The Castle (1926) by Franz Kafka


The Castle (1926) by Franz Kafka

This translation of Kafka’s posthumously published manuscript follows a man referred to only as “K”, through his misadventures in an unconventional village. Supposedly hired by the authorities of the village’s domineering (yet physically and metaphorically distant) castle as a land-surveyor, K attempts to establish himself to these powers in spite of endless, confounding socio-political red tape. Marred by forces beyond his control or comprehension, and encouraged by his own mix of defiance and deference to various situations, in the end K’s own goals are muddled at best - and just as out-of-reach as ever.


The Castle is a thoroughly disorienting book. First of all - because it’s a technically faithful representation of Kafka’s unfinished manuscript, down to the lack of resolved punctuation and stream-of-consciousness flow. And secondly - because the narrative itself echoes a fever-dream more accurately than any other piece of media to ever attempt the same. It is unclear how K arrived in his situation, and equally unclear how his ill-defined aims will remedy his issues - no matter how vigorously he gropes at them in a mire of confusion. The Castle mechanisms are so present, yet at the same time so inaccessible, that they parallel an all-too-familiar dream scenario where what you need to achieve is right in front of you, but aggravatingly unattainable. Even K’s environment reflects a dreamlike, murky lack of detail - as the village is always shrouded by snowfall outdoors and dimly-lit indoors. The buildings are puzzlingly constructed, with endless alcoves, claustrophobic rooms, and walls that don’t even reach the ceiling - and the residents of these buildings are equally difficult to understand. They behave erratically, spout nonsensical logic, and seem to exist merely to frustrate K’s endeavors. Identities and motives are constantly in question, yet never enlightened. Social constructs rule the people, yet have no grounding in pragmatic reality. There is a bluntness to every interaction. There is an immutable force of chaos driving every ordeal. The Castle makes its reader beg for clarity, but forces it, instead, to submit to its REM-state ramblings. 


And then, in the most unconventionally suitable way, it ends by cutting-off suddenly, mid-sentence. Ostensibly, this is because Kafka abandoned his manuscript before finishing. But artistically, this tracks perfectly with the fever-dream quality of The Castle. The reader breaks-off from the story entirely. No resolution, no clarification, no progress made, and no lessons learned. I like to think that, even subconsciously, this ending (or rather, lack thereof) was intentional on Kafka’s part to close his fever-dream in the only way fever-dreams ever close - by abruptly “waking up”.

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