Kafka’s Truth
Adverbs have a mixed reputation in writing. However, in skilled hands, they are poignant tools, enhancing the mood, tone, and imagery of the words. One writer known for his economical use of language is Franz Kafka (1883–1924), and yet it is so hard not to give into his occassional use of adverbs:
“I can’t think of any greater happiness than to be with you all the time, without interruption, endlessly ..”
Well, here is a writer whose primary occupation at an insurance company, leaves him little time to dedicate to his writing. His novels are unfinished, even he hates the endings of some of his most cherished works. Yet, amidst ongoing disruptions, he finds moments to express his innermost ideas. He uses every spare hour to craft haunting stories — of gloom, of doom. Working on his drafts, he is always dissatisfied with his progress.
What moves me most about Franz Kafka is this genuine search for expressing his truth.
“Don’t bend; don’t water it down; don’t try to make it logical; don’t edit your own soul according to the fashion. Rather, follow your most intense obsessions mercilessly.”
To him, life is full of its failures, its obstacles. And yet, within this chaos, he responds to an intense call to tell stories of failure, beautifully.
This brings me to contemplate and connect the notion of failure with the meaning of words. I illustrate this with a personal example from my work in inclusive education, where a focus is on addressing diverse abilities while complying with regulations. Despite this, I remain hesitant to use the term “disability” when referring to individuals. Instead, I advocate for highlighting “diverse abilities.” My hesitation results from a reflection on the true meaning of language and words, their power and impact:
Isn’t it that failure lies in our inability to tap into the inherent potential within us, irrespective of existing abilities and societal standards; Conversely, true success is about nurturing our existing abilities, rising above what may be lacking?
“You do not need to leave your room. Remain sitting at your table and listen. Do not even listen, simply wait, be quiet still and solitary. The world will freely offer itself to you to be unmasked, it has no choice, it will roll in ecstasy at your feet.”
When I reflect on Franz Kafka and his choice of words, I see a dark yellowish ball of emotion. Two particular emotions stand out: innocence and truth. For Kafka, who never perceived himself as successful and struggled to publish much of his work, he achieved a success that bypassed many celebrated writers. Precisely, this success is reflected in his insights about high-quality writing, the ones that move me when considering truly impactful pieces of literature and our place within the field:
“I think we ought to read only the kind of books that wound and stab us. A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us.”
People like Franz Kafka are the reasons I ‘m more drawn to writers than pieces of literature, more interested in the sources of ideas than the ideas themselves, more captivated by their characters than by the outcomes they produce, and more taken by them, the divine power within them, birthing new into existence.
Franz Kafka in a cafe in Prague in 1910s
