling the triviality of all we do--work, love, play, fight--in the face of emptiness, inevitable nothingness. Kafka confines his narrative to a few streets of the gray outside and the interiors of weird compartments, deliberately implying the limits of human knowledge and action.

Several women enter K's life after his arrest. The fellow tenant rejects him. The maid of his lawyer and a court usher's wife offer themselves to K. He is attracted to all these women in different ways, but never establishes any type of meaningful relationship with any of them. Are these romantic failures there merely to insinuate that what we consider a lasting, loving relationship with our spouse is only another distraction to help kill time before our deaths? Does all the advice and support he seeks get thwarted so that Kafka can tell us that no one can save us? And when K fires his lawyer and attempts to take on the case himself, preparing some documents to submit to the court, which too go awry, is this all reminding us to curb our trust in our own intellect, our own reason and logic?

Fittingly, one of K's last destinations is a cathedral, and one of the last people he meets is a priest. This prison chaplain offers some decent advice and tells a parable. Their talk comforts K momentarily, but he is made to leave and must take things on himself once more. The symbolism here is more overt and tells us that not even religion, faith, or spirituality can provide an ultimate salvation.

In the end some unsavory court officials lead K to an unceremonious end, but even in this K seems to have a choice, though not much of one. He leads the way half the time, and when he stops the officials must stop, but he sees that he will eventually have to proceed, and so he gets on with it.

While societal, governmental, judicial and bureaucratic parallels abound, Kafka's main allegory is far larger than any of these. K's trial is every person's life. If one looks at it frankly, we are born, we age, we work, we play, we love, we procreate, whatever--we keep aging, and we die. In between all the waking, eating, voiding excrement, and sleeping, we laugh and cry. What is it all for? Does it matter? Maybe not, but once you know this, or think you know it, or even begin to think about it, there is no turning back. You will always know it, and though you are free to live how you like, to whatever degree you are able, you will, at times, think of this, have to ponder it and accept it.

You can distract yourself, but we are all standing trial, and we will never know the answers we seek. We will all die, and when we do, we will still have questions: just like the old man in the priest's parable, who sat all his life by a door to access the room holding "The Law," but who never was admitted by the doorman; and when he died, that door shut for good, as it was only there for him.

کتاب محاکمه در مورد بازداشت عجیب و محاکمه‌ی عجیب‌تر مردی به نام یوزف.ک هست که نه خودش و نه ما هرگز از اتهام، چگونگی رخ دادن و چگونگی محاکمه به معنای واقعی مطلع نمی‌شیم و حتی خود یوزف.ک هم مکرراً میگه که بی گناهه. نمیخوام در مورد لایه‌های پنهان و مفهومی نوشته و تفکراتم راجع بهش چیزی بنویسم ولی واقعا کتاب جذاب و عجیبیه.ه

Chiar dacă ne place sau nu, acest roman a schimbat radical concepția noastră despre ce este (și poate însemna) literatura...

„Nu da prea multă importanţă comentariilor. Scriptura e invariabilă şi comentariile nu sînt, adeseori, decît expresia deznădejdii comentatorilor”.

Nota mea de lectură nu va fi, totuși, o expresie a deznădejdii. Din motivul cel mai simplu: cînd citea prietenilor din Procesul, Franz Kafka era cel dintîi care izbucnea în rîs. Intenția lui fusese să stîrnească ilaritate. Prietenii erau probabil uimiți, intrigați de bizara desfășurare a întîmplărilor. Dar cum să nu vezi în paginile cărții o intenție comică?

Joseph K. (30 de ani) este arestat, dar nu va afla niciodată motivul acestei decizii. Nu e dus în temniță, are voie să meargă la slujbă (lucrează la o bancă) și să trăiască după bunul lui plac. Nu e căutat de anchetatori, ci el trebuie să pornească în căutarea lor. Nu există o acuzație propriu-zisă. Totul pare un zvon. Cînd este convocat la interogatorii, nu i se precizează locul întîlnirii și e nevoit să rătăcească prin clădiri insalubre, cu odăi mizere, cu scări care nu duc nicăieri, cu paznici abulici și femei care spală rufe (întîlnirea cu Leni). Un astfel de edificiu meschin contrazice vădit măreția unui Palat de Justiție. Totul e o parodie caricaturală. Mai mult: cînd răsfoiește cărțile de pe masa anchetatorilor, protagonistul nu găsește enciclopediii juridice, tomuri de legi și nici lucrări de specialitate. Judecătorii sînt pasionați de literatura erotică și privesc fotografii deocheate. Citind pasajul de mai jos, nu-ți poți reprima rîsul:

„K. luă volumul de deasupra, îl deschise şi dădu cu ochii de o gravură indecentă: un bărbat şi o femeie şedeau goi pe o canapea; intenţia gravorului fusese vădit obscenă, dar stîngăcia desenului făcea să se vadă doar un bărbat şi o femeie exagerat de ţepeni, care păreau că ies din cadru şi nu izbuteau decît cu greu să se privească, din pricina perspectivei greşite. K. nu răsfoi volumul mai departe, ci deschise un altul, la pagina titlului; avea acum în faţă un roman intitulat: «Torturile pe care Grete le-a îndurat de la soțul ei, Hans»”.

Executorii din final au aspectul cel mai ridicol și stupid cu putință: „În redingotă, palizi și grași, cei doi domni purtau țilindre înalte, care păreau țintuite pe țestele lor”. Cine a mai văzut un gîde împodobit ca pentru un bal mascat? Prozatorul înfățișează o lume pe dos. Evenimentele sînt imprevizibile. Așteptările cititorilor nu se împlinesc niciodată. În catedrală, în locul Scripturii, preotul citește și comentează o parabolă kafkiană, „În fața Legii”. Sensul parabolei este perfect ermetic și orice încercare de a o descifra eșuează.

Franz Kafka avertizase în altă parte: „Ceea ce e de neînțeles rămîne de neînțeles”. Dorința naturală de a găsi un sens (chiar și acolo unde sensul este absent) e contrazisă de autor la tot pasul. Procesul e un roman profund ironic, o satiră a mecanismelor greoaie ale birocrației și justiției omenești...

P. S. O opinie a lui Susan Sontag cu privire la interpretarea lui Kafka la care subscriu:

„Opera lui Kafka a fost supusă unui adevărat viol în masă de către nu mai puțin de trei armate de interpreți. Cei care-l citesc pe Kafka drept o alegorie socială văd studii de caz ale frustrărilor și absurdității nebunești ale birocrației moderne și ale manifestării ei ultime în statul totalitar. Cei care-l citesc pe Kafka drept o alegorie psihanalitică văd dezvăluiri disperate ale spaimei în fața tatălui, anxietăți de castrare, sentimentul propriei neputințe, starea sa de sclav al propriilor vise. Cei care-l citesc pe Kafka drept alegorie religioasă arată cum K. din Castelul încearcă să obțină accesul în ceruri, cum Joseph K. din Procesul este judecat de tainica și inexorabila dreptate a lui Dumnezeu...” (Împotriva interpretării, București: Editura Univers, 2000, pp.18-19).

"هوای داخل اتاق بسیار سنگین بود. بخاری آهنی در گوشه اتاق تنگ و شلخته نقاش بی‌وقفه می‌سوخت. جوزف کا. جرات نداشت اورکتش را در بیاورد. عرق تمام پیشانی‌اش را خیس کرده بود و نفسش به سختی بالا می‌آمد. نگاهی به پنجره انداخت. مه خنک پشت پنجره‌ها در آسمان آبی دیده می‌شد. چقدر خوب می‌بود اگر فقط برای لحظه‌ای می‌توانست پنجره‌های اتاق را باز کند و کمی هوای تازه به درون بکشد. اما تردید داشت به نقاش حرفی بزند... بالاخره بخود جرات داد و از نقاش پرسید ممکن است فقط برای چند لحظه پنجره را باز کنیم؟ نقاش جواب داد این پنجره‌ها سرتاسری هستن و نمی‌شود بازشان کرد. خیلی متاسفم..." {بخشی از کتاب با کمی تصرف در متن}

کافکا یکبار به دوستش مارکس برود در مورد زندگی و امید جمله قصاری میگه
"امید هست. امید زیادی هست. اما نه برای ما"

بله. پنجره هست. اما نه برای ما! در واقع این الگو در کتاب بارها و به شکل‌های مختلف طی داستان تکرار می‌شه. تعلیق بین حس بیم و امید که از نقاط قوت قلم کافکاست، فاکتور مهمی در جهان‌بینی کافکا محسوب می‌شه. دقت کنید، کافکا نمیگه دیوار سرتاسر آجری بود و پنجره‌ای نداشت. میگه پنجره داشت. اما باز نمی‌شد! زجری که این امید به ما می‌ده به مراتب بیشتر از زجر ناامیدیه. این مساله، در واقع شاه‌کلید درک این رمانه و به کمک این یک جمله هست که می‌تونیم تصمیم جوزف کا. رو در پایان کتاب درک کنیم. خصوصا وقتی اون رو در کنار سرنوشت کاراکتر "بلوک" که هنوز امید داره در محاکمه پیروز بشه قرار می‌دیم.

به واقع امید "بلوک" به رهایی، بازتاب همون نگاه پوچ و ابزوردی هستش که کافکا به این دنیا داره. به ایده محکومیت. به ایده دستگاه جبار که حتی وکیل هم بخشی از اونه. این دستگاه جبار که فعالانه در تکاپو هستش تا تو رو متوجه محدودیت‌ها و محکومیتت کنه. به شخصه این کتاب رو اعتراضی بر علیه زندگی‌ای دیدم که ابتدا به تو امید به تعالی می‌ده اما ناگهان با مرگ به سراغت میاد. در این رابطه البته زندگی تراژیک خود کافکا رو، که بخاطر بیماری خیلی زود از دنیا رفت، نباید از یاد برد.

بعلاوه، در اواخر کتاب کاراکتر کشیش یک داستان عجیب و تکان‌دهنده‌ای برای جوزف کا. تعریف می‌کنه که بنظر شخصی من باز درک اون داستان در گرو درک همین جمله است. دربانی که نه با زور بلکه با دادن امید واهی به اینکه ممکنه روزی در قانون برای تو باز بشه، تمام عمر مرد رو پشت در نگه می‌داره.

و در خصوص زن‌ها در این کتاب باز نباید زندگی شخصی خود کافکا رو فراموش کرد. تقریبا تمامی زن‌های این کتاب، که جایی در اواخر کتاب اونها رو متهم می‌کنه که همگی از کارمندان دادگاه هستن، به نوعی اغواگر هستن و جوزف کا. رو از هدفش دور می‌کنن. این‌ها رو کاملا باید در چارچوب زندگی شخصی کافکا بررسی کرد. در واقع کافکا برغم میلی که به زن‌ها داشت، به هیچ وجه نمی‌تونست اخلال اون‌ها رو در میل به تنهایی و میل به نوشتنش تحمل کنه و همواره بین ترس از تنهایی و ترس از صمیمیت نسبت به زن‌ها در نوسان بود.

در کل هرچند حس تعلیق بین بیم و امید رو در این کتاب به خوبی می‌شد حس کرد، اما بنظرم کتاب تا حد زیادی حوصله سر بر بود. کتاب پیام‌هایی داره اما این پیام‌ها عموما در گرو پایان داستانه. متاسفانه کتاب به سرعت کشش خودش رو از دست می‌ده و در عوض ما رو با همون حس گنگی و سردگمی جوزف کا. تنها می‌ذاره. از این نظر بنظرم داستان کوتاه گروه محکومین که کمابیش با همین مضامین سر و کار داره به مراتب داستان قوی‌تر، قشنگ‌تر و شوکه‌کننده‌تری بود.


پ.ن: در پایان کتاب یک تشبیه عجیبی وجود داره که سخت می‌شه از یادش برد: "مثل سگ!" اما چرا سگ؟ اگر میخواست بی‌اهمیتی رو نشون بده، چرا سوسک نه (داستان مسخ؟!) کاملا ممکنه بی‌خودی داریم گیر میدیم اما سگ یک ماجرای جالبی داره. در یک مقاله‌ای خوندم که سگ در دین یهود، ارزش قربانی کردن نداره و قربانی کردن سگ مقبول نیست. کشتن سگ چیزی جز تلف کردن یک جان نیست. شاید اشاره به سگ، نه اشاره به بی‌اهمیتی، که اشاره به بی‌ارزشی داره.

This was just so difficult to get through. I mean, the language is clear and it's easy enough to follow, yet I found it so infuriating and frustrating and tedious that it actually left me with a headache. There is the feeling that one encounters in nightmares, of being trapped in a suffocating loop which one is forced to endure and from which there can be no escape: this feeling is captured perfectly in The Trial. My emotional experience while reading this felt so congruous to the experience of the protagonist that I'm almost tempted to agree with the common consensus and proclaim this to be a work of utmost genius. However I'm genuinely unsure whether this was intentional on the part of the writer, or a result of overwhelming dullness. So how do you rate a book that so perfectly captures and expresses the emotional state of its protagonist, but is absolutely painful to read?

The story is imaginative - it's essentially an allegory, and it absolutely does reveal some interesting truths, both superficially about the absurdity of bureaucracy and of chaos in the world, and more profoundly about the struggle for meaning and order within our own lives. There is a certain humour to the writing - a delight in the fantastic and the absurd - but one gets the impression that at some point (in honesty, fairly early on) the metaphor is well and truly exhausted and the absurd is exploited simply as there is nothing really left to say. The fact is that absurd situations within the context of an allegory can generate the mirage of hidden depth which is not really there - the profundity and significance of this book has been deeply overstated in my opinion. I believe there is a fine short story here, but did we really need the metaphor to be run so thoroughly into the ground?

The Trial: A kernel of brilliance, wrapped in layer upon layer of tedium.

We’ve all had dreams where we are running on a super-spongy floor, and it seems to get spongier and harder to move over – all while you’re frantically trying to reach some sort of objective. Sometimes you don’t know what the objective is, but sometimes you do – either way WE all know it’s important, crucial…..to something. Along the way you encounter friends and strangers – sometimes the strangers, or friends are disfigured in some way, even just slightly – perhaps one big front tooth, like a truly massive FRONT TOOTH - but the tooth then becomes important. You end up in pointless circular conversations with these people – and all the while you need to hurry towards your goal, otherwise. Well otherwise, you don’t really know you just know you must make it.

Reading (let’s say experiencing) The Trial by Franz Kafka is just like that.

The main character, Josef K., is arrested one day, out of the blue, by two officials. He doesn’t know what he’s charged with, but he’s informed it’s serious. He is then sucked into a cloudy, ludicrous world of pointless interactions amidst fog of peak ambiguity.

In general, the proceedings were kept secret not only from the public but also from the accused. Only as far as possible, of course, but that was to a very great extent. The accused was not allowed to see the court documents either, and it as very difficult to deduce anything from the hearings about the documents on which they were based, especially for the accused, who was prejudiced and had all sorts of worries to distract him

The lawyers are evasive and dysfunctional. The judges are invisible and opaque. The court buildings are in attics at the top of dilapidated buildings for heaven’s sake! Josef K., is distracted by pointless and fruitless journeys – for example, he ends up in a tiny, dark, stinking hot apartment trying to obtain information from a court artist, but it takes ages, and it’s terribly difficult. For example, the door is tucked right behind the artist's bed - now this becomes a topic of conversation, a problem to be solved. Josef ends up buying some paintings, that’s it – Oh Dear!!!!!

There’s a wonderfully disturbing scene in a chapter called The Whip-Man, involving a tall man clad in leather wielding a whip, punishing two characters we encountered earlier in the story. They’re all in a tiny, cupboard-like room. Hunched over a candle. It’s just like the gimp scene from Pulp Fiction. All of this written by a young man back in 1914-15.

Kafka must have either been disturbed, or ridiculously talented or both – either way this man with a brain the size of a planet, understands discomfort and above all – absurdity and importantly, lack of control.

If you think the wheels of our own bureaucracies, establishments and Governments are churning in the background realising no great end-result. Well you ain't seen nothing yet!!! This one is even better than The Metamorphosis.

This must be given 5 exhausted, troubled stars.

5 Stars

I was sitting in my office’s kitchenette, reading this book while stuffing sushi in my mouth. A colleague of mine walked by and asked me what the book was about, so I told him “It’s about a guy who gets arrested for an unspecified crime he doesn’t know he committed, and tries to untangle the bureaucratic net he’s been caught in.” My colleague asked me if it was inspired by real events. I predictably replied: “Sure, it was inspired by what it’s like to work here.” As you may guess, I am my office’s joker.

Anyone who has ever worked in a large corporation is probably vaguely familiar with the headspace that the unfortunate protagonist of “The Trial”, Joseph K., finds himself in: everything is complicated, everyone is working on it, but at the same time, nothing seems to get done, the information is always insufficient or not filed according to procedure… At the end of that day, you feel like you have worked so hard and somehow, nothing is really resolved and you wonder why you spend so much physical, emotional and intellectual energy on this thing… Kafka wrote this novel almost a hundred years ago and yet this weird dysfunctional grind could not sound more contemporary.

As I was reading « The Trial », it was impossible for me not to visualize the events as if they were taking place in a Wes Anderson movie. Something about the general absurdity, the almost caricatural descriptions of the various characters, and that formal but un-hinged tone just brought that visual style to my mind. Certainly, the subject matter is not funny in and of itself: bureaucracy is a fascinating and horrifying machine that does its best to crush the human spirit in its cogs, but there is definitely a point at which the only sane reaction is to laugh.

My husband and I are currently waiting for his permanent residency application to be finalized by the Canadian government, and the convoluted, inexplicable and often arbitrary sounding procedures the poor K. must follow was an interesting reminder of the various hoops we have had to jump through in the past year. It was all a pain in the ass, but now we mostly just look back on it laughing, and congratulating ourselves we survived the process.

I’ve read many theories that address the metaphors to be found in “The Trial” and while I think they are fun to think about (the German word for trial is the same word they would use for “process”, so maybe the book is about an internal psychological process; the arrest is on the morning of K.’s thirtieth birthday, so maybe this is about the endless complications of adulthood; life is just a series of senseless trials and tribulations… I could go on, but you get the idea), I also didn’t enjoy the experience of reading this book enough to indulge in them too much. It was a fast and easy read, and while I am aware that it meandered and droned on completely deliberately, to put the reader in K.’s head, I was glad to get it over with. I still think it belongs on my “mandatory reads” shelf, if only because this book is so seminal, and referred to ad nauseum in both literature and pop culture: you need to read this so you can be obnoxiously accurate when you declare that something is Kafkaesque.

Back in university, I had a part-time job at a research center. It was nothing glamorous: I conducted surveys over the phone. Some studies were nation-wide, others were only in Long Island. A few were directed towards small businesses. There I would sit in my little half-cubicle, with a headset on, navigating through the survey on a multiple-choice click screen.
tt
During the small business studies, a definite pattern would emerge. I would call, spend a few minutes navigating the badly recorded voice menu, and then reach a secretary. Then the survey instructed me to ask for the president, vice-president, or manager. “Oh, sure,” the receptionist would say, “regarding?” I would explain that I was conducting a study. “Oh…” their voice would trail off, “let me check if he’s here.” Then would follow three to five minutes of being on hold, with the usual soul-sucking on-hold music. Finally, she would pick up: “Sorry, he’s out of the office.” “When will he be back?” would be my next question. “I’m not sure…” “Okay, I’ll call back tomorrow,” I would say, and the call would end.
tt
Now imagine this process repeating again and again. As the study went on, I would be returning calls to dozens of small businesses where the owners were always mysteriously away. I had no choice what to say—it was all in the survey—and no choice who to call—the computer did that. By the end, I felt like I was getting to know some of these secretaries. They would recognize my voice, and their announcement of the boss’s absence would be given with a strain of annoyance, or exhaustion, or pity. I would grow adept at navigating particular voice menus, and remembered the particular sounds of being on hold at certain businesses. It was strait out of this novel.
tt
When I picked up The Trial, I was expecting it to be great. I had read Kafka’s short stories—many times, actually—and he has long been one of my favorite writers. But by no means did I expect to be so disturbed. Maybe it was because I was groggy, because I hadn’t eaten yet, or because I was on a train surrounded by strangers. But by the time I reached my destination, I was completely unnerved. For a few moments, I even managed to convince myself that this actually was a nightmare. No book could do this.
tt
What will follow in this already-too-long review will be some interpretation and analysis. But it should be remarked that, whatever conclusions you or I may draw, interpretation is a second-level activity. In Kafka's own words: “You shouldn’t pay too much attention to people’s opinions. The text cannot be altered, and the various opinions are often no more than an expression of despair over it.” Attempts to understand Kafka should not entail a rationalizing away of his power. This is a constant danger in literary criticism, where the words sit mutely on the page, and passages can be pasted together at the analyst’s behest. This is mere illusion. If someone were to tell you that Picasso’s Guernica is about the Spanish Civil War, you may appreciate the information; but by no means should this information come between you and the visceral experience of standing in front of the painting. Just so with literature.
tt
To repeat something that I once remarked of Dostoyevsky, Kafka is a great writer, but a bad novelist. His books do not have even remotely believable characters, character development, or a plot in any traditional sense. Placing The Trial alongside Jane Eyre or Lolita will make this abundantly clear. Rather, Kafka's stories are somewhere in-between dream and allegory. Symbolism is heavy, and Kafka seems to be more intent on establishing a particular feeling than in telling a story. The characters are tools, not people
tt
So the question naturally arises: what does the story represent? Like any good work of art, any strict, one-sided reading is insufficient. Great art is multivalent—it means different things to different people. The Trial may have meant only one thing to Kafka (I doubt it), but once a book (or symphony, or painting) is out in the world, all bets are off.
tt
The broadest possible interpretation of The Trial is as an allegory of life. And isn’t this exactly what happens? You wake up one day, someone announces that you’re alive. But no one seems to be able to tell you why or how or what for. You don’t know when it will end or what you should do about it. You try to ignore the question, but the more you evade it, the more it comes back to haunt you. You ask your friends for advice. They tell you that they don’t really know, but you’d better hire a lawyer. Then you die like a dog.
tt
Another interpretation is based on Freud. Extraordinary feelings of guilt is characteristic of Kafka’s work, and several of his short stories (“The Judgment,” “The Metamorphosis”) portray Kafka’s own unhealthy relationship with his father. Moreover, the nightmarish, nonsensical quality of his books, and his fascination with symbols and allegories, cannot help but remind one of Freud’s work on dreams. If I was a proper Freudian, I would say that The Trial is an expression of Kafka’s extraordinary guilt at his patricidal fantasies.
tt
A different take would group this book along with Joseph Heller’s Catch-22 as a satire of bureaucracy. And, in the right light, parts of this book are hilarious. Kafka’s humor is right on. He perfectly captures the inefficiency of organizations in helping you, but their horrifying efficiency when screwing you over. And as my experience in phone surveys goes to show, this is more relevant than ever.
tt
If we dip into Kafka’s biography, we can read this book as a depiction of the anguish caused by his relationship with Felice Bauer. (For those who don’t know, Kafka was engaged with her twice, and twice broke it off. Imagine dating Kafka. Poor woman.) This would explain the odd current of sexuality that undergirds this novel.
tt
Here is one idea that I’ve been playing with. I can’t help but see The Trial as a response to Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment. As their names suggest, they deal with similar themes: guilt, depression, alienation, the legal system, etc. But they couldn’t end more differently. Mulling this over, I was considering whether this had anything to do with the respective faiths of their authors. Dostoyevsky found Jesus during his imprisonment, and never turned back. His novels, however dark, always offer a glimmer of the hope of salvation. Kafka's universe, on the other hand, is proverbially devoid of hope. Kafka was from a Jewish family, and was interested in Judaism throughout his life. Is this book Crime and Punishment without a Messiah?
tt
I can go on and on, but I’ll leave it at that. There can be no one answer, and the book will mean something different to all who read it. And what does that say about Kafka?

"من الأفضل غالباً أن يكون المرء مكبلاً بالأغلال من أن يكون حراً طليقاً.."
هل معني كدة إن مفيش حاجة إسمها حرية؟
هل هي مجرد كلمة موجودة فقط في الكتب والروايات؟!
هل هذا ما يعنيه كافكا من هذا الإقتباس؟
علي ما أظن..آه:)

المحاكمة...الرواية التي لم ينهها كافكا و أوصي في وصيته أن يتم تدميرها و لكن لحسن الحظ صديقه والوصي علي إرثه الكاتب ماكس برود خالف إرادته وقام بتكملتها و نشرها لكي نقرأ جميعاً هذا العمل الممتع...

تدور أحداث الرواية حول جوزيف ك وهو موظف مصرفي محترم ،إستيقظ ذات يوم في عيد ميلاده الثلاثين ووجد نفسه معتقل ضد تهمة لا يستطيع حتى الحصول على معلومات عنها ومع ذلك هو لم يسجن ولكن ترك حراً في إنتظار محاكمته!
الإجراءات القضائية تجري بصورة سرية في هذه المحاكمة ..قضية لن يري فيها القاضي و محكمة عُليا لن يصل إليها أبداً!

"من طبيعة هذا القضاء أن يُدين المرء،ليس وهو برئ فحسب،بل وهو غير عارف أيضاً.."

الرواية تحمل الكثير من المعاني و الكثير من التأويلات أيضاً...
أنا شوفتها رواية تندرج تحت أدب المدينة الفاسدة أو الديستوبيا..فكرتني شوية بالأخ الأكبر في رواية جورج أورويل ١٩٨٤...
كافكا هنا بيتكلم عن غياب العدالة ،عن إمكانية إعتقالك في أي وقت بدون وجه حق و حتي الدفاع عنك غير مسموح به قانونياً إنما تتساهل المحكمة في أمره و غالباً إن وجهت المحكمة أي إتهام لمتهم فهي تكون علي قناعة تامة بذنبه ومن المستحيل زحزحتها عن موقف الإقتناع..

من خلال الأحداث ألقي كافكا الضوء علي فساد المؤسسات القضائية أو الحكومية بصورة عامة اللي بدوره بينعكس علي المواطن العادي وبتجعله فاسد أيضاً حتي لو كان مستقيم...
"هذه المحكمة مؤلفة كلها تقريباً من صيادي النساء..اعرض امرأة من بعيد علي قاضي التحقيق وستجده يقلب طاولة المحكمة مع المتهم،فقط ليصل إلي المرأة في الوقت المناسب.."

في كل الرواية كافكا كان يطلق علي اسم البطل"ك" ..هل ك هو كافكا؟
كافكا الذي كان يعاني من معامله أبيه السيئة و قسوته عليه كما وضح في رسالته له..
هل ممكن نعتبرها رواية نفسية و إنها بتعكس صورة لكافكا المضطهد عندما كان طفلاً وأصبح ك في الرواية هنا معتقل ،مظلوم،و مش عارف يدافع عن نفسه؟
يقول كافكا في رسالته إلي والده 'كانت كتاباتي تتمحور حولك' و الجملة دي علي ما أظن تفسر الكثير...

الرواية الصراحة أصعب وأعمق من إني أحاول أحلل كل جوانبها..
نحن أمام رواية إستثنائية..تقرأ علي مهل ..حتعيد فيها فقرات وساعات صفحات عشان تحاول تفهم قصده إيه..
وبعد ما تخلصها حتقول لنفسك حاجة واحدة بس..
what a novel..what a writer..what a master piece

4,75✨ Moartea e singura scăpare?
Acest roman este o călătorie nebună de-a dreptul, dar e reprezentarea realității vieții, cea de zi cu zi, mizeria și absurdul acesteia
În fața legii, există oameni “mari”, care dau tonul, și oameni “mici”, care nu își cunosc drepturile, oameni cărora nu li se dă nicio șansă în a se apăra.
Am simțit o anxietate și o durere pe parcursul lecturii ca și cum mie mi-i s-ar întâmplat aceste nedreptăți, dar e de neratat, acest autor a fost și e mare, păcat că s-a pierdut atât de repede.
Kafka are un stil greoi și aici, ca în alte scrieri, e greu de urmărit pe alocuri, dar cred că merită efortul. Voi reciti aces roman, cu siguranță, au trecut mai bine de 4 luni de la finalizarea lecturii și încă mă gândesc la ea. Later edit: după aproape un an, încă mă gândesc la cartea aceasta

“Putea K. singur să reprezinte întreaga turmă de credincioşi?”

“Ca un cîine! spuse el, şi era ca şi cum ruşinea ar fi trebuit să-i supravieţuiască.”

“Dacă toţi oamenii caută să cunoască Legea, spune omul, cum se face că de-atâta amar de vreme nimeni în afară de mine nu ţi-a mai cerut să intre?”

“Justiţia nu vrea nimic de la tine. Ea te primeşte când vii şi te lasă când pleci.”

“Nu te grăbi să judeci, spuse preotul, şi nici nu-ţi însuşi păreri străine, fără să cugeti asupra lor.”

“Mai întâi, omul liber e superior celui constrâns.”

“Deci toată lumea are treabă cu justiția.”

“Atuul principal îl constituie relaţiile personale ale avocatului; pe ele se bazează adevărata valoare a apărării.”

“Ştii bine că în jurul litigiilor se adună opiniile cele mai felurite.”

“Adineauri erai atât de binevoitor, spuse K. îmi explicai tot, şi acum mă laşi, de parcă nici nu ţi-ar păsa de mine.
— Dar tu mi-ai spus că trebuie să pleci, răspunse preotul.”

“Justiţia nu vrea nimic de la tine. Ea te primeşte când vii şi te lasă când pleci.”

Presunto colpevole

L'impiegato bancario Josef K. una mattina si trova improvvisamente in arresto. Uno strano arresto, a dire la verità, visto che è comunque libero di andarsene in giro come prima. Ma qualcosa è cambiato, perché da questo momento in poi la sua vita gira intorno a questo arresto e al processo che sarà intentato contro di lui.

K. non conosce la ragione del suo arresto, né sa chi lo ha denunciato. Non sa quando sarà processato, non sa chi siano i giudici, deve immaginare da solo quando deve essere interrogato, non sa se prendere un avvocato, non sa se questo avvocato possa veramente servire alla sua causa.

Il processo non ha nessun senso perché non c'è nessuna giustizia; quindi non serve nessuna difesa.

K. è confuso. Si muove in modo sempre più scomposto come se volesse divincolarsi da una morsa che lo sta stringendo; cerca di usare la razionalità in una situazione onirica e assurda, ma alla fine anche i suoi metodi sono poco logici. E anche noi che leggiamo siamo ancora più confusi per la totale irrazionalità e circolarità della situazione.

K. non sa quale possa essere la sua colpa e non ha nulla di cui rimproverarsi. Ma pian piano subentra in lui uno stato di rassegnazione a una condanna che è inevitabile, perché tutti sono colpevoli, se accusati. Inutile combattere, inutile resistere.

Ma se non c'è giustizia, cosa rimane? La solitudine, la tristezza, un senso di impotenza, la disillusione e un generalizzato senso di inadeguatezza ed esclusione.

Un libro incompiuto ma a suo modo perfetto e geniale. Uno stile algido, essenziale e quasi monotono che ingigantisce il disorientamento di noi che leggiamo. E un finale da manuale.
Un grande, Kafka!