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.

Readers Comments

Leave a Comment

If you have not posted a comment on RSB before, it will need to be approved by the Managing Editor. Once you have an approved comment, you are safe to post further comments. We have also introduced a captcha code to prevent spam.




Enter the code shown here:   [captcha]

Note: If you cannot read the numbers in the above image, reload the page to generate a new one.