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Kafka - Metamorphosis
Aug. 28th, 2008 04:45 pmWhen Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from troubled dreams, he found himself changed into a monstrous cockroach in his bed. He lay on his tough, armoured back, and, raising his head a little, managed to see - sectioned of by little crescent-shaped ridges into segments - the expanse of his arched, brown belly, atop which the coverlet perched, forever on the point of slipping off entirely. His numerous legs, pathetically frail by contrast to the rest of him, waved feebly before his eyes.
I really like the prose of this translation ((C) Michael Hofmann, 2006). I like, especially, the wry descriptions and the way the narration starts off again and again with a simple statement, then builds and builds, tumbling on, including all sorts of digressions and surprises, before ending each time on a simple, poignant note. I happened to be listening to some Schubert violin sonatas at work after reading this, and it was interesting how similar the forms were.
I like the way too, that the story sticks inside your head (especially since I was originally going to write about how listening to Schubert was a good way to read it, until I realized that I'd actually finished the book long before the music started). In this way, it behaves in the same way as the translator's prose (I have no idea how faithful it is to the original) - building and digressing and capturing your attention, then coalescing at the end when the "plot" unexpectedly falls away and what you're left with is just the human story. The final connection flashes across in your brain and - wait a second, what if this isn't just a story about a giant insect?
I get the same effect when I read The Castle. Just when you think the situation couldn't get more ludicrous, something clicks and you realise that it's actually exactly the situation you're involved with at work, or that you know someone who resembles each of the impossible characters.
The other thing I like about Kafka is his ability to convey things simply by demonstration. Even when he appears to be straight out "telling", it's always the "showing" that's more important. At the start of The Castle, when you hear the villagers' reaction to K.'s demands to see the Count, you think they're mad. Once you've read the story, and learnt by experience just how crazy the demand was in that particular universe, you think surely he was mad.
I really like the prose of this translation ((C) Michael Hofmann, 2006). I like, especially, the wry descriptions and the way the narration starts off again and again with a simple statement, then builds and builds, tumbling on, including all sorts of digressions and surprises, before ending each time on a simple, poignant note. I happened to be listening to some Schubert violin sonatas at work after reading this, and it was interesting how similar the forms were.
I like the way too, that the story sticks inside your head (especially since I was originally going to write about how listening to Schubert was a good way to read it, until I realized that I'd actually finished the book long before the music started). In this way, it behaves in the same way as the translator's prose (I have no idea how faithful it is to the original) - building and digressing and capturing your attention, then coalescing at the end when the "plot" unexpectedly falls away and what you're left with is just the human story. The final connection flashes across in your brain and - wait a second, what if this isn't just a story about a giant insect?
I get the same effect when I read The Castle. Just when you think the situation couldn't get more ludicrous, something clicks and you realise that it's actually exactly the situation you're involved with at work, or that you know someone who resembles each of the impossible characters.
The other thing I like about Kafka is his ability to convey things simply by demonstration. Even when he appears to be straight out "telling", it's always the "showing" that's more important. At the start of The Castle, when you hear the villagers' reaction to K.'s demands to see the Count, you think they're mad. Once you've read the story, and learnt by experience just how crazy the demand was in that particular universe, you think surely he was mad.
