ReadySteadyBlog

Writing in the Observer last Sunday, Adam Mars-Jones, reviewing Robert Calasso's K, said:


Calasso's style often overlays Kafka with a strongly clashing flavour. It's as if someone who has been chopping garlic all morning has made gruel without washing his hands ... For all its devotion, this literary personality seems very much at odds with Kafka's nature, so tentative and implacable.


Tentative and implacable - I like that. It is only oxymoronically that one can think about Kafka and his realist mythemes, his strangely abstract yet concrete constructions. Indeed, Kafka's irreducibility should remind us of the singularity of literature, its irreducibility. And also its magnetism. We can attempt to interpret, but we can never fully know. Something remains out of reach.

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