Scan barcode
A review by jamorley
Amerika: The Missing Person by Franz Kafka
3.0
"He spoke very sparingly into the tube and one often saw that he wanted to make some objection to the speaker, or to ask him some question, but certain words he heard forced him instead, before he could say anything, to lower his eyes and write."
"The smoke from Mr Green’s cigar, a present from Pollunder, of a thickness that his father would occasionally affirm existed, but had probably never witnessed with his own eyes, spread throughout the room, and carried Green’s influence into nooks and corners in which he would personally never set foot."
"In the early days, Karl had high hopes of his piano playing, and while lying in bed, at any rate, he thought it might have a direct effect upon his American environment. But it did sound very peculiar when, with the windows letting in the noisy air from outside, he played an old ballad from his homeland, which the soldiers sing to each other in the evenings as they lean out through the barrack windows gazing at the dark square outside – but then, when he looked out on to the street, it was just the same, a tiny piece, no more, of a gigantic circulatory system that couldn’t be arrested without understanding all the forces operating on its totality."
"The first days of a European in America were like a new birth, and while Karl shouldn’t be afraid, one did get used to things here faster than when entering the human world from beyond, he should bear in mind that his own initial impression did stand on rather shaky feet, and he shouldn’t allow them any undue influence over subsequent judgements, with the help of which, after all, he meant to live his life."
"The smoke from Mr Green’s cigar, a present from Pollunder, of a thickness that his father would occasionally affirm existed, but had probably never witnessed with his own eyes, spread throughout the room, and carried Green’s influence into nooks and corners in which he would personally never set foot."
"In the early days, Karl had high hopes of his piano playing, and while lying in bed, at any rate, he thought it might have a direct effect upon his American environment. But it did sound very peculiar when, with the windows letting in the noisy air from outside, he played an old ballad from his homeland, which the soldiers sing to each other in the evenings as they lean out through the barrack windows gazing at the dark square outside – but then, when he looked out on to the street, it was just the same, a tiny piece, no more, of a gigantic circulatory system that couldn’t be arrested without understanding all the forces operating on its totality."
"The first days of a European in America were like a new birth, and while Karl shouldn’t be afraid, one did get used to things here faster than when entering the human world from beyond, he should bear in mind that his own initial impression did stand on rather shaky feet, and he shouldn’t allow them any undue influence over subsequent judgements, with the help of which, after all, he meant to live his life."