I strongly suspect that being a grammar school girl from a safe, comfortable middle class family severely damages your ability to ‘get’ Kafka. In any event, the net result was a lifelong loathing of Franz K and a vague feeling that I was missing out on something. We were supposed to be studying Dickens, Shakespeare and George Eliot at the time, and to this day I can’t think for the life of me how Kafka got dragged into it. I place the blame for this thoroughly philistine sentiment squarely at the feet of an enthusiastic young student teacher from – as I recall – Pittsburgh who arrived at my south of England grammar school one summer on an exchange programme and proceeded to bore for his country on the subject of Franz-bloody-Kafka (as he came to be none-too-affectionately known in the 4th Form). What follows is more along the lines of “How I almost got the hang of Kafka, courtesy of third party intervention.”įor many years my mantra has been “Life is too short ever to read any more Kafka”. Those are waters into which I have no intention of stepping – well, not very far, anyway. Metamorphosis – a theatre adaptation from Franz Kafka by Steven Berkoffīefore I go any further, I should apologize to anyone who’s arrived here expecting a profound and incisive examination of the enigma that is Franz Kafka and All His Works.
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