But for him to manifest his self-perception into a story that transcends decades and centuries–for it applies more than ever now–was a testament to his ability to cut to the core of humankind and all of its ostensibly implausible travails. To be sure, this was how Kafka saw himself in his human form, self-hating as he was (a self-hatred his own father, who is very clearly referenced in the story via Mr. Perhaps most succinctly illustrated in 1915’s The Metamorphosis, in which the doomed main character, Gregor Samsa, wakes up one morning to find that he has transformed into a “monstrous vermin.” Or rather, a huge insect. Our lives in which dealing with the trivialities of the day-to-day become tantamount to both herculean and Sisyphean tasks. That the very term “Kafkaesque” is designed to connote a nightmarish tableau in which all signs of logic and reason have vanished in favor of convoluted blether is telling of his impact on our lives. Seemingly orchestrated by an invisible sadist (sometimes called God). Few knew better than Franz Kafka that life, if nothing else, is an inexplicably cruel joke.
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