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A review by maxstone98
The Unhappiness of Being a Single Man: Essential Stories by Franz Kafka
4.0
The writing was strikingly modern, it was almost hard for me to believe these are 100+ years old. You could easily imagine these as "Shouts and Murmurs" columns in the New Yorker in 2019.
The stories, for me, were hit or miss, in that at times I thought I "got" the point and at times I couldn't figure it out (or suspected it didn't have one). That said there are some gems. Here's the title story and one other, in their entirety:
The Unhappiness of Being a Single Man:
It seems a terrible thing to stay single for good, to become an old man who, if he wants to spend the evening with other people, has to stand on his dignity and ask someone for an invitation; to be ill and spend weeks looking out of the corner of your bed at an empty room; always to say goodbye at the door; never to squeeze your way up the stairs beside your wife; to live in a room where the side doors lead only to other people's apartments; to carry your dinner home in one hand; to be forced to admire children you don't know and not to be allowed to just keep repeating, "I don't have any"; to model your appearance and behavior on one or two bachelors you remember from childhood.
That's how it's going to be, except that in reality both today and in the future you'll actually be standing there yourself, with a body and a real head, as well as a forehead, which you can use your hand to slap.
Poseidon:
Poseidon sat at his desk and went through his accounts. Being in charge of all the seas and oceans was an endless amount of work. He could have had assistants, as many as he wanted, and indeed he did have very many of them, but because he took his position very seriously, he checked over every calculation again himself, and so his assistants were little help to him. You couldn't say that the work gave him pleasure; he actually just did it because it had been assigned to him. In fact he'd often asked for some work that would be what he called a bit more cheerful, but whenever suggestions were made to him it turned out that nothing suited him as well as the position he already had. It was also very difficult to find something else for him. It would have been impossible to appoint him to a particular sea, for example. Even leaving aside that the amount of bookkeeping would have been no smaller, merely pettier, the great Poseidon could of course only be given a role at a very senior level. And if he was offered something outside the water altogether, just the idea of it made him ill, his divine breathing grew labored and his powerful ribcage started to heave. Also, his complaints weren't taken very seriously; when a powerful person starts fretting, you have to look like you're trying to help them no matter how pointless the matter at hand; but no one ever really thought that Poseidon would be allowed to resign his position. He'd been appointed god of the seas at the beginning of time and that's the way things would have to stay.
What annoyed him the most -- and this was mostly due to dissatisfaction with his work -- was when he heard about what people imagined he was like, for example that he was always careening through the waves with a trident. Meanwhile he was sitting down here in the depths of the ocean constantly going through the books. The only interruption to this monotony were occasional visits to Jupiter, visits, by the way, from which he usually returned in a fury. So he'd hardly seen anything of the seas, only ever briefly on the hurried ascent to Olympus, and never really traveled around them. He would say that he was waiting for the end of the world; at that point there would surely be a quiet moment before it was all over in which, after finishing off the last of the accounts, he'd have time for a quick look around.
Leaving aside the issue of whether the verb mismatch and the Greek/Roman mish-mash is in the original or only appears in the translation, that's a pretty great story.
The stories, for me, were hit or miss, in that at times I thought I "got" the point and at times I couldn't figure it out (or suspected it didn't have one). That said there are some gems. Here's the title story and one other, in their entirety:
The Unhappiness of Being a Single Man:
It seems a terrible thing to stay single for good, to become an old man who, if he wants to spend the evening with other people, has to stand on his dignity and ask someone for an invitation; to be ill and spend weeks looking out of the corner of your bed at an empty room; always to say goodbye at the door; never to squeeze your way up the stairs beside your wife; to live in a room where the side doors lead only to other people's apartments; to carry your dinner home in one hand; to be forced to admire children you don't know and not to be allowed to just keep repeating, "I don't have any"; to model your appearance and behavior on one or two bachelors you remember from childhood.
That's how it's going to be, except that in reality both today and in the future you'll actually be standing there yourself, with a body and a real head, as well as a forehead, which you can use your hand to slap.
Poseidon:
Poseidon sat at his desk and went through his accounts. Being in charge of all the seas and oceans was an endless amount of work. He could have had assistants, as many as he wanted, and indeed he did have very many of them, but because he took his position very seriously, he checked over every calculation again himself, and so his assistants were little help to him. You couldn't say that the work gave him pleasure; he actually just did it because it had been assigned to him. In fact he'd often asked for some work that would be what he called a bit more cheerful, but whenever suggestions were made to him it turned out that nothing suited him as well as the position he already had. It was also very difficult to find something else for him. It would have been impossible to appoint him to a particular sea, for example. Even leaving aside that the amount of bookkeeping would have been no smaller, merely pettier, the great Poseidon could of course only be given a role at a very senior level. And if he was offered something outside the water altogether, just the idea of it made him ill, his divine breathing grew labored and his powerful ribcage started to heave. Also, his complaints weren't taken very seriously; when a powerful person starts fretting, you have to look like you're trying to help them no matter how pointless the matter at hand; but no one ever really thought that Poseidon would be allowed to resign his position. He'd been appointed god of the seas at the beginning of time and that's the way things would have to stay.
What annoyed him the most -- and this was mostly due to dissatisfaction with his work -- was when he heard about what people imagined he was like, for example that he was always careening through the waves with a trident. Meanwhile he was sitting down here in the depths of the ocean constantly going through the books. The only interruption to this monotony were occasional visits to Jupiter, visits, by the way, from which he usually returned in a fury. So he'd hardly seen anything of the seas, only ever briefly on the hurried ascent to Olympus, and never really traveled around them. He would say that he was waiting for the end of the world; at that point there would surely be a quiet moment before it was all over in which, after finishing off the last of the accounts, he'd have time for a quick look around.
Leaving aside the issue of whether the verb mismatch and the Greek/Roman mish-mash is in the original or only appears in the translation, that's a pretty great story.