The memory of Franz Kafka is intrinsically linked to his body of nightmarish, impersonal and quasi-existentialist worlds. Any student of literature knows that you can use the author's personal life as a codex to their work. In Kafka's case, we have a tragically short existence defined by anxiety and malady. But I also tend to wonder if his work has that inimitable 'Kafka-esque' quality because Prague itself is so fucking awesomely morbid.
I just got back from a four day micro tour of the city (love it, love it, love it btw), and immediately noticed a delightful pattern of death and destruction. Pretty much everywhere.
No comments:
Post a Comment